Friday, November 16, 2007
Regina Sick-tor
I was supposed to be at a Regina Spektor concert last night at the Tabernacle, but instead Regina decided to go and get sick on us and reschedule the concert 2 HOURS BEFORE she was supposed to play. Tucker and I didn't even find out until we had walked through the intense wind, dodged 4 homeless guys asking for change, and 'bowed 31541365.1..351153.4546534 screaming hoochie girls in High heels and fur coats going to the R. Kelly concert at Phillips arena. Damnit Regina.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
When 'Outrageous' just doesn't say it all...
As I sat in traffic after watching porno in my Human sexuality class, my landlord canceled on the meeting that I was sitting in traffic for, my cell phone died, and I rolled down my window and then it wouldn't go back up so all I could do was turn the radio up really loud and try to pretend that I wasn't going to die from the fumes pouring into my car from the semi-truck next to me...and then my radio broke. Plus, I was starving. So I started to sing that one song by the Cranberries that was in 'Karate Kid III" with Hilary Swank and pretended that I was... well... swanky.Apart from the traffic incident, a few run-ins with Tucker and taking a beast of an Abnormal test on what I refer to as the 'Dracula Chapters' ( Dissociative disorders, Depression and other Mood Disorders, Suicide, Eating Disorders) I felt as though the week was going relatively well. Oh and wait, I had to write a reaction paper about the 'Pro-Ana' websites that preach Anorexia as a life style instead of a well, you know, disease, and it creeped me out on such a serious level that I had to make a roast beef sandwich and spend the night at Tucker's. Anyway, I was itching for a break from the week and was relieved that the weekend had finally arrived. Tucker's roomate was being a douche, so I skipped going to the mexican resturant with them (I mean, did you think I was going to subject myself to sitting in a friggin booth? um, no.) and went home parked my car and watched Cold War with Meghan while being secretly pissed off at the confederates, but forgiving Jude Law because he was so scrumpious and all. I ate two fun sized kit-kats and then called it a night.
And then....
My Mom called me at friggin 9 am to tell me that she, my dad and my brother were 'coming my way' because Richard, my brother, had a soccer game at 11. I said some junk about calling my at 9am on a Saturday and then decided that I would wake up and visit with the fam. I walk upstairs and on the cabinet is my new loaf of bread, OPENED and peices of bread all over the cabinet! I know its just bread, but its my bread and I've had some problems with the roomies grocery shopping in my pantry. I decide that I'm not going to let this ruin my day and I scribbled a message about being respectful and theviery and being rude and inconsiderate grabbed some yogurt, dressed and left. When I get to my car I see that some IDIOT has blocked me in! People who live in my neighborhood are really good about staying in their designated places and not blocking people in, especially when there are spots elsewhere. I mean, we love each other like that. I knock on the neighboors door and get no response. Meanwhile a man in a Black jacket comes over to look around and then leaves. I'm thinking, oh hes just disturbed by the knocking on the door. I keep knocking and then go inside to ask Meghan what to do. She makes me consider calling the police to have the car towed or just laying on the horn. I decide that the latter would be the best option. I go outside and try to knock on the door again, just to make sure that they didn't try to come out and move the car. No response. Man in the black jacket comes over again and then leaves. 20 minutes go by and Im about to miss the game. I decide to lay on the horn. The man in the black jacket comes back over and was like " Whadda'ya honkin ya horn fer? I'm comin' I'm comin." Jaw drops. In my head: This is YOUR FUCKING CAR??? Are you serious? Have you not seen me struggling for 35 minutes trying to get this car removed? I say to him " Um, Is this your car?" He says " Yeah, i'm moving it, stop bitching, thanks for interrupting what I was doing."
OKAY: this is about a 42 year old man trying to pick a fight when he was clearly in the wrong, and from the North somewhere judging by his accent ( which was probably what was wrong with him, even though I thought the confederates and their cause sucked.). Why oh why I wonder could he not have just said " I apologize for blocking you in. There were 20 other spots that I could have choosen but I was too lazy to walk. Sorry you're late."
But no... he can't say that. He said " Yeah , I'm moving it, stop your bitching, thanks for interrupting what I was doing." WHAT? Don't test me man I've been reading about dracula disorders all week long and someone just stole my bread, I'll probably go crazy on you. I try to keep my composure and say " It is rude and inconsiderate to block someone's car in, and now I am late to where I am going." I got in my car and he could have left it at that, but no Mr. Grown idiot says " Well, I would have moved it, but I wanted to see how long it was going to take for you to start honking your horn." DOUBLE WHAT? And then it was a blur, I launched into a verbal frenzy that ended with calling him an inconsequential peice of shit.
I went to the soccer game, although I was late and then my parents bought my zaxby's, filled up my gas tank, bought me a vest from Target, and gave me $ 40 bucks, so I wouldn't go back to his house and chainsaw his car.
Outrageous.
And then....
My Mom called me at friggin 9 am to tell me that she, my dad and my brother were 'coming my way' because Richard, my brother, had a soccer game at 11. I said some junk about calling my at 9am on a Saturday and then decided that I would wake up and visit with the fam. I walk upstairs and on the cabinet is my new loaf of bread, OPENED and peices of bread all over the cabinet! I know its just bread, but its my bread and I've had some problems with the roomies grocery shopping in my pantry. I decide that I'm not going to let this ruin my day and I scribbled a message about being respectful and theviery and being rude and inconsiderate grabbed some yogurt, dressed and left. When I get to my car I see that some IDIOT has blocked me in! People who live in my neighborhood are really good about staying in their designated places and not blocking people in, especially when there are spots elsewhere. I mean, we love each other like that. I knock on the neighboors door and get no response. Meanwhile a man in a Black jacket comes over to look around and then leaves. I'm thinking, oh hes just disturbed by the knocking on the door. I keep knocking and then go inside to ask Meghan what to do. She makes me consider calling the police to have the car towed or just laying on the horn. I decide that the latter would be the best option. I go outside and try to knock on the door again, just to make sure that they didn't try to come out and move the car. No response. Man in the black jacket comes over again and then leaves. 20 minutes go by and Im about to miss the game. I decide to lay on the horn. The man in the black jacket comes back over and was like " Whadda'ya honkin ya horn fer? I'm comin' I'm comin." Jaw drops. In my head: This is YOUR FUCKING CAR??? Are you serious? Have you not seen me struggling for 35 minutes trying to get this car removed? I say to him " Um, Is this your car?" He says " Yeah, i'm moving it, stop bitching, thanks for interrupting what I was doing."
OKAY: this is about a 42 year old man trying to pick a fight when he was clearly in the wrong, and from the North somewhere judging by his accent ( which was probably what was wrong with him, even though I thought the confederates and their cause sucked.). Why oh why I wonder could he not have just said " I apologize for blocking you in. There were 20 other spots that I could have choosen but I was too lazy to walk. Sorry you're late."
But no... he can't say that. He said " Yeah , I'm moving it, stop your bitching, thanks for interrupting what I was doing." WHAT? Don't test me man I've been reading about dracula disorders all week long and someone just stole my bread, I'll probably go crazy on you. I try to keep my composure and say " It is rude and inconsiderate to block someone's car in, and now I am late to where I am going." I got in my car and he could have left it at that, but no Mr. Grown idiot says " Well, I would have moved it, but I wanted to see how long it was going to take for you to start honking your horn." DOUBLE WHAT? And then it was a blur, I launched into a verbal frenzy that ended with calling him an inconsequential peice of shit.
I went to the soccer game, although I was late and then my parents bought my zaxby's, filled up my gas tank, bought me a vest from Target, and gave me $ 40 bucks, so I wouldn't go back to his house and chainsaw his car.
Outrageous.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Reflecting Reflexively
A teacher of mine recommended that I read this speech and write a reflection on it. Although, I think his primary motivation was to get me 'in touch with my 'black-ness' ( construct anyone?), I'm pretty sure he was just annoyed with the fact that I, unlike him... like white people. But I did it anyway, and I surprised myself with my reflection. Here is the shortened version of it.
I must wholly admit that while I’m not the largest fan of the July 4th holidays (and mind that my bias is not from any immediate occasion), was amped and ready to change the browser page from Douglas’s article to the secondary choice for this essay at the first sign of any notion that I, as a black American, should not be included or be made to feel guilty for celebrating July 4th, half-heartedly or not. As I scrolled through the eloquence flowing from Frederick’s mouth and thus his intellect, I pictured him standing on that platform, orating this passion, and being almost obligated to offer in the first three paragraphs an apology for his inadequacies; inadequacies that surely did not exist, but in that time must have been addressed lest his speech fall on deaf or resentful ears.
I read on.
Towards the fourth paragraph, I realize the grandeur of this metaphorical speech. He speaks of the holiday, without using self inclusive language. Each statement is about ‘their’ freedoms, ‘their’ deliverances, and ‘their’ political mobility. This act, while so seemingly simple shouted out to me and hopefully the individuals in attendance, that because Douglas was not including himself, being a black figure, he was demonstrating that blacks as a people had not had their freedoms, or their deliverances. He goes on to make note of the fact that the nation is young and expresses his gladness in it. This expression in and of itself spoke that Douglas believed in an age of change for the nation of America as it was. The nation in its younger years would be selfish with its allocation of freedoms and rights and in its determination of who qualified for them, as would a young child with its playthings, but the years that the nation had to mature left hope that the nation, in its maturity, may learn to share those freedoms and distribute them evenly and fairly.Further on in the speech, the metaphor continues as he indirectly compares the situations and events of the whites declaring their independence from England, with the blacks declaring their independence from their masters. This comparison also lends itself to the civil rights movement that was to take place some 100 years later. He speaks of the oppression whites experienced from England, who had “imposed upon, its colonial children, such restraints, burdens, and limitations, as, in its mature judgment, it deemed, wise, right, and proper,” and how the self-proclaimed ‘Americans’ stood out against this. Douglas tells of his agreement and admiration of this, but it is an agreement that is characterized by blacks speaking and standing out against those “imposed…restraints” cast upon them by whites and slave owners. His opinions are duplicitous, a mirage within praise, and if deciphered, prove a point, of which I am certain is inarguable, and it is that every man, should be admired and supported in his quest for that which is undeniably his own: freedom. However inarguable this revelation may be, whites denied it to black Americans for scores of years after their own adherence to this point was carried out. If one is not convinced of this, he may be reminded of events such as the Atlanta Race Riot of 1906, The Red Summer of 1919, Bloody Sunday of 1965, or Jim Crow segregation and discriminatory laws, to name a few. The fact may be hard to swallow, it may elicit uncomfort, but it is there, clear and hard and shining. It cannot be gotten around. But, to continue. It is clear that his intentions are to underline how whites did the same thing that blacks should and were doing by breaking tools and running away from plantations, and how the whites were also called “ plotters of mischief, agitators, and rebels” when they themselves sought to break from the chains of England. Blacks were and have been depicted as trouble makers by their white counterparts, when they were simply speaking and standing out against oppression and injustice. Again, if one is in need of examples, Rosa Parks being arrested for refusing to relinquish her seating ( a.k.a trouble maker), or Martin Luther King Jr’s marchers being forced to retreat backwards to Selma due to the rain of tear gas and blows, should be a good starting point. More examples are available upon request. I have taken into account that it may be argued that years beyond this speech, organizations such as SNICK and the Black Panther Party can rightfully be deemed as militant and harmful in their tactics. Douglas, years before, has taken these and other organizations and events that were perhaps overseen by slaves (poisoning of masters or organized attacks) into account when he states that “Oppression makes a wise man mad”.Reflections on this speech can be made for hours and pages, but I end at the present with the statement that left the deepest impression. Douglas, most notably demonstrates a mindset of progression when he states:“Trust no future, however pleasantLet the dead past, bury its dead;Act, act in the living presentHeart within, and God overhead.”A mind and a heart of change, eyes that see those things that are hard to look upon, and remember but are careful not to dwell, acknowledge but do not obsess, an ear that hears and a mind that learns but ultimately takes it upon itself to constructs a unique opinion about its identity; these are the criterion that I use to assess matters critically, and reflexively. Using this formula of thought, I ultimately gather and conclude from this speech and those supporting it that although history is a weapon, its blades are dull, if we do not use it to move forward.
I must wholly admit that while I’m not the largest fan of the July 4th holidays (and mind that my bias is not from any immediate occasion), was amped and ready to change the browser page from Douglas’s article to the secondary choice for this essay at the first sign of any notion that I, as a black American, should not be included or be made to feel guilty for celebrating July 4th, half-heartedly or not. As I scrolled through the eloquence flowing from Frederick’s mouth and thus his intellect, I pictured him standing on that platform, orating this passion, and being almost obligated to offer in the first three paragraphs an apology for his inadequacies; inadequacies that surely did not exist, but in that time must have been addressed lest his speech fall on deaf or resentful ears.
I read on.
Towards the fourth paragraph, I realize the grandeur of this metaphorical speech. He speaks of the holiday, without using self inclusive language. Each statement is about ‘their’ freedoms, ‘their’ deliverances, and ‘their’ political mobility. This act, while so seemingly simple shouted out to me and hopefully the individuals in attendance, that because Douglas was not including himself, being a black figure, he was demonstrating that blacks as a people had not had their freedoms, or their deliverances. He goes on to make note of the fact that the nation is young and expresses his gladness in it. This expression in and of itself spoke that Douglas believed in an age of change for the nation of America as it was. The nation in its younger years would be selfish with its allocation of freedoms and rights and in its determination of who qualified for them, as would a young child with its playthings, but the years that the nation had to mature left hope that the nation, in its maturity, may learn to share those freedoms and distribute them evenly and fairly.Further on in the speech, the metaphor continues as he indirectly compares the situations and events of the whites declaring their independence from England, with the blacks declaring their independence from their masters. This comparison also lends itself to the civil rights movement that was to take place some 100 years later. He speaks of the oppression whites experienced from England, who had “imposed upon, its colonial children, such restraints, burdens, and limitations, as, in its mature judgment, it deemed, wise, right, and proper,” and how the self-proclaimed ‘Americans’ stood out against this. Douglas tells of his agreement and admiration of this, but it is an agreement that is characterized by blacks speaking and standing out against those “imposed…restraints” cast upon them by whites and slave owners. His opinions are duplicitous, a mirage within praise, and if deciphered, prove a point, of which I am certain is inarguable, and it is that every man, should be admired and supported in his quest for that which is undeniably his own: freedom. However inarguable this revelation may be, whites denied it to black Americans for scores of years after their own adherence to this point was carried out. If one is not convinced of this, he may be reminded of events such as the Atlanta Race Riot of 1906, The Red Summer of 1919, Bloody Sunday of 1965, or Jim Crow segregation and discriminatory laws, to name a few. The fact may be hard to swallow, it may elicit uncomfort, but it is there, clear and hard and shining. It cannot be gotten around. But, to continue. It is clear that his intentions are to underline how whites did the same thing that blacks should and were doing by breaking tools and running away from plantations, and how the whites were also called “ plotters of mischief, agitators, and rebels” when they themselves sought to break from the chains of England. Blacks were and have been depicted as trouble makers by their white counterparts, when they were simply speaking and standing out against oppression and injustice. Again, if one is in need of examples, Rosa Parks being arrested for refusing to relinquish her seating ( a.k.a trouble maker), or Martin Luther King Jr’s marchers being forced to retreat backwards to Selma due to the rain of tear gas and blows, should be a good starting point. More examples are available upon request. I have taken into account that it may be argued that years beyond this speech, organizations such as SNICK and the Black Panther Party can rightfully be deemed as militant and harmful in their tactics. Douglas, years before, has taken these and other organizations and events that were perhaps overseen by slaves (poisoning of masters or organized attacks) into account when he states that “Oppression makes a wise man mad”.Reflections on this speech can be made for hours and pages, but I end at the present with the statement that left the deepest impression. Douglas, most notably demonstrates a mindset of progression when he states:“Trust no future, however pleasantLet the dead past, bury its dead;Act, act in the living presentHeart within, and God overhead.”A mind and a heart of change, eyes that see those things that are hard to look upon, and remember but are careful not to dwell, acknowledge but do not obsess, an ear that hears and a mind that learns but ultimately takes it upon itself to constructs a unique opinion about its identity; these are the criterion that I use to assess matters critically, and reflexively. Using this formula of thought, I ultimately gather and conclude from this speech and those supporting it that although history is a weapon, its blades are dull, if we do not use it to move forward.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Even More Than I Hate Mexican Resturant Booths...
do I ABHORR my history teacher's incessant repetitions! Before I begin, let me explain the booths. I hate booths in Mexican Resturants. Hell, I hate booths in all resturants(and Red Lobster, which dosent count as a resturant because they serve chunks of doo doo). And before you think that is wierd, I want to know how the Eff people can even choke back the vomit when they sit in those things. Who knows what nasty, disgusting, individual, farted in that seat after a long hour of scarfing down burritos and chips and queso. Farts don't slide off of the booth seats, they become trapped in the seating, looming and waiting for the next heffer to come sit down and fart, and make friends with the farts that already live there. Not to mention the GUM that is encrusted to the bottom of invariably every single booth table, or the leather seats that stick to the backs of your legs. But the worst... the absolute WORST is the crack between the backboard of the booth and the seat. AHHH! The friggin crumbs, snot, and spit, and ass, that reside inside of that ravine are enough to extract, and peice together an entire Lobster. Gross
My History class is that ravine. The room is hot and I mean hot. It is Hotlanta. Everytime some sweaty person walks through the door, the hinges scream, and of course Mr. Repetition makes some comment about how the building staff is too good to come and spray it. Everytime. But its not just with the door, its with the lecture, and the jokes he makes during lecture, and with the door again, and the lecture again, and the jokes again, and the door, and the lecture...makes you want to papercut the corners of your lips. Maybe he simply doesn't notice the fact that he repeats himself, saying the same thing over with different sentence structure. Maybe he can't help it, I mean, I'm not holding the speech impediment against him, because that's just wrong. But I am holding the mound of phlegm that disco dances in the corners of his mouth, while he repeats the same sentence 50 fucking times against him.
My History class is that ravine. The room is hot and I mean hot. It is Hotlanta. Everytime some sweaty person walks through the door, the hinges scream, and of course Mr. Repetition makes some comment about how the building staff is too good to come and spray it. Everytime. But its not just with the door, its with the lecture, and the jokes he makes during lecture, and with the door again, and the lecture again, and the jokes again, and the door, and the lecture...makes you want to papercut the corners of your lips. Maybe he simply doesn't notice the fact that he repeats himself, saying the same thing over with different sentence structure. Maybe he can't help it, I mean, I'm not holding the speech impediment against him, because that's just wrong. But I am holding the mound of phlegm that disco dances in the corners of his mouth, while he repeats the same sentence 50 fucking times against him.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Fuck Printing, I want to type
I'm not really sure what to write here. Nothing of significance probably, but the keyboards in the university library are really cool, and they make that clickety clack sound when you type on them. Well, that is if you know what you're doing. Which brings me to an interesting point. This entire summer I've been thinking, " Hey, why the fuck am I in these classes. I do NOT want to be a doctor. Who am I kidding?" And listen, before you think it was because of the work load...un-think it. I crush classes with A's. I CAN do it if I really so desire, but when I came in to the library, I realized that I have only typed ONE paper all summer. ONE! And I missed the clickity clack sound that the keyboard made when I was typing thought peices for psychology or for African American studies, or even history for crying out loud. I envied the people who were typing beside me, as I drudged to the printer to print out microbiology slides. See, that's the thing about the sciences, they print. They do not type. Actually, they do type, but they type lab reports, which they then...print. I couldn't take it anymore. I had only planned to go to the office and explore options and look at paperwork, and fucking print stuff (the biology and chemistry world had taken over my brain) but when I got in there I decided that I would just go ahead and screw my courage to the sticking place. I changed my major. Right then. I didn't ahve an appointment with the advisor but I DEMANDED that she see me because I was about to burn my bio book along with the recently printed slides. I've known what I wanted to do for quite some time now and it felt so good to put it into action. I was originally psychology Pre-Med, but I changed it to Psychology B.S. which focuses more on a practical and applied genre of psychology. I am so friggin excited. For once, I am excited when I look at my schedule. Let me help you understand where Im coming from here... I went from a schedule with Organic Chemistry, a twice a week 8hr Organic lab, Physics and lab, Calculus 2 , and Physiology schedule to Abnormal Psychology, Human sexuality and behavior, American History, statistical psychology and some other class titled " the most badass class of all times" CRN number 879563.
Im starting to get into politics, because honestly...what is going on? My car window won't roll up and smells like mildew. I still have to clean the chalk off of my wall. Im moving to a townhouse on Saturday. I love love love carpet. I hate the floors in my loft. I like watching people at the beach. I like toddlers. I cuss at people who cut me off in traffic. I bought a bike and only drive my car once a week.
Im starting to get into politics, because honestly...what is going on? My car window won't roll up and smells like mildew. I still have to clean the chalk off of my wall. Im moving to a townhouse on Saturday. I love love love carpet. I hate the floors in my loft. I like watching people at the beach. I like toddlers. I cuss at people who cut me off in traffic. I bought a bike and only drive my car once a week.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Blog-alicious
Welcome to my blog of awesome-ness. I basically started this because Mrs. Ray had one, and I think Mrs. Ray is THE coolest teacher that I ever had in highschool. ( sorry Coach. Halstead and Mr. Norfleet, but its true). And i'm pretty sure its because she wasn't a teacher. Now, thats not to say that she didnt know what she was talking about or anything, because English 2120... yeah same stuff with the same intensity, intersestingly enough. Actually I wrote more papers in my History class, which was SUPPOSEDLY an entry level class. Pshhhhhh. Anyways, you know how highschool teachers are, and minus the fact that we couldn't apply chapstick in class... Mrs. Ray was NOT the typical restrict- you-from-peeing-even-when-you-might-die-and-then-be-embarassed-because-you-died-in-front-of-everyone type teacher. I think what seperated Mrs. Ray from the Mrs. Dingleberries and Mr.Pretentiousfaces was that she was a dreamer/writer/joke-teller/bouncy ball/ninja?/person who wasn't embarassed to be who she was. And no matter how pissed you were that you had to actually SING the national anthem with a high degree of enthusiasm, even when you were late and missed the bus, and had to walk to school in the rain, you appreciated it when you left. I think Mrs. Ray was different because in addition to the literature, I learned how to be a person. A person who knew that it was okay to laugh really loud at smart jokes, dolphin dance sometimes before class, wear sweat pants to class 75% of the year and have her hair going 18 different directions and still be a completely justifiable human being, a person who could set goals and then make decisions everyday that would help me reach those goals ( no, seriously), stay away from the bad things, and not stress over the small things. I dont know how we managed to get into her class, those of us who had her. We were the lucky ones.
Hot tamales are AWESOME, but if you eat too many of them then you get this weird stingy pain on the roof of your mouth. I know because I've been sitting here for the past hour in my ronchy kickboxing clothes eating them like popcorn. I think i'll switch to the gummy bears that I have in the cabinet.
Hot tamales are AWESOME, but if you eat too many of them then you get this weird stingy pain on the roof of your mouth. I know because I've been sitting here for the past hour in my ronchy kickboxing clothes eating them like popcorn. I think i'll switch to the gummy bears that I have in the cabinet.
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