Belly Button Hairs

Mrs. Ray's Advice for a Happy Life (or a reasonable facsimile thereof)

2010-08-15T23:01:00.003-05:00

Five years later, as I am packing my apartment and preparing for the start of my second year of graduate school, I found this document. I'm not sure what originally compelled me to keep it, but when I spotted it this afternoon, I was inexplicably happy that I had. And this advice is still true. And maybe helpful, and thus, I offer it (under strict acknowledgement of its author Heather Ray, of course).

The Raytopian's Guide to the Planet (don't ask about Raytopia because, frankly, I never quite understood it in the first place. It seemed strangely appropriate though looking back).

1. Hold on tight to the people that make you feel happy or safe or more like you. Ditch the ones that don't.

2. Never stop learning. Even if you're learning about the ingredients of Sugar Pops, keep reading and asking and thinking.

3. Take lots of pictures in college. Label them. Write down funny things your roommates and friends say. Put it in a scrapbook and drag it out when those friends come over. Tell them, " Can you believe we were that young and stupid?"

4. Vote. But first, figure out why you're voting (and for whom).

5. Study what your heart tells you to in college, even if it's interpretive dance in a mud bog. Surely to goodness there's a career in there somewhere, although you might have to live in Elko to make a living.

6. Recognize your spirituality. I don't care what you believe in. But believe in it and draw strength from it.

7. Laugh a lot. Laugh when our fall down or when you're stressed out or you're all alone or when you remember folks that you've loved and lost. People might think you're crazy, but at least those folks will leave you alone.

8. Drink lots of water. It thins mucous and gives you a healthy glow. Plus, it's cheap.

9. Don't get credit cards. If you do, pay them off. Every month. Build a savings account. Don't buy crap.

10. Love. Love as much as you possibly can. Love your family and friends and enemies. Love the smell of kudzu blossoms on summer evening and the sound of a cardinal outside your window. Love the Bulldogs (BOOO) or the VOLS (WHOOOO) or the Gators (God forbid). Love the fact that you are alive and whole. Love the fact that you CAN love. Then tell folks about it.

Thanks Heather.

Amber

I know all about it

2010-07-22T20:14:00.004-05:00

You know when you're out hanging with some friends and some idiot comes up to you and tries to tell you that you're NOT an African-American if you're not from Africa? Yeah, Exactly. Then, you know when you're hanging out and you make a perfectly warranted, not that big of a deal, kind-of actually necessary if it's all going to work out suggestion and someone freaks out in a really freaky unwarranted way? Also, what about that time when you go to the Christmas doctor and the office is more like a closet and its actually the best appointment you have ever had because, well...ehem...you didn't actually have to go through the appointment. You just skipped right to the end except the Christmas doctor didn't actually have to open your presents? And what about that time when you walk around in the scorching sun in a pair of size 6.5 heel rubber's (when you know you wear a size 7) that are so cute, but turn your foot into a Jurassic Park? And then you buy a scale at the store, and then you get it home and can't figure out which icon stands for the woman and which stands for the man, and then you stand on it and your weight is way lower than what they said at the doctor's office and you seriously ponder whether they've had their scale re-calibrated recently since the healthy eating literature they sent you home with was extremely depressing? And it cost you $40 dollars?

Well, I do.

Worry, Worry, Worry

2010-07-14T19:28:00.004-05:00

You know that time toward the end of the summer when you find yourself becoming bored, and despite all reason, start to wish that the beginning of the school semester would get here? Yeah? No? I thought I would ask. I had been feeling that way up until this afternoon, but of course something has come along to change that. And its sad, because I quite like that feeling. You're still blind to all of the seriously intense- hair pulling-tear shedding-getting cursed out for something you couldn't do or help- moments because you're really excited about buying a new planner and seeing if they've come out with new cute colored sticky notes.

It is possible that the beginnings of me being torn away from this sweet naiveté were rooted in the horrible dream I had last night. I was in the mall in my home town (which let's be honest is kindof a flea market at this point minus Victoria's Secret and Bath and Body Works) in the food court and discovered that the folks over at the generic chinese restaurant front were cooking their food on a regular stovetop in the back room. Now, it doesn't sound all that weird, but it was one of those extremely old stoves that has the capability of blowing up your home if you try to make cookies following the directions on the package. Furthermore, they were using the oven of this stove to heat the stovetop, BUT were not using the eyes to cook the food in cookware. Instead, they had removed they eyes and were putting the fried rice and meats directly on the stovetops and cooking the food with the heat from the oven below. WTF? YEah, and when food fell into the empty eyelets, the cooks would just open the oven, scrape up the food, put it back on the stove top, and press on. Double WTF? After this craziness happened, I was seeing a therapy client (which is coming down the pike, and I'm super nervous just thinking about how to handle these situations) and my teeth started coming out of my freakin' head. I actually started to swallow one and had to hock a loogie to keep it from going down. By the end of the episode, I had 12 bloody teeth in my hand and whilst rinsing them off said, "... shit, and my military dependent insurance just expired". And then I woke up to Tucker saying, "...*mumble* that's a good name..." (i've been asking him what we are going to name our kids in the future..hummm).

The feeling for sure went away when I read an accosting email from an important person and began to promptly freak- the expletive- out. So I then called a (non-comforting) person to ask about what could have possibly happened and as this person began describing what was going on, the situation began to spiral down into a really deep, dark, pit of suck fest (that I honestly, and truly have no idea how it could have happened) that is going to be hard to amend. AND there is hell to pay younglets, because said accost-er is quite fierce and postponed a meeting full of haranguing until I'm back from vacation. YES! So, I get to think and worry, and worry, and worry all weekend until I go to the meeting and some time (a year) goes by and the whole thing blows over.

On a positive note, I got a really cute pattern today for a bridesmaid dress I'm making for my friends wedding for $3.99. AND, I found an amazing fabric to buy for it too and I'm going to get it tomorrow.

Indifference

2008-03-27T21:08:00.002-05:00

Tonight I went to the highlight of Georgia State University's multicultural compentency conference which was an evening with Professor Elie Wiesel. He gave a talk on building a moral society and hope. The main flag that he waved was "The opposite of Love is not Hate. It is indifference." While I know Elie was speaking about the indifference to wars and genocide and racism, I was extremely quick to generalize this nasty indifference to other things as well. An experience with one of my roommates and her friend made me realize, that I cannot so easily generalize this indifference to all situations. For the past several months I have been living with several different girls. Some come and some go. One, an individual who I used to consider a friend stayed. I have reached out and tried oh so very hard to be a friend. But I simply will not surround myself with people who I know do NOT want to be the people that they can and should be. I believe that if you treat a person as what he is, then he will stay as he is. But if you treat a person as what they ought to be and should be, then they will become what they ought to be and should be. I know that I expect nothing different from my friends as it applies to me as well. I would want them to have the same mindset about me. Its a hard thing to actually 'give up' on someone. For some strange and outlandish reason, I felt as though it was my responsiblity to support this person, and to be consistent with this person. I know now that I myself am not able to do it. I am no longer willing to do it. I do not have a wish or desire to see this person be anything. Its hard having your good will constantly thrown back in your face. So to say that I hate this person does not seem strong enough to do the feelings justice. I don't hate this person. I don't feel as though I have the energy anymore to actively dislike or inversely actively support this person. And although I know it would shame Dr. Wiesel... I am indifferent.

Tucker

2008-03-19T23:05:00.004-05:00

Your thoughts of me are beautiful.

Learning at Zaxby's

2008-03-17T20:25:00.005-05:00

My Dad called me two days ago, and was convinced that I had strep after a mere two minutes of conversation with me. I mumbled that I would be fine and would go to the campus clinic if things really got out of control but that I couldn't think about my health right now because I had to study for a test. He told me to call my grandparents house when I got a chance because it was papa's birthday. I usually try to wait until the end of the day before I call my grandparents because they looooooooove to talk. Which I love.. but... I had a test. Anyway, I called and papa was already at work. Grandma asked about my voice and I told her it probably sounded cracked and strep-ridden because of the poor cell phone signal. Anyway, turns out Papa's birthday was two days BEFORE the day I called. Daaaaaaaaad. Geez.

So I felt like a huge jerk. She also mentioned that Papa really liked the card that he had gotten from me. Double Jerk. She went on and on about how she missed me, and how I needed to make a trip 'home' to Tennessee. I said that I wanted to, but I was just so busy with school, and the early detection practicum, and planning for graduate school, and reading extra articles for classes just be-frickin-cause.

Cut to Zaxby's. I tell Tucker that I really want chick-fil-a and he reminds me that its Sunday. Dag. He suggests Zaxby's instead. Tucker's roomate had gone to Zaxby's a few weekends before hand, knew where one was (there aren't any in down/midtown atlanta), and he and his girlfriend decided to tag along. I was a bit wary because Tucker and I had found directions to Zaxby's on google maps before, followed them, and ended up in the ultra ghetto. There was no Zaxby's in this ghetto. Google led us to a half-way house. So instead of having Zaxby's, we ate at Long John Silver's... which was also in the ultra ghetto. AHHHHHH. Mistake. Just to briefly describe, I felt this overwhelming sense of power distance between Tucker and I and the LJS resturant folk. I also felt outrageously guilty for some reason. All I could think was " I have to stay in school, I have to keep going, I MUST enunciate every syllable that comes from my mouth. Acutally, I'm going to go home and read all of my books. In one night. Period." It was an...experience. Anyways, we all pile into Tucker's Mazda and make our way to Zaxby's. Lately, I've been having panic attacks when invidivuals repeat themselves incessantly or make the same remarks at different times. I thought I would pass out if I heard one more fucking word about the Tom-Tom that was supposed to direct us to the resturant. Tom-Tom this and Tom-Tom that. The cheap navigational device was a gift Tucker's roomate had given his girlfriend for christmas. She actually never drives on the highway... or drives in more than two extremely small towns... so obviously it was a gift for himself. I digress.)

While in Zaxby's we get into a conversation about school and future plans. I LOVE school. There, I said it. I love to learn and explore everything about... everything. So much so, that I sometimes find it difficult to relate to people who don't love to learn. I mean, why not? Am I wrong? What's so damn wrong about wanting to be a smarter person? Damn. I found myself extremely defensive when one of the four stated " Well, I don't really care if I get anything out of the class. I would rather get a good grade than learn the material." WHAT!!?!?! or " The only reason i'll get my master's is to make more money" AHHHHHH! I really tried not to say anything rude or come off as a bitchy-know-it-all, but I was straight up, like, offended. How could you not want the knowledge? How could you not embrace it? Should I introduce you to the people at LJS?

Now, before I continue, Tucker is always jumping on me about how there are 'different strokes for different folks' and ' To each his own' and blah blah blah. I really am trying to be sensitive to the individual differences that people have in regards to their lives and future plans. Vive la differerance.

I bit down hard on my fries when one of the four mentioned that psychology wasn't really necessary to take or understand if you were going to be a teacher. I passed out a little and refrianed from telling them that I thought that it was vital for people to understand themselves, the world around them, and how they interact with it. Which I think is pretty friggin necessary and if nothing else is an improvement over ignorance.

The whole point is that last week, after the phone conversation with grandma, and after the zaxby's, I realized that I felt so different. I'm interested in human behavior and the many constructs that we as humans, create to explain the world. Im interested in how each person has their own critical lens with which they view the world and with which the construct their own realities. I want to help. I want to actively participate in shaping my own reality. I want to learn. I want to have a deep understanding of as many things as possible. I mean, I don't want to learn soley for the sake of having a huge database of content knowledge, but I want to use that knowledge to be a part of something bigger than myself.

There is just something inside of me, that is hungry. Something inside of me that will stay the course. And this is why I let the cough go for days, or sign up for 6 hours at the Autism walk and consequently can't make it to Tennessee for Spring break. There is just something inside of me that won't sit down.

And I realized at that lunch, that my passion for knowledge made me feel different and out of place. I felt so stifled, like it wasn't okay for me to want more. I was shocked that there wasn't more ambition sitting at that Zaxby's table. I felt like some were just going through the motions. Why settle?! Why just do something, just to do it?I felt like some were just being in college because "that's what you do after highschool". I was upset that there wasn't more passion sitting at that table. I couldn't understand not wanting to be actively engaged in research over the summer or doing an internship, and wanting to work a minimun wage job that had absolutely nothing to do with my future or current efforts instead. To me, thats NOT 'doing something'. I can't understand how it isn't clear to people that I feel like I'm going backwards if I'm not learning something new. Sure, I get bogged down sometimes with work and bite off more than I can chew, but If I'm going to fall, I fall forward. I get such a sense of accomplishment when I challenge myself and am successful. I would be so dissapointed if I didn't pursue my passion and ambition for higher learning. And I can't help but feel dissapointed for those who don't or plan not to.

Hummus Quesadilla

2008-02-01T15:14:00.000-05:00

Sun Dried Tomato Basil Hummus
Tortilla
Fiesta Shredded cheese
Sliced Ham (optional)
Fresh Alphala sprouts
Fresh Spinach leaves
Hot Bananna Pepper Rings
Hot Sauce

I usually bake at 350 degrees for about 15 min to melt the cheese...
This... is AMAZING....mmmmmmm

Growing up...Maybe?

2008-01-23T21:46:00.000-05:00

In Elementary school, I used to play in the drain down the street that led to the neighborhood's retention pond. My german friend Brenda from Oklahoma and I would cut up worms with sticks, put ants in the cuts, and sew them back up. I guess we thought that the worm would survive and would produce worm/ant spawn and then we would be credited with the discovery. I used to watch alot of Jeff Corwin on the Disney Channel. Or we would play 'territory' in the street with some of the other kids, and when we got 'caught' by being tagged in the other team's 'territory', we would go to pretend jail and morph into Rapunzel and make my brother risk getting tagged to come and save us. Then I decided that we should try playing territory on rollerblades, and shit got real. Anyway, I just remember being so engrossed in these activities that I sometimes felt this weird sense of derealization when the street lights came on and it was time to go inside. Suddenly the world changed. This also happened with books as well. I had this series called the 'Mandie' books and I think there were close to 50 of them. I read allllllll of them. I felt like I was watching a movie or show when I read, and when I had to put the book down, it literally felt like I was putting the VCR on pause until I could come back from the dinner table and pick it back up again.

Anyway, the point is, is that, more and more, I feel as though the street lights are coming on, but this time when I come back outside the next day, I have to ge a grown up. I'm not sure what this place is. I mean, I don't feel like I'm dying or anything, but I feel like my world is on the verge of changing, and I can't figure out what activity it was that I was so engrossed in. There was some 'book' that was occupying my time, and I had to put it down, and I can't find the book. Even if I could find the 'book', I don't think I would know what chapter I was on. Seems, these days, that I am constructing a new reality for myself as I go along. Mabye that's what happens when you actually have to start thinking about what you're going to be when you 'grow up', what you want to do, what things you are willing to represent, ascribe to, and support. I've been pouring over career options and research opportunities and as it turns out, it's a pretty intense process. I've been finding out about myself, and discovering MY interests. Its hard to know what you're interested in, because you aren't sure if you're interested in it because someone told you that you would be good at it, or because it's something that you actually want to do. Its just like, when you think you remember putting cheetos in your Dad's shoe and eating them while singing the abc's, but really, you just know because you've watched the home video 10000 times. Differentiating between this junk is hard. Its growing up. Although, it could just be that I am busy on an ungodly level with school and the research practicum, and the internships and can't get much sleep because the floors in my townhouse are really thin and I can hear every step my roomates make.

Its growing up. Its like, maybe I should have taken care of my dog better and taken him on more walks when I was 7 or whatever. ( But I was so afraid of him!) Its like, " Wow, I like my brother and sister. They are cooler than you, and I love them alot." Its growing up, when I spent 6 dollars( I am pooooooor) the mail my sister some medicine and a package of her favorite highlighters, because she was sick and stressed out about an upcoming test. Its growing up, when I'll cry more than my parents when my brother moves to Pennsylvania or Florida to go play soccer, because we used to sit and watch Franklin ( The kids show) and eat hot wings, and joke on my Mom and Dad, or because we used to ride bikes out to this pond and fish until wayyyy past the 'street light' curfew. Its growing up when you defend your brother, no matter what crazy shit he does, because you know him, and love him, and know that he IS going to be the person that he has the potential to be, despite what the school says. Its growing up when you choose your profession based on the issues that he deals with (ODD, ADHD), so that other kids have a different experience. Its growing up, when I call my parents just to talk and laugh and joke and discuss, and they think my opinion is interesting, and they're proud of me, and I'm proud of them, and I see how my experiences with them shaped the critical lens with which I view the world. Its growing up, when Im stronger, wiser, better and I've made it.

I watched the Di Vinci code this past weekend with Tucker and ended up having the most freaky dream ever. I can't remember all of the details, but I can remember waking Tucker up and asking him to get me some gatorade and sing me a song because I couldn't shake the reality of the dream. And this heffer sang me the shortest song ever, the teapot song, and rolled over. Well, he did get me some gatorade though.

" Well they done got me hyped then"

2008-01-09T19:06:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I abhor riding the Turner Field shuttle to school. To explain, I have to drive on the traffic ridden highway past the school, park at the Turner Field blue lot, and then taekwando my way onto the bus when one finally comes to pick us up and then drop us off on campus. If I get on the bus, I may have to stand and hold the roof railing which is about 200 feet off of the ground and pulls my arm out of is precious little socket. But If I'm "Lucky" I'll get to sit down. " Lucky" because I usually end up sitting next to some funkbox with stank breath, stank flip flops with foot juice running off of them that sends a stench through the bus at each turn, a clankity clank texting problem, a farting problem, or the WORST.. a booming voice shouting into a cell phone reciever about a trip to the gyno or how they " beat that heffers triffilin' ass". All of this aside, riding this abomination helps me save about $600 a semester in parking, so I do it, and I get over it, and I make myself proud.

Today was a standing day. I was lugging three honka jonka text books purchased with one of my arms at the books store, whose line spilled out on to piedmont road.( Its cool, God thought it fit to grace me with a spare arm, and it was this extension with which I held onto the roof railing) I was exausted from the Autism lab and class and was praying that I would miss traffic. I was standing in front of this girl who seemed sort of familiar, but I never say anything to people like that because I mean, what if they don't remember me, or.... its not them, or I only dreamed that I knew them. That would be... awkward. So I didn't say anything. She kept looking at this african american boy's magazine who was sitting two people down from her. Obama was on the cover and she asked him if she could see it. He obliged her and passed it down. Then he says

AA Boy: " You voting fuh him?"

AA Girl: " Not necessarily, but I juss wanna get up on who all is running so when someone wins, I know why they won. I mean.... I prolly won't even vote. What's the point?"

My Face: Uhhhhhhh?

AA Boy: " I mean... I'm not voting fuh him juss cuz hes black... you know what I'm sayin'? Cuz I mean, juss cuz he black don't mean he's gonna change thangs."

AA Girl: " So who are you going for?"

AA Boy: " Shoot, Hillary son! Shes got all of Bill's Ideas and hes supporting her and I mean... Bill was the first black Prez anyway.. you feel me? I mean, she's the only one who seems real, shes going around the the hood and kissin black babies and what not, and I mean... shes gonna help us out. I can guarantee you every black person on this bus is gonna vote fuh her."

My Face: ...

AA Girl: " You know thats all just hype right? Its all for show"

AA Boy/ Raging idiot: " Well, hell... they done got me hyped then. Shitttttttt"

When I got off of the bus I RAN. Just to make sure that I was alive and everything.

And that... Is why I am loathed to ride the shuttle.

Regina Sick-tor

2007-11-16T19:29:00.000-05:00

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.

When 'Outrageous' just doesn't say it all...

2007-11-10T19:41:00.000-05:00

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.

Reflecting Reflexively

2007-10-10T22:01:00.000-05:00

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.

Even More Than I Hate Mexican Resturant Booths...

2007-09-10T21:46:00.000-05:00

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.

Fuck Printing, I want to type

2007-07-26T11:06:00.001-05:00

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.

Blog-alicious

2007-02-13T17:06:00.000-05:00

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.