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.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Meaning Beneath the Ink
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.
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.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
My latest love affair
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.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Reflection
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.
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.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Drought
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.
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