I am a victim of labels. The words that make or break a human being. I have been called many things in my life. I've been a hippie, I've been a loser, I've been morbid and creative. I've been called evil and wise and offensive and compassionate. I've been called an introvert and brave and stubborn. I've been told I'm beautiful, I've been told I'm ugly. My ability to love and care has been put in doubt, but then it has also been celebrated. My writing has been praised and my singing has been criticized. I am an entire catalogue of witty nicknames and misnomers.
They always say not to describe your child as anything but the best. Not to label your child or allow others to. Growing up, I was a very quiet kid. Everyone would say, "Ariel is shy. She needs to speak up. One day she'll come out of her shell." These people didn't know me. They didn't know I loved performing on stage and screaming at concerts and that one day I would be the only one willing to enter the rehearsal room and kick out the people who were staying too long. They didn't know I'd travel the world alone and make friends with Chinese people and Greek people and people from countries no one knew existed. They didn't know I would stand up when no one else could or would. Or fight for my rights, my desires, my beliefs.... Nonetheless, they told me who I was. They defined me for the rest of the world. Words like "shy" and "weird", or even "crazy" would stick with me for the rest of my life. They're the first words I would think of when asked to describe myself. They're the words I let others staple onto my forehead and treat me as.
To this day, I get anxiety being with people. Maybe it's not because of some sort of social fear, but because of a fear of being "shy" again. I was always told it was a bad trait, that I had to learn to be someone else. I had to act like I always had something to say and speak up. That lying back and only speaking when spoken to was wrong. The person I was born to be, the person I called "me" was bad. If that "me" showed up in social settings, I had reason to worry. I was condemned to speak or once again be the bad "me" that no one liked. That was what made me anxious, that is what I was running from.
I bet you, whoever you may be, are also a victim. Maybe you are the mental kid or the fat kid or the kid who enjoyed math class a little too much. Nerd. You heard it too many times. I know you have heard it too many times because just once is too many. It is easy for others to say, "You're not a kid anymore. No one has called you that in 10 years!" That doesn't mean the words didn't sting and leave a mark in your mind. People are a product of their experiences. Those words and names that we grew up with were how we created our identities. What else did we have? We needed something to base our self-opinion on. As soon as your mother beamed at you and shrieked, "He's a big boy, but he'll outgrow the baby fat." There. There it is. You are now the big boy who HAS to outgrow the baby fat. Who else could you be? What else is there? The words "Perfect as he is" aren't even on the table yet. When you find that baby fat doesn't magically melt away at 14 or 15 or even 16, now you have failed to be the person you were told you were. You were supposed to outgrow it. You didn't, and now... you're just the big boy who didn't get less fat. You're the big nose whose face didn't grow into it. You're the neuroscientist's kid who didn't catch onto science. You're the tall kid who didn't get perfect with practice. As a matter of fact, you didn't even learn to enjoy basketball. What a waste.
This is not a message that has not been expressed before a thousand times in a thousand different ways. Everyone nods and agrees and wishes they could stop the insults and the bullying and the self-loathing. It doesn't stop, though, it won't stop. Not until every mother and father learns how to speak to their child, not until every child learns to love themselves, not until humans can look at other humans and really care and want them to be happy. Not as happy as they are themselves or happy on the exterior or pessimistically happy, but humans need to deeply and so passionately that it hurts wish for other people to live lives full of beautiful, wonderful things. Maybe life won't be a dream, sweetheart, and of course it's stupid to live entirely on the phrase "it could be worse!", but the first step is believing and wanting such gaiety to exist in others' lives. There's no room for resentment or envy, there's only room for a hug and telling someone, and I quote 'Almost Famous', "It's all happening."
We are the deities of our destiny.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
I can be cute...
or, dare I say, adorable!
I never was the type to be romantic, let me just say that. I'm the "figure out I like you or hit the road" sort. However, recently that has changed. Maybe that is due to my journey, maybe that is me growing up, or maybe that's just me getting sick of missing out on good things. How do I know I've changed, even just a little bit? Well... I just applied for a job. Not just any job, I applied for a job at Sprinkles Cupcakes. Yes, I do love looking at pastries, but that's not why I applied. I applied because their number 1 special benefit of the job. One free cupcake a day!
Now, I can only eat their one vegan cupcake and my dog can only eat their one doggie cupcake, so what's the point? Well, first of all, a free cupcake is the best kind of cupcake, and second of all, I couldn't help but imagine some guy coming into my life and me being able to offer him a different flavoured cupcake every day of the week.
Sure, in my fantasy he's dressed as Dick Van Dyke in one of those movies I have never seen that Dick Van Dyke is in, and I myself am sporting a parasol and a hoop skirt, but that's not my point! My point is, I applied for a job entirely for the purpose of doing something ridiculously ridunkadunk for a BOY!
I've written my share of depressing anti-romance songs and had periods of time swearing off the boy man figure sort, but never have I ever wanted to commit an entire job and every day of it to shoving a love-soaked cushy muffin of sugary puke into a fellas mouth. Not to mention, then watching as it took its effect and he got fatter and fatter, to the point where he felt he had to come rolling into my job one day and say, "Feed me no more cupcakes, my love, for I have grown beastly and undesirable", and as I shove yet another floury calorie cauldron into a stretch marked, veiny, heart attack threatening bod, I whisper, "More to love, my dear, more to love...." And then his blood clots, he drops to the ground, says, "Thank you, my love", and dies.
Something like that, at least. Not to say that that is what I desire, since I think it's gross to feed someone else, but you're missing the point! I want to take care of someone and show I care. WHO AM I!?
I feel a deep life lesson coming on...
See, my whole life I've struggled with affections and intimacies. I am not a hugger or a kisser or a toucher or a teller. I sit back and let the world happen to me. This is why I have been told on multiple occasions that I am the calmest person ever. It's true. I don't bug people, I don't complain or hate or really affect people's lives unless they come to me (Well, I do try to make people's lives better, but not individuals usually.) In general, I don't push myself into people's lives. However, sometimes they want me to or expect me to. I just never know that! Not because my self esteem is so low, but because it doesn't occur to me! I don't know how to human, okay?!
It turns out, you have to make an effort to keep people in your life! Be brave, be stupid, be vulnerable! I've realized, these are things one has to consciously decide to do, especially if it doesn't come naturally. Once in a while I have to remember, "If I don't step up, I'll lose this person".... There is a cause and effect and even if I don't want to feel stupid and "put myself out there", I guess if it matters enough, it's worth feeling stupid, or even hurt. Maybe I'll even be surprised what comes of it. Or just end up absolutely miserable and embarrassed and angry. It's like I've always said, though, we're on this Earth with absolutely NO other purpose, why not try things that may end poorly? Might as well.
Someone important to me said recently something that really stuck. Basically, he said, "When we meet someone, we are meeting a bodyguard for their 10 year old selves", something along those lines. At first I wanted to disagree, I tried to think of flaws in that logic, but... nope, it's true. Around 10 is when our feelings about others really start to form. As babies, many phobias come about and we never lose certain fears or dislikes, but for the most part, we are aware and start losing trust at 10 or so. That defense remains for the rest of our lives. However, what we make of it and how we take control of it is what matters. Personally, I never even tried to control my wall. I had it up there and I got so cozy with it. I had put up a painting and had a fireplace under a shelf with a goldfish bowl on it. I mean, I was living it up. On another part of the wall were burgundy and gold drapes that matched the brick perfectly. I had spent several years choosing that colour palette, but I was so proud of my choice. Even the windows themselves were perfectly wiped down each day. Not a streak in sight! I had put up a little wind chime to jangle when the winds were particularly rough and made their way through the slight space between the glass and the window frame. The noise was very woody and not metallic like most wind chimes. High pitched noises tend to bug me, so I was very glad for this. It was heaven.
That is, until one person stopped trying to climb the wall. This person threw out his hammer and his climbing boots and stopped trying to get over or through the wall. He simply chilled out in by the door. Occasionally he waved at me through the window, but he never tried to break the glass. This changed everything.
For the first time, I opened the window and I offered him a glass of water. I watched everyone outdoors and I felt the breeze and the sun. I wanted to be outdoors too! I wanted to go to a party with my best gal pal and tightly hold onto someone's hand so we wouldn't lose each other. Maybe I'd know the lyrics to a pop song and sing it unashamedly (maybe....) I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, I still think it's so cliche and goofy, but I think if I could lead this life for a little bit, just try it out, I could get to really enjoy it. I could make it part of who I am and how I live my life. Or at least I could integrate it into my current lifestyle. A little privacy and safety mixed with allowing individuals to get into my secret garden... that's not an innuendo, even though it sounds like one. At this point, it does seem worth a try, though. I think I can do it.
The secret is and was, that no one can convince me to do it. No one can tell me do it. That's just because I am a contrarian. I think most people are, whether aware of it or not. God, if I make one more life choice because my grandmother wants it or doesn't want it, I might have to punch a baby. I am SO over that way of living. If she tells me one more time to get my master's degree or marry a tall Jewish lawyer or... well, that's the only two things she wants me to do with my life. Neither are going to be up to her anymore. That's step one!
I never was the type to be romantic, let me just say that. I'm the "figure out I like you or hit the road" sort. However, recently that has changed. Maybe that is due to my journey, maybe that is me growing up, or maybe that's just me getting sick of missing out on good things. How do I know I've changed, even just a little bit? Well... I just applied for a job. Not just any job, I applied for a job at Sprinkles Cupcakes. Yes, I do love looking at pastries, but that's not why I applied. I applied because their number 1 special benefit of the job. One free cupcake a day!
Now, I can only eat their one vegan cupcake and my dog can only eat their one doggie cupcake, so what's the point? Well, first of all, a free cupcake is the best kind of cupcake, and second of all, I couldn't help but imagine some guy coming into my life and me being able to offer him a different flavoured cupcake every day of the week.
Sure, in my fantasy he's dressed as Dick Van Dyke in one of those movies I have never seen that Dick Van Dyke is in, and I myself am sporting a parasol and a hoop skirt, but that's not my point! My point is, I applied for a job entirely for the purpose of doing something ridiculously ridunkadunk for a BOY!
I've written my share of depressing anti-romance songs and had periods of time swearing off the boy man figure sort, but never have I ever wanted to commit an entire job and every day of it to shoving a love-soaked cushy muffin of sugary puke into a fellas mouth. Not to mention, then watching as it took its effect and he got fatter and fatter, to the point where he felt he had to come rolling into my job one day and say, "Feed me no more cupcakes, my love, for I have grown beastly and undesirable", and as I shove yet another floury calorie cauldron into a stretch marked, veiny, heart attack threatening bod, I whisper, "More to love, my dear, more to love...." And then his blood clots, he drops to the ground, says, "Thank you, my love", and dies.
Something like that, at least. Not to say that that is what I desire, since I think it's gross to feed someone else, but you're missing the point! I want to take care of someone and show I care. WHO AM I!?
I feel a deep life lesson coming on...
See, my whole life I've struggled with affections and intimacies. I am not a hugger or a kisser or a toucher or a teller. I sit back and let the world happen to me. This is why I have been told on multiple occasions that I am the calmest person ever. It's true. I don't bug people, I don't complain or hate or really affect people's lives unless they come to me (Well, I do try to make people's lives better, but not individuals usually.) In general, I don't push myself into people's lives. However, sometimes they want me to or expect me to. I just never know that! Not because my self esteem is so low, but because it doesn't occur to me! I don't know how to human, okay?!
It turns out, you have to make an effort to keep people in your life! Be brave, be stupid, be vulnerable! I've realized, these are things one has to consciously decide to do, especially if it doesn't come naturally. Once in a while I have to remember, "If I don't step up, I'll lose this person".... There is a cause and effect and even if I don't want to feel stupid and "put myself out there", I guess if it matters enough, it's worth feeling stupid, or even hurt. Maybe I'll even be surprised what comes of it. Or just end up absolutely miserable and embarrassed and angry. It's like I've always said, though, we're on this Earth with absolutely NO other purpose, why not try things that may end poorly? Might as well.
Someone important to me said recently something that really stuck. Basically, he said, "When we meet someone, we are meeting a bodyguard for their 10 year old selves", something along those lines. At first I wanted to disagree, I tried to think of flaws in that logic, but... nope, it's true. Around 10 is when our feelings about others really start to form. As babies, many phobias come about and we never lose certain fears or dislikes, but for the most part, we are aware and start losing trust at 10 or so. That defense remains for the rest of our lives. However, what we make of it and how we take control of it is what matters. Personally, I never even tried to control my wall. I had it up there and I got so cozy with it. I had put up a painting and had a fireplace under a shelf with a goldfish bowl on it. I mean, I was living it up. On another part of the wall were burgundy and gold drapes that matched the brick perfectly. I had spent several years choosing that colour palette, but I was so proud of my choice. Even the windows themselves were perfectly wiped down each day. Not a streak in sight! I had put up a little wind chime to jangle when the winds were particularly rough and made their way through the slight space between the glass and the window frame. The noise was very woody and not metallic like most wind chimes. High pitched noises tend to bug me, so I was very glad for this. It was heaven.
That is, until one person stopped trying to climb the wall. This person threw out his hammer and his climbing boots and stopped trying to get over or through the wall. He simply chilled out in by the door. Occasionally he waved at me through the window, but he never tried to break the glass. This changed everything.
For the first time, I opened the window and I offered him a glass of water. I watched everyone outdoors and I felt the breeze and the sun. I wanted to be outdoors too! I wanted to go to a party with my best gal pal and tightly hold onto someone's hand so we wouldn't lose each other. Maybe I'd know the lyrics to a pop song and sing it unashamedly (maybe....) I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, I still think it's so cliche and goofy, but I think if I could lead this life for a little bit, just try it out, I could get to really enjoy it. I could make it part of who I am and how I live my life. Or at least I could integrate it into my current lifestyle. A little privacy and safety mixed with allowing individuals to get into my secret garden... that's not an innuendo, even though it sounds like one. At this point, it does seem worth a try, though. I think I can do it.
The secret is and was, that no one can convince me to do it. No one can tell me do it. That's just because I am a contrarian. I think most people are, whether aware of it or not. God, if I make one more life choice because my grandmother wants it or doesn't want it, I might have to punch a baby. I am SO over that way of living. If she tells me one more time to get my master's degree or marry a tall Jewish lawyer or... well, that's the only two things she wants me to do with my life. Neither are going to be up to her anymore. That's step one!
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Back in the atmosphere. Read this quickly and then move on.
I think of you all as a plain ol' Jane who never could fly, but... always could land? No. Not gonna lie- I can never remember song lyrics. Oh well.
I am back in the States! Back from my 4 month getaway to Israel. The land of milk and honey. Neither of which I consume. I shall refer to it as the land of Hummus and Bamba. I am back, though! I met wonderful people, I saw amazing places, I heard lots of Hebrew and I felt homesick, as well as at home. Israel truly is a mysterious land. A world of its own. It is indescribable and incomparable. A land of the chosen and hated people. The strongest, hardest working, some of the most dishonest, and some of the most generous people. The laws are lenient, the cops are absent but waiting at every mall and airport and center. The army is intense, the veterans are damaged. The land is barren, yet alive. The city is wild, yet quiet. The cats are everywhere, the dogs bark constantly, the children are self-sufficient, and those who are 30+ and single are failures. Religion is rampant, but most of the citizens are tired of it. Hostility is kept to a minimum. Everyone is running from something or somewhere or someone. Tons of refugees and not enough room. Not enough jobs or money or homes. From Sudan and Palestine and Ethiopia and the Philippines... More than 30,000 runaways, rejects, outcasts, scared women, men, children, homosexuals. Muslims, Christians, Jews, and everything in between. There is a fear in the air, but you can't ignore all the love, either. Every loud noise. Every raised voice. Every screaming child. Is it a joyful sound or reason to run and hide and cry and hate? There are many walls and borders and patrols and semantics. Occupied land or just more land? Who is being given more care and money? Should refugees and Palestinians receive more money and housing than Israeli citizens? There is jealousy alongside the concern. They are friends, they are compadres, but is it fair? So much controversy over the land and who deserves what money and power and titles. Names, labels. If no one has claims to land or should own it, as some say, why are these same people saying Palestinians should have more land? Or less land? Or any land? Or all the land? Is a "Jewish" state sustainable? Is it anti-semitic to think not? Is it Zionist to think so? Do most people who talk about Zionism know what Zionism is? Does anyone care? Do people just read the newspaper and decide what country is right, what people, what government, what religion? Have they every spoken to someone living in the reality? Would it matter if they did? Are people just looking for something to be angry about? Are they right? Should a country kill children in order to protect their own children? Should a country protect their leaders by using children, knowing they will die? Do two wrongs make a right? Do we always have to choice to what is right? Is decency a luxury? A privilege? Yet, right there we find Muslim and Christians and Jews sitting together on a Friday night. Barbecuing together. Similar rules and laws and expectations. Families together. Ice cream trucks. Playing and chatting. The children don't know or care. Their parents are happy to make new acquaintances. The sea and the beach is for everyone. The holiday is understood. The food is beloved and shared. The customs are remembered and taught. The same buses, the same roads, the same fantasies. Knowledge of why things are what they are. They want peace. They all want peace. Their governments don't. Their extremists don't. The media does not. The conspiracists, war mongers, blood thirsty propagandists. The people putting children's dolls and toys and clothing among the wreckage. One side of the story. One lifestyle that will never understand another. A world far from our comprehension. My comprehension. Your comprehension. A reality. A lifetime, a history, a battle that must be fought. Is it a necessary evil, necessarily evil? Avoidable? Are we, they, someone fighting the wrong people? Everyone cries together. The ones who celebrate. You know who to point fingers at. The ones dying with pride. The people looking forward to Heaven...? Can love be universal. Is it truly what the world wants? Is the middle east our trainwreck? Is it our colosseum? Our boxing ring? Oh, the horror! The horror!
My trip. My travel. My lesson.
Now my absolute favourite monologue from 'Whatever Works'. A Woody Allen masterpiece acted out by whatshisname.... Larry David!
"What the hell does it all mean, anyhow? Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing comes to anything. And yet, there's no shortage of idiots to babble. Not me. I have a vision. I'm discussing you. Your friends. Your coworkers. Your newspapers. The TV. Everybody's happy to talk. Full of misinformation. Morality, science, religion, politics, sports, love, your portfolio, your children, health. Christ, if I have to eat nine servings of fruits and vegetables a day to live, I don't wanna live. I hate goddamn fruits and vegetables. And your omega 3's, and the treadmill, and the cardiogram, and the mammogram, and the pelvic sonogram, and oh my god the-the-the colonoscopy, and with it all the day still comes where they put you in a box, and its on to the next generation of idiots, who'll also tell you all about life and define for you what's appropriate. My father committed suicide because the morning newspapers depressed him. And could you blame him? With the horror, and corruption, and ignorance, and poverty, and genocide, and AIDS, and global warming, and terrorism, and-and the family value morons, and the gun morons. "The horror," Kurtz said at the end of Heart of Darkness, "the horror." Lucky Kurtz didn't have the Times delivered in the jungle. Ugh... then he'd see some horror. But what do you do? You read about some massacre in Darfur or some school bus gets blown up, and you go "Oh my God, the horror," and then you turn the page and finish your eggs from the free range chickens. Because what can you do. It's overwhelming! I tried to commit suicide myself. Obviously, it didn't work out. But why do you even want to hear about all this? Christ, you got your own problems. I'm sure your all obsessed with any number of sad little hopes and dreams. Your predictably unsatisfying love lives, your failed business ventures. "Oh, if only I'd bought that stock! If only I-if only I purchased THAT house years ago! If only I'd made a move on THAT woman." If this, if that. You know what? Gimmie a break with your could have's and should have's. Like my mother used to say, "If my grandmother had wheels, she'd be a trolley car." My mother didn't have wheels. She had varicose veins...."
I am back in the States! Back from my 4 month getaway to Israel. The land of milk and honey. Neither of which I consume. I shall refer to it as the land of Hummus and Bamba. I am back, though! I met wonderful people, I saw amazing places, I heard lots of Hebrew and I felt homesick, as well as at home. Israel truly is a mysterious land. A world of its own. It is indescribable and incomparable. A land of the chosen and hated people. The strongest, hardest working, some of the most dishonest, and some of the most generous people. The laws are lenient, the cops are absent but waiting at every mall and airport and center. The army is intense, the veterans are damaged. The land is barren, yet alive. The city is wild, yet quiet. The cats are everywhere, the dogs bark constantly, the children are self-sufficient, and those who are 30+ and single are failures. Religion is rampant, but most of the citizens are tired of it. Hostility is kept to a minimum. Everyone is running from something or somewhere or someone. Tons of refugees and not enough room. Not enough jobs or money or homes. From Sudan and Palestine and Ethiopia and the Philippines... More than 30,000 runaways, rejects, outcasts, scared women, men, children, homosexuals. Muslims, Christians, Jews, and everything in between. There is a fear in the air, but you can't ignore all the love, either. Every loud noise. Every raised voice. Every screaming child. Is it a joyful sound or reason to run and hide and cry and hate? There are many walls and borders and patrols and semantics. Occupied land or just more land? Who is being given more care and money? Should refugees and Palestinians receive more money and housing than Israeli citizens? There is jealousy alongside the concern. They are friends, they are compadres, but is it fair? So much controversy over the land and who deserves what money and power and titles. Names, labels. If no one has claims to land or should own it, as some say, why are these same people saying Palestinians should have more land? Or less land? Or any land? Or all the land? Is a "Jewish" state sustainable? Is it anti-semitic to think not? Is it Zionist to think so? Do most people who talk about Zionism know what Zionism is? Does anyone care? Do people just read the newspaper and decide what country is right, what people, what government, what religion? Have they every spoken to someone living in the reality? Would it matter if they did? Are people just looking for something to be angry about? Are they right? Should a country kill children in order to protect their own children? Should a country protect their leaders by using children, knowing they will die? Do two wrongs make a right? Do we always have to choice to what is right? Is decency a luxury? A privilege? Yet, right there we find Muslim and Christians and Jews sitting together on a Friday night. Barbecuing together. Similar rules and laws and expectations. Families together. Ice cream trucks. Playing and chatting. The children don't know or care. Their parents are happy to make new acquaintances. The sea and the beach is for everyone. The holiday is understood. The food is beloved and shared. The customs are remembered and taught. The same buses, the same roads, the same fantasies. Knowledge of why things are what they are. They want peace. They all want peace. Their governments don't. Their extremists don't. The media does not. The conspiracists, war mongers, blood thirsty propagandists. The people putting children's dolls and toys and clothing among the wreckage. One side of the story. One lifestyle that will never understand another. A world far from our comprehension. My comprehension. Your comprehension. A reality. A lifetime, a history, a battle that must be fought. Is it a necessary evil, necessarily evil? Avoidable? Are we, they, someone fighting the wrong people? Everyone cries together. The ones who celebrate. You know who to point fingers at. The ones dying with pride. The people looking forward to Heaven...? Can love be universal. Is it truly what the world wants? Is the middle east our trainwreck? Is it our colosseum? Our boxing ring? Oh, the horror! The horror!
My trip. My travel. My lesson.
Now my absolute favourite monologue from 'Whatever Works'. A Woody Allen masterpiece acted out by whatshisname.... Larry David!
"What the hell does it all mean, anyhow? Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing comes to anything. And yet, there's no shortage of idiots to babble. Not me. I have a vision. I'm discussing you. Your friends. Your coworkers. Your newspapers. The TV. Everybody's happy to talk. Full of misinformation. Morality, science, religion, politics, sports, love, your portfolio, your children, health. Christ, if I have to eat nine servings of fruits and vegetables a day to live, I don't wanna live. I hate goddamn fruits and vegetables. And your omega 3's, and the treadmill, and the cardiogram, and the mammogram, and the pelvic sonogram, and oh my god the-the-the colonoscopy, and with it all the day still comes where they put you in a box, and its on to the next generation of idiots, who'll also tell you all about life and define for you what's appropriate. My father committed suicide because the morning newspapers depressed him. And could you blame him? With the horror, and corruption, and ignorance, and poverty, and genocide, and AIDS, and global warming, and terrorism, and-and the family value morons, and the gun morons. "The horror," Kurtz said at the end of Heart of Darkness, "the horror." Lucky Kurtz didn't have the Times delivered in the jungle. Ugh... then he'd see some horror. But what do you do? You read about some massacre in Darfur or some school bus gets blown up, and you go "Oh my God, the horror," and then you turn the page and finish your eggs from the free range chickens. Because what can you do. It's overwhelming! I tried to commit suicide myself. Obviously, it didn't work out. But why do you even want to hear about all this? Christ, you got your own problems. I'm sure your all obsessed with any number of sad little hopes and dreams. Your predictably unsatisfying love lives, your failed business ventures. "Oh, if only I'd bought that stock! If only I-if only I purchased THAT house years ago! If only I'd made a move on THAT woman." If this, if that. You know what? Gimmie a break with your could have's and should have's. Like my mother used to say, "If my grandmother had wheels, she'd be a trolley car." My mother didn't have wheels. She had varicose veins...."
Friday, December 20, 2013
The Man in Me
I hadn't posted this article about a month ago due to believing it would be posted on another web source. However, that did not happen, so here are my thoughts on hypocrisy, hatred, and bias in the internet age. Well, in one particular regard, at least.... (issue of Bob Dylan, Israel, and internet banning, or whatever you call it...)
Thousands of years ago, the Jewish people were forced into slavery and tormented like animals, treated like chewing gum on the bottom of one’s shoes. In the millennia that followed, society tried its hardest to scrape them off of the bottom, from the inquisitions of Spain and the pogroms of Eastern Europe to the confinement to medieval ghettos and, most infamously, the Holocaust. The anti-Semites did not win, however; they did not rid of the mess. What they did instead was strengthen a people, who continue to this day to face hatred, discrimination, and the desire of many to see an end to their existence.
Sixty-Five years ago, Israel achieved its independence. From there it harvested doctors, lawyers, scientists, engineers, philanthropists, and people of all beliefs, professions, and passions. Nonetheless, there are an astounding number of people who wish to see the end of Israel. The Jews in particular, of course, but also there are individuals of various backgrounds whom call Israel home, including Christians, Muslims, Druze, Ethiopians, Indians, Japanese... the list goes on.
Moving to Israel is referred to as making “Aliyah”. This word means ‘moving up’. Not because Israelis think Israelis are superior, but because Israelis think Israel is superior. Which is fair to say, considering the number of people who desire to own it and think of it as the holiest place on Earth. The reason Israeli immigrants’ migration is referred to as Aliyah is because no immigrant is seen as an immigrant, but as an individual who has joined the higher rank. A better person, now a citizen. Israel has always been the land for refugees, for people running away for the sake of a better life. The many Sudanese refugees can attest to this, as can many Palestinians who fled their own country searching for a safe haven.
I don’t claim that Israel is a perfect country. They are run by a government, a leader with motives of his own, prejudices of his own, and poor judgment of his own…. However, I recently came across a website that was created in order to share with the world the song lyrics and guitar chords of many of Bob Dylan’s songs. For those of you not familiar with Dylan, he is a singer/songwriter who has been active since 1961 when his name became big in the New York City, Greenwich Village folk scene. Dylan was born Jewish and converted once as a born-again Christian. He has found Judaism once again and has showed his support various times, most famously when he visited the Western Wall and described his feelings towards Israel in the song, “Neighborhood Bully” in 1983 (http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/neighborhood-bully).
Despite Dylan’s clear support for the Nation of Israel, the individual who shared his lyrics and chords on this website has decided to block Israeli citizens from viewing his website. He refers to this as a “Cultural boycott of Israel”. He explains this action as, “…a long overdue reaction to the absurd inhumanity that is demonstrated in its actions and that goes against everything that I and this site stands for. Access to --------- has been blocked for visitors from Israel.”
This individual goes on to explain that it is not an act against Jewish people, but against the state of Israel and its actions. Without going into the entire situation and explanation, let me just ask, why the Hell does the state of Israel care about Bob Dylan lyrics? He also provides links which answer why he doesn’t block other countries, he explains that it would be inconsequential. I bequeath thee to put aside any anti-Zionist beliefs and think about the sentiment here. This man is at one point claiming to have no qualms with the Jews, by religion or descent, but he blocks these people, these people alone from viewing his website. His reasoning being that he wishes to… punish the state of Israel? According to humanrights.com, “In Kenya, authorities violated international refugee law when they closed the border to thousands of people fleeing armed conflict in Somalia. Asylum-seekers were illegally detained at the Kenyan border without charge or trial and forcibly returned to Somalia… In Uganda, 1,500 people die each week in the internally displaced person camps. According to the World Health Organization, 500,000 have died in these camps... Vietnamese authorities forced at least 75,000 drug addicts and prostitutes into 71 overpopulated “rehab” camps, labeling the detainees at “high risk” of contracting HIV/AIDS but providing no treatment.”
Amnesty.org continues the long list of countries violating human rights laws. On the website they explain a particular situation in Egypt, “Egypt’s treatment of refugees from Syria is a violation of international law. Hundreds of women, men and children have fled conflict only to be subjected to abuse and discrimination. For some, prolonged arbitrary detention has ended with forced deportation – in some cases back to Syria….” (October 17, 2013)
Cases like these occur all over the world at the hands of nations’ governments and police forces. The creator of the Dylan chord website does not block his website from Kenya or Uganda or Vietnam, nor any other country. This block has been exclusively created against the access of Israelis to Dylan’s lyrics. Lyrics which could uplift, enlighten, and entertain children, soldiers, and the average bloke. This is Bob Dylan we are talking about here; a man of peace and justice and lyrical brilliance. Robert Allan Zimmerman is a Zionist Jew by any definition of the word.
What distinguishes Israel from these other countries? What do you suppose that special trait is?
Thousands of years ago, the Jewish people were forced into slavery and tormented like animals, treated like chewing gum on the bottom of one’s shoes. In the millennia that followed, society tried its hardest to scrape them off of the bottom, from the inquisitions of Spain and the pogroms of Eastern Europe to the confinement to medieval ghettos and, most infamously, the Holocaust. The anti-Semites did not win, however; they did not rid of the mess. What they did instead was strengthen a people, who continue to this day to face hatred, discrimination, and the desire of many to see an end to their existence.
Sixty-Five years ago, Israel achieved its independence. From there it harvested doctors, lawyers, scientists, engineers, philanthropists, and people of all beliefs, professions, and passions. Nonetheless, there are an astounding number of people who wish to see the end of Israel. The Jews in particular, of course, but also there are individuals of various backgrounds whom call Israel home, including Christians, Muslims, Druze, Ethiopians, Indians, Japanese... the list goes on.
Moving to Israel is referred to as making “Aliyah”. This word means ‘moving up’. Not because Israelis think Israelis are superior, but because Israelis think Israel is superior. Which is fair to say, considering the number of people who desire to own it and think of it as the holiest place on Earth. The reason Israeli immigrants’ migration is referred to as Aliyah is because no immigrant is seen as an immigrant, but as an individual who has joined the higher rank. A better person, now a citizen. Israel has always been the land for refugees, for people running away for the sake of a better life. The many Sudanese refugees can attest to this, as can many Palestinians who fled their own country searching for a safe haven.
I don’t claim that Israel is a perfect country. They are run by a government, a leader with motives of his own, prejudices of his own, and poor judgment of his own…. However, I recently came across a website that was created in order to share with the world the song lyrics and guitar chords of many of Bob Dylan’s songs. For those of you not familiar with Dylan, he is a singer/songwriter who has been active since 1961 when his name became big in the New York City, Greenwich Village folk scene. Dylan was born Jewish and converted once as a born-again Christian. He has found Judaism once again and has showed his support various times, most famously when he visited the Western Wall and described his feelings towards Israel in the song, “Neighborhood Bully” in 1983 (http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/neighborhood-bully).
Despite Dylan’s clear support for the Nation of Israel, the individual who shared his lyrics and chords on this website has decided to block Israeli citizens from viewing his website. He refers to this as a “Cultural boycott of Israel”. He explains this action as, “…a long overdue reaction to the absurd inhumanity that is demonstrated in its actions and that goes against everything that I and this site stands for. Access to --------- has been blocked for visitors from Israel.”
This individual goes on to explain that it is not an act against Jewish people, but against the state of Israel and its actions. Without going into the entire situation and explanation, let me just ask, why the Hell does the state of Israel care about Bob Dylan lyrics? He also provides links which answer why he doesn’t block other countries, he explains that it would be inconsequential. I bequeath thee to put aside any anti-Zionist beliefs and think about the sentiment here. This man is at one point claiming to have no qualms with the Jews, by religion or descent, but he blocks these people, these people alone from viewing his website. His reasoning being that he wishes to… punish the state of Israel? According to humanrights.com, “In Kenya, authorities violated international refugee law when they closed the border to thousands of people fleeing armed conflict in Somalia. Asylum-seekers were illegally detained at the Kenyan border without charge or trial and forcibly returned to Somalia… In Uganda, 1,500 people die each week in the internally displaced person camps. According to the World Health Organization, 500,000 have died in these camps... Vietnamese authorities forced at least 75,000 drug addicts and prostitutes into 71 overpopulated “rehab” camps, labeling the detainees at “high risk” of contracting HIV/AIDS but providing no treatment.”
Amnesty.org continues the long list of countries violating human rights laws. On the website they explain a particular situation in Egypt, “Egypt’s treatment of refugees from Syria is a violation of international law. Hundreds of women, men and children have fled conflict only to be subjected to abuse and discrimination. For some, prolonged arbitrary detention has ended with forced deportation – in some cases back to Syria….” (October 17, 2013)
Cases like these occur all over the world at the hands of nations’ governments and police forces. The creator of the Dylan chord website does not block his website from Kenya or Uganda or Vietnam, nor any other country. This block has been exclusively created against the access of Israelis to Dylan’s lyrics. Lyrics which could uplift, enlighten, and entertain children, soldiers, and the average bloke. This is Bob Dylan we are talking about here; a man of peace and justice and lyrical brilliance. Robert Allan Zimmerman is a Zionist Jew by any definition of the word.
What distinguishes Israel from these other countries? What do you suppose that special trait is?
Monday, December 9, 2013
Wonder, wonder, how I wonder....
Lately I've been thinking about friendship a lot. Who friends whom, who stays lifelong friends, how this whole FRIENDSHIP thing works.
Is it a coincidence that oftentimes the most genuine and kind-hearted people are drawn to the equally magnificent sort? Is it meant to be? Written in the cosmos a priori and there's no avoiding it? Or... is there something less metaphysical about the whole thing?
I predict it's all in our hands. Considering how many awful people I have befriended in my past, I guess that says something. Although, most of these awful people were weeded out. Not by me! God, no, I would rather live on Tums tablets for a year than face conflict! Time and events just kind of... did the job for me.
It's still on my mind, however, "How was I so fortunate as to attract the wonderful people into my life that I have?"
It wasn't about luck or chance, it was about being the people we each needed to have in our lives.
Most of my friends are absolute saints! Their patience, love, and empathy never ceases to amaze me! There are also specific types of causes I/we like to help with. Two of the most common causes within my friends are animals and mentally ill people. Obviously, if you go to events and things that associate with these causes, these are the people you come across, but I find myself attracted to this type outside of predictable situations as well.
Why animals, though? Why the mentally ill? Maybe, and this is a big maybe, but maybe what we all relate to are... those two groups.
For example, I remember what school was like. People will turn you into "just an animal". The way they would feel fine harming an innocent animal is just how they would treat me, and it's the same way these Saints were treated. The bullies would close you into a box; the one they've created for you in their mind, and they would beat you. They would no longer see you as a living thing, but as a way of venting hurt and anger and pressure and stress and everything that made them feel bad. It would give them such power and make them feel so much better about themselves. Day after day they would do this, recharge themselves, and go home telling themselves, "At least it wasn't me."
The Saint, however? Day after day, they would be humiliated and hurt, take a deep breath, and go home asking themselves, "Why was it me? I am powerless."
Animals and the mentally ill are two of the most powerless demographics in society. Along with the homeless, the elderly, and children. No matter your race, heritage, or class, if you fall into one of these categories, you are immediately labeled as weak and helpless. You are immediately a target for the masses and can easily be overtaken and taken advantage of. The bullies will corner you, they will take any sense of joy from you, and they will leave you for dead. Each time it gets easier for them. Only a handful of Saints will have someone there to defend them. The rest will have to defend themselves... or fall.
From these damaged goods, Saints arise. Not always, of course, but there are those special individuals whose decency and courage cannot be shattered. When these Saints stand back up, push their way through the carnage, and allow themselves to be reborn, they become the ones this world needs. There is an incredible amount of power and beauty within these individuals. They may never be aware of it, but they are the ones we all owe credit to. The ones who won't stand around and watch others be bullied, who will be there for others when they need someone to listen or help or just sit next to.
Not everyone is able to appreciate the Saints, of course. They are an unusual breed. They usually look like everyone else, but their insides are more dented and bruised. Their hearts have more bandages and stitches. Sometimes they are loners or introverts or just shy. Sometimes these people put on a hard exterior to keep away the bad guys, and the good guys. Other times, they welcome anyone who will take them and love them; accepting the risk of being hurt again. And sometimes they never fully recover, they go through life playing the past over and over again in their head, trying to escape the memories and pain, but they cannot. These memories are scarring and will FOREVER affect the Saint.
Then these Saints find one another. Slowly.
It could be at any restaurant.
They sit down at parallel tables and both order the tofu salad. These Saints are tired of seeing companies slashing open animal's necks and telling us, "They were born for this purpose".... Just like the Saint was born a freak and her purpose is to be harassed. How kids will be kids, and therefore it's okay if some of them are hurting and teasing the weird kid. How New York City is a rough city and you'll "always" meet those people who will mistreat you and touch you inappropriately and treat you like.... like... like a slab of meat. Like chopped liver. Like a cow on a farm having her calf taken away and then shoved onto a milking machine so someone else... some other, stronger individual can enjoy the taste of her milk.
It could be in the psychiatric ward of a hospital.
The Saints enter, curious, wanting to volunteer and help out a little. They enter the guarded gate and looks into the sad, bullet hole eyes of patient after patient. Each one with stories of prison, abuse, rape, racism, cruelty... and no one to listens, because these people cannot be helped. They were born to be weak and society will treat them this way. If they don't speak up, they are stupid. If they do speak up, they are crazy and need more medication. These are not people, these are defective puppies at the puppy mill. These are nerdy kids who need to learn to suck it up. These are the ignored individuals of the world; they must remain silent. We all must remain silent or be classified as one of them.
The Saints won't be fooled, though. The Saints cannot be shut up or shutdown. They will always do the right thing. They will be mocked and hated and society will try to cast them off as "mentally ill", "animals", and "freaks".
Perhaps that's not so bad.
Is it a coincidence that oftentimes the most genuine and kind-hearted people are drawn to the equally magnificent sort? Is it meant to be? Written in the cosmos a priori and there's no avoiding it? Or... is there something less metaphysical about the whole thing?
I predict it's all in our hands. Considering how many awful people I have befriended in my past, I guess that says something. Although, most of these awful people were weeded out. Not by me! God, no, I would rather live on Tums tablets for a year than face conflict! Time and events just kind of... did the job for me.
It's still on my mind, however, "How was I so fortunate as to attract the wonderful people into my life that I have?"
It wasn't about luck or chance, it was about being the people we each needed to have in our lives.
Most of my friends are absolute saints! Their patience, love, and empathy never ceases to amaze me! There are also specific types of causes I/we like to help with. Two of the most common causes within my friends are animals and mentally ill people. Obviously, if you go to events and things that associate with these causes, these are the people you come across, but I find myself attracted to this type outside of predictable situations as well.
Why animals, though? Why the mentally ill? Maybe, and this is a big maybe, but maybe what we all relate to are... those two groups.
For example, I remember what school was like. People will turn you into "just an animal". The way they would feel fine harming an innocent animal is just how they would treat me, and it's the same way these Saints were treated. The bullies would close you into a box; the one they've created for you in their mind, and they would beat you. They would no longer see you as a living thing, but as a way of venting hurt and anger and pressure and stress and everything that made them feel bad. It would give them such power and make them feel so much better about themselves. Day after day they would do this, recharge themselves, and go home telling themselves, "At least it wasn't me."
The Saint, however? Day after day, they would be humiliated and hurt, take a deep breath, and go home asking themselves, "Why was it me? I am powerless."
Animals and the mentally ill are two of the most powerless demographics in society. Along with the homeless, the elderly, and children. No matter your race, heritage, or class, if you fall into one of these categories, you are immediately labeled as weak and helpless. You are immediately a target for the masses and can easily be overtaken and taken advantage of. The bullies will corner you, they will take any sense of joy from you, and they will leave you for dead. Each time it gets easier for them. Only a handful of Saints will have someone there to defend them. The rest will have to defend themselves... or fall.
From these damaged goods, Saints arise. Not always, of course, but there are those special individuals whose decency and courage cannot be shattered. When these Saints stand back up, push their way through the carnage, and allow themselves to be reborn, they become the ones this world needs. There is an incredible amount of power and beauty within these individuals. They may never be aware of it, but they are the ones we all owe credit to. The ones who won't stand around and watch others be bullied, who will be there for others when they need someone to listen or help or just sit next to.
Not everyone is able to appreciate the Saints, of course. They are an unusual breed. They usually look like everyone else, but their insides are more dented and bruised. Their hearts have more bandages and stitches. Sometimes they are loners or introverts or just shy. Sometimes these people put on a hard exterior to keep away the bad guys, and the good guys. Other times, they welcome anyone who will take them and love them; accepting the risk of being hurt again. And sometimes they never fully recover, they go through life playing the past over and over again in their head, trying to escape the memories and pain, but they cannot. These memories are scarring and will FOREVER affect the Saint.
Then these Saints find one another. Slowly.
It could be at any restaurant.
They sit down at parallel tables and both order the tofu salad. These Saints are tired of seeing companies slashing open animal's necks and telling us, "They were born for this purpose".... Just like the Saint was born a freak and her purpose is to be harassed. How kids will be kids, and therefore it's okay if some of them are hurting and teasing the weird kid. How New York City is a rough city and you'll "always" meet those people who will mistreat you and touch you inappropriately and treat you like.... like... like a slab of meat. Like chopped liver. Like a cow on a farm having her calf taken away and then shoved onto a milking machine so someone else... some other, stronger individual can enjoy the taste of her milk.
It could be in the psychiatric ward of a hospital.
The Saints enter, curious, wanting to volunteer and help out a little. They enter the guarded gate and looks into the sad, bullet hole eyes of patient after patient. Each one with stories of prison, abuse, rape, racism, cruelty... and no one to listens, because these people cannot be helped. They were born to be weak and society will treat them this way. If they don't speak up, they are stupid. If they do speak up, they are crazy and need more medication. These are not people, these are defective puppies at the puppy mill. These are nerdy kids who need to learn to suck it up. These are the ignored individuals of the world; they must remain silent. We all must remain silent or be classified as one of them.
The Saints won't be fooled, though. The Saints cannot be shut up or shutdown. They will always do the right thing. They will be mocked and hated and society will try to cast them off as "mentally ill", "animals", and "freaks".
Perhaps that's not so bad.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Who do you consider a role model?
I am going to start this post by saying, I love the YouTuber known as Hannah Harto. She started out with a segment called 'My Drunk Kitchen', which has evolved into personal logs, world travel, mass worldwide volunteering, and probably various other adventures. I find Hannah to be a delightful character to follow. She is honest, real, a LGBTQ superwoman, and always can make me laugh. The fact that she uses her fan base as a way of inciting good deeds and positive messages is really inspiring!
The only thing wrong with Hannah's YouTube channel is the demographic. According to Wikipedia (an always reliable source-- merp), the majority of YouTube users are in the age range of 14-17 years old. This is clear when viewing the audience of almost any YouTuber's meet-ups with fans. Again, Hannah has many positive influences on these kids, she is straightforward about sexuality, body image, and various other topics teens need to hear about. In which case, YouTube is a marvelous place to learn. My question is, however, is a "show" based on the fun of cooking while highly intoxicated really the sort of thing that should be presented in a shared space with what is good and right and just? Should a 16 year old watch their beloved "leader" talk about empowerment and beauty, only to be followed by this same "leader" downing drink after drink and attempting to use the stove while sloshed?
Next to the other role models of today; the provocative, raunchy-mouthed, vodka-glugging sorts we know and love/hate, Hannah is a saint. I recognize this. I also realize kids will learn and see and hear these things in a million other places before and after 'My Drunk Kitchen', but does that make it permissible? According to videos of Hannah's and many like it, drinking is what youth is about. Sloppy inebriation is youth and fun and friendly, it's not until you start becoming old and boring that alcohol is the bad guy....
I'm not saying alcohol is bad, I certainly have partaken in my share. I know the invigorating feeling of the whole shebang! On the other hand, I've also read all the lists on Buzzfeed.com saying how "you're getting old when you can't drink as much". It's "uncool" to not drink as much as possible while you're young enough to. I've seen the propaganda. I know how many 20-somethings buy into the lies of the advertisements. Television shows of middle aged women, too! Those who drink tons of wine are more fun, exciting, and youthful. That is who you should aim to be. Men will like you, your kids will like you, and life will just be peachy keen... if you drink away your troubles.
We're also reminded time and time again that some alcohol is good for your heart. Maybe this is so, but so is exercise, so is getting enough sleep, so is not going out to party every night. These lies are going to be the downfall of society. Maybe even of your life!
I am writing on this matter because of someone particular I have in mind. Someone who just turned 21 and is convinced in order to feel young, and fully experience life, drinking excessively is necessary. I overheard this person saying the other day, "You've had that bottle of vodka since Halloween? I've probably bought 7 or 8 since then." and another time, "She rarely goes out. People over 20 don't drink and have the same fun we do. I don't want to be like that."
Um.
Now, I will mention, this may not (hopefully) be the typical sentiment of the early 20 year old. See, this early 20 year old is particularly, what's the word? Stupid? Yes.
Do people over 20 drink just as much as people under 20? Generally, I would say so. Probably more because they can afford it and have real life issues which they like to drink away on the weekend.
Do people over 20 have just as much fun as people under 20? Most probably would say they do. Maybe not as often due to work and responsibility, but heck, maybe these individuals are onto better things than clubbing and passing out!
What I'm trying to say is, you can be an alcoholic at any age, that doesn't make you a better person. Shocker! Dare I say, it makes me sad. If you feel old and boring at 21, you have a LONG time to go, during which you'll be very depressed. Hate to break it to you.
It has been said time and time that the role models of today are terrible (not that they're any worse than Ozzy or Jimi or The Ramones...), but I think society needs to start establishing what they consider bad role modeling because it's gross or weird or annoying and what sorts of issues we actually have to focus on. We have to remodel what we consider the social norms and what can be laughed off as "kids will be kids", as opposed to, "I do not want my child exposed to this and I do not want this to be considered right or acceptable." Because in the end, what your kid's friends think and do and see does affect what your kid will think and do and see.
If I had the power, I would remind websites likes YouTube and Buzzfeed and all those sites who their audience is and what sort of message they are sending them. Adult or child, we are all influenced by what "everyone else" is doing. Don't drink the Kool-Aid is what I am saying, even if it has added vitamins.
The only thing wrong with Hannah's YouTube channel is the demographic. According to Wikipedia (an always reliable source-- merp), the majority of YouTube users are in the age range of 14-17 years old. This is clear when viewing the audience of almost any YouTuber's meet-ups with fans. Again, Hannah has many positive influences on these kids, she is straightforward about sexuality, body image, and various other topics teens need to hear about. In which case, YouTube is a marvelous place to learn. My question is, however, is a "show" based on the fun of cooking while highly intoxicated really the sort of thing that should be presented in a shared space with what is good and right and just? Should a 16 year old watch their beloved "leader" talk about empowerment and beauty, only to be followed by this same "leader" downing drink after drink and attempting to use the stove while sloshed?
Next to the other role models of today; the provocative, raunchy-mouthed, vodka-glugging sorts we know and love/hate, Hannah is a saint. I recognize this. I also realize kids will learn and see and hear these things in a million other places before and after 'My Drunk Kitchen', but does that make it permissible? According to videos of Hannah's and many like it, drinking is what youth is about. Sloppy inebriation is youth and fun and friendly, it's not until you start becoming old and boring that alcohol is the bad guy....
I'm not saying alcohol is bad, I certainly have partaken in my share. I know the invigorating feeling of the whole shebang! On the other hand, I've also read all the lists on Buzzfeed.com saying how "you're getting old when you can't drink as much". It's "uncool" to not drink as much as possible while you're young enough to. I've seen the propaganda. I know how many 20-somethings buy into the lies of the advertisements. Television shows of middle aged women, too! Those who drink tons of wine are more fun, exciting, and youthful. That is who you should aim to be. Men will like you, your kids will like you, and life will just be peachy keen... if you drink away your troubles.
We're also reminded time and time again that some alcohol is good for your heart. Maybe this is so, but so is exercise, so is getting enough sleep, so is not going out to party every night. These lies are going to be the downfall of society. Maybe even of your life!
I am writing on this matter because of someone particular I have in mind. Someone who just turned 21 and is convinced in order to feel young, and fully experience life, drinking excessively is necessary. I overheard this person saying the other day, "You've had that bottle of vodka since Halloween? I've probably bought 7 or 8 since then." and another time, "She rarely goes out. People over 20 don't drink and have the same fun we do. I don't want to be like that."
Um.
Now, I will mention, this may not (hopefully) be the typical sentiment of the early 20 year old. See, this early 20 year old is particularly, what's the word? Stupid? Yes.
Do people over 20 drink just as much as people under 20? Generally, I would say so. Probably more because they can afford it and have real life issues which they like to drink away on the weekend.
Do people over 20 have just as much fun as people under 20? Most probably would say they do. Maybe not as often due to work and responsibility, but heck, maybe these individuals are onto better things than clubbing and passing out!
What I'm trying to say is, you can be an alcoholic at any age, that doesn't make you a better person. Shocker! Dare I say, it makes me sad. If you feel old and boring at 21, you have a LONG time to go, during which you'll be very depressed. Hate to break it to you.
It has been said time and time that the role models of today are terrible (not that they're any worse than Ozzy or Jimi or The Ramones...), but I think society needs to start establishing what they consider bad role modeling because it's gross or weird or annoying and what sorts of issues we actually have to focus on. We have to remodel what we consider the social norms and what can be laughed off as "kids will be kids", as opposed to, "I do not want my child exposed to this and I do not want this to be considered right or acceptable." Because in the end, what your kid's friends think and do and see does affect what your kid will think and do and see.
If I had the power, I would remind websites likes YouTube and Buzzfeed and all those sites who their audience is and what sort of message they are sending them. Adult or child, we are all influenced by what "everyone else" is doing. Don't drink the Kool-Aid is what I am saying, even if it has added vitamins.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Well, darn it all to heck
As you probably know, I'm not particularly fond of sentimentality of any sort. That is, until something really strikes me. Being away from family this holiday season has struck me.... So, here we go. Yes, folks, I am going to do a list of things I am thankful for... well, sort of. I will try to make it as genuine as possible.
Strike that. I can't do a list of things I am thankful for. I will just rant on about things I miss and appreciate and all that jazz. Enjoy!
Let's see. I guess the first thing I should mention is that I am glad my family is who it is. Well, kind of. I mean, I am lucky that none of them (successfully) murdered me as a child and hid the remains. I am lucky they didn't sell my organs on the black market (though, my grandmother always told me she was going to sell me to the gypsies), I am glad they aren't alcoholics, drug addicts, and prostitutes... as far as I know. Overall, they're not too bad. For that, I am happy. Heck, imagine I was born to a redneck family in Alabama? IMAGINE!?! Seriously, though, my parents and grandmother put up with a lot of stress from me, so good on them for not telling me plastic bags made pretty necklaces when I was baby! Or when I was a teen... or at any point this week...
I am also fortunate in the health portion of life. I have my random bodily outbursts of death: kidney stones, floaters, strep throat, random puking fits, sprained hip... you know, the hellish misery that lasts a few weeks. However, I've never had malaria, tuberculosis, AIDS, missing limbs... and no signs of schizophrenia yet! I would say that's pretty awesome. Plus, no one in my family has had cancer, so I am looking pretty good on the front. Ding +1!
Friends are a tricky topic for me. I never know who(m?) to consider a friend... there are at least 3 people I can certainly confirm are real, true friends. Those people I miss like the dickens, let me tell you! It's the rest of the heathens I'm uncertain of. Hey, 3 friends is a big deal for me, so I ain't complaining. As of late, I've tried hard to show "I care", but as you can see from the fact that I put quotes on "I care", it's really baby steps. Itsy, bitsy, tiny baby steps. I hope they know they're important to me. Two of them I can only hang out with a few times a year, so it's particularly rough on our relationship. Nonetheless, our love is relentless, which is just lovely. Anyone who can put up with this hot mess deserves a shout out. woot....woot...
I guess I should be grateful for my ability to travel and be educated and live in one of the most developed countries in the world. Well, the last one isn't an ability, it's just kind of how life played out. I am glad it did, though. As much as I desperately want to visit India, I think I would drown myself in curry if I had to live there. Sorry, Indians, but you can't disagree. Not to mention, I was even so fortunate as to be born in New York City. Mind you, it was Staten Island, but that's a whole lot better than Poland.
I guess as a whole I am glad about some random people I've met throughout my life. They'll never know or care that I gave them a shout out on here, but I thought I should mention it. Some strangers are super groovy. Many are creepy and dirty and deserve to live in a horror movie, but for the bundle who do and mean well, good on you. You're a super duper individual. Keep up the good work!
Finally, I give a big kudos to my doggy boggy woggy, Lolita. Although I feel like I have been traveling the world most of the time I have had her in my life, she has been an amazing pup. She puts up with the stupid outfits, the hours of wandering, being forced to hide in a bag on the bus, and random foster animals that try to eat her. I realize she has no option to leave and she may very well hate me, but I am going to go on the assumption for now that she absolutely adores me despite all I put her through.
Is that it? Am I done now? Eh, I think I can step away from this fairly satisfied. Herpy Thanksgiving!
Strike that. I can't do a list of things I am thankful for. I will just rant on about things I miss and appreciate and all that jazz. Enjoy!
Let's see. I guess the first thing I should mention is that I am glad my family is who it is. Well, kind of. I mean, I am lucky that none of them (successfully) murdered me as a child and hid the remains. I am lucky they didn't sell my organs on the black market (though, my grandmother always told me she was going to sell me to the gypsies), I am glad they aren't alcoholics, drug addicts, and prostitutes... as far as I know. Overall, they're not too bad. For that, I am happy. Heck, imagine I was born to a redneck family in Alabama? IMAGINE!?! Seriously, though, my parents and grandmother put up with a lot of stress from me, so good on them for not telling me plastic bags made pretty necklaces when I was baby! Or when I was a teen... or at any point this week...
I am also fortunate in the health portion of life. I have my random bodily outbursts of death: kidney stones, floaters, strep throat, random puking fits, sprained hip... you know, the hellish misery that lasts a few weeks. However, I've never had malaria, tuberculosis, AIDS, missing limbs... and no signs of schizophrenia yet! I would say that's pretty awesome. Plus, no one in my family has had cancer, so I am looking pretty good on the front. Ding +1!
Friends are a tricky topic for me. I never know who(m?) to consider a friend... there are at least 3 people I can certainly confirm are real, true friends. Those people I miss like the dickens, let me tell you! It's the rest of the heathens I'm uncertain of. Hey, 3 friends is a big deal for me, so I ain't complaining. As of late, I've tried hard to show "I care", but as you can see from the fact that I put quotes on "I care", it's really baby steps. Itsy, bitsy, tiny baby steps. I hope they know they're important to me. Two of them I can only hang out with a few times a year, so it's particularly rough on our relationship. Nonetheless, our love is relentless, which is just lovely. Anyone who can put up with this hot mess deserves a shout out. woot....woot...
I guess I should be grateful for my ability to travel and be educated and live in one of the most developed countries in the world. Well, the last one isn't an ability, it's just kind of how life played out. I am glad it did, though. As much as I desperately want to visit India, I think I would drown myself in curry if I had to live there. Sorry, Indians, but you can't disagree. Not to mention, I was even so fortunate as to be born in New York City. Mind you, it was Staten Island, but that's a whole lot better than Poland.
I guess as a whole I am glad about some random people I've met throughout my life. They'll never know or care that I gave them a shout out on here, but I thought I should mention it. Some strangers are super groovy. Many are creepy and dirty and deserve to live in a horror movie, but for the bundle who do and mean well, good on you. You're a super duper individual. Keep up the good work!
Finally, I give a big kudos to my doggy boggy woggy, Lolita. Although I feel like I have been traveling the world most of the time I have had her in my life, she has been an amazing pup. She puts up with the stupid outfits, the hours of wandering, being forced to hide in a bag on the bus, and random foster animals that try to eat her. I realize she has no option to leave and she may very well hate me, but I am going to go on the assumption for now that she absolutely adores me despite all I put her through.
Is that it? Am I done now? Eh, I think I can step away from this fairly satisfied. Herpy Thanksgiving!
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