Some of the most entertaining conversation I have on a regular basis is found while I'm at work. When I work closing hours I often find myself working in the soft lines (clothing) end of the store with a couple other team members. Generally those who work on that half of the store are women. We start the zone around five and get done between 10 and 11. With five to six hours of time together, as you can imagine, once the conversation gets going it can get pretty entertaining. I have begun to grow concerned, however. Every time we're discussing our favorite celebrity eyecandy when I mention Ryan Gosling I hear at least one "Who is that?" These women will thoroughly discuss Taylor whatshisface from that Twilight blaspheme, but they don't know who Ryan Gosling is?
Now, for the underprivileged, I've added a lovely photo (click it, it gets bigger!) of Mr. Ryan Gosling himself. It's actually a post from Feminist Ryan Gosling, a blog that I discovered this past October and have been checking regularly since. I am literally disappointed whenever I check for something new and find only old posts. The posts all consist of feminist theory (or just plain ole' funny) flashcards adorned with this sexy piece of man chicken. Werewolves and vampires ain't got nothin' on Ryan Gosling.
Right now I really should be looking for my wallet. A couple days ago I became suspicious that it may be MIA, and last night it was confirmed. However, I don't have to be at work until five and was really looking forward to relaxing for a good part of the day. So why stress myself out searching for my wallet? I'll do it in a little bit.
I've been working on getting out of bed and relocating to the living room where the Xbox is. Mr. Lappy top has been distracting me. It's noon and I have yet to leave my bed. (Don't mistake this for complaining. It's not.) The first order of business was to catch up on the past weeks worth of Girls With Slingshots comic strips. Next in line - Pinterest. For those of you who may not know of Pinterest, let me tell you it is awesome! I would explain it, but I really think you must check it out. Simply put, its a site that allows you to categorize and collect the things you love/enjoy/whatever visually in one place. Once I log in I'm usually sitting down for a little while. It's difficult to part with sometimes. I've added a link to Pinterest to the list on the right titled "Places I Frequent."
It's winter break and as usual I have a list of stuff I would like to accomplish, but on days like today I piddle away time on Pinterest without remorse. It has yet to get old or do me wrong so I don't see why I shouldn't waste time pinning. Take a look, peruse around, see what ya think. You never know, you might like it.
I love saying that. Herro Kitteh. It's so much fun. Just rolls right off my tongue. Herro. Kitteh. It's as if it was meant to be mispronounced. Kind of like saying "prollaby." Saying it incorrectly just adds a little bit o' spice to the conversation. Mostly it makes people stop and correct me, either way, it makes me smile.
Which brings me to something that might actually be worth rambling about. Have you ever found yourself listening to a song for the first few times, and as you listen to the words you think, "Holy shit, this is totally written about me/my demeanor/this point in my life?" (I'm not so sure if that sentence is properly punctuated. It looks kind of jacked.) Thats kind of what I found myself thinking as I listened to "Smile" by Eyedea. A main line from the chorus states "I'm fallin', but no matter how hard I hit the ground, I'll still smile." This is the mentality that I would like to think I've had for quite some time. All in all it's the mentality I try to promote. Sure, life gets rough and we all know the negative is much easier to see. However, what a lot of people fail to realize is that a simple smile works endless wonders. I'm not saying fake it. I'm saying on those days where all you feel like doing is frowning, take a pause and ponder for a minute. While you're pondering I can almost guarantee you'll find something worth smiling about. Just use that and smile. You'll be surprised how much that tiny little contraction of the muscles in your face can change. Even on my worst days, I'll still smile.
This is the third blog that I've started (and will hopefully finish) since I last posted. I've been so scatter-brained this last month that there's no way I could've tossed a completed, worthy blog into the mix. No way, Jose. At this very moment I'm still doubting my ability to publish a post worthy of taking the time to read.
I've been thinking lately about the abundance of assholes on this planet. Sure, some days I guess I'm easily included in this category, but I'm talking about those who are on an everyday basis just a complete selfish jerk. They're destroying everything we find value in. Take a look at Christmas, for instance. Don't get me wrong, I'm not religious. However, the holiday season still means spending and cherishing the time spent with friends and family. The corporate nature of our nation has completely beaten this family time to an unrecognizable pulp. Every time I hear a child say, "But mom, if I don't get that Christmas is gonna suck," I wish I wouldn't get fired for poppin' him or her in the mouth. That's obscene. As far as I'm considered, if what you consider to be your family is alive and kickin' during the holiday season it's a pretty damn good time. Now, if you get to actually spend time with them it's even better. I'm thoroughly disgusted with this new holiday mentality and to be quite frank, I'm ready for these days of materialistic vulgarity to be over. Appreciate the small things in life and forget about all the things you can't afford and don't need. For those who are at the top of this corporate monster, I hope karma turns your life upside down.
On a much more pleasant note, I've been killing the creative side of my brain with ridiculous amounts of homework and art-ness that I hope to share with all of you once this week of finals and finishing stuff up is over. I don't want to sound vain, but my self-portrait, kicks ass. Just sayin'.
Oh and I saw the cutest "offensive" jeans today. They were being worn by my friend's nephew. He's two years old and apparently they don't make infant jeans to accommodate babies who might be built different than others (who knew that people weren't identical) because this poor little guy's jeans kept falling down. He'd pull them up, and try to hold them up while he was playing, but those darn jeans would not have it. It was the cutest and is the only time offensive saggy pants are acceptable I've decided.
As some of you may know, I work at Target. For those who initially think "Oh that must suck," fear not. Its really not all that bad, in fact there are all sorts of awesome perks. One thing that I have always enjoyed has been the fact that for some reason there seems to be (to me at least) an above average amount of good looking men that shop at Target. Call me shallow, but it makes me smile to think this only got better when I transferred to Casper.
Well, a couple weeks ago at work there was a guest sitting in Food Ave and let me tell you what he was lookin' good. Seriously. A while later I see him walking through the store, and the sight of this individual literally and genuinely offended me.
The backside of this guy was the skinny jeans version of the middle dummy. His pants had to be riding below his butt cheeks, I'm not even kidding. He was wearing a sweater way too big for him thank goodness. At least the public was spared a view of his chones.
Here's my issue with severe sag in a more straightforward manner. If you find someone attractive you may take a moment to visually assess them, right? If their pants aren't being worn properly then you can't fully assess an important physical quality. I am offended by that. Think about how men would react if women started wearing loose fitting underwear and saggy jeans. I can't imagine it would go over so well. Guys, pull your pants up. It'll be easier to take you all more seriously and if a lady (or anybody really) feels it necessary, they can check you out without laughing or being offended. Saggy pants are not attractive.
Don't ask me why, but I've been doing a lot of thinking as of late. Now, don't crack jokes - it really makes my head hurt sometimes. Yesterday I found myself doubting my own confidence in the people who make up our society as a whole. I would like to know where the hell have all the good people gone. I understand that "good" can be defined many different ways and almost always depends on who you ask, however, I feel as though the amount of people who are aware of others as well as themselves is an exponentially dwindling number. I nearly had myself in tears considering this. A while later while discussing the idea with my friend Jacob I realized something. Is it possible that people are programmed to be self interested? What is it that made me assume we are naturally aware and considerate of others? If I were to ask mothers if "mine" was one of the 5-10 first words of their child I'm pretty sure a majority of them would say yes. Is this a demonstration of this self-absorbedness at a very young age? Beats me.
What do you guys think? Give me some feedback on this one because its genuinely bothering me.
As of late I find my mind consumed by the movement that began in New York. This Occupy movement has spread to hundreds of cities in the U.S. and has even taken off in cities over seas.
I am shocked on a daily basis through conversation with my peers to find that many people still have no idea about the occupy movement. This movement does not pertain to one specific age group, gender, race, or tax bracket. It applies to all who are affected by the decisions our government makes every day.
I have been frustrated because, even though there is a great deal of info out there about the movement, there is not many places that compile different sources or places to go so that individuals may educate themselves on the movement and the issues being addressed by the movement. On account of that frustration I decided to compile a few things here myself.
I have done my best to post mostly objective information. I have left videos of police brutality and etc out, not because I think its unimportant (I think its very important that the public is aware of police brutality upon peaceable protesters.), but because I feel like information like that holds its best impacts when you discover it for yourself. These links will take you to aspects of the story and if you take the time to explore these and then some you will find the light and the dark sides of the movement.
Educate yourself. Wake up. You are a part of the 99%. Demand a government that is By the People and For the People.
http://www.occupytogether.org/ Welcome to OCCUPY TOGETHER, an unofficial hub for all of the events springing up across the country in solidarity with Occupy Wall Street.
http://occupywallst.org/
This site is updated by individuals on the ground at Occupy Wall Street in NY. News about the movement (outside of NY as well as in NY), photos, videos, a livestream of NY, various maps and other information are provided on this site. I compel all to take a look at this site.
Occupy Imagery and Background
Great images of the first few weeks of the movement as well as background information for those wondering what the heck is going on.
Occupy Washington DC
My favorite part about this link is the summarization of the key issues that the majority of Americans are expressing in this movement
Tax the rich and corporations
End the wars, bring the troops home, cut military spending
Protect the social safety net, strengthen Social Security and improved Medicare for all
End corporate welfare for oil companies and other big business interests
Transition to a clean energy economy, reverse environmental degradation
Protect worker rights including collective bargaining, create jobs and raise wages
Get money out of politics
Obey Occupy Posters for Print - - Support the Movement
I have this exponentially growing love for poster art and am working on designing some of my own, so this was a must share after finding it. Print and stick 'em up or go make a statement downtown.
This is a grassroots movement that is based mostly in social network sharing, so if you support any aspect of the movement at all please please share this via all of your social networking sites. Tell all of your friends, urge them to go home and do some research. It's as simple as turning on your computer, opening some form of the internet, and typing "occupy movement" or "#occupy" or "occupy wall street" or "occupy enter city name here." There are hundreds of occupied cities in the U.S. that are looking for more to join them. If you cannot join support them by sharing the message and educating all you know. These groups are also taking donations of any supplies you may be able to provide (especially with the cold weather nearing/beginning in many areas). Support democracy. Help us to end the over involvement of corporations in our government.
Today, as I sat in my Graphic Design class, I asked a few of my peers if they were aware of the protests in New York that are currently taking place. All of them said no. What the hell?? The only thing that was said was, "Damn hippies." Really people? I have one thing to say to people with this mindset: wake up.
Surprisingly enough these unaware individuals also had no clue as to why hundreds are occupying the streets of New York. They are protesting the conduct of our own government and its abuse of the economy (that's my own interpretation of why in short). This is key to our society. Protests and public unrest is how we the people can voice our disgusts in a time where those in charge refuse to listen.
The saddest part is that hundreds, even thousands, are out there on the streets (not just in New York) trying to compel the public to demand changes, but their work may yield no positive results because of the millions who sit at home watching that Glee garbage unaware and content with their own little world.
Wake up before your little world collapses and you have no choice but to face reality.
My head is swimming with an infinite number of thoughts each in a different realm of level of importance. Why??? It hurts. I can literally feel every little s-o-b hit the back of my eyeballs whilst bouncing around in there.
Wearing the PDA (scanner) holster around my waist, scanner at my hip and walking at an obviously important fast pace makes me feel like a bad ass.
After politely asking if a fellow student and I could take pictures of textures in Wal-Mart what I assume was a manager informed us that they've been in legal troubles because of photos of their practices being taken. Wait. What? You're worried I'm going to snap shots of you abusing your employees/product/customers when all I really want is a close up of your taters? High five on confirming why I despise that establishment to be true manager guy. Wal-Mart is evil.
Anyone interested in trading Ramen noodles for maid services? (aka cleaning my room)
This past Labor Day weekend a couple friends and I made an excursion to Denver, CO. We went shopping, saw some local sights, and went to the Denver Art Museum. Now, when I started my art classes here at Casper, I was told by nearly every instructor "Take your sketchbook everywhere with you. An artist always has their sketchbook with them."
Welp, I was a dunce and I forgot to take it anywhere with me. Yes, I even forgot to take it into the ridiculously vast Denver Art Museum. I'm still frustrated about it. Maybe I'll begin to learn my lesson. Maybe not. We did go trekking through the alleyways of downtown Casper last night and....I didn't have my sketchbook. It doesn't fit in my pocket, though, and I do not carry a purse. I might have to find a smaller sketchbook...
As of late I have been pushing myself to utilize self control more. Purchasing "needs" only and leaving those "wants" on the shelf, pushing myself to finish assignments and leave the xbox off, eating out less, and getting to bed at a reasonable time are ways that I've been implementing this control of my often irresponsible self. I'm working on this to better myself for myself. It has nothing to do with my outward appearance or what others think of me, it's just to help keep me from going crazy when life gets stressful.
In one particular situation, however, I found myself utilizing this self control in an attempt to avoid emotional conflict (or whatever the hell you wanna call it). This self control was (mis)interpreted as inexperience because my actions were hesitant and calculated. I'm borderline insulted by this to be completely honest. It's disgusting that our own social norms contain negative expectations of how people (men and women alike) should behave in a situation.
For instance, a woman utilizes self control whilst in the company of a man she doesn't know very well. This man views it as inexperience. He has become programmed to interpret this situation in such a manner due to the "loose" expectations he has for women. (This is a general example, stop making assumptions about my personal life weirdo.) Now, I understand that there is no one to blame for this other than women themselves and in order to avoid a lengthy, possibly never-ending rant, I'm not even gonna go there. This conflict has just been bouncing around in my nogin and in attempt to help it rest, I'm sharing it with all of you.
I, as many other members of the general population, am often plugged into my music via my headphones. More and more I see people of all ages with earbuds or headphones stuck in or on their nogin. Studying, exercising, zoning out, and driving (this is dangerous and illegal folks) are a few things I see members of the public doing whilst their ears are plugged in.
Now when I'm jammin' (cuz that's what I do when my headphones are in) I believe there is no other way to do so than with the playlist on shuffle. I've yelled at friends for disrupting my shuffle with their unknowledgeable, selective-ness.
Last night I put the good ole' 'pod on shuffle and did something a little different for this post. (I also found a brand new reason to love shuffle.)
With clay on my headphones I listen to Tropicana beats attempting to cypher the previous eve's delusions. Sitting up scrawling on a notepad; the beginning lessons of Insomnia 411 are proving to be taxing. Life is a lot like The Ocean in the way that it often crashes about, jolting calm into confusion. As Soon As I Wake Up, be it literally or figuratively, will I only face greater obstacles? Frustration is What I Got. It's noticeable in the scribbles clawing through something simple as My Notes.
To explain a bit, there are six song titles in this little ditty. I am rather proud of this accomplishment. Especially since it encompasses the days that have recently passed quite well. (Mental high five for Tessa.) If you can tell me the artists of ALL the songs hidden in this (it's easy to pick the titles out...they're capitalized) then I'll buy ya a cookie next time I see ya.
Change is inevitable. You can battle it or just go with it. Is life about living, or is it about always changing and adapting? I find myself tripping over a lot of change lately. I say tripping because even though I push to move forward with the change sometimes I fall, scrape up my knees a little before advancing.
Will I be able to keep up? Is this all that life has to offer - perpetual change? Who knows, who cares. I've been lovin' this song as of late because it encompasses this subject quite well if I do say so myself. Local Natives album Gorilla Manner is good for scraped knees.
Today I moved into the house which I will be occupying with two friends for the semester. My things are piled in the corner next to the closet. My shirts are hung in the closet with still packed suitcases and whatnot beneath them.
The important things (Ipod, Ihome, Mr. lappytop, fan, and borrowed lamp) are pulled out of boxes, plugged in and working. The kitchen is mostly sorted out. That was the first thing. As I sit here I'm thinking that it was genius of Kara and I; considering everyone uses the kitchen and I'm the only one in my room.
The room has yet to feel like home. That might have to do with the intimidating pile of stuff in the corner. I would post a picture, but its dark in here with only one light and whatnot. Hopefully I can get some of this mess sorted out tomorrow.
Now, I'm a little unsure as to how to begin this rant. Bare with me, though, it might be a bit shaky or awkward, but I'll get there.
Is it just me, or are people the most selfish beings there are? Granted, I often think of myself as a giving individual, but it's empirically evident (to me at least) that this "I" orientation plagues human kind. Let's pause there for a second. If you've ever met me, you know I'm not one of those "Let's all love each other and hold hands" kind of people (if you are I'm not doggin' on you). Not even close.
Look at the debt crisis currently. It's going to continue to worse at the hands of the individuals we voted into position. At this rate the dollar will be worth nothing and our wonderful recession will be even more difficult to crawl out of. I can't wait. And why? In my own ridiculous opinion it's because the majority of the House and the Senate representatives have become so consumed by their status and wanting more for themselves that they are too afraid to stain that status. Even if it means betterment for all. They focus on themselves and their own agendas. It's shameful really.
I'm sure all of us can recall a time at work when a person's selfishness made it difficult for everyone. I see parents behaving selfishly with their children more and more. I've watched a mother order herself and her boyfriend food, while her two young children asked for food because they were hungry too. Mind you, she ordered nothing for them. This sort of thing just makes me mad. I don't understand it.
It's surprising how something as small as always using "I" language and statements can make the people around you feel. If you aren't thinking about the friends/family/significant other around or with you enough to include them in the ideas/subjects you're discussing it's obvious you're only thinking of yourself. We all do it. Some more often than others. For those who this happens more often, I hope you can stop and think about someone other than yourself.
Work got a little slow last night, and I had a lot on my mind towards the end of the day. I found me some receipt paper (its quite easy to come by at Target) and relieved some of the pressure in my head.
Listening in disbelief as discussion of the coming fall engulfs me. I decide, it cannot be true. As I glance out the window, driving down the oil road, the new tassel's atop the corn tell no lies.
This summarizes my frustration with the coming changes rather well for the time being. So I thought I would follow the last post with it. Plus I had about ten minutes to kill before running off to work. Seeing as how I only need a couple views to reach 1,000 I had to post something. Thanks for reading!
For a lot of people the changing of the seasons simply means adjusting to the morphing weather patterns. For many, however, it can signal a complete change of lifestyle. I'm pondering this as the fact that I have two and a half weeks left of my summer here at home floats around my head. Some days this floater causes a great deal of stress and unrest. Today it is without a vindictive agenda, at least so far.
In just two to three weeks I will be leaving my hometown and heading back to Wyoming where I attend school. Don't get me wrong, I have been looking forward to this since this past semester ended. I will get to see the friends I left there 3 months ago. I'll be moving into a house with a couple friends. No more dorm hell!! I also have extravagant birthday plans involving the Kings of Leon, a road trip, good food, and shopping. Aside from that I always have, and hopefully always will, enjoy school. I'm truly looking ahead to the grindstone of class and homework with excitement.
There are a lot of things I'm not looking forward too though. Not a single little bit. Leaving things/places/people (mostly people) is hard. This will be the third summer in a row that I have to leave someone behind that I care a great deal about. Now, if it were up to me I'd stuff him in my suitcase and he would come with me. It's not up to me though, and that's how life is. I understand and accept this. Doesn't mean I'm going to like it.
I don't know what's going to be happening with a lot of things in the very immediate future. I don't like that, and I don't think a lot of people really do.
"Get up, Stand up." The words of Bob Marley that are reiterated by many as they sing along with their music, I bear on my wrists. Nearly a year ago I had this phrase tattooed into my skin. Split in half, "Get up" on the right wrist and "Stand up" on the left. Many notice this and instantly respond, "Bob Marley, awesome." Or something similar to that. This is all well and good, and don't get me wrong I love Mr. Marley's work as an artist and a musician. I feel his work changed the way thousands of individuals perceive important issues. This is not the only reason I decided to make these words a permanent part of my appearance.
I have always believed that an individual should stand up for themselves. Whether it be in a school's halls, workplace, or the streets of our nation. As a child it became obvious to my peers that I had a giving heart, and in realizing this, my kindness was exploited. This was all the lesson I needed to learn that no one is going to stand up for/or with you unless you possess the strength and initiative to do it yourself. From then on I've always stayed true to myself, my values, and my beliefs. Regardless of the issue, I believe it is the individuals' responsibility to get up and stand up for what it is that is right/what it is they believe in. You can't do that sitting at home griping about the news on the TV. You actually have to get up and do something.
This past Friday, my Constitutional rights were obstructed as I spoke out for something I believe in. Does this make me hesitate when it comes to "standing up" in the future. Absolutely not. This only further motivates and energizes me when I think of getting up and getting out there to fight for what I believe in. I fear no obstacle and you better believe that I will not give up the fight.
Friday's Happenings - this is an article about the occurrence on Friday. Check it out if you like. (I was nearly arrested over this.)
This music video is the video for the song "Wings" by Macklemore. The video has been waited for by fans for quite sometime now, and in my opinion, it was worth the wait. Watch it, listen to the words and emotion, you'll understand.
I was shown Macklemore's music several months ago. After days that turned into weeks of his music occupying my CD player, or having his albums on repeat on my iPod, I can still listen to all of it without becoming tired of it. The sound, words, feelings, struggles that Ben Haggerty (Macklemore) represents in his music form art that nearly anyone can relate to if the time is taken to listen.
He refuses to be overtaken by the materialistic main-stream that the general public flocks to in ignorance. He speaks honestly of his own hardships and does not portray his life as something it's not. A number of his songs get me choked up and teary-eyed while I listen to them. Not because they're sad, but because there is a genuine quality about his music, his words bring about feelings and emotions that only art of high quality can bring about.
I had the opportunity to witness this performance art firsthand. I traveled to the great state of Colorado, spent some time with friends, and went to a Macklemore show at the Fox Theatre in Boulder. Before the show, Sam and I were walking the Pearl Street Mall when I looked ahead to the crosswalk and said, "Sam, do you know who's in front of us right now?" About eight feet ahead of us at the crosswalk stood Macklemore and his trumpet player (who's name I cannot remember for the life of me). Within seconds I was standing in between Sam and Macklemore. We were shocked. Star struck. Not about to miss this opportunity I said whatsup and stretched my arm toward him for a handshake. We made small talk about the day and the show for a few minutes, and then the walk light turned on. In complete awe we continued through the mall. Even though he is a growing artist, and one who's success is also growing right along with him, he was not too good to chat with some fans about his day. He did not appear inconvenienced by any part of us approaching him. He was just Ben out for a walk on the mall. I will never forget this. His show was at the very least memorable. I shouted through the entire set, jumping, fist pumping, and having some high quality fun.
I hope that I get the opportunity to see him perform again in the future. His music is brilliant, his performance and demeanor, however, are inspiring. I only hope that if I ever become a successful designer/artist I can remain as humble and true as he has.
Sitting in the, attempting to wake up for the day, I began flipping through my little yellow notepad. This notepad is one of the small things that helps me to remain sane. Well, sometimes. When I need to remember something, organize my thoughts, or just plain ole' write shit down - I write it on one of my many little notepads. This one is a baby yellow legal pad. As I went through my brain vomit I found a page that I'm not sure when it was transcribed. I have been struggling to find a blog subject for a few days, so this worked out perfectly.
The future holds so many unknowns. They mingle with one another. Some tied together. Others sit alone, the wall flowers. Entering the room some snicker while others appear as lost as I. Do I approach the unknown and attempt to make something of anything? Or should I take my habitual place along the wall and watch the unknown, remaining as such, pass me by?
Now, I'm no poet. It's just some of the nicer brain vomit I have. It reflects the struggles in my mind more often than not and is generally written after midnight or way too early in the morning. I don't usually publicly share these writings, but it seems to be working out for this blog occasionally.
Summers should not be stressful. This is something I've decided recently. At this point in my life I have decided that the summer is for nice weather, sleeping in, and relaxing. For some reason that's not quite how it's working out, but I guess that's what I get for having such ridiculous expectations. Now don't get disinterested here, I'm not about to go on a whiny rant about how stressed out I am. Calm down.
I have been feeling guilty though. You see, this stress has been causing me to avoid Mr. Lappytop which then leads to blog abandonment. I enjoy writing these posts, and as I look back on them and notice that I have over 900 views. This makes me smile every time I see it. Thank you all for reading! Even if you don't read every post, it's appreciated.
Enough with the sappy stuff. Let's get a decent rant out of this. Recently I have become a part of a political initiative in Nebraska. Now, I could talk about that all day. (You think I'm joking?) What I would really like to talk about is just slightly off on a different tangent.
For the last couple of years I have been thoroughly frustrated with the fact that for some reason my generation, the Millennial Generation, appears to have accepted it negative stigmas of "lazy" "unmotivated" etc. The rest of the general population seems to think that we are a bunch of lazy kids, and what have we done to prove them wrong? As far as I can tell, not a whole lot. Did you know that in previous decades any large political movement that occurred in the United States was greatly impacted by the collegiate generation. That's us, me, maybe you right now. What I want to know now, is what innovative, new, inspiring movement are we the millennials' taking part in? I failed to see one happening and that's where my frustration began. This frustration grew, maybe into somewhat of an obsession. How is it that we can sit back and watch as our nation struggles through times such as these? I have been looking for the past couple of years for a cause to take part in. Something that could change the face of America. I believe I have found that now, and its a great feeling. I feel like each and every one of us should feel this same sort of obligation to make a difference for the better. Not just for ourselves, but for others as well.
I'm not going to preach to you about what it is I've found. If you are curious and would like to know, just ask. I'd be more than happy to discuss it. If you believe in something and there are opportunities for you to take part in action involving that something, do it! (Get registered and go vote for cryin' out loud.) It's one of the most empowering feelings, and I think you might find you'll like it.
Lately I've been having odd dreams. Now when I say odd dreams, I mean that everything about these dreams strikes me as odd or out of the ordinary. See, I hardly ever remember dreams. I often wonder if I dream at all, that's how little of my dreams I recall. Recently I've been remembering them more often than I have for a long while. I don't remember the dreams in their entirety, just slivers of them. Things that stick in my brain for some reason or another. The subject of these dreams is not really significant, nor is it consistent. They've all been completely different, with no correlation as far as I can see. The point is these dreams prompted me to write a little poetry. Enjoy
Images of recent dreams flash through the mind.
Impossible becomes easy
until one's eyes open in anticipation of the day.
Within seconds only frames and pieces can be recalled.
Apprehension awaits each evening as
you wonder if the REM cycle
will bring your innermost desires to life.
______________________________________
Attempting to deliberately return to a specific dream
proves fruitless.
The only world that makes what you want attainable
refuses to permit a return to its corridors.
It's like falling for a face you'll never see again,
the thought makes you smile.
That desire to return, however,
will drive you mad.
Lately at the good ole' Target store I've been working shifts in the fitting room. My job here consists of re-hanging all the clothes people try on and answering the phone. On Friday, upon returning from break, I noticed a ridiculous number of bras sitting on the desk in the fitting room. As I begun hanging these bras I noticed the descriptive tag hanging from the side.
As many of the bras we carry this one was a "push-up" bra. This was no ordinary push-up bra tho, oh no. This one was special. This one, as stated by the ever so informative tag, increased your cup-size by two! If you are an A it transforms you to a C so on and so forth. I noticed this about the same time I noticed the obscene amount of padding in these over-shoulder-boulder-holders.
Is this what women in America are striving to achieve? A bigger bust line for less than $12.99? In all honesty I was disgusted by this idea. Is that really all that women believe they have going for them, their Ta-tas?
Personally I find this to be ridiculously shallow. You don't have enough self-esteem or self-confidence, but somehow making your boobs appear bigger will fix that. Sorry, but that's not how it works. At the end of the day your chest will remain the same and that bra, well its just that, a bra. Don't get me wrong I have been known to wear such a thing as a push-up bra, but between you and me, there's not much to push-up. I just like how they fit. But they do not make my chest twice the size it normally is, I do not rely on my "assets" to get me the guy, the job, a drink at the bar, whatever you people use them for. I rely on my personality and wit to get all of that for me.
The ironic part is that the brand that was pasted all over this bra was "Self-Expressions." So by making one's mellons larger.....that is self expression? Wouldn't that mean that taking Viagra is the same for a man?
I'm not really sure where I'm going will all of this, but I do know that I wish the women of our society felt more secure about themselves and their appearance the way it is. There really are some gorgeous ladies out there, they just don't believe it.
It's a bird! It's a plane! No...it's a manhawk. Some of you may be thinking, "Tessa, that could be a bird, but is more likely a jet fighter plane." Sorry to disappoint, but it's neither.
The manhawk is a haircut I've noticed an increasing number of men sporting. The part that gets me is most of the manhawks appear to be near or in their thirties. Are these wide spread mohawk wearing versions of Benjamin Button or just douchebag pioneers?
I can't take these haircut faux pas seriously. Now, I'm not prejudice against all mohawks. I only discriminate against the ones who strive to be taken seriously in any way, shape, or form. Look at this guy, he's thinking very hard.....with a mohawk ? I don't think so. Just give it up and shave it off, sir.
It's two o'clock-ish in the afternoon and having not eaten yet today, I found myself to be ridiculously hungry. Luckily, I also found myself at home. Which means full cupboards (and what appears to be fresh groceries).
Two whole potatoes diced and fried with a side of three farm fresh scrambled eggs all washed down with a tall glass of apple juice. Ohmygod it was so delicious. Just enough salt on the potatoes I barely used any ketchup on them and the eggs were gone before I even touched the potatoes (and I really love potatoes). I believe that any time of day can serve as breakfast time. I grew up eating pancakes for breakfast regularly. Well, I hope all of you are good and jealous of my early afternoon breakfast now. Time to clean up my mess.
As I have mentioned before, I work at Target. For the most part my time at Target has been spent behind the counter at Food Avenue (all of you non-Target employee folk may know it as the "snack bar") making things like sandwiches, pretzels, cookies, and of course popcorn. I don't mind working over here at all. In fact, you might even say I enjoy the work I do at Food Avenue. I always enjoy working in good ole' Food Ave, almost.
There's nothing that ruins a good Food Ave day more than a rude guest. Now, let me clarify something, I say "guest" rather than customer because thats what we're told to do at work, but I'm also going to use this to prove a point in a second. People who return a nearly half eaten pizza because it didn't look like the picture on the menu board, yell because corporate (not the person behind the counter) bumped prices up eight cents, return a salad because the chicken was cold (she watched me pull it out of the fridge), or get angry because I didn't save "your hotdog" that you didn't pay for. For some reason some of our "guests" think that just because I'm the one working behind the counter that I'm stupid and it's okay to be rude and repugnant.
Now, as a Target employee, a "host" at Target so to speak, I am expected to treat the guest respectably and be the most helpful person in red and khaki you have ever come across. I have no problem with this whatsoever. I do, however, have a problem when these so called guests fail to behave as such. People forget that they're out in public and their peers are observing and judging the way they behave. They also forget that the world doesn't revolve around them and think it's okay to treat those helping them as less than. This doesn't just happen in food, it happens everywhere in Target, and nearly any place you go in the brilliant US of A these days. Sorry to sound like your mother, but where have we put our manners? Our common courtesy and sense of dignity? Treat others with respect and they may go out of their way to help you, treat them like a piss on nobody and they'll begrudgingly serve you with as little effort as they possibly have to. If I'm held to my position of host then the public should be required to maintain the expectations of a guest.
Nearly a full month of summer has passed, and I know a lot of you are going to think I'm crazy for saying this, but I'm ready to get back to school. Seriously. I am so ready to be working on artwork (not the math) and growing as an artist/designer. That's what school is for me at this point, and I'm sure for anyone who is working toward a specific career/life goal they feel passionately about.
College has been the place where my pursuit to be an artist has truly began. In high school I was not presented with the opportunities to start this development. Wait, I suppose that could be considered a lie. I took two classes (8th grade art & a photoshop class as a sophomore) and served as yearbook editor (which was virtually a living hell). These three brief opportunities, especially yearbook, had a great deal to do with my choosing of graphic design as a path to follow. However, when I say I was not presented with the opportunities to begin this, it must be understood that outside of those classes there were not any other art education opportunities that I could have seized. By the time I had the liberties to choose to take an art class our art teacher had retired (he had been there since my mom was in school so kudos to him) and we simply lost our art program. It's tragic really, but you all know that's been happening for years.
Anywho, I digress. It's been a little more than one whole month since I was stressed beyond reason, working on projects til two, waking up at five or six to write a paper, and then going to class at nine to kick some typography/digital design ass with a room full of my friends and one awesome instructor. How could a person not miss that? The learning that I had the privilege of partaking in this past year was at the very least inspiring. As a class we would learn from June (our instructor), she would learn from us, and everyday I learned something new from one of my peers. The environment in which we were learning was one of the most productive that I have yet to see and be a part of. So of course I only want to get back to it. Especially since I don't have the Adobe programming on my computer that would allow me to keep working and playing with type and design this summer (super sad face).
I am somewhat nervous about getting back to this classroom, however. We'll be meeting a new instructor, an entirely new perspective and set of expectations that first day of class. I'm not too happy about this, but what do you do? Hopefully I'll be able to maintain a positive attitude and it won't be so bad. I just want to get back to creating things like my Specimen Book (click link to view Specimen Book via Google Docs) and my social cause poster.
No this is not a post about Obama's unkept promises of change. That is a rant I'm not sure I'm ready to unleash on the interweb.
Rather, this post is just to bring to all of your attention to (hopefully you noticed already) the changes on the page. In order to improve readability I changed the background and adjusted the colors of the page (I really like blue). I also changed the page font to one of the same family, but with serifs (fonts with serifs are easier to read and more suitable for body copy).
I want to hear your feedback on this phresh (with a "p-h" ) new look. Is it easier to read? Is there something you can't read? One. Two. Three. Go!
For almost as long as I can remember I've been a tomboy. There was a time, long ago, when I wore a cute little dress to kindergarten class everyday, but then something happened. A pair of jeans entered my life. Along with some hand-me-down T-shirts (hand-me-downs are awesome by the way) and I never looked back. My barbies ended up in mud puddles in the driveway, sometimes in pieces, for days. I still have my collection of Hot Wheels. Early in high school some of the boys in my health class were scared of me in dodgeball. I would rather play Halo or Battlefield than watch One Tree Hill or whatever else it is you people watch.
Now, I did encounter adversity because of my lack of stereotypical feminine qualities. I never encountered this at home though. My brother played catch and pretend army games every chance we got, and living on the farm there isn't a whole lot of time to be a girly girl. If you happen to break a nail chances are you should have probably been wearing your leather gloves.
My mom was always very supportive of me, regardless of how girly I wasn't being. For that, I am very thankful. I don't know what kind of person I would if things had been different. Sure, my mom would get frustrated when I'd cause such a fuss about her fixing my hair. How many of you have moms who, in order to make prom a much less painful event (with the dress and all), let you pick out and order custom Chuck Taylor shoes to match your dress? I'm almost certain the answer is not many at best.
My mom never taught me how to put on make-up. Don't get me wrong, she offered and had I wanted to learn, I know she would have taught me what I needed to know. That's not something I've ever been interested in or felt that I needed. She did teach me many things: how to set irrigation tubes, how to make spaghetti sauce without cheating (aka using the can of spaghetti sauce), how to properly kill a rattle snake, how to lift hay bales (or anything heavy in general) without throwing out my back, how to throw a punch, how to be innovative, and by example how to be self-sufficient and independent even if you only have a little. I still learn things from my mom all of the time. I will be forever grateful for the things my mom has taught me.
If you all haven't yet noticed, I'm a bit obsessed with music. I genuinely believe that music can serve as an equivalent to medicine. It has healing properties that prescription drugs cannot offer. It's a great place to heal and a safe place to feel. (Stole that line from Mr. Shad) We are able to relate to music in so many different ways and find so many different things within the bars of a song. Sharing music with one another is a way we share parts of ourselves, our points of view, maybe even what's important to us.
It is because of this infatuation with music that I find myself constantly on the hunt for new music. My library grows every time I come home to my lappytop. But I struggle to find "new" music that is worth listening to using itunes and such. I don't know if any of you use StumbleUpon, but I love it. StumbleUpon is a site that you can visit and register with. After registering an account you select your interests then begin stumbling. The site directs you through the web taking you to places that it believes you will find interesting or entertaining. I was stumbling one afternoon and I came across something that may just be the cure to my moody blues (60's music reference anyone?).
This brilliant innovation is TuneGlue. This is site that allows you to type in an artist in the search bar, then as that artist appears in the screen you can "expand" and it will display related artists. You can also expand upon those artists until you've got yourself a musical family tree of sorts.
I've been using this site for a week or two now and I am throughly excited with the exploration of music that the future holds. So, of course I had to share it with all of you. Just follow the link above and find some new music to love, sing to, dance to, rock out to - whatever it is you do while you listen to music.
So I've noticed that my blogging habits do not improve during the summer months. In fact it's quite the opposite. I can't say that I'm too worried about it. Regardless, this is the first I've blogged in a little while and since I've last blogged there's a few things that have been building up in my mental "rant" filing cabinet. I want to say that I have only a few things to say, but as just noted - this has all been filed under "rant." This means that the second I begin to unleash them, they grow. So buckle in.
First off, my good friend Christi and I recently (around a week ago) met up at Shari's to shoot the shit over coffee and french fries. Well into the conversation we found ourselves in a "heated" debate about Christianity. I use the quotes not because we were yelling at each other and left the restaurant hating one another, but because our perspectives lie on nearly complete opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to this issue. Now, I'm not going to get too far into the detail of the conversation (let's avoid the rant), but as somewhat of a summary I feel as though it is wrong for Christians to view themselves as better than others. Now, let me elaborate on that. For some reason, simply because these individuals hold these beliefs they find it necessary to not only pressure individuals into believing the same, but tell other individuals/groups that their decisions/beliefs are wrong because they disregard or are outside of Christianity. Who are you to say that my choice to not partake in your religious beliefs and practices are wrong? Have you actually been to the here-after? Because as far as we all know this so-called heaven could be full of atheists, agnostics, and Christians alike. Until you've actually been there and seen that I will indeed go to "hell" because of my beliefs get off of my case and stop judging. That's a sin you know. Also, a great deal of my own argument during lay in the idea that Christianity is not simply just what is written in the Bible. Ohhhohoh no. That's not how it works, you see. Is Adolf Hitler viewed as just a politician? Ghandi simply as a monk? PITA as a group who doesn't want to harm animals? Absolutely not. Each individual, group, organization in every part of the world is viewed and sized up by the rest of society based on not only their core beliefs and values, but their history, actions, followers, mistakes, accomplishments, failures, and impacts.
Moving on. As some of you fantabulous readers may know, I work at Target. At Target I have to deal with all sorts of people everyday. Sometimes directly and other times indirectly. The other day I found myself zoning (straightening out the products on shelves) by the shoes and overheard a father who was frustrated with his toddler aged daughter. She had apparently taken off her shoes and they were having difficulty getting her back into them. So what does dad say? "If you don't get your shoes on now you don't get any supper." As expected the little girl burst into tears and I could hear her all over the store for the rest of the time they were there. Now, I'm no parent and the only "parenting" experience I have is the time I spent babysitting from around age 12 to 17 or 18. And I feel like the whole situation with this dad and his little girl could have been avoided. I saw this little girl and she looked no more than three, so I can imagine all she heard her dad say was "No supper." Way to go jerk. Patience really can be a virtue. It would save you time and a headache and it spares everyone around you from the aftermath of your hastily made decisions and harsh words.
This is the last one.....I think. Friends. They come and go. You make new friends and lose old ones. Its a cycle that I have found myself caught in far too often. Sadly more on the losing end I feel like. At least that how I've been feeling recently. I hope I'm wrong in thinking this, but recently something happened (I still don't know what) and in short I may have lost a very close friend. I've been in this exact position before, so this isn't alien territory. It's definitely shitty territory though. I seriously don't know what to do. And when I say that, not only am I at a loss of what to do as to how to reach this friend and effectively communicate with them, but I'm also unsure of what I would say or do if this whole situation were to get better. This is a slightly different note, but all in the same rant file, it's my belief that you can't be fickle when it comes to friendship. You either are or aren't friends. And when it comes to that friendship you can't just flick it on and off when it suits you like the air conditioner. I'm frustrated and maybe even angry, but most of all I'm sad. I like to think that I'm a good friend to those that I call my friends. To lose one of those people to (insert silly drama here) really freaking sucks for lack of a better term. I miss them.
With the close of this very recent spring semester, I find myself at home. Being home has been, thus far, very soothing after the chaos of classes and homework. Now, in the past when I have said "I'm going home" it means I'm just going back to the area of my home, where I grew up. Since high school graduation I haven't spent much time at my actual home with my family. This summer, however, that's different. I've already spent more time at home in the past two weeks than I have in the last two years and it feels good to be home. It's 10:30 and my mom, Bob, and myself just finished our leftover meatloaf dinner. We eat dinner late, we always have. Sometimes it strikes people as odd that we don't eat dinner at or around six o'clock. To be honest its out of the ordinary for us to eat before eight. It's these day to day rituals that I have missed.
As I come to a close on this late night post, I find myself at a loss for what the "moral"of this short story is. Maybe there isn't one, and if there is, I have yet to discover it. So I will leave you with a nice little ditty by Incubus called Privilege.
After listening to this song, I solved the "moral" problem. I realized that the day to day rituals of staying at home that I, for years, took advantage of and grew tired of, they are a privilege. It took losing these privileges to realize what I had.
Rather than studying for my final final of the year or packing up my stuff so I can move out tomorrow, I'm blogging. Not the most productive, but I really don't want to study (I got this test) or pack (I got that too). I've been pondering a lot lately, specifically pondering about my tattoos.
Ever since I began the outline on my sleeve I find myself encountering questions on almost a daily basis. "Is that real?" "Did that hurt?" "Are you going to fill it in?" "Is that ink pen?" Are several of the questions I find myself being impromtu-quizzed by regularly. It's not very often though that a person asks me about the meaning of the tattoo, or any of my tattoos for that matter. This isn't how it is for just me, I can imagine this happens to tatted up folks everywhere. Which, when I think about it, is rather sad. Tattoos are often described as art or self-expression. Both art and self-expression more often than not contain a great deal of personal meaning. Why then, are the viewers of tattoos not concerned with this? Nine times out of ten you will just be asked about how it felt, how much it cost, or how long the work took. Very seldom are you asked why, or what the meaning of the tattoo is. Maybe it's because that's viewed as "personal" and nobody wants to pry. I'm not sure. When I am faced with questions regarding the why and meaning of my ink my face lights up. I know this because I can feel it in the smile that spreads from ear to ear. Not because I like talking about my tat or just talking in general, but because the person asking that question is attempting to attain a greater understanding of my self-expression. If I help them to understand, hopefully they'll be more appreciative of artwork that individuals choose to put on their bodies.
There's nothing wrong with liking a tattoo someone has, or that you have, simply because it "looks cool" or has "pretty colors." However, I'll bet that you'll like that tattoo a great deal more if you ask the bearer of that particular ink about the art. Not just the how much and how long questions, but the why and the what questions that pertain to the history and meaning of the artwork.
On a somewhat different note, if you ask someone about the meaning of their tattoo and they can't tell you, their answer is just "I liked it," "It looked cool in the book," or "I just wanted a tattoo" then, sadly, it's probably not a tattoo worth having. Tattoos that are worth having (no matter how they appear) have depth. No, not like deep into your skin, but depth through history and meaning.
So next time you have a friend who gets some new ink or you come across someone bearing beautiful artwork, don't just ask them the general questions of pain and cost. Suck it up, be brave, and try asking them what their tattoo stands for and what it means to them. You'll be surprised at what you learn.
Since I can remember I've always had this infatuation with music. I can still remember riding in the car listening to Thin Red Line by Glass Tiger with my mom off cassette tapes. This tape and many others soon "disappeared" from mom's collection. Then the came the CD and I began collecting. I'm sure if I were to look hard enough I would probably find some N'SYNC albums somewhere. Don't judge. I was twelve. Girls that age these days listen to garbage like Kesha and Justin Beiber.
Through the years I generally stuck to music out of the rock genre. This being said I look back and see myself saying things like "Rap is crap" quite often. The irony of this has had me chuckling for a little while now. I'll still stand beside that though. See, at that time I hadn't heard any rap or hip-hop music that was worth praise. That is until recently. It's difficult to put an exact date as to when it began, but within the last 4 to 5 years I began to discover hip-hop that I enjoy, and it's taking over my music library. Now before I begin my rant I want to say that I don't have what some would call an extensive collection or frame of reference when it comes to hip-hop. I do have large collection of the artists I do enjoy, however.
On the note of irony. As it still has me chuckling when I think of rap being crap. This so called crap is what my latest love affair is comprised of. Beginning with Aesop Rock and his perplexing metaphors and vivid parables; the amount of hip-hop that my ears are subjected to has grown exponentially since struggling to understand Aesop. Not only did he introduce me to the intellectual side of hip-hop, but the music itself is incredible. The beats and sounds that are used in his songs I find to be innovative, and no matter how many times I've heard one of his songs, I'm always hearing something new.
Kid Cudi was next into the good ole' Itunes library. One thing that Mr. Cudi has made me appreciate is music that explores struggle. This is true of all who are apart of my current obsession, but his music I feel was the first that I could see and understand the struggle as a part of the music.
Then enters Atmosphere. Atmosphere's music takes on a whole new perspective. He's inappropriate, crude, rude, and in your face, but he addresses subjects that often hit so close to home you can't help but love it. His story telling ability is also out of this world.
Very recently I was shown music by Macklemore and have since attended one of his concerts in Boulder, Colorado. This concert was one of the most energy filled nights I think I've ever had. Every person in that audience had a blast, and you could tell that the artists were having fun too. I was also given the privilege to see a performance by Shad. I hadn't even heard of him before the show, now I'm constantly listening to his music.
Discovering this music has made me realize that maybe we should discount every member of a particular group. Sure, mainstream hip-hop and rap may be crap (in my opinion), but that doesn't mean that every artist out there is. This is true for life outside of the music we listen to, and I know I don't have to tell you that. Or at least I shouldn't have to I would hope.
The end of the semester grows nearer by the hour.
With every minute that ticks by she ponders her decisions.
From the simple to the complex, all of her thoughts are being processed at once.
It's all happening so fast that when the cogs catch on one another, at first,
she doesn't notice.
The pressure builds until she is forced to recognize traffic jam inside her head.
In an attempt to maintain composure and appear strong she bottles everything up.
This has become customary throughout the years.
Her own way of "dealing," even though nothing is really ever dealt with.
Like a car going without an oil change for too long,
the gears of her mind must fight through blockage and buildup.
In order to flush away what impedes her thinking machine
she must confront all of the bottles she's stowed away.
Is she ready? No.
Does she want to? No.
Are her cerebral shelves overcome with the weight of theses bottles and build up? Yes.
As she contemplates this late into the evening she longs for a world in which
she could escape herself.
Since I began this whole blog endeavor, I find myself feeling obligated to maintain it. Lately, though, my mind is in this drought. There's a shortage of "discussion-worthy" ideas in my head. As I type that I chuckle because that's not true, it's not that my mind is lacking in arguments or topics to address. There's actually entirely too much going on in the grey matter that is protected by my cranium. I'm working on sorting it all, organizing my mental filing cabinet. Sorry to you all for lacking in the post department. Worry not. I'll be back.
Most everyone I know is down to a matter of a few weeks or less before being out for school. Let me tell ya, I am ready, but at the same time I'm not. My plans for the summer aren't really very exciting or anything out of the ordinary. I look forward to it just as though I were going to vacation. Instead I am going home to work. Work, Matchew, and the fam. I am excited for all three of those things. And I miss them all quite a bit - some more than others of course.
Now, I've been trying to think of ways to inspire comments from my readers. I understand most of you don't think you can comment directly on the blog, but that is not a difficult problem to solve my friends! Just become a follower, you may have to create a user name and password, but thats really as difficult as it gets. (This is super easy if you already have a google account.) I'm also all for comments via facebook if you just want to do that.
So any ways, I digress. In order to inspire more comments from you guys I would like to know what your plans are for the summer. What you're looking forward too, what you're not. Those kind of things. Now, don't be scared, comment.
In the previous blog you all got to take a look at a few pictures of my trip, but I didn't tell you all very much about the point of the trip, and that was to compete in the National Phi Rho Pi Speech and Debate tournament. Being able to attended and compete in this tournament is an accomplishment in itself. Phi Rho Pi is one of the oldest forensics organizations in the nation having been founded in 1939.
At the tournament I competed in five events: Impromptu, Extemporaneous, Lincoln-Douglas Debate, Parlimentary Debate, and Program of Oral Interpretation. (If anyone would like any elaboration on what these events are/consist of, just ask and I'll explain). Even though I didn't make it into the finals rounds in any of these events I still had many moments of personal success and achievement in each round. In Impromptu I was ridiculously ecstatic because in my second round I was given the opportunity to quote and analyze two of my favorite artists, Aesop Rock and Atmosphere. I was proud of myself for not panicking and for simply surviving my Extemp rounds, its a terrifying event if you ask me. In LD I was also proud for surviving, and for putting up a fight in each round. Even though I had no clue as to what I was doing, I still did my best. In Parli, I was a hybrid. Which means that my partner was a debater from another school. He happened to be Glen Prell from Northwest College in Powell, Wyoming. Regardless of what our record is on paper, I feel as though Glen and I debated phenomenally! I really do, we frustrated many a team that week with our quick wit and logic, and man was it loads of fun (I love Parli just fyi).
Now my POI, this is a piece that I have become quite attached to over the season. The entire work is put together and cut by myself, with some help and a lot of encouragement from my amazing coach Jessica Hurless. Jessica and I have discovered that I need pieces that hold personal meaning for me in them in order for me to be successful with them, and that is exactly what we achieved with this piece. I truly believe every bit of the message within this piece, and because of my attachment to it and the sadness I feel for never being able to perform it again I want to share it with all of you. Let me know what you think! The piece is composed of excerpts from four different works, enjoy.
When I was just a little girl I asked my mother What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? And the pretty question infects from conception Passing blood and breath into cells The word hangs from our mother's hearts in a shrill fluorescent floodlight of worry Will I be wanted, worthy, pretty?
There was a girl named Annie She had a very pretty face She never looked in the mirror She never liked what she would see
When one types the word pretty into a google search engine, 360 million results appear in less than half a second. This small, seemingly insignificant six letter word has forced an entire culture to question: "Am I pretty?" When the real question needing to be asked is: Why would we want to be? Merriam Webster defines pretty as: having conventionally acceptable elements of beauty; appearing or sounding pleasant or nice, but lacking in strength, purpose, and intensity. Face Value, a program that through the poetry Pretty by Katie Makai, Annie by Safetysuit, drama Reasons to be Pretty by Neil Labute, and prose Miss World of Wheels by Jennifer Burnbaum, challenges each of us to wipe away these conventionally acceptable elements of beauty and gain back our strength, purpose, and intensity in life. Face Value.
As a child, I had small hair. It was short and androgynous, courtesy of my parents, who insisted that - with what they called my "elfin" chin and petite physique - I would look best...with a buzz cut. "Can I help you son?" shop clerks would ask during this phase of my youth. "I'm a girl!"
Not saying that this is full of profound insight or anything but any woman I know, like, my age or younger, she's gonna be super upset if she hears what I did. That her boyfriend thinks "oh yeah honey, your face is...okay." There's no way to swallow that down and find a way to come back up smiling. You know what I mean? Why do we feel this way though? Is it maybe TV and magazines, or maybe its our moms telling us "sweetheart you're pretty no matter what"....I'm not really sure.
The first time I remember feeling consistently pretty was age ten, when I finally go to grow out my hair and would create elaborate hairstyles in the bathroom before school while my five year old sister, Jessica, gazed at me from her perch on the toilet, enraptured.
But puberty left me this funhouse mirror dryad Teeth set at science fiction angles, crooked nose, face donkey long, and pox marks where the hormones when fingerpainting. My poor mother, "How could this happen? You will have porcelain skin as soon as we see a dermatologist. You sucked your thumb, that is why your teeth are crooked. You were hit in the face with a frisbee when you were six otherwise your nose would be just fine. Don't worry, don't worry. We'll get it all fixed!" She would say grasping my face twisting it this way and that as though it were a cabbage she may buy at the store. But this is not about her. Not her fault she too was raised to believe that the greatest asset she could bestow upon her awkward little girl was a marketable facade.
There was a girl named Annie She had a very pretty face She never looked in the mirror She never liked what she would see And even if I tried to tell her She never listened to a word I'd say
By 16 I was pickled with medications, ointments, peroxides Laying in a hospital bed, face packed with gauze cushioning the new nose the surgeon had carved Belly gorged on two pints of my own blood I had swallowed while under anesthesia And every convulsive twist of my gut like my body is screaming at me from the inside out "What did you let them do to you?" All the while this never ending chorus droning on and on like the IV needle dripping liquid beauty into my veins. Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?
By the end of high school I knew I shouldn't care how I looked, because the content of my character was much more important, but I also sensed that I was less vulnerable to being seen as a boy, lesbian, or outcast if I were also pretty.
Can you imagine what he's actually feeling about my body? And this isn't about sex, not really, just how he sees my legs or my arms. The words he'll use to describe my breasts or my but. It's too much, it is, I can't even think about it without wanting to throw up. I always felt like my face was one of my better parts and he's standing there talking about me like I'm so old Buick in the back yard that he's been thinking about fixing up, just never gets around to.
Like my mother unwinding the giftwrap to reveal the bouquet of daughter her $10,000 bought her Pretty Pretty And now I have not seen my own face in ten years I have not seen my own face in ten years, but this is not about me. This is about the self-mutilating circus we have painting ourselves clowns in About women who will prowl 30 stores in 6 different malls just to find the perfect cocktail dress But who haven't got a clue as to where to find fulfillment or how to wear joy Spending their lives shackled to a shopping bag beneath the tyranny of those two pretty sylables
I didn't know if I could tell her I didn't know if I could make her see Looks don't make the world go 'round There was a girl named Annie She had a smile that could light up a room She never looked in the mirror She never liked what she would see
After college, I moved to New York City, the epicenter of glamour, but also a place where people like me escaped to. The city offered a whole new value scale - beauty was measured differently, your whole self was taken into account.
I'm realistic and I know me as a person - I know I don't got that much going for me, not really. I'm not all smart and educated, and not gorgeous, not like some girls - but I like what I've got, and you know what? I'm going to protect that.
This is about my someday daughter when you approach me already stung, stained with insecurity Begging me, "Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?" I will wipe that question from her mouth like cheap lipstick and answer "No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will ever be And no child of mine can be contained in six letters You will be pretty intelligent Pretty creative Pretty amazing but you will never, never be merely pretty."
