Hardly blog material, but hopefully any sort of update will make me post more shortly.
It will all come out soon, but I have caused so much pain at the close of 2009. 2010 will be better for everyone, if only because I hope to suck the poison out of my own selfish deeds and bring whatever I can to help those I hurt and get back to being myself— a more altruistic self.
Which is the upswing: I feel more like myself than I ever have. Strange, yes? I have such conflicting ideas about what constitutes the “self.” On the one hand, there are infinite fleeting selves, all of which perish as soon as they are born and which cannot be returned to those which are born and die subsequently. They comprise and dissipate in constant flux.
On the other hand, I have always told myself that there is a core in each of us, which binds us like a collective consciousness and which cannot be shaken, beneath the waves that try to sway us. We rely upon this core with the sense of camaraderie and understanding that we are not unique; we can survive anything because everyone is surviving. We are all beneath the waves.
On the third hand, we all want to believe that, with an unshakable core, which keeps us moving forward, such a core affirms that we are unique, sentient individuals. Which is it? Ultimately, I let my perception of the whole thing remain vague and unformed. It’s a beautiful illusion, and it’s better that way.
I have let the end of this year serve as a gestation period for “a better version of me.” I will be better in 2010 with my mind and body and vow to give more of myself and make the changes I’ve been going through work for others as well as for me. Now that I know where I’ll be, geographically speaking, for the next few years, I feel like my life is taking shape in front of me. Maybe the self follows the situation. So confusing. Either way, I finally feel like I know where I live, what I love, what I want. It’s been so long since I felt that way. I'm no longer stretched so thin. What a surprise and a gift. And a trap: I cannot let this selfish sense of satisfaction, which takes up so much mindspace (even in spite of my efforts to be productive) keep me from giving to people any more than it already has. Christmas time this year became all about me and I was ashamed at how little I reached out to people this season. Spring will be better.
I know what I have to do: I must clean my room. This has always been at the foundation of reclaiming my life because the state of my living space is acutely reflective of my mental state. I have tried to live, as much as I can manage, like a minimalist over the past 18 months (though recognize that a record player, computer, and iPod hardly qualify me), but recently have collected so much stuff without regard to where it ends up, what its function is in my life, or where I intend to keep it. It is such a manifestation of my spirit, but I’ll be doing some early spring cleaning. I remember reading that a living and working space that does not fulfill its purpose of storing us and creating beautity is really a just a cemetary for dead ideas. I will not live or work in a cemetary.
I made certain to purge my life of so much "stuff" when struggling with decisions regarding my living situation and law school this past year. I painted and gutted my bedroom knowing that the experience would be cathartic and expedite change in my life. I didn’t move or go to law school, but I think settling myself further into where I was affirmed what I really wanted. or didn't want.
Now I’ll be going back to school. I'll be living (really living) in Boston. I cannot wait. I am promising myself that I will travel this summer. I have not been responsible enough with my plans or money recently to organize a trip, but I can foresee how much I will need one by summer. I will be outside as much as possible. I will extend myself beyond work and minimal community service and insular writing projects. That has been my life this year: subsistence. I know it’s changing now because I’m looking around and WTF.
My life is unrecognizable now from what it was a year ago. I feel I’ve lived 12 years in 12 months. My brain is working differently. I can feel it. I am happy. I am exhausted, but hopeful. I will be good.
It’s hard to write here and not simply be either a complete narcissist or a reactionary sigh of hot air.
And that’s when I stop.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Talking to my friend Catherine the other day, I somehow got on the topic of work. Service. Values. The paths that lead us through all three. Catherine asked me a great question, which got me thinking about my current place in the world, and the direction in which I’m moving: “if you could be a part of any movement, knowing it would succeed, what would that movement be and what would your role in it be?” I knew the first part of my answer immediately, and the second one is still forming.
I belong in the movement to end sexual violence against women. I believe, truly, deeply, almost maniacally, that the root of every bad thing that is happening in the world, now and across history, is a result of sexual violence. I recognize that my perspective on the state of things and my (sometimes obnoxious) outspoken attitude towards rape and sexual assault have pigeon holed me. Perhaps I am a cliché.
But I feel like my eyes have been opened, or a veil has dropped, or a light turned on, and only a few others in my life have experienced something similar when it comes to this kind of violence. Even the most sympathetic, open-minded, and even feminist people in my life have a difficult time accepting the truth about sexual assault and letting go of the myths (“women should be held accountable for what they let happen to themselves,” “half of all reported rapes are false,” “intoxication = consent,” et cetera). I find myself choked up, apoplectic when talking about rape because to me, it’s all so obvious. To me, it’s a no brainer that only 6-8% of rapes are falsely reported. To me, it’s no surprise that only 2% of perpetrators are ever convicted, incarcerated, or even arrested. To me, the fact that only about 25% of all rapes are ever reported is very discouraging; to others, 25% is plenty. Really?
Seeing what survivors experience in the aftermath, sometimes forever, means becoming simultaneously desensitized to rape and repeatedly horrified, disgusted, and determined. A victim’s body/soul connection is never the same following an assault, let alone what happens to her interpersonal relationships. Or her professional relationships. Or the way she sees her education. Or the way she feels safe. Or the way she trusts herself. Even if her perpetrator is sentenced to 15 years (HA!), that’s criminal justice. That’s not justice for the victim. Which, of course, leads to more questions. What IS justice for the victim?
At this point, many turn to other violent crimes like murder, assault, et cetera to point out that there are few resources for such victims once perpetrators are convicted, sentenced, and serving their time. However, many argue also that the laws, cultural attitudes, and even global perspectives on something like murder provide some relief, and perhaps prevention. That is not to say that “murder isn’t a problem,” in the world, but I believe (no, I KNOW) that sexual violence as a weapon, a tool of war, a vehicle for domestic violence, an oppression model, et cetera, is wildly underestimated. Rape is at once the most heinous and most accepted crime among cultures that do not anticipate it or punish it harshly enough. And so it continues.
I could go on and on. And will. I don’t know what my role, ultimately, will be. I’ve dabbled with the idea of law school, thought about a sociological route in academia, thought about media relations, and am pursuing women’s health. Ideally, I’d like to help steer the cultural perception of sexual violence against women towards something more... accurate. Do not mistake this for censorship, to which I am adamantly opposed. But our societal expectations and attitudes towards rape were all shaped somehow, and the education and laws surrounding SA will never change until the culture does. They feed one another.
I feel it so strongly in my gut that I belong in this field. My feminist philosophy, which stems from my childhood, my interests in women and values surrounding gender, my passion for this work, and my deep curiosity in how a life in this field could take shape excite and frighten me. Because it’s a constant struggle. Worth every moment.
More later.
I belong in the movement to end sexual violence against women. I believe, truly, deeply, almost maniacally, that the root of every bad thing that is happening in the world, now and across history, is a result of sexual violence. I recognize that my perspective on the state of things and my (sometimes obnoxious) outspoken attitude towards rape and sexual assault have pigeon holed me. Perhaps I am a cliché.
But I feel like my eyes have been opened, or a veil has dropped, or a light turned on, and only a few others in my life have experienced something similar when it comes to this kind of violence. Even the most sympathetic, open-minded, and even feminist people in my life have a difficult time accepting the truth about sexual assault and letting go of the myths (“women should be held accountable for what they let happen to themselves,” “half of all reported rapes are false,” “intoxication = consent,” et cetera). I find myself choked up, apoplectic when talking about rape because to me, it’s all so obvious. To me, it’s a no brainer that only 6-8% of rapes are falsely reported. To me, it’s no surprise that only 2% of perpetrators are ever convicted, incarcerated, or even arrested. To me, the fact that only about 25% of all rapes are ever reported is very discouraging; to others, 25% is plenty. Really?
Seeing what survivors experience in the aftermath, sometimes forever, means becoming simultaneously desensitized to rape and repeatedly horrified, disgusted, and determined. A victim’s body/soul connection is never the same following an assault, let alone what happens to her interpersonal relationships. Or her professional relationships. Or the way she sees her education. Or the way she feels safe. Or the way she trusts herself. Even if her perpetrator is sentenced to 15 years (HA!), that’s criminal justice. That’s not justice for the victim. Which, of course, leads to more questions. What IS justice for the victim?
At this point, many turn to other violent crimes like murder, assault, et cetera to point out that there are few resources for such victims once perpetrators are convicted, sentenced, and serving their time. However, many argue also that the laws, cultural attitudes, and even global perspectives on something like murder provide some relief, and perhaps prevention. That is not to say that “murder isn’t a problem,” in the world, but I believe (no, I KNOW) that sexual violence as a weapon, a tool of war, a vehicle for domestic violence, an oppression model, et cetera, is wildly underestimated. Rape is at once the most heinous and most accepted crime among cultures that do not anticipate it or punish it harshly enough. And so it continues.
I could go on and on. And will. I don’t know what my role, ultimately, will be. I’ve dabbled with the idea of law school, thought about a sociological route in academia, thought about media relations, and am pursuing women’s health. Ideally, I’d like to help steer the cultural perception of sexual violence against women towards something more... accurate. Do not mistake this for censorship, to which I am adamantly opposed. But our societal expectations and attitudes towards rape were all shaped somehow, and the education and laws surrounding SA will never change until the culture does. They feed one another.
I feel it so strongly in my gut that I belong in this field. My feminist philosophy, which stems from my childhood, my interests in women and values surrounding gender, my passion for this work, and my deep curiosity in how a life in this field could take shape excite and frighten me. Because it’s a constant struggle. Worth every moment.
More later.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Hmm, Really?
If Glenn Beck truly believes that Obama's "call to service and volunteerism" is really just a brain-washing tool by a ruthless pack of fascists, I'd like to be the first volunteer to tell Glenn Beck to suck it.
I'm glad that I have finally realized who the new most dangerous man in America is. Too bad that he, too, is a fucking moron. Why couldn't it be someone badass like... Walter Sobchack? Or Kahn? Sigh.
All this indignation gets stuck in my throat. Must improve upon that.
I'm glad that I have finally realized who the new most dangerous man in America is. Too bad that he, too, is a fucking moron. Why couldn't it be someone badass like... Walter Sobchack? Or Kahn? Sigh.
All this indignation gets stuck in my throat. Must improve upon that.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Because I'm so cold, my heart hurts.
Big hearts. i can feel them, smell their blood
Filling, swelling, bursting over the Spring.
Rosary bees weave the new air around me-
A braid for me to pray on...
Please, bees, I promise you that I am
not a flower, But I am not afraid of you.
To the left, an ant is trying to wear my
Forgotten shoe, but let him-
An eye distracted is watching
My hand pluck chinks of buried light
out of the earth.
And right, there is music!
Oh, big heart, swell and share yourself-
I will leave my shoes in the tangle of this shade
And we shall be unafraid
And we shall be, unafraid.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
If I can just hear your pretty voice, I don't think I need to see at all.
Soft hair and a velvet tongue
I want to give you what you give to me.
Because every breath that is in your lungs
Is a tiny little gift to me.
I want to give you what you give to me.
Because every breath that is in your lungs
Is a tiny little gift to me.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Regina
Don’t sing your next song.
Or sigh, or sound. Our affair has been
so divine so far and so good,
and I would rather remain suspended
knowing only that the unknown will stay so.
Suspended with great expectations. Willfully
bound to await the expiration of this fleeting gasp
with your mouth always at my ear.
Could my love grow? The borders I cross
To stay in tow already leave me writhing
and crazed, but if mystical things harvest resilience,
you feed me.
I hear your song and I hear you sing about how
it works, and as you sing it, you make it so.
Lay me down among the words and inscribe truth
with every roll of your tongue.
Or sigh, or sound. Our affair has been
so divine so far and so good,
and I would rather remain suspended
knowing only that the unknown will stay so.
Suspended with great expectations. Willfully
bound to await the expiration of this fleeting gasp
with your mouth always at my ear.
Could my love grow? The borders I cross
To stay in tow already leave me writhing
and crazed, but if mystical things harvest resilience,
you feed me.
I hear your song and I hear you sing about how
it works, and as you sing it, you make it so.
Lay me down among the words and inscribe truth
with every roll of your tongue.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Brick and Ivy
When was spring so heavy?
I saw you carrying your love
Behind you, plodding through
The mossy weight of new ground
And the whining gates
That follow Winter. and I saw you
Scampering under the great pregnant
Belly in the sky-
Let her cry.
A week(end) in review.
My weekend, despite working a half-day on Friday, began on Thursday. It was awesome. Whomever invented the pretzel-toss needs a prize. Which reminds me: I need to make caramel apples soon.
Then I traveled across the state to pay homage to some sweet foliage and friendship. Then I drank a martini in a railway tunnel. And bought an awesome jacket. I'm a consumer, but a damn good one, sometimes.
This was followed by some pumpkin carving. Pumpkin carving, much like cake decorating and egg dyeing, is one of those activities that seems exciting in the abstract that you don’t have the foresight to stop yourself before the top comes off (okay, maybe more like karaoke at Hong Kong’s than egg dyeing). And considering how much I love all things pumpkin, it seems strange that I still gag (literally) when I’m reaching for the guts of my beloved gourd.
The face came out cute though.
I also ate pumpkin ravioli and apple & brie pizza-- both of which were too sweet. I'm going to perfect both on my own, though.
I saw the two worst movies ever made this weekend, too. Plan 9 from Outer Space was awesomely bad and totally worth watching, and Bright Star made me want to kill John Keats with TB all over again. And I think he’d agree to it if he saw the movie. Lots of awkward moments and even more melodramatic wailing by a 19th century fashion criminal. Oh, and it was 2 hours long.
I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t go to Europe in January, but I’m also pretty sure I’m going to anyway. I need to see Paris again, but is this a good idea in winter? Of course not. It is, however, much cheaper than going in July. Maybe it would be nice right after Christmas and the New Year and whatnot? Also: Strasbourg, Schwarzwald, the Swiss Alps, and maybe something in provence before circling back to Paris. Amazing, right? Come with!
Weirdly, despite eating more ice cream than is good for me lately, I've maintained my weight loss from a few weeks ago. I guess I'll take it as a favor from the gods and try to keep it going. No excuses, and no pain.
Probably going to write again tonight.
Then I traveled across the state to pay homage to some sweet foliage and friendship. Then I drank a martini in a railway tunnel. And bought an awesome jacket. I'm a consumer, but a damn good one, sometimes.
This was followed by some pumpkin carving. Pumpkin carving, much like cake decorating and egg dyeing, is one of those activities that seems exciting in the abstract that you don’t have the foresight to stop yourself before the top comes off (okay, maybe more like karaoke at Hong Kong’s than egg dyeing). And considering how much I love all things pumpkin, it seems strange that I still gag (literally) when I’m reaching for the guts of my beloved gourd.
The face came out cute though.
I also ate pumpkin ravioli and apple & brie pizza-- both of which were too sweet. I'm going to perfect both on my own, though.
I saw the two worst movies ever made this weekend, too. Plan 9 from Outer Space was awesomely bad and totally worth watching, and Bright Star made me want to kill John Keats with TB all over again. And I think he’d agree to it if he saw the movie. Lots of awkward moments and even more melodramatic wailing by a 19th century fashion criminal. Oh, and it was 2 hours long.
I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t go to Europe in January, but I’m also pretty sure I’m going to anyway. I need to see Paris again, but is this a good idea in winter? Of course not. It is, however, much cheaper than going in July. Maybe it would be nice right after Christmas and the New Year and whatnot? Also: Strasbourg, Schwarzwald, the Swiss Alps, and maybe something in provence before circling back to Paris. Amazing, right? Come with!
Weirdly, despite eating more ice cream than is good for me lately, I've maintained my weight loss from a few weeks ago. I guess I'll take it as a favor from the gods and try to keep it going. No excuses, and no pain.
Probably going to write again tonight.
And now, my song is a flood.
I am having a moment that is outside of space and time, apparently. A really brief moment of feeling eternally happy. And even if I don't remain completely happy in real time, in this moment, I have been happy forever. Past and future happiness. Maybe that's what hope is.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
For the Love of God, Get Me Some Garlic.
As part of what we'll call a sort of "social experiment," I recently read the first installment of the Twilight series. I didn't know what to expect. I feared being sucked into the vortex of fandom like all of the other fang-bangers who've been salivating over her books. I've heard her compared to J.K. Rowling, to Stephen King. I was afraid I'd have to "come out" as a fan.
Don't worry. If I ever see Stephanie Meyer in person, I'll probably trip her in the street. I'd like to say she needs a thesaurus (I dare you to count how many times she uses "cold" and "perfect" throughout this piece of utter garbage), but she's already so enamoured of adverbs that I'd rather she keep her verbage to whatever minimum she can manage... which would include NOT writing another book. Please.
I won't even go into how much this drivel is really just a giant euphimism for domestic violence, but I will say that she needs to fire her editor(s). I can't bear to imagine one more sentence making millions like, "the crowded Suburban felt really claustrophibic." (JFYI: Cars don't feel.)
Honestly. This book makes Danielle Steele look like Nick Hornby.
Don't worry. If I ever see Stephanie Meyer in person, I'll probably trip her in the street. I'd like to say she needs a thesaurus (I dare you to count how many times she uses "cold" and "perfect" throughout this piece of utter garbage), but she's already so enamoured of adverbs that I'd rather she keep her verbage to whatever minimum she can manage... which would include NOT writing another book. Please.
I won't even go into how much this drivel is really just a giant euphimism for domestic violence, but I will say that she needs to fire her editor(s). I can't bear to imagine one more sentence making millions like, "the crowded Suburban felt really claustrophibic." (JFYI: Cars don't feel.)
Honestly. This book makes Danielle Steele look like Nick Hornby.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Trips that need taking...
1. San Francisco, Napa Valley & Sedona, Yosemite
2. Scottsdale, Grand Canyon (May 2010)
3. Mexico for what will likely be my only "all inclusive resort" experience (February 2010)
4. Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Turkey, Greece, Macedonia! (Summer 2010? Ha!)
5. Washington DC, because why not?
6. Memphis, Nashville, New Orleans
7. Tokyo
8. Kalahari, African Plains, Kenya
9. Chicago
10. Upper mid-west and Northwest
Must consolidate.
2. Scottsdale, Grand Canyon (May 2010)
3. Mexico for what will likely be my only "all inclusive resort" experience (February 2010)
4. Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Turkey, Greece, Macedonia! (Summer 2010? Ha!)
5. Washington DC, because why not?
6. Memphis, Nashville, New Orleans
7. Tokyo
8. Kalahari, African Plains, Kenya
9. Chicago
10. Upper mid-west and Northwest
Must consolidate.
free write because i can't write right anymore and i don't know how to let that dust that yellow dust go i had fingertips once that just couldn't quit even when they tapped on your lips and nothing else they moved to the rhythm of something other than hey there thanks so much eff why eye can't let you go the weight of security is not a blanket its a tarp and its choking me and security can never feel free when you require it you don't want to think critically about it because then where will i be can't stop it need it and it's funny that the institution that opens our eyes costs so much that we need to shut them curl up hold on shortly after and when will we bloom again? a tease a near orgasm of light and experience followed immediately by the dry choke of fantasy and is that philosophy? a throbbing pang of wonder a glimpse of understanding only to be shut and shuttered in the cold winds of debt? i couldn't tell you now because this impotence is whetted by the nine to five and the five oh nine each week please tell me i'm just weak that this won't last that i'm just adjusting for a year that the thrill will come back fill my lungs strain my brain pry my eyes and never let me go. it was there once in spring and winter a tingle head to toe no sleep no rest writing breathing believing and what will there be now? health and welfare and the IRA the 401K the diplomatic email the slip that's pink and having to smile for those with the something borrowed blue when you know i don't want to and maybe i should just stop complaining because this is what it is to become a tumor on one's own soul. to separate oneself from nature. and what good will that do when i'm reaching for the dust and trying to will it back into my fingers for one last shot?
There's a blog for that...
FUCK ROMAN POLANSKI AND ANYONE WHO THINKS HE DOESN'T DESERVE WHAT HE'S HAD COMING TO HIM (and which he committed yet another crime to avoid) FOR 30 FUCKING YEARS.
Unfortunately, this includes some of my favorite artists in the film industry, including Natalie Portman and Martin Scorsese. Awesome. Maybe they'd all like to rape a child too, if it's worth forgiving when the perpetrator lived a celebrated career showered with praise, wealth, and admiration?
No wonder people don't "get" rape. Polanski got one thing right, though: “If I had killed somebody, it wouldn’t have had so much appeal to the press, you see? But… fucking, you see, and the young girls. Judges want to fuck young girls. Juries want to fuck young girls. Everyone wants to fuck young girls!”
The guy even compares his gross assault to murder. Yet masses of ignorant celebrities are jumping on the bandwagon to advocate for his release. Do they really think a child is capable of consenting, let ALONE when intoxicated by the man by whom she's employed.
Seriously, fuck you, Hollywood. I only WISH I was surprised.
Unfortunately, this includes some of my favorite artists in the film industry, including Natalie Portman and Martin Scorsese. Awesome. Maybe they'd all like to rape a child too, if it's worth forgiving when the perpetrator lived a celebrated career showered with praise, wealth, and admiration?
No wonder people don't "get" rape. Polanski got one thing right, though: “If I had killed somebody, it wouldn’t have had so much appeal to the press, you see? But… fucking, you see, and the young girls. Judges want to fuck young girls. Juries want to fuck young girls. Everyone wants to fuck young girls!”
The guy even compares his gross assault to murder. Yet masses of ignorant celebrities are jumping on the bandwagon to advocate for his release. Do they really think a child is capable of consenting, let ALONE when intoxicated by the man by whom she's employed.
Seriously, fuck you, Hollywood. I only WISH I was surprised.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Picketing, complaining, AND laughing all the way to the bank.
I wish that I could write more on this, but I have little energy and less time.
I wish that people would consider what's behind all the animosity that comes forward when political debates are had. Personal philosophies on things like self-determination, the roles of western civilization on the individual throughout history, and of course, the lenses through which we see our history/histories shape so much of what we value. I'm so tired of hearing people talk about health care like it's either an attempt by masked fascists to control our minds or a necessity that must be passed through without due consideration. If we took a moment to examine one another's personal philosophies (and in many cases, our own) on any hypothetical group's responsibility to take care of its own, the conversation would be over. Because I'm not sure those values can be changed much without a huge change in one's socioeconomic status.
Since this is my blog, I feel free enough to say that rich people (those who never worry about money, even though they might pretend to) have little to no need for the programs and services offered by much of what their precious "tax dollars" fund. I find it hilarious when they complain about their "tax dollars enabling and supporting" those whose lifestyles they disagree with, and in many cases, completely misunderstand (i.e. underserved migrant workers, the poor, drug addicts, et cetera). It's funny because the United States generates so little revenue in its tax dollars outside of defense spending (don't even get me started) compared with other developed countries in the world.
I'm saying this because I've recently affirmed my personal philosophy on society's responsibility to take care of its poorest, sickest, and least able-bodied. Working in the public interest for only a year and in such a narrow demographic has opened my eyes to how distorted the wealthy's perception of the poor is, and it's likely because those in the middle and upper-middle classes have virtually no real exposure to the working poor. It's easy for them to assume that the poor are just lazy, unwilling to pay their own bills, and eager to go through the incredible hassle of a work-to-welfare program.
Poverty is a regular vacation in the eyes of those who can afford to take one.
I'd also like to ask those so adamantly opposed to healthcare reform why they don't seem to give a shit about how much money their government is wasting on military spending.
More on this later.
I wish that people would consider what's behind all the animosity that comes forward when political debates are had. Personal philosophies on things like self-determination, the roles of western civilization on the individual throughout history, and of course, the lenses through which we see our history/histories shape so much of what we value. I'm so tired of hearing people talk about health care like it's either an attempt by masked fascists to control our minds or a necessity that must be passed through without due consideration. If we took a moment to examine one another's personal philosophies (and in many cases, our own) on any hypothetical group's responsibility to take care of its own, the conversation would be over. Because I'm not sure those values can be changed much without a huge change in one's socioeconomic status.
Since this is my blog, I feel free enough to say that rich people (those who never worry about money, even though they might pretend to) have little to no need for the programs and services offered by much of what their precious "tax dollars" fund. I find it hilarious when they complain about their "tax dollars enabling and supporting" those whose lifestyles they disagree with, and in many cases, completely misunderstand (i.e. underserved migrant workers, the poor, drug addicts, et cetera). It's funny because the United States generates so little revenue in its tax dollars outside of defense spending (don't even get me started) compared with other developed countries in the world.
I'm saying this because I've recently affirmed my personal philosophy on society's responsibility to take care of its poorest, sickest, and least able-bodied. Working in the public interest for only a year and in such a narrow demographic has opened my eyes to how distorted the wealthy's perception of the poor is, and it's likely because those in the middle and upper-middle classes have virtually no real exposure to the working poor. It's easy for them to assume that the poor are just lazy, unwilling to pay their own bills, and eager to go through the incredible hassle of a work-to-welfare program.
Poverty is a regular vacation in the eyes of those who can afford to take one.
I'd also like to ask those so adamantly opposed to healthcare reform why they don't seem to give a shit about how much money their government is wasting on military spending.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
... shmealth care.
Why is it that certain tax payers in this country find that having access to the world wide web is a public right, but not access to the experts, technology, and elixirs that keep us alive?
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
All You Need is a Revolution Seeking to Protect the Rights of LGBTQ People in Life and Love
I am compelled to write about the rights of and challenges faced by various LGBTQ communities today, but don't feel I'm enough of an authority to delve deeply into the subject(s). While I don't identify solely with any one of these groups in particular, I think my overwhelmingly feminist philosophy has me very much attached to the rights, barriers, and cultures of these communities. So I'll just say this:
Love is an active thing that requires persistence, dedication, and integrity. It's not to be confused with immaturity, sexual deviance, or purses & cosmopolitans.
I don't want to lump every community in the acronym together because that would be as narrow-minded as presuming that gay men shouldn't be boy scout leaders. But what we find consistently among these groups in social politics, above anything, is the need to prove one's capacity to love. Before marriage ever came into discussion, skepticism about the legitimacy of love among LGBTQ folks was rampant. Love of what? Oneself, one's partner(s), one's mother, one's father.
And, of course, in some parts of the country, there is still pressure on us to prove loving someone of the same sex does not equal romantic love for one's sister, one's cub scout, or one's neighbor's pet goat. (For whatever reason, sexuality and gender identity issues are often mistaken for sexual disorders and taboos like incest, pedophilia, and bestiality.)
In any case, it is saddening and disappointing that, at this stage in progressing the rights of members of LGBTQ communities, there is still a debate about whether one's capacity to love is equal to that of the heterosexual individual. Many anti-gay-marriage proponents argue that it is a matter of the laws, and that the cultural definition of commitment (which they say is unquantifiable) plays no role in defining marriage.
It is obvious, though, that the cultural perception of love and the human ability to demonstrate great affection and care for individuals across gender lines is skewed. Where people differ on the issue of something like "gay marriage" has nothing to do with marriage and everything to do with what I believe is a misinformed philosophy on the teleological purpose of human beings and the ideal form of human identity.
Ironically, I believe those who oppose marriage are themselves symbols for how easy it is to slip onto a path of euphemistic hatred and degradation-- the two devastating forces that they actually claim will destroy American family values once LGBTQ folks are granted all the rights we/they deserve. By contrast, those who fight for the right to marry are symbols of persistence in love and devotion.
If I could, I'd call on all of those in love with someone who is NOT a heterosexual male or female to come forward and demonstrate that love can be legitimate no matter how different the couple (or triple?) seems. Age, color, gender identity, orientation, music taste, and even political philosophy cease to matter when other people are bringing out the best in us. And that is what love does, isn't it?
Love is an active thing that requires persistence, dedication, and integrity. It's not to be confused with immaturity, sexual deviance, or purses & cosmopolitans.
I don't want to lump every community in the acronym together because that would be as narrow-minded as presuming that gay men shouldn't be boy scout leaders. But what we find consistently among these groups in social politics, above anything, is the need to prove one's capacity to love. Before marriage ever came into discussion, skepticism about the legitimacy of love among LGBTQ folks was rampant. Love of what? Oneself, one's partner(s), one's mother, one's father.
And, of course, in some parts of the country, there is still pressure on us to prove loving someone of the same sex does not equal romantic love for one's sister, one's cub scout, or one's neighbor's pet goat. (For whatever reason, sexuality and gender identity issues are often mistaken for sexual disorders and taboos like incest, pedophilia, and bestiality.)
In any case, it is saddening and disappointing that, at this stage in progressing the rights of members of LGBTQ communities, there is still a debate about whether one's capacity to love is equal to that of the heterosexual individual. Many anti-gay-marriage proponents argue that it is a matter of the laws, and that the cultural definition of commitment (which they say is unquantifiable) plays no role in defining marriage.
It is obvious, though, that the cultural perception of love and the human ability to demonstrate great affection and care for individuals across gender lines is skewed. Where people differ on the issue of something like "gay marriage" has nothing to do with marriage and everything to do with what I believe is a misinformed philosophy on the teleological purpose of human beings and the ideal form of human identity.
Ironically, I believe those who oppose marriage are themselves symbols for how easy it is to slip onto a path of euphemistic hatred and degradation-- the two devastating forces that they actually claim will destroy American family values once LGBTQ folks are granted all the rights we/they deserve. By contrast, those who fight for the right to marry are symbols of persistence in love and devotion.
If I could, I'd call on all of those in love with someone who is NOT a heterosexual male or female to come forward and demonstrate that love can be legitimate no matter how different the couple (or triple?) seems. Age, color, gender identity, orientation, music taste, and even political philosophy cease to matter when other people are bringing out the best in us. And that is what love does, isn't it?
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
I should really start writing rough drafts of these first...
I should have clarified earlier that weekends, days on which I receive unemployment from the Massachusetts Division of Workforce and Labor Development, and holidays don't count as blogging days.
Most of what I want to talk about pertains to food, as promised. I read an interesting editorial today that again sparked my recent fascination with the link between avoiding processed foods and living better. Articulating that makes it sound so stupid. DUH. Of course "junk" food is bad for you! But that's not what I mean.
Many people don't acknowledge that "whole grain" foods are "processed." General Mills might seem like health food to some in the same way that Quaker granola snacks don't seem like candy bars (they are). We don't just have "junk food" anymore. We have a LOT of food-like substances that we buy and eat because they kind of taste like food and are cheap. Then we take dietary supplements to "fill the gaps."
I actually saw this very dietary philosophy advertised in a PediaSure commercial recently. In it, a mom stands in her kitchen playfully rolling her eyes and shrugging to her audience about how her "picky eater" of a kid had to start drinking PediaSure "after her diet began to affect her growth and development." Really? Want to know how to make sure your kid eats right? MAKE THEM. Don't give them animal crackers if they won't eat carrots. Let her go hungry until she eats the carrots. I was a nanny for 7 years. I've fed angels, demons, and the spawn of Satan himself. Eventually, the kid takes the carrot. Human beings are built to eat when they are hungry. If your kid is willing to eat animal crackers but not dinner, she's never experienced hunger. And now you're going to give her all kinds of behavioral disorders because your failing to show her boundaries (which is really what she wants) and she'll trudge through life listless, untrusting, and likely a binge-eating kelptomaniac. But I digress.
I'm trying to explain this to myself as well as this trusty blog because I've undergone what I believe is a personal revolution with food recently. It extends through every part of how I live... not only in how I eat, but how I see food's distribution throughout the country and its social, economic, and political consequences. It's amazing what people accomplish without having enough food, and equally astounding what people who have too much of the wrong "food" can't accomplish. Like harness energy, live actively, be happy, or avoid diabetes.
I can't tell whether I'm stating the obvious or am just plain late in saying that I believe that the American food industry has conspired to keep the poor poor, the rich rich (again, DUH), and of course, the fat fat. I know that on a surface level, all of this seems obvious. We are a "fast food nation." Okay, fine. But is it just "fast food" as we perceive it that's hurting us?
For instance, I didn't know until recently that 90% of the corn harvested in this country is inedible to humans. Almost all of it becomes grain feed for cattle or is processed into food (most likely soft drinks) for us. Oh, or it becomes ethanol for fueling our our precious motor vehicles! What that means is that the corporate vendors who feed us and the government who "regulates" them find our dietary needs on par with those of tortured animals (ironically also future food?) and machines that feed but don't feel. Great.
Learning more about this, feeling afraid of my future self, and being downright curious about the alternatives (it sounds funny to call eating like a human being "eating an alternative diet").
In order to even approach food differently, I had to temporarily remove myself from the entire system. Books helped to detach my sugar-addicted perspective, of course, but treating a temporary "survival" diet as an experiment or game helped too. [Thank you, Les Stroud, for going days without eating and cherishing water in ways I never could.] Using this time, wherein I ate only "survival foods" (tea, plants, fresh and pastured meat, seeds, and some fresh unprocessed whole grains) allowed me to also experiment with scratch foods. Pasta, breads, animals, soups, and personal dietary staples like pico made me realize how valuable it is to understand that what we do to food determines what food does to us.
After a few weeks of feeling great, I decided to extend my "survival" diet with a few exceptions. I can have the occasional diet coke, coffee is okay a few times per week (but with no sweeteners), and special occasions don't mean I can't have a cupcake (<3).>
This started more as a political action: boycott the institutions that keep us down and their products because Americans deserve to eat better. But I realized after feeling better, thinking more clearly, and weighing a little less that this isn't just political. It's a medical, social, economic, humanitarian AND political issue. It's a "catch all" issue because eating (one of the four teleological purposes we have in life, I think) impacts everything we do and how well we do it. Which might explain not only why Americans have higher rates of specific chronic diseases than most other developed nations in the world, but why we have such high instances of behavioral problems (which, I realize, are also a by-product of reality television and the internets), depression, anxiety, and HUNGER. And bottle rot.
Why are we not only willing, but eager to accept the offer of processed meals for cheap? Why can't real food now be cheap? There are so many answers, but I think acting now will get us closer to a desirable outcome for all eaters.
I always thought that mobilizing herds of vigilantes or picketing for change or voting served as symbols of protest and social unrest. But I truly believe that refusing to participate in the establishments that are poisoning us and destroying us at our foundation is the strongest move we can make. And when I say we, I mean everyone who eats from the center aisles in the grocery store.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Hokai...
So this will compensate for yesterday's lapse in blogging. I accidentally played trivia instead... and failed. Infinitely lame.
God, I can't wait to be back in school.
I decided recently to not be afraid anymore. It didn't ever occur to me that to be afraid is a state of mind, and ultimately, it's one you choose. Or I chose. Either way, I'm not going to do it anymore. I realized how much of my decision making was out of fear and insecurity, and while I acknowledge now that I need some level of security in my financial life, I let a lot of my fears about the future trickle into every aspect of now.
For example, law school. My fantasy of going to law school began during a work slump and in the dead of winter. I was looking for something challenging, a terminal degree, and something I could attain and feel "secure" within public interest. I wanted to be an attorney for all the wrong reasons. I looked at it as if it was the sum of all of these parts I needed in order to look 10 years down the road and feel "secure." Thank god I couldn't afford it.
I'm also done being afraid of my personal future life. I don't know where this level of insecurity began, but I could really laugh realizing how long it's lasted. I'm so fortunate in so many ways, and I have to stop comparing myself people who "know" what they want (they don't), and others with whom I'll just never connect. For example, I remember going out on days and nights when I was exhausted or literally had no interest, but my reasons for not going took a backseat to my eagerness to be with people. I would unconsciously infuse myself into any social opportunity because I was afraid to be alone. What does it say about you when you're alone and no one else is? Turns out, nothing.
Most people are with people just because THEY don't want to be alone. I observed that on a recent outing, where I realized that I had no actual interest in being there. Then I looked around to see why ANYONE would want to be there. Actually, they're all just afraid of being alone, too. Maybe not for the night, but ultimately. That's what socializing is for-- avoiding isolation (with the exception of, when you get lucky, having an engaging conversation, which I find rare). I have to stop giving myself so much credit; I frequently and unknowingly separate myself from situations and let myself believe that my circumstances are unique. Insecurity is universal and utterly human.
So I'm going to let myself be insecure and stop forcing things and trying to "make" things happen. I'll go against my proactive instincts when it comes to things like career, social life, and to some degree, my education, and I'll see what reappears in my head once the dust has settled. I'm done scrambling around trying to make answers for myself when I haven't even relaxed enough to be honest about what I really want. And as a result, I have no idea what I really want. I really need to start being more honest with myself.
Maybe I should save up some cash for my loans loans and try out subsistent living for a year.
Pretty sure the idea of individual destiny is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. But I guess it's useful in capitalism. It's important to remember that no one ever really "accomplishes" anything. Does that make me a Nihilist? I'm pretty sure the only thing to be accomplished these days is to collectively reduce the amount of pain in the world and make beautiful, amusing, and entertaining things. Does anything else matter?
Everything else in life should be filled with food that tastes good, people who feel good, music that sounds good, movement that makes us good, heat because I like it, and books that make us grow. I'm pretty sure that literally everything else is utterly pointless. Which makes me question why I'm so eager to spend my life in academia.
This turned out way heavier than I intended. Sorry; I haven't had my coffee yet.
God, I can't wait to be back in school.
I decided recently to not be afraid anymore. It didn't ever occur to me that to be afraid is a state of mind, and ultimately, it's one you choose. Or I chose. Either way, I'm not going to do it anymore. I realized how much of my decision making was out of fear and insecurity, and while I acknowledge now that I need some level of security in my financial life, I let a lot of my fears about the future trickle into every aspect of now.
For example, law school. My fantasy of going to law school began during a work slump and in the dead of winter. I was looking for something challenging, a terminal degree, and something I could attain and feel "secure" within public interest. I wanted to be an attorney for all the wrong reasons. I looked at it as if it was the sum of all of these parts I needed in order to look 10 years down the road and feel "secure." Thank god I couldn't afford it.
I'm also done being afraid of my personal future life. I don't know where this level of insecurity began, but I could really laugh realizing how long it's lasted. I'm so fortunate in so many ways, and I have to stop comparing myself people who "know" what they want (they don't), and others with whom I'll just never connect. For example, I remember going out on days and nights when I was exhausted or literally had no interest, but my reasons for not going took a backseat to my eagerness to be with people. I would unconsciously infuse myself into any social opportunity because I was afraid to be alone. What does it say about you when you're alone and no one else is? Turns out, nothing.
Most people are with people just because THEY don't want to be alone. I observed that on a recent outing, where I realized that I had no actual interest in being there. Then I looked around to see why ANYONE would want to be there. Actually, they're all just afraid of being alone, too. Maybe not for the night, but ultimately. That's what socializing is for-- avoiding isolation (with the exception of, when you get lucky, having an engaging conversation, which I find rare). I have to stop giving myself so much credit; I frequently and unknowingly separate myself from situations and let myself believe that my circumstances are unique. Insecurity is universal and utterly human.
So I'm going to let myself be insecure and stop forcing things and trying to "make" things happen. I'll go against my proactive instincts when it comes to things like career, social life, and to some degree, my education, and I'll see what reappears in my head once the dust has settled. I'm done scrambling around trying to make answers for myself when I haven't even relaxed enough to be honest about what I really want. And as a result, I have no idea what I really want. I really need to start being more honest with myself.
Maybe I should save up some cash for my loans loans and try out subsistent living for a year.
Pretty sure the idea of individual destiny is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. But I guess it's useful in capitalism. It's important to remember that no one ever really "accomplishes" anything. Does that make me a Nihilist? I'm pretty sure the only thing to be accomplished these days is to collectively reduce the amount of pain in the world and make beautiful, amusing, and entertaining things. Does anything else matter?
Everything else in life should be filled with food that tastes good, people who feel good, music that sounds good, movement that makes us good, heat because I like it, and books that make us grow. I'm pretty sure that literally everything else is utterly pointless. Which makes me question why I'm so eager to spend my life in academia.
This turned out way heavier than I intended. Sorry; I haven't had my coffee yet.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
More Articulate Ways to Say What I Said Yesterday
I'm updating only because I said I would. I'm a bad blogger. But it's okay, because I'm leaving you with some quotes that I found to be much richer than anything I could come up with on a work day that only left my 15 minutes of free time just a few hours before a weekly trivia adventure (whereupon I shall dominate). I have some creative writing to post soon (after I kill the fool who invented Windows Vista), and for now, call to Marcus Aurelius:
The soul harms itself, first and foremost, when it becomes (as far as it can) a separate growth, a sort of tumor on the universe: because to resent anything that happens is to separate oneself in revolt from Nature, which holds in collective embrace the particular natures of all other things.
In (wo)man's life, time is a mere instant, existence a flux, perception fogged, with whole bodily composition rotting, one's mind a whirlgig, fortune unpredictable, fame unclear. To put it shortly: all things of the body stream away like a river; all things of the mind are dreams and delusion; life is warfare, a visit in a strange land; the only lasting fame is oblivion.
What then can escort us on our way? One thing, and one thing only: Philosophy.
The soul harms itself, first and foremost, when it becomes (as far as it can) a separate growth, a sort of tumor on the universe: because to resent anything that happens is to separate oneself in revolt from Nature, which holds in collective embrace the particular natures of all other things.
In (wo)man's life, time is a mere instant, existence a flux, perception fogged, with whole bodily composition rotting, one's mind a whirlgig, fortune unpredictable, fame unclear. To put it shortly: all things of the body stream away like a river; all things of the mind are dreams and delusion; life is warfare, a visit in a strange land; the only lasting fame is oblivion.
What then can escort us on our way? One thing, and one thing only: Philosophy.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Starting...
Now. I will have a blog. I've never "blogged" or written to no-one-in-particular outside of the angst-filled days of the livejournal, so this should be interesting.
I spent so much time thinking and feeling and having minor meltdowns over the last year that I forgot I had some things to say and some outlets through which to say them. I promise to update often, even if you won't read it.
I can't tell what posts will contain, but I think there will be a lot about food. I used to hate food because I thought I couldn't have a good relationship with it. But with a kitchen and foodies in my life, I've realized I love to cook (and might be good at it?). What excellent therapy in dark days and fun nights. Soups, pastas, desserts, and survival food. It brings everyone closer! Phase two of loving food (not lusting after) will involve some form of germination.
I think these posts will also include creative writing- something that I had all but given up on in the last year. Between moving, working full time, feeling guilty about not volunteering, feeling anxious about money, feeling stretched in 100 directions in present and future, feeling angry at sexual perpetrators, and feeling tired from feeling so many feelings, I stopped writing.
Viagra is to ED as _____ is to quarter-life-crisis-induced writer's impotence. A) blogging? Let's find out.
I spent about 400 consecutive days accidentally being a spectator to the shaping of futures around me, and forgot to act. I got wrapped up thinking about social, political, and gender issues with my friends and family (who I can only imagine are about to kill me if I say the word "rape" one more time) and became "that girl" who gets involved in conversations and will teach you a thing or two and let my work overflow into my personal life. In short, I should stop. Instead, I'll try to do it all here, put it in writing, and shut up in most other respects.
I can't fight fall, either. Maybe that's why I'm making this blog. I wanted summer to be here because spring failed to thaw us and I needed it to be so steamy that nothing else mattered but surviving the heat. That didn't happen. So, instead of shaking my fist at the sky, I'll pray for a dry fall and look forward to suede boots, cider, cooking, and letting this season be the one where I feel collected, calm, and capable of the challenges that I'm about to face (graduate school applications, parents' anniverary party, new job (?), finally being financial secure, etc.). I can do it. Blogs can help.
I spent so much time thinking and feeling and having minor meltdowns over the last year that I forgot I had some things to say and some outlets through which to say them. I promise to update often, even if you won't read it.
I can't tell what posts will contain, but I think there will be a lot about food. I used to hate food because I thought I couldn't have a good relationship with it. But with a kitchen and foodies in my life, I've realized I love to cook (and might be good at it?). What excellent therapy in dark days and fun nights. Soups, pastas, desserts, and survival food. It brings everyone closer! Phase two of loving food (not lusting after) will involve some form of germination.
I think these posts will also include creative writing- something that I had all but given up on in the last year. Between moving, working full time, feeling guilty about not volunteering, feeling anxious about money, feeling stretched in 100 directions in present and future, feeling angry at sexual perpetrators, and feeling tired from feeling so many feelings, I stopped writing.
Viagra is to ED as _____ is to quarter-life-crisis-induced writer's impotence. A) blogging? Let's find out.
I spent about 400 consecutive days accidentally being a spectator to the shaping of futures around me, and forgot to act. I got wrapped up thinking about social, political, and gender issues with my friends and family (who I can only imagine are about to kill me if I say the word "rape" one more time) and became "that girl" who gets involved in conversations and will teach you a thing or two and let my work overflow into my personal life. In short, I should stop. Instead, I'll try to do it all here, put it in writing, and shut up in most other respects.
I can't fight fall, either. Maybe that's why I'm making this blog. I wanted summer to be here because spring failed to thaw us and I needed it to be so steamy that nothing else mattered but surviving the heat. That didn't happen. So, instead of shaking my fist at the sky, I'll pray for a dry fall and look forward to suede boots, cider, cooking, and letting this season be the one where I feel collected, calm, and capable of the challenges that I'm about to face (graduate school applications, parents' anniverary party, new job (?), finally being financial secure, etc.). I can do it. Blogs can help.
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