Porno, America's favorite past time

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The Most Pathetic Attempt to Pick Up a Girl

I was in Express (clearance section). I was holding up two dresses trying to decide which one to get. The pink one could be worn if I went out for a night on the town (which I don't do, ever). The blue one would look cute with a pair of flip flops during the day, or I could dress it up (no pun intended) with some jewelry and cute shoes for a night out on the town (which I don't do, ever). The blue one, in retrospect, could be worn to a restaurant; whereas, the pink one was a little more, um, trashy. A dude (probably second-generation American, whose parents are Middle Eastern) comes up to me with a tall (which is small in Starbuck's speak) coffee drink from aforementioned café in one hand. In the other hand he was holding a small white clutch with a big black jewel in the middle. Dude says, “Can I ask your opinion? Would this make a good man purse?” My immediate reply was, “NOOOOO!” Eyes wide sort of reply. “Oh wow,” replies dude, “I admire your bluntness.” He tosses the not so manly purse aside. “Um, yeah, um,” he continues. “That’s what I thought. I, um, just saw someone, um, with one like it, and um, that what I thought. I was just making sure.” RIIIIGHT. I made no attempt to keep the conversation rolling. Despite my lack of attempt, he would not be thwarted. “So, you look like you’re shopping in a hurry.” That made me wonder if holding two dresses up for comparison really made some look like a hurried shopper. “Nope,” I contradicted, “not really. I have a gift card, and I’m trying to spend it.” The whole time I’m thinking, man purse, really?? So, aloud, I asked, “Man purse! Really?” This made him more nervous. “Um, yeah, it was (insert nervous laugh) my cheesy attempt to come talk to you.” INSERT ME LOL-ing ON THE INSIDE. I informed him that I had a boyfriend. I should have informed him that even if I didn’t, I would not want a guy that opens up a conversation with a girl, whom he wants to get to know, asking about a man purse. Was he trying to be funny? I think he’d need to work on his presentation skills if that were the case. Anyway, he didn’t, apparently, like that tidbit of info. He goes, “Yeah, well, I bet your boyfriend doesn’t like you spending his money like this.” WHAT!? My students told me I should have been like, “Oh no you didn’t shawtie. You ain’t know me like that.” HAHA. My reply, though, was “dude, I told you I had a gift card.” “Oh yeah, well, thanks for your advice.” He departed quickly. My question becomes, do girls who shop at Express generally go for the man purse toting dude? I am NOT that girl. Blue dress it is.

Chad Kultgen's The Lie

Don't read The Lie by Chad Kultgen unless you enjoyed Tucker Max stories or Chad's other book, The Average American Male. It follows three people through college (frats, sororities, drinking, sex (lots of it), drugs, academics, dorms, money and materialism, etc). I really hope that some of the stuff in that book was purely fiction, and that there was no way that the girls with whom I went to college did not act like those in this story. Now, I'm not naive enough to think that there weren't a lot of girls to do anything sexually for a guy with money or looks, but it just seemed like they came out of the cracks. And if a girl reading this would think that she would find some sort of redeeming quality about guys that are willing to exploit these sexually free girls, then the female reader is going to be highly disappointed.

As a female reader, I just shook my head at the ignorance, and I sometimes wished the girls would get more than they deserved. For example, an epiphany regarding the shallowness of their acts. I also didn't necessarily enjoy the ending. One grows to like or dislike the characters--has apathy, empathy, or sympathy towards certain characters. Pity, disgust, diffidence, detachment, etc. But by gaining these sorts of connections with these characters, one brings their own hopes and outcomes for characters’ actions. In simplicity, I would have ended the story differently. It might just be the English teacher in me with the focus on characterization and theme follow through. I could see through the lines—I got it, but I guess I just wanted it to be a little bit more solidifying. However, this book is, in no way, geared to a female audience—especially English teachers not simply sitting down with an “enjoying” read.

A few parts existed that I found extremely funny, disturbing, and/or disgusting. A few parts I rolled my eyes at, and there were parts I found myself wondering about the crudeness of the situations presented. The sad part is, the stuff in this book really does happen in life. I guess it’s only a sad realization to some…sort of like beauty is in the eye of the beholder…because I am sure there are some people overtly excited that such deviations exist.

Michael Phelps Takes a Hit, Literally.

So in recent news, that may be old news by now, Michael Phelps was photographed taking a hit from a bong and may be charged. When I heard this I had mixed feelings about it. Then, I was listening to guys debate the issue on talk radio, and realized that I was severely torn on the issue.

I obviously believe that what he did was illegal; he broke a law. That is not what I am debating in my head; however, it's almost a social norm to do drugs. I not saying everyone does drugs, by any means, but that I know more people who have than I do who haven't. I also understand that he is a record-breaking Olympian and a a public figure. But where is the line drawn with regards to the law. Is it because he's a public figure that a precedent has to be set, and we have to come down on him so harshly? What I'm getting at with the question is another question: What if we were to do the same for every person who is on the web in a photograph taking hits or admitting drug use?

I get that ignorant people will be able to, in their minds, justify drug use in the terms "well, if Michael Phelps can do it and still get away with winning eight medals..." But, the key word in that statement is 'ignorant'. As a less ignorant person, I am not going to turn around and tell myself that I'd be able to do drugs because someone as great as MP can. It's my choice to be rational. It's my choice not to do drugs. Having said all of this, I don't not think he should be penalized whether it's lawfully or being dropped from his sponsers.

Now, why would he do such a thing when he is, essentially, on top of the world? I think one of the guys on talk radio made a good point: he said that Phelps was a "loner" or "shy guy" in youth. He didn't have social skills. He was probably training most of his free time. So now that he has a social life, he's making up for lost time. He made the example of someone who is straight arrow through high school then fails out of college because he's realized what he's been missing.

I guess I've come to the conclusion that just because I can justify it, doesn't mean he shouldn't be punished. Some community service should be good. As for his sponsers, I have no idea. They almost have to drop him. Let it blow over, and then pick him up again later down the road.

On another note, what's up with prominent figures taking responsibility lately: Obama admitting a f' up and now Phelps. Jeez, what's this world coming to? And why are we, as a whole, willing to accept wrongdoings more readily when someone admits to them?

No Country for Old Men

I think I like this book. I can’t be 100% certain, though. I can’t put my finger on the reasons I really really like the book nor pinpoint the reason I hated it. I can tell you quotations that I enjoyed or tell you it was a book that wasn’t very nail biting. It seems that for every good thing about the book, there’s a bad thing. This blog post isn’t really going to be telling you which one outweighs the other. Rather, it’s going to be a post, in part, about me trying to figure out which one outweighs the other.
The review on the back of the book claims that Cormac McCarthy dissects the crime novel. What constitutes a crime novel? James Patterson, Tami Hoag? I’ve read them both, among others in that genre. However, NCFOM seems to be more along the lines of a western. I really wasn’t able to place the time period very well because it takes place in the rural southwest. Near the end of the book it seemed to be a few decades back, but before that, I thought it to be more recent. You know, just more, kind of, backwoods-esq—kind of a In Cold Blood meets Brokeback Mountain. (After reading the whole book, I can only say that it takes place between the 80’s and now. If I sat down and cared enough tho think about it, I’m sure I could narrow it down more given the age of the characters and which one’s were in which war, but I don’t feel like it. Let me know, though, if you know.)
Was this a sort of crime novel meets literary genius? Maybe. That is to say that people like James Patterson just shit out books left and right for money and commercialism. I’m so up in the air about that one little saying about dissecting a crime novel. What was there to take apart? There was a lot of dissecting for me, but it was more along the lines of characterization and the rural/country mindsets. Maybe I just focused more upon that than the actually crime part. It seems to me that writing a crime novel wouldn’t really take literary skill as much as technical know how of the crime genre (whether it be film, movie, etc.). However, with McCarthy’s characterization, the novel takes on a whole new meaning (but, to me, not as a crime novel).

**I feel as though I keep running around in circles. Much of that is because I am a little confused about the novel. Please be patient with this blog post. It might be one of the most confusing yet. But, like I’ve said, I’m writing this in hopes of figuring out how I feel about the novel.

Side note (I think): I don’t see how they could have made this into an interesting film. The most interesting parts (again, maybe because it was more of the literary skill of characterization), were the conversations between the “simple folk.” It was so “weird” (for lack of a better word) to see (what most would stereotype as dumb or slow cowboy types) take what most people philosophize about and make it so simple. By simple, I don’t mean stupid, I mean simple. It really is just that simple. Period.
About being made into a movie, the crime/action parts were, well, simple. By simple, I mean dumb. Sure it was interesting to read about someone getting killed by a cow tazer thingy, and I’m sure there were lots and lots of blood. But Braveheart has a lot of blood, too. And The Departed had a lot of killing (the end in the elevator—that was an “oh shit” moment). So what’s so different this time? I don’t know, maybe I’ll just have to rent the movie.

OK, the above posted is from before I read the last couple chapters of the book, I am now finished. I must say, I really did like this book. I want to share my favorite quotation. “Suppose you was someplace that you didnt know where it was. The real thing you wouldnt know was where someplace else was. Or how far it was. It wouldnt change nothing about where you was at. She thought about that. I try not to think about stuff like that, she said. you think when you get to California you’ll kind of start over. Them’s my intentions. I think maybe that’s the point. ther’s a road goin to California and there’s one comin back. But the best way would be just to show up there. show up there. yeah. You mean and not know how you got there? Yeah. And not know how you got there. I dont know how you’d do that. I dont know either. That’s the point. She looked at him. I guess I aint sure what the pint is, she said. The point is there aint no point. No. I mean what you said. About knowin where you are. He looked at her. After a while he said: It’s not about knowin where you are. It’s about thinking you got there without takin anything with you. Your notions about startin over. Or anybody’s. You dont start over. That’s what it’s about. Ever step you take is forever. You cant make it go away. none of it. you understand what I’m sayin? I think so. I know you don’t but let me try it one more time. You think when you wake up in the morning yesterday dont count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else. You might think you could run away and change your name and I don’t know what all. Start over. And then one mornin you wake up and look at the ceilin and guess who’s layin there?”

The title of the book, really, doesn’t come into play until the end of the book, which isn’t a complaint; however, much of the good parts of the book (and I’m not talking plot-wise) come at the end. I think that is why I wasn’t sure if I like the book until I got through all of it.

You Pig

There was such confusion yesterday between the fashion show coordination, students and busses, and administration (plus I had a sore throat from talking all day--which is the case everyday--my vocal cords are not cut out to be a talker) that the tryouts AND my post-ob were cancelled. That means that I got to go home at a decent hour on Friday! However, Monday is going to be another story because I have my rescheduled post-ob and it's back to school night. GOOD.

About those books I mentioned in my other post...

Last weekend I went to Washington D.C. For breakfast we ate at Afterwords Cafe. It's this trendy little place (which usually means unique yet expensive food--where your mimosa or bloody mary is on the house) in the back of a locally owned bookstore. My neck of the woods, for sure. It was excellent. I almost felt like I was in NYC. (Oh, I miss NY--even the orchards and farm land). Anyhow, I spent a lot of time checking out the feminist books. Why? I have no clue. Maybe to see what some of the new books were all about. Most of them I rolled my eyes at or chuckled aloud. But one of them I picked up and found interesting. I bought the book after reading the first chapter. I know, some of you reading this may be shocked that I bought a book marketed to feminist, but I have an explanation. The book is titled Female Chauvinist Pigs Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture (by Ariel Levy). The author explores the rise of women exploiting (for lack of a better word) their sexuality, joining men at strip clubs, feeling empowered by appearing on a Girls Gone Wild video, olympic athletes posing for FHM, Playboy, etc. That's just the first 100 pages. Her arguement being that women think they're being feminist by doing the previous mentioned acts because it's their choices. However, she thinks this raunch culture is commercial, not progressive. She coins the term female chauvinist pig. Let me share a quotation with you.

"If I told you that I'd met someone who executive produces a reality show about strippers, who becomes irritable and dismissive when faced with feminst debate, and who is a ferocious supporter of lap dances, you might reasonable assume I was talkling about a man--the kind of man we used to call a Male Chauvinish Pig. But no. I'm talking about the Jewish Woman of Inspiration. I'm talking about an urbane, articulate, extremely successful woman who sits on a high perch in the middle of mainstream, and I could be talking about any number of women, because the ideas and emotions Nevins gave voice to are by no means uniquely her own: They are the status quo.

We decided long ago that the Male Chauvinist Pig was an unenlighteded rube, but the Female Chauvinist Pig (FCP) has risen to a kind of exalted status. She is post-feminist. She if funny. She gets it. She doesn't mind cartoonish sterotypes of female sexuality, and she doesn't mind a cartoonishly macho response to them, The FCP askes: Why throw your boyfriend's Playboy in a freedom trash can when you could be partying at the Mansion? Why worry about disgusting or degrading when you could be giving--or getting--a lap dance yourself? Why try to beat them when you can join them?" (93).

This, ladies and gentlemen, is funny to me. Not LOL funny, but more of a looking-in-the-mirror-chuckle funny. I'm the girl that buys the Playboys, goes to the strip clubs (falls in lust with a stripper named Gia, with big tits), and would be the first to tell a antifeminist joke. (How many men does it take to screw in a light bulb? None, let the bitch cook in the dark! That joke happens to be my fav. I laugh everytime).

Does this mean I am a "sort of feminist?" a post-feminist? an anti-feminist? I don't have a clue. I'm def. a FCP though. I, often times, stray away from the feminist debate. I don't consider myself a fem. Of course I don't think women should be beat up, and I've never experienced a difference of pay from a male cooworker doing the same job, but I don't believe in abortion, nor do I believe a woman can do the same things a man can (and vice versa). I'm def. not ready for a female president. Not because I don't think one would do a good job, but because I don't want the backlash of "what does this mean for women?" (As I mentioned in a previous blog). Sure, I wasn't around when women were considered less than human and didn't have the right to vote, and maybe that has something to do with my lack of understanding, but to go around and try to convince men that they shouldn't be telling sexual jokes, laughing at dumb blondes, or going to strip clubs because it's degrading to women, is beyond me.

I'm sure I've pissed a lot of people off, or have changed opinions of what some think about me, but I want to mention that I don't find feminists wrong. Fight for what you believe in; I admire that (like I admire Muslims for sticking to their ideals--sort through that comparison). This is why I stray from the feminism debate. I'm not ready, let me rephrase that, people I know are not ready for me to share these ideas. At least not the women. I find it easy to have this discussion with men. Am I some sort of feminist? I don't know. Is raunch culture progressive? commercial? I don't know. If I can't beat them, will I join them? Yes.

Maybe I'm just taking the easy way out. Maybe. But I' feel as though I'm having fun doing so. As for feeling empowered... I do so in other ways, not in fighting for somthing I don't understand.

The other book I wanted to mention is called The Average American Male: A Novel (by Chris Kultgen, I think). Haha, I leave you with that. I'll post about it later.

All Wired Up

I am a subscriber to the magazine WIRED. This will be hypocritical to a point I will make in a few moments, but I'm OK with this. A little background to my following blog...On the April cover of the magazine, Jenna Fischer was posing. [She's the secretary in the sitcom, The Office (That's what she said.")]. At first glance, Jenna is dressed in a suit holding a sign that states, "Get Naked and..." However, the cover is a transparency that, when lifted, shows a naked Jenna holding a sign stating, "Rule the world... etc." Here's a link to better illustrate what I am describing: http://geeksugar.com/187018 .

Controversy stirred over the cover. Let me first say that I think it was a clever idea. I often love the people that Wired puts on its cover such as Steven Colbert, the PC guy from the Mac commercials, that old dude that bought out Myspace, and now, Jenna Fischer. Nicely done. And, since the feature article was about radical transparencies in the business world, hey, why not a transparent cover of The Office star.

Some people enjoyed the cover. One person wrote, "Thank you for using the plastic overlay on the cover photograph of Jenna Fischer. It made it easier to wipe off the drool. Yet others were none too pleased. One reader writes, "For a magazine that likes to view itself as mapping the future, your old-school sexism is deeply disappointing. Another writes (a woman, of course), After 20 years in high tech trying to be taken seriously as a female with a brain, I don't find the images of a 'professional' woman being stripped naked with a peekaboo cover amusing. I'm done pretending that I'm such a good sport and one of the guys and that it's jut fine having images of women's bodies being used to sell whatever crap needs selling--like, say, a story about high-level managers and CEOs (almost all of them men) and their latest gimmick to get an edge on the competition." Well, Karen McWilliams of Livermore, California, let me be petty for one moment. If you were a woman with a brain, to begin, you'd know that your grammar skills are very very poor. Secondly, Jenna Fischer is an actress, not a CEO. The way actresses sell their careers is through sex. Jenna Fischer, bring it on!

C'mon people, it was tastefully done. It wasn't an FHM or Maxim-esq cover shoot. The idea was creative and original. Not once did I find the cover to be sexual in nature. The thought didn't even cross my mind until I read the letters to the editor in the June issue. (Note: I have just opened the June issue because I just found it. I was away at college and didn't receive all of my mail.) And what if it was sexual to some? Fine, sex does sell, and as WIRED readers, one should realize that it's all about making money. Most WIRED subscribers, I think I am safely assuming, are males. So go ahead and put a naked woman on the cover. Maybe you'd even get some lesbiens to pick up the magazine. WHO CARES!? I'm sure the people at WIRED aren't there just for shits and giggles, nor are they there for the sole purpose of informing the readers of the private space age. No, these people are making a career. Career=money. Sex sells.

You know what I'm sick of?? I'm sick of women complaining about the sex selling campaigns and movie stars that are too thin. If you think men are stupid enough to believe that every woman looks like that, or should look like that, then you need to open your eyes. Yes, some men are that stupid, but some women believe all men should have 6-pack abs and no body hair. Get over it! If you don't want to strive to be less than 100 pounds because you enjoy food, nor do you need to go get your roots dyed ever 4 weeks, good for you. That's the way to get people to like you for whom you are. I'm sure the Wired staff hoped that the transparent cover would help sell more copies, but I'm sure they thought the same thing with the bright orange lettering over Rupert Murdoch's head. Now there's a sex symbol....kidding.

Promises Delivered

As I stated in yesterday's post, I am going to write about work again. I know; I know. You can't wait to hear about my experiences. Ha. I kid.

Today I started making a list, and this is a estimate because it got busy and I wasn't able to take out my slip of paper and write a tally mark, but I had 161 customers today. That's about 40 customers an hour, which, very loosely, is one customer every one and a half minutes. Of those 161 people, 131 of them were regulars. Of the 131 regulars, I'd say about 110 of them come in every day! The others about every other day or so. Wow. (Now this is an estimate, as I said, but there are more than this stated amount. I counted the accounts we have, such as Poland Spring and Depew Oil, as one cutomer. However, there's about 10-15 Poland guys and Depew varies every day.)

Here are some of the regulars:
Laugh Lady: She gets guess everyday. And every day she gets an odd dollar amount of gas. It's alway 9..62 or 11.94 etc, as opposed to 10.00 or 12.00 dollars. Most of the time she pays the amount as is, what I mean is, she'll always give me 9.62 instead of 10.00 dollars. Today she didn't, but she usually does. I call her laugh lady because, well, she's always laughing. AT NOTHING. I've never come across this lady when she's not laughing. Did I mention it was at nothingness. Whatever, more power to her, I guess.

Irish Man: At least I think he is. He hardly talks, but when he does, I hear a accent. He gets a large coffee and 2 55 cent granola bars everyday. It comes out to be 2 dollars and 55 cents.

Quiet Baby Lady: Last summer, or something like that, she came in everyday and bought a water and a Rice Krispy Treat. She was pregnant. She always seems nervous to me...her voice and hands shake everytime I interact with her. However, she ran into someone she hadn't seen in a while one day and she was talking very fluent Spanish to this man. Her voice didn't seem to shake then. Anyway, now that she's not pregnant anymore, she gets coffee everyday. I haven't seen the baby, as I'm sure she stops in on her way to work, but she looks good for having a kid and all.

Keith: Paper and Vitamin water everyday... $2 He runs/owns/manages (IDK) an excuvating business. I overheard him today talking about going to Standford to finish the job. Whatever that means.

BOB: 222 dollar straight, midday and evening. $1.75 in papers

The guy from the plant: There's a couple of these guys, but he's the one who every day I ask, "credit or debit" and every day he says, "the one you have to sign." I don't do it on purpose; I generally forget even though I see him all the time. I'll remember tomorrow; I suppose. However, today he asked, "so, which one is the one where I have to sign, so I know." "It's credit," I said.

There's two ladies that come in everyday dress for work. (Not together...at different times) I thought both of these ladies were nurses, or worked in some sort of medical office. They're always dress like nurses. The one lady, however, works in a supermarket bakery making cakes. The other, a lunch lady. Weird. I just found this out recently. They, too, get the same thing everyday.

My Adventures as a Gas Station Cashier Continue

I've had it all... coffee spills, leaky coolers, frozen coffee machines, car accidents, drive offs, ignorant customers, fun customers, LOONEY customers (refer to a previous post 'Oh Gino'). Drama ensues, yelling, laughing, crying. There's been coworking romances, customer/cashier arguments, jigga jigga lottery dances, paid tabs and years old tabs left unpaid, and I've even gotten a marriage proposal. Ah, the refreshing life of one gas station employee.

One meets many interesting characters in the game of life while working at a service center. I enjoy every minute of it. OK, I'm lying a little. Eh, I'm lying a lot. I actually do like working there when it's busy enough to have something to do, but I also like the small moments of time that you get to chat with a customer or two. I absolutely HATE when it's slow, and, with gass prices like this, it's slow often. I, however, only work 530-930AM. Most of this time is busy because of our Poland Spring account and all of the loyal customers that fuel up the cars on thier way to work in the morning, or need coffee to get going, or the landscapers who need all their mowers and trucks filled up. Every morning I see the same people at the same time. Huh, that kind of weirds me out, but as long as I don't have specific times and mannerisms from these customers, I should be fine (long story, if you don't know it, then disregard last sentence).

Pattie comes in every morning to buy 2 twenty ounce sodas, two take five quick picks, a take five ticket that has a 2 and a 15 in it, a quick pick on the nights game, a bag of tgifridays chips, and if she's won money on a scratch off, she'll get a pick 10 and more scratch offs. Today she told me to do a jigga jigga dance so she'd win money. Most of the time I'd roll my eyes and politely say, "maybe next time," but I did the dance today. Haha, she won four dollars. Hey, my booty shakin' is worth something.

Foot comes in everyday and buys two papers, two medium coffees, a hard roll, and a bagel. About every other day he gets gas. He comes in, puts the papers on the counter, gets his coffee, comes back and holds his coffee in the air (one in each hand so I can see them--just like every other day--hey, maybe he thinks I've forgotten after two years) and says, "I'm going to finish at the pump." He goes outside with his coffees, comes back in and purchases his stuff. He talks a lot too. We don't enjoy this. Last week he stated, "God, you really are cute. I wish you were 15." Julie and I were horrified, but Tina thought that maybe he meant something along the lines of being in the age group in order to be girlfriend material for his son. Makes sense, and makes him seem a little less creepy. I'm going to stick with that explanation.

There are so many people that come in every day. I think I'll make a list tomorrow as they come in and continue this post tomorrow.

New Title IV

I had another recommendation for a blog title. Dave siad something along the lines of Gayness called: It wants its blog back. I will tell of the story in a moment, but first I wanted to say that my plans of dedication and changing of the title has changed. I was going to name my blog this (Gayness called...) in dedication to Dave until my permenant title came to me, but I think I'm going to keep "It's just my face." It's growing on me. I figured I should embrace the face. Also, it's a little less offensive--not that I generally care about offended people, but I would rather not make it a world-wide sort of thing.

The story behind "Gayness Called..."

Maria and Jackie were picking on some random chick in the pizza place. We were in the pizza place because our beyond-drunk asses (at least mine) were hungry. Now, Maria and Jackie, if I remember correctly, were kind of starting a fight, but not like a let's brawl, I'mma kick your ass, kinda fight. Just petty girl shit. I, however, felt left out... I'm guessing. I looked over at some random dude and yelled/said, "Gayness called, they want there GUY back." Yes, I am ashamed of my actions. BUT, I laugh everytime I recall this. Maria said she wished she didn't know me at that point. Well, I've decided to embrace/exploit my stupidity. I use the "gayness called" with EVERYTHING now. For example, if I think a commercial is stupid, I'll say, "Gayness called; It wants its commercial back." Or, if I drop something, say a head of lettuce, I'll remark, "Gayness called; they want their lettuce back." Let me tell you, it's an all day thing now. Even my housemates are using it. I think it goes right up there with the amount of times I say, "JC is gay."

Now (I just went outside to close my moon roof because it's raining, and can't remember what else I wanted to type.) Eh, maybe it'll come to me later and I can edit this post. Until then...

New Title III

Still procrastinating about thinking about the title of my blog. I just wanted to mention, as talked over with Ray, that the blog title generator mentioned in my previous blog is not awesome.

As for now, my title is dedicated to Ray. Here is why:

As far back as I can remember, people have always told me that I need to smile. I constantly have people asking me why I am mad, sad, upset, in a murderous rage, etc. However, I am none of these things, most of the time. If you take a look at my drivers license, you'll see what looks like a prison mug shot for someone about to enter a maximum facility institution because she has just committed an awful crime and is a little smug about it. I was actually in a good mood at the time of the picture. To continue, I can't stress enough how much this happens to me (all the "hey, what's wrongs" and "I always thought you were a bitch before I met you because you always looked pissed at the worlds"). Now, I'm not going to go so far as to say I'm not a cynical, jaded, pessimistic person, but more often than not, my facial expressions don't demonstrate what I am thinking or feeling. To make a long, redundant story shorter...Ray, one day about a year ago, commented on this "look" that seems to make everyone inquisitive about my state of mind. In reply I said, "It's just my face." The rest is history. We have a good chuckle about it sometimes, and I don't think I'll ever forget it, seeing as though people will continue to ask me if I'm about to (trying to think of something that isn't "homicidal rampage" because I don't want to be insensitive to what just happened at VT, but I can't think on 2 hours of sleep.) I think you get it, I'm not going to finish that sentence.

I feel fake going around smiling all of the time. Who does that anyway? People go around with a solomn expression on their faces all of the time, yet don't get others going out of their ways to walk on the other side of the street because they think you're going to punch them in the face for no apparent reason other than my face says I'm going to. Why is it that my lack of a smile connotes something other than John Doe's lack of a smile? I'm going to go with... it's just my face.

New Title II

First of all, I'd like to thank Ray for the suggestion. ::cough:: Jerk ::cough, cough::
Second of all, I would like to tell you a little about my quest to find the perfect title. I found a site for a blog generator. It's a blog title generator. I have yet to come across one that I like, but it is cool to see what it comes up with, for example, Unstructured Reflections of a Self-Confessed Dreamer. Cute, right? Not for me, of course. And, they seem more theme-ish, if you will. As you can see, my blog is not really following a theme. I write about so many different things, and I don't have one sort of style. Also, I don't stick to one kind of writing. I have opinions, self-reflections, creative writing, ect.
Oh well.... still searching, wondering, thinking.

New Title

It was brought to my attention a couple of weeks ago, that someone else has the same title for her blog as I do. Now, I'm sure many people use this for their titles, or whatever. It's almost cliche, but I've been obsessed with this quoatation for a long time. It's even going to be tattooed on my body.

However, I have decided to change the title of the blog. I've had this title for two and a half years. I guess I can part with it. Now all I have to do is find something to replace it with....sorry....with which to replace it (I guess I should start to try to write better seeing as though I am an English major).

Any suggestions? I have none as of right now. I just know that I wasn't going to change it, but now, everytime I blog, I think about it. It needs to be done.

Remembering Dermaphoria

Yesterday, or the day before (I have a bad memory and can't keep things like that straight), I finished Dermaphoria--Craig Clevenger's sophomore novel. (His other novel is The Contortionist's Handbook, which I've also read.) It's been compared to a cross between the film Requiem for a Dream and a novel by Cormac McCarthy. Side note: McCarthy just won the 2007 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for his book The Road. I think it's a pretty good comparison.

At first, while reading, I just kept asking myself, "What the Hell is going on here?" I couldn't get a grasp on anything the author was writing. For example, the first paragraph reads, "I panicked and swallowed a handful of fireflies and black widows the inferno had not. Shiny glass teardrops shattered between my teeth while the fireflies popped like Christmas bulbs until I coughed up blood and blue sparks, starting another fire three inches behind my eyes and burning a hole through the floor of memory. A lifetime of days, years, minutes and months, gone, but for a lone scrap, scorched and snagged on a frayed nerve ending and snapping in the breeze:” After reading the book, I get it, but not at first. And even after reading the book, I have to go back to realize that I know now what he was talking about. I could have simply said that the beginning of the book was confusing, but going back, I realized how it all fits together.

I really enjoyed this book, more than his first one, which is also good. I couldn't wait to read more because I HAD to know what was going to happen, but, at the same time, I didn't want to read more because the pages until the end were disappearing. That would mean that there would be no more story to read. I wanted to know, but I didn't want it to end. However, after finishing with the novel, I was strangely satisfied with the story as a whole, even before going back to see all of the things that I missed.

I can't express enough how confusing some of this book was, but it really does fit together. And after a couple of chapters (they're short) I was totally engrossed in the story. It took me a while to actually pick the book up. I had only bought it because I liked his other novel, and I wasn't too interested in reading this story. I don't even remember why I finally decided to read it. It's a very quick read, and the reread, or skimming back over, makes the novel so much better. You’re just like, Oh yeah, I forgot about that, but now I get it. Unless, of course, you have a better memory than I do and get it right away because you never forgot to begin with.

The book is littered with characters such as Jack, the Beanstalk, Manhattan White, Otto, Desiree, The Token Man, and the Glass Stripper. Not to mention the “cockroaches” and “talking” Moose head at the diner.

“The cockroaches tell you that? You shouldn’t listen to them. They’re pissed because I’m a neat freak. I moved into that shit-hole room and swept up the crack pipes and bread crumbs. I killed one of them, so the whole colony’s got it in for me.”

Anyway, the main character, Eric is genuinely smart, but you want to smack him during his drug trips. The clear story line, when he’s sober, is refreshing, but the other parts are fun. One more quotation that I enjoyed, and that I'll leave you with, is:

Everything in the universe is everything else. A man is a killer is a saint is a monkey is a cockroach is a goldfish is a whale, and the Devil is just the angel who asked for More.
Doomed but destined to forever want the closest thing beyond our grasp, we fled the trees, stood on our hind legs and reached with our new hands. We learned to sharpen sticks, then rocks, to scream, then grunt, then speak. We were hardwired for desire, and our wanting drove us to evolve, so we evolved wanting. More food, more fire and more offspring. More gods. Gods for harvest, fire and fertility. One day, one god said No more. No more other gods, no more of More. A million years of More were flushed away, cesspooling nine circles below the earth, a million ears too late. Man’s nature has been set to be unsatisfied.

"Sins of a Father"

I watched "Sins of a Father" yesterday on Anderson Cooper 360. It made me sick to my stomach, and I may have woken people up with my gasps and my Ohmigods. It wasn't a new concept for a story, the whole Catholic priest molesting young boys, but it was a story to which I never paid much attention. When I say that, I mean that the stories were never my focus, and I never paid close attention to them. I knew that it was out there and gross, etc. This was the first time I actually sat down and watched. The story was heart breaking, obviously. This is copied from the transcript of the show:

COOPER: Despite their defeat last year, victims of sexual abuse in Maryland are steadfast in their fight for what they say is justice.

Earlier this month, they shared their painstaking stories with the Senate Judiciary Committee in hopes they'll gain support for a bill that would allow a one-year window for childhood victims of sexual abuse, regardless of their age, to press civil charges against their abusers.

The Catholic Church was also represented, arguing against the bill.

We asked the archdiocese of Baltimore and asked them why. In a statement they said, and I quote, "The bill is fundamentally unfair to defendants to resurrect dead claims from 50 years ago and financially devastates the good work and faithful parishioners of today. This legislation does nothing to protect children, rather it encourages delays in reporting allegations of abuse leaving more children vulnerable."

Now I have expressed some feelings about this story. I want the readers of this blog to know that I find this thing absolutely disgusting and wrong, but on the other hand, I can't help but see the church's arguement against the bill. I'm not saying I agree or disagree, but I can see the point. I can also see the point of the bill. It's awful that it's even an issue.
Another thing that is horrible is what happened to the priest, or I should say what didn't happen to the priest. Let's just say, he's still a priest, and they haven't defrocked him yet. He didn't serve a full sentence in jail (18 months would have been his full sentence). This sentence is from the same court that gave a guy 3 years in jail for an overdue library book.

My music is blaring in my ears. I can hear nothing else as I stare out into the field; the sun and I face to face. I can't hear the cars passing by. I can't hear the wind or birds. I can only see and feel. I see the leaves swaying. I feel the wind on my bare hands, and my hair is gently blown across my face. My hair looks glossy in the sunlight; almost like spun chocolate. I squint at the sun while tilting my head to feel it's warmth on my cheeks. The hem of my pants, the tips of grass, and the wind all team up to tickle my foot.

The guitars, drums, and voices remind me that my heart is supposed to bleed, and honesty is a fable in love.

The music stops, and before the next song comes on, I hear a car drive by; I hear birds singing; I hear the wind whispering. Between each song I am placed back into reality.

And, although the sun and wind quell my realities, I am brought back to a place I desire to escape from.

Yes, the music has a sort of harsh reality about it, but it isn't a focal point. It's a weapon. Music--loud music--fights the true sounds of reality. It, reality, is on the backburner of my current world--the world of warmth and spun chocolate.

My hair gets caught on am eyelash. A small rainbow is glaring from this intersection.

And the song reminds me that so much can be said through silence.

Identically soft and strong, Potentially Nothing

I have a secret
It's deep and dark
very
and here I am, putting it down on paper
Immortalizing my secret
Creating the excitement of fear
Fear of being found out
Still excitement

It begins with 2, but quickly becomes one
The same, yet different
It, the secret, is the sort that ruins
Yet creates.
Ruins. Creates. Ruins.
Creates?

It's a plesure restricted by time and circumstance
Identically soft and strong, Potentially nothing
But only one.
10-22-06