you yourself is always the easiest person to corrupt.

Peace.

Why can’t we recognize more role models like him in the black community? These are people I want to be connected too, not just the white community's idea of role models like MLK and Rosa. 

peace.

yeah, well..

I feel as though my down is on a slight up slope. I decided that I don’t really care anymore, at least not about little things. I have decided this before though, so its not a revelation. but regardless, i feel slightly better. I know how cliche this statement is going to sound, but really, as long as I try my hardest, and know that I am really giving it all I got, that’s really all I can ask for, even if my best just isn’t good enough. I’l just marry rich anyway and use his money to become a philanthropist.  I must give credit to the killers for this help though. There catchy beats and the power of repetition has helped, if only a bit. 

 These days ain’t been good, but these days ain’t so bad.

-not me

Peace.

annoying as fuck

So I found me self watching this video for about three minutes, and then i thought to myself, why the fuck am I watching this?

Heath Ledger

So in the middle of my down, I look to people I admire, or more truthful, people I consider attractive. Last night I called on the help of Heath Ledger in a Knights Tale. You have to appreciate the actors ho can pull off the grunge look, seeing as so few can. Of course Johnny Depp as well as Collin Ferrel, two very good looking people. 

But anyway as the movie ended in one of the most cliche ways possible, a happy ending with a passionate kiss, I noticed something that hadn’t been evident to me before. Heath Ledger is an amazingly good kisser, at least to watch. Now I probably should have warned you that this post was only written to gush about the hottie that he is, which is far different from my other posts, but I think that he deserves this for his amazingly good looks, so I will continue. 

Now for you, the sole reader of my blog, you may not have picked up on this. I imagine you to be like every other guy who denies the idea that other men can be attractive, or at least refuses to admit it. But if you study his posture during the kiss, it’s really quite nice. Now I have not studied this, but I only noticed it last night. But look, and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

I don’t know I sound like a creeper when I try to explain it so I’m just not going to anymore, but definitely check it out. 

I also added a Brokeback Mountain scene. Despite what those homophobes may say this is one of the best loves stories ever. 

Peace.

Being the Best

I am obsessed with being the best. It is not enough for me to simply be good at something, to just get by. I would like to attribute my motivation to a more nobler one, and yes, I am sure that some of it stems from that, but t

heir is also a selfish one, and I cannot refute it. It is because of this selfishness that I believe my unhappiness arises. It is common sense that it is easier to succeed if you aim at a lower goal as opposed to a higher one, so why shouldn’t I simply aim lower, lower my expectations? There’s something within me that won’t allow it though, that fights off this common sense. I apparently would rather aim high and fall hard than aim low and succeed, at least that is the thinking of the little person inside me, the one that governs us all. 

I am afraid that this is exactly the type of thinking that will kill me. You know those people whose wok become their lives and whose lives become their work. The ones that cannot love, cannot be happy for if they think that if they obtain even the slightest amount of pleasure, then somehow they have settled, have not reached the top, and have decided that there is still more to conquer. I believe I am destined to be one of those people. These are the people who become bitter. They lose any sense of humanity, not pausing but a second to tear down orphanages, or foreclose on a family of eight. 

These people have lost what makes them human, what makes a person good. They are ugly people, and I do not want to be an ugo. I don’t want to be those people who now despise the very thing they used to love, for all the people who turn into these bitter ones have started out with the best of intentions. But somewhere along the way, they have forgotten the reason they did it in the first place. 

But how does one prevent this change. I have already decided that I can’t simply settle for good. When I think about my future, and the job I will eventually have, I am never clear as to what profession I will pick, but one thing is for sure. Whatever I do pick, I will be the best at. This is not a matter of if I will or not, because I know for sure, that I will be. I won’t let myself be anything but.  In this fantasy, I am a lot of things. I am successful, I am wealthy, I am respected. But am I happy? That, that I do not really know. 

Peace. 

home is what you make it

So I was bumming around the interwebs and happened upon this video on Andrew Sullivan’s blog. The video is digitally animated and is somewhat reminiscent of Sims visuals. It starts off with a basic dwelling, which morphs into a higher quality, which morphs into a higher quality and so on and so forth. While I watched this, it once again brought up a concern I have been harboring, one of materialism. 

subprime from beeple on Vimeo.

Our society has become greatly focussed on items. They serve as a way to judge ones success, and are, sadly the source of our happiness, or the false ideal of happiness. I realize this, and yet, I find myself buying into the same evil as everyone else. I am under the idea that I need something, items such as a new TV or the best computer, not just a competent one. While I have become better at identifying my poorly based desires,  I have also figured out a way to manipulate my mind into justifying such buys as my i-mac, which in all honesty, is something I most likely could have lived without. 

And yet I cannot fight this battle, because when you are all around it, it’s almost impossible to ignore it. 

Peace. 

My Down

Have you ever thought about just giving up? Not the suicidal, melodramatic thought, but the ‘Why am I doing this?’ kind. I would be surprised if you haven’t. Your life has been one of complete comfort. But for the masses who have experienced this feeling, you are the ones who I want to speak with. Now this feeling usually lasts for only a bit, and then something good happens, making you scoff at your past doubts. 

This is usually the cycle I have been in. I’ll do poorly on a test, then ask myself why I just don’t take easier classes, or be extremely tired and begin rethinking my schedule, but then there will be one day that I’ll be completely on, answering every question, doing well on all my assignments, making me forget about all uncertainties, restoring faith in my ability.

But lately, it seems my life has followed the downward trend of this cycle, rarely rising again. When it does rise, it doesn’t seem like the line fully reaches the top, so when the next down comes, it plunges me even further. I understand that this probably doesn’t make much sense to you, and for that I apologize. But try to understand this, if you can. I have seen more disappointments than achievements recently, and though it may just appear this way because I am in the middle of a down, this realization, no matter the reality of it, is disheartening. I really need just something good, something really good I suppose, to regain my faith, to maintain my drive. 

But is during times such as these that I begin to reevaluate what I have set as my future path. i really have no specifics, but somewhat of a generalization. Whatever I do, I decided that sometime in my life, I want to get to a spot where I can help a lot of people, and in a big way. How am I going to do this, i really can’t say. What i have decided on is that I need to be important to do so. Not because I necessarily want to be important, but more for the fact that its easier to help people when you have power on your side, and with importance comes power. With that power, I feel I’ll be able to accomplish something that benefits world kind.

Because of this, I have decided that i need to go to somewhat of a good school, and be considered smart by my peers, including my teachers. I know this sound stupid, and it is. I neither care nor believe I am smart, so really I am just attempting to fool people. But when teachers and classmates think your smart, it’s easier to convince them of your beliefs, and get them to follow you. Now that I’m writing my plan out, I feel like somewhat of an evil mastermind, and maybe I am. Perhaps I’m going about this whole “change the world” thing all wrong. But I know of no better way, so this is what I am stuck with for the time being. 

Anyway, I plan on graduating college, then going on to medical school, or some other high profession. some school to help me better my place in the field I chose to go into. This will most likely be some science of sorts, which is a saddening realization, but that is a different worry all together. From there I will become somewhat of a big deal in the science world, and be respected by my fellow scientists. I will be asked to speak at banquets and be given the honor of working alongside some of the most brilliant minds. While this is not what I really want from life, I imagine that this will feed my ego if only a bit, increasing my self image as if their praise somehow determined my self worth. 

And from that, I will be able to demand help from companies and corporations. Change for environmental problems, or impoverished nations abroad, whatever cause I chose to champion. And because of my credentials, people will listen. While it is disappointing to know that to evoke the type of reform needed to make the world a better place can only be done by recognition, one must face reality. The means in which I succeed is not really important I suppose, as long as I can maintain some bit of pride. But I will succeed, which is the important thing. I will know that I did something to better this place, to help another, and that, more than anything will justify my existence. 

But what if I fail?

And this doubt is the source of my discontent, the source of my down. 

Peace.

The Death Match

So in government I was talking to my favorite teacher, coach white. We were talking about fights and how students no longer chose to fight in school because of the possible consquesnces, and how they now makes plans to take their fights off school grounds. Somewhow we began discussing the possibility of an underground teacher fight associations wherein teachers from the surrounding area would meet in an abandoned warehouse, form a circle, and the Tyler Durden of them would read the rules.
Well, I decided that coach white, my favorite, should fight mr. ayers, my least favorite. I then went about setting this match up. Both parties have agreed to the fight, and it has become my job to work out all the details, which has become somewhat difficult thanks to mr. ayers.
Anyway, I have figured it out:
-convert the soccer field to a cage match arena
-death match
-$150 per ticket
-bare knuckle
-next friday
-high noon

come see the fight.

Peace.

Life Rage

So I was chillin’ in my government class listening to coach white ramble on about something or other and somehow he got on the topic of road rage. Like always, he had a couple of stories to go along with his topic. If you have never spoken to him before, you may not know this, but all his conversations seem to include at least ten stories, most of them not about him, but things he hears from the news. He’s very current event oriented. What’s more is that he usually ends up telling the same ones twice. I hate repetition. Some of them also seem to have a sense of myth to them. I question their legitimacy. 

Let me tell you the stories of road rage I was told by coach white. 

First Story:

There was this guy who got cut off by this old lady and her cute little . This made him mad right, cause this old bitch cut him off, what the fuck? So he tailgates her several blocks, you know to teach her a lesson. Finally, they reach a stop sign. He parks his car, gets out and walks up to the old lady’s open window. By now, the old bag is scared as fuck, understandably so. The only way she could apologize more is of she were on her hands and knees, begging for his forgiveness. But this guy just isn’t gonna let her get off that easy. He reaches in, grabs her dog, and throws him into the intersection where he is immediately hit by a car and killed. Pay back’s a bitch, right?

Second Story:

There are these two guys playing, as coach described it, a cat and mouse game. One guy speeds ahead of the other, gets in front of him, then slows down. The other guy does the same and this just keeps going until on gestures to the other to pull over on the side of the road. They both pull over, and the one guy gets out of him car, goes up to the window and bangs on it threatening to kick his ass. The guy totally deserves the beating he’s about to receive. But the homie in the car don’t play that, so he reaches into his glove compartment, pulls out his loaded gun, and bam! One onomatopoeia later, there’s a dead guy laying on the side of the road. 

Now I understand that these are some extreme cases of road rage, and good ol’ fashion road rage doesn’t usually have results like this, but seriously, is this what our world is coming to. Can a simple act of cutting someone off or an immature road game really spark someone to commit acts of animal cruelty, or even murder? Apparently so. That’s my hypothesis. 

Coach White actually brought up a good point. That our society has begun to move too fast, fast enough for us not to be able to handle it. This is a statement I fully agree with.  We have become so engulfed in our lives, constantly filling them with more and more to the point where we simply just can’t handle no mo’, resulting in a society that is overly stressed and always on the edge. That’s my hypothesis. Our minds are never empty, always thinking of the responsibility we must do next. And when is our down time? Those few hours at night that we attempt to sleep, but almost always fail because of the worry of the next day on our mind. 

So how does one solve this problem? You can’t. You can try those “calming” deep breathes, or counting to ten, but it won’t do much good. If you really want to stop this life rage though, I would suggest learning how to laugh at yourself, try to accept that things don’t always go your way, and maybe even deciding to not let this one, infuriating incident get the better of you.  That’s my hypothesis. Easier said than done thiough.

Peace.

You are so black!

So today I was rockin’ my scarf my friend and I bought in New York, some 80’s wash pants, and an MTV Yo Raps! shirt. For those of you who don’t know what that show is, you should all be embarrassed, its only the greatest MTV show that has ever been produced, mostly because it actually has music instead of drunken, screaming, overly tanned girls like some of their more popular shows, like The Real World.

Anyway, I noticed that I was getting a lot of comments like, you look so black today. Seeing as how I never hear things like that, I was really flattered. But then it got me thinking about something I started wondering about some time ago. How does a person look or act black?
I look like I am straight thuggin’ and all of a sudden I go from my nerdy white girl appearance to a certified gangster? How does this happen? Easy, stereotypes.

I can’t count the number of times someone has told me that I was so white because I didn’t act ghetto enough. I can’t count the number of times I have heard people tell their friends that they were so black because they just quoted 50 cent. But believe it or not, there are white people who don’t like country music and there are black people who don't like rap.

When you tell someone that they’re black, you’re simply buying into stereotypes. We, as a society have decided long ago what white and black is.
Black people like:
1. rap music
2. bitches and ho’s
3. Cadillac’s
4. canes and pimp cups
5. d’s on dat bitch
6. two steppin’
7. menthol ciggerettes
8. fried chicken
9. purple drank

White people like:
1. mayo and cheese sandwiches
2. golfing and wearing golf clothes when not golfing
3. political prisoners
4. firsbee sports
5. new balance shoes
6. girls with bangs
7. grammar
8. knowledge

plus khaki shorts

While I do enjoy my bitches and ho’s, I must admit to liking girls with bangs and grammar as well. So where do I fall? I have never met anyone who has liked all of these things listed in the above categories, so why is it that we either assume these nationalities do, or that if they like one, then they can easily be generalized into one of the above? People are too complex to be analyzed based on this criteria alone. No one is black, or no one is white, at least not in their actions. But I will continue to wear my rap shirts, alternating days with my Cash and indie ones.

Peace.

My Keyboard

So I come home from my game not but ten minutes ago. I’m tired, I stink, and I have tons of homework. I know this, this is normal, I’m used to it. Yeah, it sucks, but I have coped with this. But I will be honest and say that all of this puts me a bit on the edge, and makes me a bit snappy. I wouldn't want to get in my way right now. 

Right now especially, I am very angry. It is indeed anger that inspired this post. I come home and the TV is blaring, I mean so loud. It is really quite deafening. I politely ask them to turn it down because it’s incredibly hard doing homework when you can;t even hear your own thoughts. My mom proceeds to turn it down about 5 numbers on the volume. Really? You might as well not have touched anything at all. I wish I didn’t have to be a buzz kill, and ruin their good time, but I have a good time of my own to do. It’s called U.S. history. 

Next I go to the bathroom to put my nose ring back in. I had to take it out for our game, and since its a relatively small thing, and I don’t want to lose it, I stuck it in my mouth while I was driving home. This is hardly sanitary, so I wanted to wash it off. I turn the facet and two drips come out. WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE WATER! I scream, after all, keanu Reevs is in the background, overpowering my question. I guess the city is doing some work outside and they had to shut if off. Cool. Now I can’t do my homework and have to stick a dirty nose ring back into my delicate perfect nose that will soon become disfigured and infected. 

To make it worse, as I am about to go in my room, I see my cat meowing outside my door. Who does he think he is. He wrecks my computer than expects me to just let him in. Psh forget that. 

So as I said in an earlier post, my cat had wrecked my keyboard of my perfect mac. I remember Coach White telling some story about how his phone got wet and how your just supposed to turn it off and let it dry out so you don’t short it out. Well I thought that maybe I could get lucky and apply the same method to my keyboard so I unplugged it and let it dry overnight.

After all of this semi not really bad stuff happened I plugged the USB cord back in and prayed. It works! That’s seventy dollars I now longer have to spend and can spend on my prom dress this weekend. 

I guess what this showed me is that yeah, a lot of things in life suck, but eventually, you find that one thing that makes you rethink how bad your life really is. It is that one good thing that saves you from the hell that is life. It is that one good thing that keeps your optimism. It is that one good thing you can hold onto, in hopes for another one good thing that will get you through the day. Needless to say, I have forgive my cat and he is now napping on my bed, far away from any liquid and any I macs, where he belongs. 

When you feel like giving up, remember why you held on for so long in the first place.

Peace. 

p.s., this is my 69th post. hahaha

Work of Art

So I was uploading a picture for my last post and happened upon a picture I had drawn sometime ago. I would say it is a very good picture that took a lot of effort, but it was met with some harsh criticism when it first came out. I was told to close out of it at the time, but I couldn’t lose such a masterpiece, so I saved it, to be reborn at a later date.

Today is that date.

Here is a picture of you, Mr. Ayers. Instead of seeing it as an insult, I hope you choose to view it as a compliment. I will not pretend to be an artist of great skill, but I did my best to capture your spirit within the picture. You may hate it, despise it, spit on it, but at least, for one moment, appreciate it. Know that I took the time out of my busy blogging schedule to create it. That alone should be enough.

And although you probably assume this is a joke, let me remind you of what happens when one assumes.

So before you or anyone criticize anything, let me remind you that everything that is created is a creation. Some may be better than others but all should be shown some respect. I ask that you give this one the respect it deserves.
Peace.

my beautiful computer

So I wrote a post last week about my cat. It was about how much I loved him and how much he meant to me. My cat has an unhealthy addiction to water. He loves the ripples it makes when he hits it. He is also very fond of leaves, as all cats are.

Last night I cam home, and opened my door to only have my cat suspiciously run from my room. Okay? I thought. I turn on my light and sit down at my computer like I so often do after going to school, then having soccer practice, then having to work. I want a bit of down time before I start my hours of homework after all.

Right as I am about to sit, I see that my flowers that my boyyfrannn had gotten me have been knocked over, the water spilling over onto my keyboard of my I-Mac. This computer is my baby. It is perhaps the third earthly possession I love most, and my damn cat has ruined my computer. I can do nothing but yell PANTHER!! at the top of my lungs.

I was in such a blind rage that I thought I would go out and beat him to a bloody pulp with the remains of my mac keyboard. I was able to refrain. However, my cat is no longer allowed in my room when I am not there or have liquid in there or have plants in there, or have a Mac in there so pretty much anytime.

I am sure that my anger will subside. I still love him, I just think he deserves a good smack on his balding butt. I won’t though, who could punish anyone with those puppy dog eyes? When all is said and done, love, true love at least, will remain, even for damaging a mac.
Peace.

Vegetables

I must be getting older, I’m beginning to like to blog.

When we first started this project, I remember letting out somewhat of a loud groan. It might have been in my head, but most likely, knowing myself, it was out loud which probably sparked a rolling of the eyes from you. Well it was unbearable for me to reach my minimum of 1200 words when we first started. Now I find myself going well over that number.
I think that this blog has given me a way to reflect on a lot of things, and analyze their meaning. I like to think that the conclusions I arrive at are somewhat meaningful, and hopefully make sense to some people. Mostly, though, this blog is for me. It’s given me a chance to develop a different writing style and tone.
I’m not really sure what changed, but I’m glad it did. Now I don’t have to be straining my brain at 9 P.M. Sunday trying to think of how I can crap out 1200 words.

The only bad part bout this is that I know no one is reading this so now I'm just spending my time on meaningless writing.
Peace.

And you are the same

So Spencer and I decided that we were going to link to each others blogs to make us look like legit bloggers (you better follow through with this or I’ll break your knee caps). But truth be told, there is one post that I actually might have linked to had we not made this agreement.
In one of his posts, Spencer does his usual incoherent rambling but he actually addresses a very good point. He talks about how he feels alone and how he is afraid to show his real self for fear that he may not be accepted by society. However, this is not a thought that makes you alone. In fact, this is a thought that brings you together.

No one is ever 100% sure about themselves 100% of the time. No one can maintain confidence and faith in themselves every minute of every day. And no one can be happy with who they have chosen to be their whole life. They just can’t. They can’t because we live in a world where we face hardships every day. We live in a world when our character is continually tested. We live in a world where every event shapes who we are.

Spencer also goes on to talk about how he fakes self esteem. Everybody fakes something though, whether it be love, happiness, or in his case self esteem. Self esteem is probably the best choice if you were to fake something though. And his reasons he gives for faking are no other different than anyone else’s. We all want to be accepted, to feel like we belong. You are not alone in this feeling Spencer, in fact, you fit right along with everybody else. That's my hypothesis.
Peace.

Phonies

What would happen if Holden Caulfield met Holly Golightly?

Peace.

Something to Ponder

“You are different.”

This is what my friend told me. While I heavily disagree with this statement, my friend had some ways to justify it.

He told me that my mind worked similar in the way of that of a little kid.

He’s quite the charmer.

You find joy in every little thing. You laugh regardless of who is watching you. You live your life the way you see fit, despite any obstacles that intrude in your path. And when you do hit one, one that is impossible to overcome, you don’t react to it like most people do. Most people, adults, let it hit them. They’re sad for a few days, but move on and forget about it. You, though, when it hits you, you’re sad for a long time. You never accept it either, and you always go back to fix it, because you can’t deal with the way things are now. You miss the way they were, so you attempt to regain it. You recognize the good in everything and you focus on that. You have the mind of a child, and that’s what keeps you innocent.

He told me this, among other reasons for my differences. I have the mind of a child. But is this a good thing? I have a feeling that it is that same reason that keeps me immature. That’s my hypothesis. For some reason, this makes me think back to when I was talking to you, Mr. Ayers, about the white and black bloggers. You said that you were only surprised because you thought that for once we were going to have a serious conversation. Is that what people think of me? That I am incapable of saying anything with substance? That my life is nothing but a joke. Yes, my mind i young, and I can maintain my innocence, but I will forever and always be a child. I’m not sure how I feel about this. Should I just grow up?

Peace.

Snowflakes and Trash

So the friend that I talked about in the last post, our friendship is extremely complicated. We started out as friends, then somehow became more than that, and then we “broke up” which killed our friendship, but we were able to repair it. Some of my most dramatic, Wednesday night sitcom, stories arise from our relationship.

But while we were talking last night, he told me that I was different. This infuriated me. I am not different for the simple reason that no one is different. We are all the same. Our emotions are the same, are actions are the same, we are all the same. Thinking you’re different is the same. As was said in Fight Club You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are not crap or trash either. You just are.

We live under this notion that we are special. We use this as justification for the value of our life. But I have brought my life in to the nearest pawn shop, where they have offered me very little for it. At first I was offended, but I was quickly reassured that this is a standard amount, the one offered to every person possessing a life.

When we begin to realize that we just are is the same time we stop living a lie. Our lives will become our own and will not be dictated by a false motivation.

You are not special. But don’t worry, because none of us are. You just are. That’s my hypothesis.

Peace.

The Talk

A while back, I wrote a post about hate. I told an anecdote about my friend who I had begun to hate. I have never hated anyone as much as I hated him. We stopped being friends in early January, and since then, I cannot describe the pain that I felt. He was a person that had meant so much to me, and to remove him from my life like that, it killed me. Taking a person away won’t change the feelings you have for them. But he had told me he didn’t want to, or couldn’t rather, be my friend, and I am not the person to beg for friendship. 

We work together, that is how I met him in the first place, and I would see him every time, and each time I saw him, it hurt. I would hear him talking to someone and desperately would want to be the person who he talked to. He would walk past me and I would plead with God for him to turn around and tell me that he really did want to be my friend. It was hell working there. I was stuck in some middle ground. I hopelessly wanted to be his friend. I knew he didn’t want to be mine, yet I thought there was some chance we could resolve this. 

After four months of being stuck in this limbo, I decided that I had to talk to him. I wanted him to look me in the eyes, and tell me that he wanted to give up the love for me he once had, wanted to discard our friendship as if it were a dirty rag, wanted to truly abandoned me despite knowing how much I needed him. Most of all though, I wanted him to make this decision knowing everything he would be doing, because ultimately, he was in charge of our friendship. I wanted him to tell me that keeping a secret about himself that he didn’t want anyone to know was worth giving me up. I wanted him to know that he was trading in secrecy for love. 

It was so hard for me to ask him to talk in person. I’m horrible at confrontation, at least when any other emotion bedsides anger is involved. But he agreed that it was something we should do. It took us three weeks to find a time, and finally, he told me to come over. Now I had pictured this conversation, and in this image, I never went to his apartment. That would be far too hard for me. But that was the only way this was going to get done, so I did it. When I got there, he wanted me to talk first. He wanted me to share my feelings. Now, this was too much for me. I think I have maybe shared three genuine feelings in all of my life, and now I was asked to share these feelings, the ones that had inflicted so much pain on me. I did though, because he was worth it.

After many tears and a few hours of talking, we figured it out, at least as much as we could. He decided he wanted to be my friend. I’m not sure what will happen, but were not always meant to have that information. All we can really do is let life hit you, and react to it in the best ways we can. That’s my hypothesis. 

Peace.

My Cat

When I was two my mother and sister brought home a cat. Like all kittens, he was small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. He had a beautiful coat of thick, shiny, black fur that was the softest thing I had ever felt. His high pitched meow wasn’t even bothersome to me, and if you showed him enough love, his purring was loud enough to break the foundation. 

From the pictures I have from my childhood, it looked like I treated him pretty badly. Me being a young child and not possessing the necessary muscle to hold him, I often would have to grasp him round the neck, most likely cutting of needed oxygen. In all of the pictures, he looks pretty distressed. 

It wasn’t until around the age of nine that I started becoming attached to him, at least enough so that I could tell. I’m not sure what happened, but I began telling him how much I loved him, and I bringing him into my room to sleep with me at night. Since then, my love for him has increased tremendously. There is nothing or no one I care for more than my cat. This may sound weird, but he is the only thing that has stayed stable in my life. I believe he is the one who got me through my father’s death, my mother’s remarriage, and every other struggle I have experienced in my life. He is the constant, the control. He links my childhood to my quickly approaching adulthood. That’s my hypothesis. And though I can never prove it, I am sure that he loves me. Yes, there is a good chance that he could simply be responding to stimuli, he could only spend as much time with me as he does simply because he knows ill pet him, but I like to think its more than that. I like to think that maybe, he cares for me as much as I for him. I know how stupid this sounds, but regardless, I still love him. Besides, how can I use logic to explain emotion. 

My cat is now 15. This is old for a cat. Though he exhibits much of the same vitality he once did when he was only but a kitten, there is no denying that he has slowed. He purrs the same, meows the same, but when he tries to jump on my bed it is clear that age has gotten ahold of him. He will die. It’s hard for me to think of losing him. I know that when I do, I will die inside. Everything I am, all the hope I have, all the joy I have, all the love I have will leave my being, and I will be empty. Even now, as I think about this, tears begin to come. Although this love is unconventional, and abnormal to some, love has never had to be those things for it to exist. That’s my hypothesis. 

Peace.

Black

So as I may have established before, I am black. I have always been black, I will continue to be black, and when I die, before I am turned into a tree, I will be black. Being black fifty, thirty, or even twenty years ago would have not been ideal, and I most likely would never have been able to write this post. But in the world we live in today, being black, or any minority proves beneficial. That's my hypothesis. 

Based on popular stereotypes as well as supporting research, the fact that I can spell my own name somehow means I’m more qualified academically than a white person who cured cancer. It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but regardless this is how it seems to work. While I will not complain about the perks I receive for my ethnicity, it makes me wonder. Am I being accepted into this simply because they have a quota to fill, or because I truly deserve it?

I have been given a lot of opportunities to do various conferences, but all these conferences have been for black people. That’s cool and all, I have never really been exposed much to the black culture seeing as how I was raised in Iowa by my white mother, and I am in all honesty, more what you would call “white” than “black” but even so, it’s annoying. While I don’t mind attending some of these, I can only hear about “how far my people have come” so many times.
All throughout my life I have never felt like excluded based on my race, however I can’t say it went unnoticed. I’m sure there were many people who drew conclusions about me based on my color, but humans are trained to pre-judge. I only experienced some form of animosity maybe twice in all of my life based on my race alone. But I noticed it. I noticed my hair didn’t style and my skin didn’t burn like the other kids. I knew I was different, it was impossible to ignore.

I am not sure what motivated me to apply myself the way I do in school, but I did, and I became what people call “smart”. As our schools began to separate us based on standardized testing and latter grades, I noticed I was put in the “smart” classes. I also noticed that I was the only black person. Now, I have never had very many black friends, but it wasn’t hard to see I was the only black one in the class. I really didn’t think anything of it until late middle school when I realized that not very many non-white people were viewed as smart.

Today it’s obvious that the fact that I’m black and a girl, and manage to somehow get what people would call “good” grades, my chances for acceptance into college are better. But I hate being judged, which is impossible to avoid with colleges, I understand. What bothers me the most is that my hard work, the time and effort I have invested into school will take second or possibly third place to my gender and my race. Unfairness seems unfair, even if it is benefiting me.
Peace.

Twilight Zone?

Alright so I was told to start linking more and so I picked Ta-Nehisi Coates to link to, mostly because he is black. But I was scrolling through his posts and came upon one about Glenn Beck amd how he compared Obama to Edward Cullen. Cool. But while I was trying to find more information on that, I cam across another bit of information about he apparently has been overtaken by the NWO. 

I had no idea what the NWO is, but it’s pretty trippy. It‘s apparently a government conspiracy to turn the world into a totalitarian authority. Cool. But they have now gotten ahold of Glenn Beck! Which doesn’t seem like a big loss because looking at some of his videos, he seems like somewhat of a douche cake. 

But in this video, they compare him to a character on the Twilight Zone. I have seen every episode of the Twilight Zone, so coincidentally, I know how they end, and will tell you that in this particular one, the gentleman is labeled as obsolete and is put on trial for this very reason, the sentence being death. It's a scary thing to thin about, that our government could come to this. 

I have heard of another government conspiracy, the idea of the amero, a coin that is supposed to replace all of North and South American currency, but would inevitably harm the citizens because of the loss of the value of our American dollars. It’s some interesting stuff, and also very frightening, and for a time, I was quite worried about it.  The switch was supposed to happen in February but when it didn’t I felt somewhat embarrassed. 

I guess what these conspiracy theories show me is that yeah, there is a good chance they could happen, and maybe some of them are even real, but there is nothing I can do about it now, so why fill my days with worry when I can be enjoying my U.S. dollars and Glenn Beck version of Twilight. 

Peace. 

The Good School

So I have recently been thinking about my future a lot lately seeing as how its quickly approaching. Since about late elementary school, when I learned what an ivy league school was, I wanted to go to Harvard. Why Harvard? Because I knew that it was the best of the best, and all the good successful people went there. 

Around eighth grade, I began watching House. I know this may sound silly, but it was that show that made me want to be a doctor. One of the doctors on the show had attended John Hopkins, which made me want to as well. Some how I heard about Columbia, possibly from another doctor show, and since the beginning of my freshman year, that is where I wanted to go. 

This year, I have been through quite a change. I can feel that I am not the same person as the last, and that’s a good thing. I have been thinking a lot about materialism and a couple of weeks ago, I began assessing my life, and my relationship with items. Somehow I began thinking about where this hold on objects originates, and I seem to have traced it back to college. 

Example:

Q: Why do people want to go to a good college?

A: To get a good education.

Q: And why do you want a good education?

A: To get a good job.

Q: And why do you want a good job?

A: So you can make money and be successful.

But wait. Isn’t the definition of successful somewhat subjective? Or have we been brainwashed into thinking that success is defined by the car you drive, the house you live in, and the clothes you rock? My hypothesis is that we have manifested the combination of two words: wealth and success. They are now interchangeable. When someone is successful, we think they are rich. When someone is rich, we think they are successful. 

But what if that isn’t success to you. What if success is being happy and being content with what you own and having little desire to acquire more? What if you measure success in the people you help, the way your children turn out, and the people you make happy simply by being there. 

Then society will once again fuck you over. That’s my hypothesis.

But it is this very idea that has me questioning something I was so sure of only a month ago. If my idea of success differs from that of the above plan, then do I need what people call a “good” job?  And if i don’t need a “good” job, do I need what people call a “good” education? And if I don’t need what people call a “good” education, then do I need to go to a “good” school?

No.

Peace.

Our differences

So I went to my hair place the other day to get my her did or weave done, whichever you prefer. First of all, I hate it there. It’s not the place itself, or the people working there, or even the people getting their hair done, its the looks. For those of you who don’t know or haven’t realized, I am black. Since I am black, I have what is commonly known as black people hair. The non-black people may not know what I mean when I use this term, but all the people with black hair know what’s up. 

Let me explain black people hair. It’s nappy, coarse, thick, tangly, pouffy, in short, pretty much everything you don;t want your hair to be. It sucks. Its so hard to take care of and it never looks the way you want it to. This is why I go to my hair place, because they can idx this problem and give me better hair. 

When I do go there, I get what is known as a relaxer. Its a perm, but just the opposite. They put a really harsh chemical on my hair, and voila, I have white people hair, or something close to it. This is a good think, I like it. My problem is the way people look at me. Three days before my relaxer, due to the extreme chemicals, I can not wash it or straiten it. This sucks because it is necessary for me to flat iron my hair daily so it doesn’t look like poop. So for three days I walk around with black people hair, which sucks. What sucks even more is when I am sitting in the chair, my hair being combed out into what is essentially an afro and noticing all the people watching me. What makes it even worse is that the place I go is coincidentally the same place all the rich, white women and preppy teenage girls go too. I have never seen another black person there. 

I can’t say I blame their staring. I just really hate being the one they stare at. I want to scream to them, “I’m black, what are you expecting?!?! but I am able to refrain. Like I said before, the place is full of all this primly, overdone people who get their hair done once a week, there eyebrows done twice a week, and their nails done daily. I am not a girl. I mean I am in the biological sense, but it about stops there. As if my black hair wasn’t enough to make me feel bad, I have to spend three hours with these people who are total girls. I feel so out of place. I don’t want to get my eyebrows waxed or my nails done or any of that stuff, but if you want to fit in with these people, that’s what it takes. And they know I shouldn’t be here, you can see it in the way they look at my bushy brows, nasty nails, and dissimilar do. 

I guess my moral of this tale was that it’s all fine and dandy to be different, until you actually are. We as a society say that its our differences that bring us together, but webster, along with life, suggest otherwise. 

Peace.

This little incident

The summer between my freshmen and sophomore year, I befriended a person named Jessica. I had met her through work, and we had a mutual friend that had both invited us over one night. We were both two teenagers who had been given too much freedom and our summer nights proved to be quite the experience complete with stealing a road cone sign and putting it on the doorstep of this douche cake we knew, as well as knocking over a few road signs, with a bit of midnight runs for toilet paper and eggs. We were immature, as most of our generation is, and how I still am today, and these petty crimes were enough for us to get our kicks.
When school started, we were able to keep our friendship alive despite the reduce time spent together. Ours was a friendship that came so easy, and seemed like it was one that could remain. But alas, all friendships have their troubled waters. Although it occurred later than most, when it hit, their was no recovery. The death of our friendship was somewhere in early July, and it still has not been repaired. I have put much effort into fixing this friendship, because losing a friend is one of the biggest hurts a person can experience.
I only open this old wound because of an incident which occurred last night that made me think of it. Last night I worked, and when I came in, all seemed normal. Then I heard that my general manager was coming in unexpectedly. Since I am never compliant with any of our rules their at Culvers, I had several piercings in as well as nail polish on. I quickly ran to the back and removed my illegal attire.
Soon after, my boss walked in. She yelled for three of our employees to go into her office. Not long after that a cop showed up and walked back to join them. I had only the faintest idea of what was going on and only because I badgered my manger into telling me. Apparently a couple of our employees had been drinking before work and one of our managers had found out and told Julie.
One of these people used to be my best friend, and all three used to be people I hung out with. While this post is not intended to harm anyone’s reputation, it made me realize that maybe this was not a person whose friendship I should value. I personally would never drink before work, and had we still be friends, I wonder if my opinion would have changed. I am not sure that she is really the best person for me, and one that I should have tried to get back.
I would however like to say that Jessica is a wonderful person and should not be judged on this action alone. Regardless of her choices, she is still someone I care deeply for, someone possessing many positive qualities, and someone who I can say has had a positive impact on me and my life.
Peace.

Our Ideal

So at my school, there is this program called the Langford Team. It is a group of about 20 students who are chosen based on their leadership qualities, who have to take a two-day workshop class to learn how to lead and solve problems, then must work with a local company to help them solve a problem of their own. I tried out for this, submitted my resume and obtained my references, and did not make it.
I can’t say that I was crushed I didn’t get it, but I was a bit disappointed. My problem with this situation isn’t that I don’t get to waste five days of my life doing something I never wanted to do in the first place. My disappointment comes from rejection.
I guess I never really noticed it until now. It seems that my happiness is directly related my achievement. I do not really care for this idea however. This means that for the rest of my life, I will have to consistently achieve something just to satisfy me. That is really sad, and I am not too happy with this idea. I do not know what to do about it though.
I decided that my accomplishments are only measured in comparison to others. As a matter a fact, that’s how everyone’s accomplishments are measured, because that’s the only way they can be. In our minds we form a picture of how things should be, of what nice is, what mean is, what beauty is, and what success is. All of these ideals are based on things we have seen from other people. We take the good qualities of people, the ones that we think all people should have, and use them to develop our ideal person, and this is what we use to judge ourselves.
My biggest pet peeve are the people who claim to not compare themselves to other people. This is complete bullshit, for this is impossible to do. The word compare is proof enough to dispel this notion. But these are the same people who say they don’t judge others, a task that is also impossible.
The most we can hope for is not to be too hard in our comparisons. To accept that not everyone is the same along with the idea that our ideal person does not and can not exist, and even they have faults are their own.
Peace.