Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Graduation
It's official. I'm a college graduate. I graduated Cum Laude, and just shy of an overall GPA of 3.0 (.004 points too short to be exact - UH - Why the fuck three decimal places, huh?).
There are few days in one's life, I think, when one thinks to his- or herself, Well, this may be it. This may be the best day of my life. Or, This may be the best weekend I've ever had.
That's too big. That's too hard. Rather than making large blanket statements, it's probably best to focus on the micro-level, the small things that made such a monstrous occasion so monstrous.
A few things stand out.
The first is the music. "Pomp and Circumstance." It stayed in my head for days after, the same way Cake's songs did after I saw them in concert a few days ago, except it rang and repeated so clearly. It filled my head, a cross between a dream and reality. It stayed in the background, providing a soundtrack for my inner thoughts for days, and if I concentrate, and if I listen hard enough, I can still hear it.
When we finally marched out from the field house, and entered Hofheinz Pavilion, and I could see all the smiling faces looming down on us, the graduates, as we walked, that's the first time it hit me. I wouldn't let it yet, though. I got all choked up, tears brimmed in my eyes, but I kept them in through salty cloudy vision gazing up and down the rows as I walked to my seat.
And then a speech, by some theater undergrad, it really got me. Something cheesy about the journey that brought us there, and I started to think about mine. A letter in the program from the President of UH said something about writing to us on our proudest, highest moment in our education, the day we had all been waiting for, which of course, led me to think of my own journey.
My friend Angela said something later that night, comparing it to the moment of death, recalling the expression of life passing before your eyes in seconds, and I suppose that is how it went.
The strangest of emotions, heightened, each of them, coursed through me like an electrical current made of smoke and ocean waves, hitting me on all sides, in every square inch of my body. I was not just thinking about college. I was thinking about 10 years.
I was thinking about the struggle and jobs and starving and drinking too much and worrying about bills and taking semesters off when I didn't have the money and working and little sleep and waking up again, and breaking up, and drinking, heavily, and sadness, and going to jail, and hitting the floor, and picking myself up, and studying so hard, and just the longest days and the hardest times I ever had.
You should have seen the look on my dad's face. Michael. I have never seen him so proud. His grin must have been as wide as mine. And through my own teary eyes I couldn't tell if I was merely seeing a reflection or if maybe, just maybe, he was holding a few back, too.
My fiance came down and found me with my dad, before commencement began. We waved at each other, and they took pictures. It was the longest three hours just for me to get to find them at the end and hug them.
And my grandma and grandpa were there, as my grandmother reminded me, they had promised. They had promised no matter what that when I finished, one day they would be there.
And the best part, the thing that even now thinking about just makes me want to cry tears of joy, is the part when I finally found my family afterward and greeted everyone, and hugged my mother. On her birthday. I graduated on her birthday.
That's when I lost it, I guess. That's when I couldn't control it anymore, and the tears came out.
I said, "I love you, Mom. I couldn't have done it without you."
"Yes you could," she said. "You're strong."
But what I've been thinking about more than everything else is where that strength came from; only, when my family gathered up at my parent's house that evening, and I glanced across the room at my aunt and uncle and parents and grandparents, and sisters, and the love of my life, I knew.
I did it. I knew it was coming. I knew one day it would, if I kept trying, but I didn't really know until it was done.
I can't name all the friends who told me they were proud of me, that I never gave up.
It reminded me also, of all those years I felt alone, but then, in my proudest moment, I was not alone, and I was surrounded by people who understood at least a fraction of a percent what it took for me to do what I did.
I've got this certain feeling that no matter what, this is something I'm going to take with me for a long time, this story, this accomplishment, that helped shape who I became, and who I became in spite of countless setbacks, both inside and outside of my control.
I fucking did it. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with it yet. Except, I'm inspired, and I hope this inspires someone, and the rest, the rest of what I feel, is this peculiar breed of happiness that I'm content to hold on to, and relish for years to come.
It's official. I'm a college graduate. I graduated Cum Laude, and just shy of an overall GPA of 3.0 (.004 points too short to be exact - UH - Why the fuck three decimal places, huh?).
There are few days in one's life, I think, when one thinks to his- or herself, Well, this may be it. This may be the best day of my life. Or, This may be the best weekend I've ever had.
That's too big. That's too hard. Rather than making large blanket statements, it's probably best to focus on the micro-level, the small things that made such a monstrous occasion so monstrous.
A few things stand out.
The first is the music. "Pomp and Circumstance." It stayed in my head for days after, the same way Cake's songs did after I saw them in concert a few days ago, except it rang and repeated so clearly. It filled my head, a cross between a dream and reality. It stayed in the background, providing a soundtrack for my inner thoughts for days, and if I concentrate, and if I listen hard enough, I can still hear it.
When we finally marched out from the field house, and entered Hofheinz Pavilion, and I could see all the smiling faces looming down on us, the graduates, as we walked, that's the first time it hit me. I wouldn't let it yet, though. I got all choked up, tears brimmed in my eyes, but I kept them in through salty cloudy vision gazing up and down the rows as I walked to my seat.
And then a speech, by some theater undergrad, it really got me. Something cheesy about the journey that brought us there, and I started to think about mine. A letter in the program from the President of UH said something about writing to us on our proudest, highest moment in our education, the day we had all been waiting for, which of course, led me to think of my own journey.
My friend Angela said something later that night, comparing it to the moment of death, recalling the expression of life passing before your eyes in seconds, and I suppose that is how it went.
The strangest of emotions, heightened, each of them, coursed through me like an electrical current made of smoke and ocean waves, hitting me on all sides, in every square inch of my body. I was not just thinking about college. I was thinking about 10 years.
I was thinking about the struggle and jobs and starving and drinking too much and worrying about bills and taking semesters off when I didn't have the money and working and little sleep and waking up again, and breaking up, and drinking, heavily, and sadness, and going to jail, and hitting the floor, and picking myself up, and studying so hard, and just the longest days and the hardest times I ever had.
You should have seen the look on my dad's face. Michael. I have never seen him so proud. His grin must have been as wide as mine. And through my own teary eyes I couldn't tell if I was merely seeing a reflection or if maybe, just maybe, he was holding a few back, too.
My fiance came down and found me with my dad, before commencement began. We waved at each other, and they took pictures. It was the longest three hours just for me to get to find them at the end and hug them.
And my grandma and grandpa were there, as my grandmother reminded me, they had promised. They had promised no matter what that when I finished, one day they would be there.
And the best part, the thing that even now thinking about just makes me want to cry tears of joy, is the part when I finally found my family afterward and greeted everyone, and hugged my mother. On her birthday. I graduated on her birthday.
That's when I lost it, I guess. That's when I couldn't control it anymore, and the tears came out.
I said, "I love you, Mom. I couldn't have done it without you."
"Yes you could," she said. "You're strong."
But what I've been thinking about more than everything else is where that strength came from; only, when my family gathered up at my parent's house that evening, and I glanced across the room at my aunt and uncle and parents and grandparents, and sisters, and the love of my life, I knew.
I did it. I knew it was coming. I knew one day it would, if I kept trying, but I didn't really know until it was done.
I can't name all the friends who told me they were proud of me, that I never gave up.
It reminded me also, of all those years I felt alone, but then, in my proudest moment, I was not alone, and I was surrounded by people who understood at least a fraction of a percent what it took for me to do what I did.
I've got this certain feeling that no matter what, this is something I'm going to take with me for a long time, this story, this accomplishment, that helped shape who I became, and who I became in spite of countless setbacks, both inside and outside of my control.
I fucking did it. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with it yet. Except, I'm inspired, and I hope this inspires someone, and the rest, the rest of what I feel, is this peculiar breed of happiness that I'm content to hold on to, and relish for years to come.
Labels: College, Graduation
Monday, October 20, 2008
Rambling Film Geeking Info Overload Obsession
Although some dispute it, Auteur Theory is fascinating. The idea that a director is the author of a film corresponds to the literal definition of cinematography: "writing in light."
This blurs the lines between good and bad films, and creates a multi-platform forum for analysis and admiration of technique. This is not to say there has never been a bad movie, but upon looking at things through eyes aimed like a (uber-pseudo)filmmaker, it becomes so different. To do so is to regard editing and mise-en-scene as means of constructing meaning, in combination with meticulous manipulation of time and space.
Classic Hollywood style undermines and defuses attention away from these decisions, stressing the narrative above all else. Because of historical conditioning to this "Invisible Style," it can initially be difficult to see past the narrative. It is hard in the first place for someone who writes, but harder still because of this dominant influence. The style evolved from the initial competition between the early films and 19th Century novels and theater, from which cinema took its form.
For an average viewer to become interested in film art, noticing the subtleties underlying filmmakers' decisions takes concentration and attention to detail. As much as I am beginning to notice, my eyes are still in training. Still, to recognize the smallest transition -- a wipe, a dissolve, a cut, a superimposition -- and rationalize why one might have been used over the other in a particular case is increasingly satisfying. Sometimes this seems arbitrary; the point is they are not, and this is especially true for Auteurs.
For example, it is no accident that Wes Anderson is an auteur; it can't be anymore so that he named Francios Truffaut (the French filmmaker and critic who defined Auteur theory in large part) a cultural hero.
Although some dispute it, Auteur Theory is fascinating. The idea that a director is the author of a film corresponds to the literal definition of cinematography: "writing in light."
This blurs the lines between good and bad films, and creates a multi-platform forum for analysis and admiration of technique. This is not to say there has never been a bad movie, but upon looking at things through eyes aimed like a (uber-pseudo)filmmaker, it becomes so different. To do so is to regard editing and mise-en-scene as means of constructing meaning, in combination with meticulous manipulation of time and space.
Classic Hollywood style undermines and defuses attention away from these decisions, stressing the narrative above all else. Because of historical conditioning to this "Invisible Style," it can initially be difficult to see past the narrative. It is hard in the first place for someone who writes, but harder still because of this dominant influence. The style evolved from the initial competition between the early films and 19th Century novels and theater, from which cinema took its form.
For an average viewer to become interested in film art, noticing the subtleties underlying filmmakers' decisions takes concentration and attention to detail. As much as I am beginning to notice, my eyes are still in training. Still, to recognize the smallest transition -- a wipe, a dissolve, a cut, a superimposition -- and rationalize why one might have been used over the other in a particular case is increasingly satisfying. Sometimes this seems arbitrary; the point is they are not, and this is especially true for Auteurs.
For example, it is no accident that Wes Anderson is an auteur; it can't be anymore so that he named Francios Truffaut (the French filmmaker and critic who defined Auteur theory in large part) a cultural hero.
Labels: College, Movies, Wes Anderson
Thursday, October 09, 2008
All the Small Things
1. I'm so happy.
2. I would really like to write a few things about this film analysis class I'm taking. At first, I was pissed, because the professor is probably having me do the most or close to the most work I've ever had to do for any class. It is at least three times the amount of my other two classes, and hello, I'm trying to graduate. But ... But. It is becoming a sickness. I thought a was a music geek, but this class gives me so much more room to geek out than anything. Film is so incredibly fascinating. It encompasses everything I love about every other artform. There's montage: the combination of things to create new meaning. Then there's filmic, the third meaning, the obtuse, nonverbal form of communication between a film and an individual, the intangible lying beneath the surface the way a dream vanishes within the first minutes of waking.
3. I am the least lonely I have ever been in my whole life. You know that deep feeling of loneliness? The one where you walk alone or in a crowd. The one that lingers no matter what music is playing in the background. The one you feel even when surrounded by people you love. The one alive in your bones, whether asleep or awake. I don't have the right words, but it's the opposite of that, if there is such a thing, and I guess everything that exists has some opposite, so there you go.
1. I'm so happy.
2. I would really like to write a few things about this film analysis class I'm taking. At first, I was pissed, because the professor is probably having me do the most or close to the most work I've ever had to do for any class. It is at least three times the amount of my other two classes, and hello, I'm trying to graduate. But ... But. It is becoming a sickness. I thought a was a music geek, but this class gives me so much more room to geek out than anything. Film is so incredibly fascinating. It encompasses everything I love about every other artform. There's montage: the combination of things to create new meaning. Then there's filmic, the third meaning, the obtuse, nonverbal form of communication between a film and an individual, the intangible lying beneath the surface the way a dream vanishes within the first minutes of waking.
3. I am the least lonely I have ever been in my whole life. You know that deep feeling of loneliness? The one where you walk alone or in a crowd. The one that lingers no matter what music is playing in the background. The one you feel even when surrounded by people you love. The one alive in your bones, whether asleep or awake. I don't have the right words, but it's the opposite of that, if there is such a thing, and I guess everything that exists has some opposite, so there you go.
Labels: College, Happiness, Love
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Line of Best Fit
Still one of my favorite songs of all time, although I haven't thought about it for a long while. Like old memories, it got lost. I played that CD so much, and at times I listened to that song over and over. Call me a masochist, but it got me through things, like great records do.
Death Cab For Cutie Lyrics
Line Of Best Fit. Lyrics..
It really spoke to me.
Lately, I've been thinking about that again. Paths and patterns. My future seems brighter than it ever has.
I took a vocational test at work last week. It's going to sound cheesy, but here's the back story. I work in an office where our mission is to help students find careers and carve their pathways into them. To succeed. To get out there and use their education. And then to give back to the University, either as alumni or as recruits. My role could be the most or least important, or somewhere in the middle. Sometimes I feel it's minimal. Others, I feel like I am part of this momentum, and I am making a difference. At best, I am, and I am inspired by so many around me. At worst, it's a means to an end, but that's only when I get itchy feet or when I'm super bored.
I have gotten off the subject. Anyway, they had everyone in the office take this test, and tomorrow we are going to go over the results in depth. They think the process will either a) work to help us each understand our role as contributors to a team, but also b) to recognize our individual strengths and weaknesses, and c) so we might have a better idea of whom just might be the missing piece of the puzzle, because we are understaffed and want to recruit those who could give an outstanding contribution in expanding the work we are doing, without having to upset the structure I think too much.
Anyway, it was spot on; it listed five strengths in depth, and pointed to careers, and strategic means of maximizing them, and suggested approaches to learning to get the most out of them, etc.
I won't bore you with the details, but I found it pretty fascinating. And though on one hand my boss thought it was sorta hokey and related it more to something like astrology than "hard science", it spoke to me.
The last trait for me, of the five, was called Connectedness. It completely described my worldview, and my values, addressing the deeply spiritual nature I see humans and animals, and the big picture, and the reasons I make some of the choices I do. It even recommended several programs for me that I am coincidentally applying to, and some others I have thought about exploring in the past.
The thing about it is, there's nothing coincidental about it. That's what Connectedness is about -- the interconnection of people, things, and events. Even when I'm not thinking about this at all, things happen, and I can't help but later think they were not a coincidence, that coincidences do not exist.
I'm not even going to call it fate. Fate could only be one spot on the metaphysical graph we draw our paths on. And they are not linear; the line of best fit is the best fit acknowledging that it includes error.
I'm going to be longwinded tonight. I already am, but I've just got too much to say, so please stick with this; I've got some points. (Hah. Points.)
Last Friday, my department had a "retreat." Actually, we got to spend the day at Dave and Busters. It was pretty cool, for what might have otherwise been a yucky boring meeting day. In between a meeting session, after lunch, I ended up having a long discussion with two of my coworkers about my future plans.
I don't even know how it started; I guess with the fact that I had taken a test this morning, and thought I had gotten a B (turns out I got another A! -- but I didn't know that till later). I was a little bummed. I told them about the specific goals I have decided upon, and that I've done the math. I've done plenty of homework. I have to make certain grades; I have to have a financial plan, and there are many other things I need to consider as well. Planning this stuff is not going to be easy.
So, without my really asking for it, they opened up and gave me some really great advice. Questions I could ask. Alternative ways to make ends meet. And other nonprofits I hadn't thought of -- like one in Houston where "volunteers" help tutor kids in reading that sounded really cool, for instance.
It wasn't until yesterday, taking a walk on campus, that I realized how lucky I am. Except that it's not an accident that I ended up there, working in exactly the right place. It's not just that they help me, but they've encouraged me to look outside of where I've been looking. Basically, for the first time I realized I don't have to do this all by myself. I don't have to walk into something so blindly. Not be prepared. Not know what my options are. And more importantly, I don't have to sell myself short.
Back to the Line of Best Fit. This is even crazier. OK, I'm liking research methods class. Last semester, I perceived that I wouldn't get it; that it wasn't interesting; that I would never use it. But I gave myself a talkin-to right before the summer session started, and I'm doing it. Not only am I making an A, I am engaged in it. I have learned things that I will use. I may not want to be a social researcher, but at least I will know a little about how it is done. At least I will have a better eye concerning what I can trust and not trust.
Which also made it easier for me to digest that vocational test. Even while I was taking it, I understood the method, and I was able to be completely honest.
My boss told me when he took it, he put himself in his work mindset. He said, "I'm different at work than outside of work," so he intentionally thought of work scenarios when thinking over the test questions.
I didn't do that. Because I don't think work should be separate from who you are. That is probably the largest reason so many are dissatisfied with what they do, and I'm not looking for a job. I'm looking for a way I want to live my life. I'm looking for the Golden Egg. I'm looking for fulfillment. I'm looking for a vocation, a career that will fall in line with my values, and what I want to gain from life itself.
And there's the Connectedness again.
Then there's the Line. And just like this story about all the things I've taken today, there are a series of points outlining it. The Line of Best Fit, in social research, falls through the sum of the squared differences between predicted and actual outcomes.
That's what life is like. I'm a key opponent of living a linear life, or at least, I tell people often, "Well, I've never lived a linear life." Especially lately, when all these people from high school have been randomly writing me, asking me what the last 10 years have been like.
That said, the Line of Best Fit is truth and fiction. It exists, but it doesn't. It is the line that can be formed through minimizing the likelihood of error. In Regressive Research, it is the Golden Egg.
My notebook paper had and x- and y-axis drawn, with points scattered and a line going through them, but not through them. It had scratch-outs, too.
Man, maybe I'm tired; maybe I'm reading too much into things, but I don't think so. Moments of clarity are few and precious, and right now, I'm savoring it. Because that's what you're supposed to do.
Still one of my favorite songs of all time, although I haven't thought about it for a long while. Like old memories, it got lost. I played that CD so much, and at times I listened to that song over and over. Call me a masochist, but it got me through things, like great records do.
Death Cab For Cutie Lyrics
Line Of Best Fit. Lyrics..
It really spoke to me.
Lately, I've been thinking about that again. Paths and patterns. My future seems brighter than it ever has.
I took a vocational test at work last week. It's going to sound cheesy, but here's the back story. I work in an office where our mission is to help students find careers and carve their pathways into them. To succeed. To get out there and use their education. And then to give back to the University, either as alumni or as recruits. My role could be the most or least important, or somewhere in the middle. Sometimes I feel it's minimal. Others, I feel like I am part of this momentum, and I am making a difference. At best, I am, and I am inspired by so many around me. At worst, it's a means to an end, but that's only when I get itchy feet or when I'm super bored.
I have gotten off the subject. Anyway, they had everyone in the office take this test, and tomorrow we are going to go over the results in depth. They think the process will either a) work to help us each understand our role as contributors to a team, but also b) to recognize our individual strengths and weaknesses, and c) so we might have a better idea of whom just might be the missing piece of the puzzle, because we are understaffed and want to recruit those who could give an outstanding contribution in expanding the work we are doing, without having to upset the structure I think too much.
Anyway, it was spot on; it listed five strengths in depth, and pointed to careers, and strategic means of maximizing them, and suggested approaches to learning to get the most out of them, etc.
I won't bore you with the details, but I found it pretty fascinating. And though on one hand my boss thought it was sorta hokey and related it more to something like astrology than "hard science", it spoke to me.
The last trait for me, of the five, was called Connectedness. It completely described my worldview, and my values, addressing the deeply spiritual nature I see humans and animals, and the big picture, and the reasons I make some of the choices I do. It even recommended several programs for me that I am coincidentally applying to, and some others I have thought about exploring in the past.
The thing about it is, there's nothing coincidental about it. That's what Connectedness is about -- the interconnection of people, things, and events. Even when I'm not thinking about this at all, things happen, and I can't help but later think they were not a coincidence, that coincidences do not exist.
I'm not even going to call it fate. Fate could only be one spot on the metaphysical graph we draw our paths on. And they are not linear; the line of best fit is the best fit acknowledging that it includes error.
I'm going to be longwinded tonight. I already am, but I've just got too much to say, so please stick with this; I've got some points. (Hah. Points.)
Last Friday, my department had a "retreat." Actually, we got to spend the day at Dave and Busters. It was pretty cool, for what might have otherwise been a yucky boring meeting day. In between a meeting session, after lunch, I ended up having a long discussion with two of my coworkers about my future plans.
I don't even know how it started; I guess with the fact that I had taken a test this morning, and thought I had gotten a B (turns out I got another A! -- but I didn't know that till later). I was a little bummed. I told them about the specific goals I have decided upon, and that I've done the math. I've done plenty of homework. I have to make certain grades; I have to have a financial plan, and there are many other things I need to consider as well. Planning this stuff is not going to be easy.
So, without my really asking for it, they opened up and gave me some really great advice. Questions I could ask. Alternative ways to make ends meet. And other nonprofits I hadn't thought of -- like one in Houston where "volunteers" help tutor kids in reading that sounded really cool, for instance.
It wasn't until yesterday, taking a walk on campus, that I realized how lucky I am. Except that it's not an accident that I ended up there, working in exactly the right place. It's not just that they help me, but they've encouraged me to look outside of where I've been looking. Basically, for the first time I realized I don't have to do this all by myself. I don't have to walk into something so blindly. Not be prepared. Not know what my options are. And more importantly, I don't have to sell myself short.
Back to the Line of Best Fit. This is even crazier. OK, I'm liking research methods class. Last semester, I perceived that I wouldn't get it; that it wasn't interesting; that I would never use it. But I gave myself a talkin-to right before the summer session started, and I'm doing it. Not only am I making an A, I am engaged in it. I have learned things that I will use. I may not want to be a social researcher, but at least I will know a little about how it is done. At least I will have a better eye concerning what I can trust and not trust.
Which also made it easier for me to digest that vocational test. Even while I was taking it, I understood the method, and I was able to be completely honest.
My boss told me when he took it, he put himself in his work mindset. He said, "I'm different at work than outside of work," so he intentionally thought of work scenarios when thinking over the test questions.
I didn't do that. Because I don't think work should be separate from who you are. That is probably the largest reason so many are dissatisfied with what they do, and I'm not looking for a job. I'm looking for a way I want to live my life. I'm looking for the Golden Egg. I'm looking for fulfillment. I'm looking for a vocation, a career that will fall in line with my values, and what I want to gain from life itself.
And there's the Connectedness again.
Then there's the Line. And just like this story about all the things I've taken today, there are a series of points outlining it. The Line of Best Fit, in social research, falls through the sum of the squared differences between predicted and actual outcomes.
That's what life is like. I'm a key opponent of living a linear life, or at least, I tell people often, "Well, I've never lived a linear life." Especially lately, when all these people from high school have been randomly writing me, asking me what the last 10 years have been like.
That said, the Line of Best Fit is truth and fiction. It exists, but it doesn't. It is the line that can be formed through minimizing the likelihood of error. In Regressive Research, it is the Golden Egg.
My notebook paper had and x- and y-axis drawn, with points scattered and a line going through them, but not through them. It had scratch-outs, too.
Man, maybe I'm tired; maybe I'm reading too much into things, but I don't think so. Moments of clarity are few and precious, and right now, I'm savoring it. Because that's what you're supposed to do.
Labels: Career, College, Death Cab
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday Night
I bought it Sunday. I was in the middle of a very good book, full of stories following people of all ages and social classes to their dreams, or at least, toward a more meaningful life. But I haven't picked it up since.
Instead, through schoolwork, one article for the Cougar, laundry, and a full work day, I am a quarter of the way -- more than one hundred pages in -- and I put it down this moment to reflect, because already, it has moved me to near tears, and has filled me with a greater sense of purpose, arming me with a realism, a picture of what I know I must do.
The story follows four recruits that come from completely different lives than my own: one is Armenian-American, and a graduate from Boston College, who was raised to become a doctor or lawyer, who organized singlehandedly an organization on his college campus in pursuit of its members exploration of their Armenian heritage.
Another is an African-American, whose father was only remotely involved in his life, and sporadically, who grew up in Massachusetts and went to college in Connecticut. He thought he would be more at home at Locke High School in L.A., a school overtaken by metal bars, and over-run by gangs, than at his upper-middle class white college, where shopkeepers would look at him suspiciously when he so much as went into a convenience store.
Then there are two white upper-middle class women: one, the child of two lawyers; the other, two highly involved school administrators. Neither of them necessarily went into education straightaway because it was ingrained in them, but more because in its ideology the program did speak to them on some level, and because the indecision of what else they might do after college overwhelmingly riddled their sense of choice with anxiety.
They all knew the stakes were high; they all new the program would be a challenge to break into, and that thousands would be rejected. To make it would mean they were the best of the best, in some respect, and that alone may have been the flattery they needed to maintain the commitment even when doubted by family members how much they could achieve in such a violent, conflict-ridden environment.
The writer gives a brief history of L.A. and the surrounding areas, and brings us from the Watts Riots around 1965, to the Rodney King Riots in '92. The fact that the school resembles a prison; that the security guards open the gates just slightly enough to let the teachers in and out at 6:00 a.m.; that everyone knows what colors not to wear to school, is never debated or questioned much: these are facts of life, for these kids, 32 percent of whom, if African-American, are predicted to end up in jail, and maybe 50 percent of all would even graduate.
Getting to class isn't just an issue of wanting to be there; one 15-year-old girl was shot right out back of her school, waiting for her aunt to pick her up one afternoon. The 18-year-old gangbanger who shot her in a misguided attempt at a driveby meant for someone else, was a drop-out from the same school. He was tried as an adult one year later, and sentenced to more than 80 years in prison for second-degree murder.
Another boy, Darius, hadn't shown up to class in weeks. When pressed, he said that he had gotten in a fight in his neighborhood, and won, and his opponents were not willing to take the loss. They had approached his house with guns several times over the last few weeks, and his mother forbade him from leaving. They had gotten a restraining order, but his only answer was that he may have to kill, if he didn't die first.
These are not stories to be romanticized, and the author I think does a good job to avoid that, and I hope I am keeping them real for you, the way they have burned impressions on me I fear may keep me awake tonight.
And I ask myself if I would be safe; if I may get too emotionally involved; or if I will even make the cut for the program at all, but these questions are trivial. If I could trade my petty problems with these kids, I'm sure they would love to take them on, if they could dream to.
This is a sealed deal; it is something I have always known, and run away from, because I didn't have much better to do outside of my mind for so long, things like pursuing silly things like goals.
Now, I feel like I have to. I have to pursue my goals and I have to get there so that I may show them. I feel like I am born to, and worry if that's going to sound arrogant, or if my overbearing sense of idealism is going to even be to much for the program's recruiter's to get.
I bought it Sunday. I was in the middle of a very good book, full of stories following people of all ages and social classes to their dreams, or at least, toward a more meaningful life. But I haven't picked it up since.
Instead, through schoolwork, one article for the Cougar, laundry, and a full work day, I am a quarter of the way -- more than one hundred pages in -- and I put it down this moment to reflect, because already, it has moved me to near tears, and has filled me with a greater sense of purpose, arming me with a realism, a picture of what I know I must do.
The story follows four recruits that come from completely different lives than my own: one is Armenian-American, and a graduate from Boston College, who was raised to become a doctor or lawyer, who organized singlehandedly an organization on his college campus in pursuit of its members exploration of their Armenian heritage.
Another is an African-American, whose father was only remotely involved in his life, and sporadically, who grew up in Massachusetts and went to college in Connecticut. He thought he would be more at home at Locke High School in L.A., a school overtaken by metal bars, and over-run by gangs, than at his upper-middle class white college, where shopkeepers would look at him suspiciously when he so much as went into a convenience store.
Then there are two white upper-middle class women: one, the child of two lawyers; the other, two highly involved school administrators. Neither of them necessarily went into education straightaway because it was ingrained in them, but more because in its ideology the program did speak to them on some level, and because the indecision of what else they might do after college overwhelmingly riddled their sense of choice with anxiety.
They all knew the stakes were high; they all new the program would be a challenge to break into, and that thousands would be rejected. To make it would mean they were the best of the best, in some respect, and that alone may have been the flattery they needed to maintain the commitment even when doubted by family members how much they could achieve in such a violent, conflict-ridden environment.
The writer gives a brief history of L.A. and the surrounding areas, and brings us from the Watts Riots around 1965, to the Rodney King Riots in '92. The fact that the school resembles a prison; that the security guards open the gates just slightly enough to let the teachers in and out at 6:00 a.m.; that everyone knows what colors not to wear to school, is never debated or questioned much: these are facts of life, for these kids, 32 percent of whom, if African-American, are predicted to end up in jail, and maybe 50 percent of all would even graduate.
Getting to class isn't just an issue of wanting to be there; one 15-year-old girl was shot right out back of her school, waiting for her aunt to pick her up one afternoon. The 18-year-old gangbanger who shot her in a misguided attempt at a driveby meant for someone else, was a drop-out from the same school. He was tried as an adult one year later, and sentenced to more than 80 years in prison for second-degree murder.
Another boy, Darius, hadn't shown up to class in weeks. When pressed, he said that he had gotten in a fight in his neighborhood, and won, and his opponents were not willing to take the loss. They had approached his house with guns several times over the last few weeks, and his mother forbade him from leaving. They had gotten a restraining order, but his only answer was that he may have to kill, if he didn't die first.
These are not stories to be romanticized, and the author I think does a good job to avoid that, and I hope I am keeping them real for you, the way they have burned impressions on me I fear may keep me awake tonight.
And I ask myself if I would be safe; if I may get too emotionally involved; or if I will even make the cut for the program at all, but these questions are trivial. If I could trade my petty problems with these kids, I'm sure they would love to take them on, if they could dream to.
This is a sealed deal; it is something I have always known, and run away from, because I didn't have much better to do outside of my mind for so long, things like pursuing silly things like goals.
Now, I feel like I have to. I have to pursue my goals and I have to get there so that I may show them. I feel like I am born to, and worry if that's going to sound arrogant, or if my overbearing sense of idealism is going to even be to much for the program's recruiter's to get.
Labels: Books, College, Teach for America
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Update
1. I just got a 100 on my first test for research methods!
2. My mother's surgery went well yesterday. They had decided to do another surgery after stopping the chemo and then finding several more tumors. However, when they went in to do the surgery, they couldn't find what they were looking for, so they took out several of the effected nodes and are going to do a biopsy. We should get the results in about a week, and then we will know what's in store as far as more chemo. This is good news, though, considering the surgery turned out much less minor this way; they had been talking about how it's safe to remove up to 80% of the organ. So, this was unexpected but good, and she will be out of the hospital hopefully this weekend.
3. Still working on my goals. I've been reading articles linked off the NYU site every day on my lunch hour. Two very good articles are here and here. One is on cognitive dissonance men experienced in defining their masculinity post-feminist movement; the other is about the cultural war behind international conflict, and the irrational separation between political ideology and culture between groups; how it divides us internally and externally. Go Ellen Willis. Sadly, yesterday I went to Borders and looked her up. Her books, including the one I checked out from the UH library and read, are out of print, so I must find and order used copies of them. The good news is they will be cheaper, but slightly inconvenient in that Why-Can't-I-Get-Exactly-What-I-Want-When-I-Want-It? sort of way.
4. Man, I love the Blue Scholars, and I can't wait to see them.
5. Surprisingly, I think about Elks Camp a few times a day, but since I'm not hating my life as I know it right now, I'm still enjoying what I'm doing otherwise, so that's good.
6. I have insurance! I enrolled yesterday. I have medical, dental, vision, AD&D, life insurance, and a retirement plan. Working for the state is nice, indeed.
K, thanks!
-c
1. I just got a 100 on my first test for research methods!
2. My mother's surgery went well yesterday. They had decided to do another surgery after stopping the chemo and then finding several more tumors. However, when they went in to do the surgery, they couldn't find what they were looking for, so they took out several of the effected nodes and are going to do a biopsy. We should get the results in about a week, and then we will know what's in store as far as more chemo. This is good news, though, considering the surgery turned out much less minor this way; they had been talking about how it's safe to remove up to 80% of the organ. So, this was unexpected but good, and she will be out of the hospital hopefully this weekend.
3. Still working on my goals. I've been reading articles linked off the NYU site every day on my lunch hour. Two very good articles are here and here. One is on cognitive dissonance men experienced in defining their masculinity post-feminist movement; the other is about the cultural war behind international conflict, and the irrational separation between political ideology and culture between groups; how it divides us internally and externally. Go Ellen Willis. Sadly, yesterday I went to Borders and looked her up. Her books, including the one I checked out from the UH library and read, are out of print, so I must find and order used copies of them. The good news is they will be cheaper, but slightly inconvenient in that Why-Can't-I-Get-Exactly-What-I-Want-When-I-Want-It? sort of way.
4. Man, I love the Blue Scholars, and I can't wait to see them.
5. Surprisingly, I think about Elks Camp a few times a day, but since I'm not hating my life as I know it right now, I'm still enjoying what I'm doing otherwise, so that's good.
6. I have insurance! I enrolled yesterday. I have medical, dental, vision, AD&D, life insurance, and a retirement plan. Working for the state is nice, indeed.
K, thanks!
-c
Labels: Cancer, College, Goals, Music, Work
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
“Stonesy Takes 40 Licks, er Years, and Lives”
Whether rock will ever die can be answered in that the World's Greatest Rock 'n' Roll band is still at it. When Keith Richards became an ex-art school student, and Mick Jagger as well became one of ex-economics, it's hard to tell if they really knew what they were doing, but it worked for 1964. Ray Coleman echoed the buzz in London's Melody Maker, but even he couldn't know what the future would bring, including Martin Scorcese’s Shine a Light, a documentary on the act 40 licks, er years, later.
They started as an answer to the Beatles, at least, in the media's own portrayal mirroring the classic storytelling of The Saints vs. The Roughnecks. Regarding the hair, Richards set the record straight: “Look,” he said. “The hair styles had been quite common down in London long before the Beatles and the rest of the country caught on. At art school and years ago, ours had always been the same” (Coleman 1964: 186). Richards and Jagger were only 19 years old, and the others were no older than 22, but each seemed keenly aware of his own identity as well as what the press had to comment.
“They call us the ugliest pop group in the country,” bassist Bill Wyman said (Coleman 1964: 187).
“They used to have this attitude of 'that scruffy lot from London who don't turn up on time and are nasty to look at,'” Richards said (Coleman 1964: 187).
“Yeah, we know of the image,” Jagger admitted (Coleman 1964: 185). “I think most groups need one. You see, you can get so far without an image in people's minds, but as soon as you make a not-so-hot record, you feel it” (Coleman 1964: 185).
Ellen Willis affirms the image-conscious effort in The New Yorker: “Mick Jagger had his gimmick: he was a hood” (1969: 189). She laments the Stones’ loss concerning a controversial album cover, brushing back the Beggar's Banquet release several months (1969). Willis further pushes the Beatles vs. Stones argument, contrasting Their Satanic Majesties Request to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and pegs Beggar's Banquet a knee-jerk reaction to the White Album, confessing slightly more admiration for “Street-fighting Man” than the slowed down version of “Revolution,” any day of the week, and admitting in her eyes the Stones could still do no wrong (1969).
What's interesting is that no evidence supports the rivalry. It seems much more to do with the industry's appetite for profits, and many fans took to the Stones as yet another way to rebel against their parents, when the Beatles were the obvious choice (Coleman 1964). Jagger wouldn't have much to do with it. “They're good mates of ours,” he said (Coleman 1964: 187). “We like 'em and they've done so much good for the whole scene see?” (Coleman 1964: 187). Indeed, it seems to be more of a myth or a popular discussion among fans, but has no recorded root in the Stones' history. What we do know is that in 1963 John Lennon and Paul McCartney offered up the band's second single, “I Wanna Be Your Man” (“The Rolling Stones” 1989); that in 1967 Jagger and then-girlfriend Marianne Faithfull went to India with the Beatles to meet the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (“The Rolling Stones” 1989); and that, in the same year, Lennon and McCartney sang back up on “We Love You,” the “Dandelion" single's B-side (“The Rolling Stones” 1989).
As to the myth, or reputation for the Stones being misogynist, drugged out, or whatever is generally thought of as living the quintessential rock 'n' roll lifestyle, did the Stones live it? Yes. They invented it. Richards even recently told Blender Magazine he intends to write a book about it (Higginbotham 2008) -- and good, 'cause somebody needs to.
“I'm not spilling all the beans, and I'm not going to name ladies' names. But I'll tell you what: It's quite a story,” he said (Higginbotham 2008: 42).
A lot led up to the 2006 performances at New York City's Beacon Theatre, where Scorsese filmed two performances that serve as the backdrop for Shine a Light (Fricke 2008). The Stones take the stage each night with presence and glamour only they could create: Jagger – in a far cry from his early 60s jeans, t-shirts and I-Don't-Care attitude (Coleman 1964) -- dressed in skinny slacks, a black jacket, a crimson button-up shirt littered with sequins; Richards in his standard signature black eyeliner and sparkling black sequined scarf messily tied around his hair.
They share the stage with old timer Buddy Guy, still ticking, and collaborating on an excellent version of “Champagne and Reefer,” at one point changing a line to joke that he's got no cocaine for Richards. Also in “Loving Cup,” a starstruck, beaming Jack White joins Jagger in front-center stage, and a surprisingly soulful and powerful Christina Aguilera belts her blues in “Live with Me.”
The film flashes back to black-and-white interviews dating to the 60s and 70s, from the band's early start, to the present. The ambiguous paradox of the band's nature juxtaposed with its image somehow seems to make sense, not contradicting itself at all. At one point in 1967, Richards appears on World in Action, just one month after spending just 24 hours in Wormwood Scrubs Prison and winning his appeal. He is asked to respond to persecution from religious leaders and others who accused the Stones of working as proponents for drug use and godlessness. “I don't want to be offensive or particularly controversial,” he said (Scorsese 2008). “I never wanted to be” (Scorsese 2008).
Maybe it just comes with the territory: in the Stonesy realm, ex-member Brian Jones suffers “death by misadventure” in 1969 (George-Warren and Pareles 2001); heroin charges mean rock after arrest (“Rolling Stones” 1989); Richards stays awake for nine days on cocaine (Higginbotham 2008); and Wyman boasts sexual escapades claiming more than 1,000 women (Higginbotham 2008).
So maybe they are all right: the press in their portrayal of the Stones, and the Stones in their living it, yet denying it. After all, Jagger did recently mock reporters, observing the ridiculous question he is so often asked: “What would you do if you were not Mick Jagger?” (Scorsese 2008).
“I’m like, ‘Somebody else,” he said (Scorsese 2008).
***
Works Cited
Brackett, David. 2005. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.
Coleman, Ray. 1964. "Rebels with a Beat." From Brackett, David. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 185-187.
Fricke, David. 2008. "Blues Brothers: The Rolling Stones and Jack White shine a light on the roots of their music." Rolling Stone Magazine. Retrieved April 29, 2008 from http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/19969845/blues_brothers.
Higginbotham, Adam. May 2008. “Dear Superstar: Keith Richards.” Blender Magazine. 42-45.
Scorsese, Martin. 2008. Shine a Light. Paramount Classics.
George-Warren, Holly and John Pareles. 2001. "Rolling Stones: Biography" Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll: Revised and Updated for the 21st Century. Retrieved April 29, 2008 from http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/therollingstones/biography.
“The Rolling Stones.” 1989. Rock and Roll Hall of Fame + Museum. Web site accessed April 29, 2008. http://www.rockhall.com/inductee/the-rolling-stones.
Willis, Ellen. 1969. “Records: Rock, Etc. – The Big Ones.” From Bracket, David. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 189-192.
Whether rock will ever die can be answered in that the World's Greatest Rock 'n' Roll band is still at it. When Keith Richards became an ex-art school student, and Mick Jagger as well became one of ex-economics, it's hard to tell if they really knew what they were doing, but it worked for 1964. Ray Coleman echoed the buzz in London's Melody Maker, but even he couldn't know what the future would bring, including Martin Scorcese’s Shine a Light, a documentary on the act 40 licks, er years, later.
They started as an answer to the Beatles, at least, in the media's own portrayal mirroring the classic storytelling of The Saints vs. The Roughnecks. Regarding the hair, Richards set the record straight: “Look,” he said. “The hair styles had been quite common down in London long before the Beatles and the rest of the country caught on. At art school and years ago, ours had always been the same” (Coleman 1964: 186). Richards and Jagger were only 19 years old, and the others were no older than 22, but each seemed keenly aware of his own identity as well as what the press had to comment.
“They call us the ugliest pop group in the country,” bassist Bill Wyman said (Coleman 1964: 187).
“They used to have this attitude of 'that scruffy lot from London who don't turn up on time and are nasty to look at,'” Richards said (Coleman 1964: 187).
“Yeah, we know of the image,” Jagger admitted (Coleman 1964: 185). “I think most groups need one. You see, you can get so far without an image in people's minds, but as soon as you make a not-so-hot record, you feel it” (Coleman 1964: 185).
Ellen Willis affirms the image-conscious effort in The New Yorker: “Mick Jagger had his gimmick: he was a hood” (1969: 189). She laments the Stones’ loss concerning a controversial album cover, brushing back the Beggar's Banquet release several months (1969). Willis further pushes the Beatles vs. Stones argument, contrasting Their Satanic Majesties Request to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and pegs Beggar's Banquet a knee-jerk reaction to the White Album, confessing slightly more admiration for “Street-fighting Man” than the slowed down version of “Revolution,” any day of the week, and admitting in her eyes the Stones could still do no wrong (1969).
What's interesting is that no evidence supports the rivalry. It seems much more to do with the industry's appetite for profits, and many fans took to the Stones as yet another way to rebel against their parents, when the Beatles were the obvious choice (Coleman 1964). Jagger wouldn't have much to do with it. “They're good mates of ours,” he said (Coleman 1964: 187). “We like 'em and they've done so much good for the whole scene see?” (Coleman 1964: 187). Indeed, it seems to be more of a myth or a popular discussion among fans, but has no recorded root in the Stones' history. What we do know is that in 1963 John Lennon and Paul McCartney offered up the band's second single, “I Wanna Be Your Man” (“The Rolling Stones” 1989); that in 1967 Jagger and then-girlfriend Marianne Faithfull went to India with the Beatles to meet the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (“The Rolling Stones” 1989); and that, in the same year, Lennon and McCartney sang back up on “We Love You,” the “Dandelion" single's B-side (“The Rolling Stones” 1989).
As to the myth, or reputation for the Stones being misogynist, drugged out, or whatever is generally thought of as living the quintessential rock 'n' roll lifestyle, did the Stones live it? Yes. They invented it. Richards even recently told Blender Magazine he intends to write a book about it (Higginbotham 2008) -- and good, 'cause somebody needs to.
“I'm not spilling all the beans, and I'm not going to name ladies' names. But I'll tell you what: It's quite a story,” he said (Higginbotham 2008: 42).
A lot led up to the 2006 performances at New York City's Beacon Theatre, where Scorsese filmed two performances that serve as the backdrop for Shine a Light (Fricke 2008). The Stones take the stage each night with presence and glamour only they could create: Jagger – in a far cry from his early 60s jeans, t-shirts and I-Don't-Care attitude (Coleman 1964) -- dressed in skinny slacks, a black jacket, a crimson button-up shirt littered with sequins; Richards in his standard signature black eyeliner and sparkling black sequined scarf messily tied around his hair.
They share the stage with old timer Buddy Guy, still ticking, and collaborating on an excellent version of “Champagne and Reefer,” at one point changing a line to joke that he's got no cocaine for Richards. Also in “Loving Cup,” a starstruck, beaming Jack White joins Jagger in front-center stage, and a surprisingly soulful and powerful Christina Aguilera belts her blues in “Live with Me.”
The film flashes back to black-and-white interviews dating to the 60s and 70s, from the band's early start, to the present. The ambiguous paradox of the band's nature juxtaposed with its image somehow seems to make sense, not contradicting itself at all. At one point in 1967, Richards appears on World in Action, just one month after spending just 24 hours in Wormwood Scrubs Prison and winning his appeal. He is asked to respond to persecution from religious leaders and others who accused the Stones of working as proponents for drug use and godlessness. “I don't want to be offensive or particularly controversial,” he said (Scorsese 2008). “I never wanted to be” (Scorsese 2008).
Maybe it just comes with the territory: in the Stonesy realm, ex-member Brian Jones suffers “death by misadventure” in 1969 (George-Warren and Pareles 2001); heroin charges mean rock after arrest (“Rolling Stones” 1989); Richards stays awake for nine days on cocaine (Higginbotham 2008); and Wyman boasts sexual escapades claiming more than 1,000 women (Higginbotham 2008).
So maybe they are all right: the press in their portrayal of the Stones, and the Stones in their living it, yet denying it. After all, Jagger did recently mock reporters, observing the ridiculous question he is so often asked: “What would you do if you were not Mick Jagger?” (Scorsese 2008).
“I’m like, ‘Somebody else,” he said (Scorsese 2008).
***
Works Cited
Brackett, David. 2005. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.
Coleman, Ray. 1964. "Rebels with a Beat." From Brackett, David. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 185-187.
Fricke, David. 2008. "Blues Brothers: The Rolling Stones and Jack White shine a light on the roots of their music." Rolling Stone Magazine. Retrieved April 29, 2008 from http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/19969845/blues_brothers.
Higginbotham, Adam. May 2008. “Dear Superstar: Keith Richards.” Blender Magazine. 42-45.
Scorsese, Martin. 2008. Shine a Light. Paramount Classics.
George-Warren, Holly and John Pareles. 2001. "Rolling Stones: Biography" Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll: Revised and Updated for the 21st Century. Retrieved April 29, 2008 from http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/therollingstones/biography.
“The Rolling Stones.” 1989. Rock and Roll Hall of Fame + Museum. Web site accessed April 29, 2008. http://www.rockhall.com/inductee/the-rolling-stones.
Willis, Ellen. 1969. “Records: Rock, Etc. – The Big Ones.” From Bracket, David. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 189-192.
Labels: College, Music, Rolling Stones
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Media Effects: Think the media doesn't affect you?
I did it! A-!
1. After an episode of Happy Days aired where the Fonz gets a library card, library memberships grew tremendously across the country in the following weeks.
2. Following the 1975 release of Steven Spielberg's summer blockbuster Jaws, oceanfront tourism plummeted because thousands upon thousands of people were terrified of being attacked by a Great White.
3. Then there's the classic story of when Orson Wells did a radio version of War of the Worlds, causing a mass panic and nationwide hysteria for people who caught the beginning of the program late and actually believed Martians had landed and were attacking the United States.
4. When The Burning Bed, starring Farrah Fawcett as a battered wife who seeing no other option to save her life drenched her sleeping husband's bed with gasoline and set him on fire, aired on NBC in 1984, weeks following not only saw a rise in women seeking help from shelters, but also a steady stream of acts over the country mimicking the exact killing mode used in the true-to-life story.
5. Popularity of 80s prime-time's Law & Order saw an sharp increase in enrollment in law schools in the following years.
6. Similarly and more recently, shows like CSI have brought a spike in enrollment in forensics programs nationwide as well.
7. The Day After, a 1983 TV movie which aired on ABC, raised awareness and concern for the prospect of nuclear war in public opinion polls.
8. And 2004's The Day After Tomorrow, the 45th highest selling movie worldwide, caused viewers to become 50 percent more likely to develop concerned attitudes and more activism toward the cause of global climate change and its implications for the future.
9. According to Dolf Zillman's well-documented Excitation Transfer Theory, movies that contain sex, violence, or frightening elements causing physiological responses in the body, can lead to a transfer of arousal that can last long after media receivers can detect it; meaning, media can intensify your emotions long after you feel it's effects. The emotions don't have to be connected; if you watch a film high in sexual content, and have a fight afterwards, your anger will be intensified. The same theory applies to other activities such as running, or riding roller coasters.
10. Research shows when suicides are covered largely in the news, we see a spike in the numbers of suicides during that time as well.
11. According to Cultivation Theory, television viewing habits, and other media engagements, can shape your worldview. In a study done on high school students who watched Jerry Springer daily after school, the teens were more likely to overestimate the actual occurrences of teen sex, pregnancy, violence and other issues. Similarly is the fact that local news junkies and people who view a lot of violent TV develop what is known as Mean World Syndrome, the idea that the world outside of their home is a scary, unsafe, crime-ridden place, and that many people, including neighbors, are dangerous and untrustworthy.
12. Studies have shown that media images for entertainment, advertising and otherwise directly contributes to the dissatisfaction women develop in their early teens over their own bodies, and this continues into adult life. Similarly, the effect on men is to be more likely to endorse thinness and dieting for females, and to hold them to unrealistic standards of attractiveness.
13. Facism, often used in political and other campaigns, is a ratio used in photographs commonly where one person's head-to-chin is juxtaposed with someone else's full body. Studies have shown that in response to pics regarding the 65 percent head to chin ratio used in these photograph's, has led viewers to believe the person in the photo is more attractive, intelligent and ambitious.
14. Brown & Cantor of Carnegie Mellon in studies since 1998 have tried to shown what they call the "Internet Paradox", an apt term used to describe the effects the advent of the Internet has on our social lives and how it correlates to depression. The paradox shows that the more "connected" we are, the more socially alienated and depressed many are as well. Displacement theory also applies in this study, because time spent on the Internet replaces time spent doing other activities. The studies also pointed to the fact that regular emails do not stimulate phone calls or in-person visits to friends and family. In contrast, visits stimulate more phone calls, and phone calls can lead to more visits.
15. Several studies on the relationship between pornography and its effects on male-female attitudes and perceptions of the opposite sex include: men develop callous attitudes toward women who permit pornography, tending to think that tolerance of sexually explicit materials also makes them more tolerant of violence and pain. Men who view high contents of pornography, and in higher levels of explicitness, are also more likely to believe rape is less severe a crime than non-viewers; that women are more sexually promiscuous than they actually are; that women should be more permissive; that certain sex acts are much more common than they actually are; that their own sexual relationships are not nearly as satisfying; and they are less likely to trust their partners.
16. In a study also by Zillman on gender roles and stereotypes, when viewing frightening content, women are more likely to find men attractive when they put on a masculine reaction to the stimulus, and men are more likely to find women who behave soft, fearful, and submissive during the film more attractive, in cases where peers found the persons in the study to be on an ordinary scale of attractiveness. Otherwise, those who were found to be exceptionally hot were still considered hot no matter how they reacted to the frightening content.
17. Also in a study on social interconnectedness and new media, those ostracized online, i.e., in a gaming context and otherwise, were shown to feel the same emotions they would in a real-world setting: loneliness, rejection and alienation.
18. In a study on the effects of media and mood, children who saw a film where a mean character got a new bike made them upset, and kept the feelings present even after viewing the film, whereas seeing a nice person get a new bike conversely put them in a good mood.
I did it! A-!
1. After an episode of Happy Days aired where the Fonz gets a library card, library memberships grew tremendously across the country in the following weeks.
2. Following the 1975 release of Steven Spielberg's summer blockbuster Jaws, oceanfront tourism plummeted because thousands upon thousands of people were terrified of being attacked by a Great White.
3. Then there's the classic story of when Orson Wells did a radio version of War of the Worlds, causing a mass panic and nationwide hysteria for people who caught the beginning of the program late and actually believed Martians had landed and were attacking the United States.
4. When The Burning Bed, starring Farrah Fawcett as a battered wife who seeing no other option to save her life drenched her sleeping husband's bed with gasoline and set him on fire, aired on NBC in 1984, weeks following not only saw a rise in women seeking help from shelters, but also a steady stream of acts over the country mimicking the exact killing mode used in the true-to-life story.
5. Popularity of 80s prime-time's Law & Order saw an sharp increase in enrollment in law schools in the following years.
6. Similarly and more recently, shows like CSI have brought a spike in enrollment in forensics programs nationwide as well.
7. The Day After, a 1983 TV movie which aired on ABC, raised awareness and concern for the prospect of nuclear war in public opinion polls.
8. And 2004's The Day After Tomorrow, the 45th highest selling movie worldwide, caused viewers to become 50 percent more likely to develop concerned attitudes and more activism toward the cause of global climate change and its implications for the future.
9. According to Dolf Zillman's well-documented Excitation Transfer Theory, movies that contain sex, violence, or frightening elements causing physiological responses in the body, can lead to a transfer of arousal that can last long after media receivers can detect it; meaning, media can intensify your emotions long after you feel it's effects. The emotions don't have to be connected; if you watch a film high in sexual content, and have a fight afterwards, your anger will be intensified. The same theory applies to other activities such as running, or riding roller coasters.
10. Research shows when suicides are covered largely in the news, we see a spike in the numbers of suicides during that time as well.
11. According to Cultivation Theory, television viewing habits, and other media engagements, can shape your worldview. In a study done on high school students who watched Jerry Springer daily after school, the teens were more likely to overestimate the actual occurrences of teen sex, pregnancy, violence and other issues. Similarly is the fact that local news junkies and people who view a lot of violent TV develop what is known as Mean World Syndrome, the idea that the world outside of their home is a scary, unsafe, crime-ridden place, and that many people, including neighbors, are dangerous and untrustworthy.
12. Studies have shown that media images for entertainment, advertising and otherwise directly contributes to the dissatisfaction women develop in their early teens over their own bodies, and this continues into adult life. Similarly, the effect on men is to be more likely to endorse thinness and dieting for females, and to hold them to unrealistic standards of attractiveness.
13. Facism, often used in political and other campaigns, is a ratio used in photographs commonly where one person's head-to-chin is juxtaposed with someone else's full body. Studies have shown that in response to pics regarding the 65 percent head to chin ratio used in these photograph's, has led viewers to believe the person in the photo is more attractive, intelligent and ambitious.
14. Brown & Cantor of Carnegie Mellon in studies since 1998 have tried to shown what they call the "Internet Paradox", an apt term used to describe the effects the advent of the Internet has on our social lives and how it correlates to depression. The paradox shows that the more "connected" we are, the more socially alienated and depressed many are as well. Displacement theory also applies in this study, because time spent on the Internet replaces time spent doing other activities. The studies also pointed to the fact that regular emails do not stimulate phone calls or in-person visits to friends and family. In contrast, visits stimulate more phone calls, and phone calls can lead to more visits.
15. Several studies on the relationship between pornography and its effects on male-female attitudes and perceptions of the opposite sex include: men develop callous attitudes toward women who permit pornography, tending to think that tolerance of sexually explicit materials also makes them more tolerant of violence and pain. Men who view high contents of pornography, and in higher levels of explicitness, are also more likely to believe rape is less severe a crime than non-viewers; that women are more sexually promiscuous than they actually are; that women should be more permissive; that certain sex acts are much more common than they actually are; that their own sexual relationships are not nearly as satisfying; and they are less likely to trust their partners.
16. In a study also by Zillman on gender roles and stereotypes, when viewing frightening content, women are more likely to find men attractive when they put on a masculine reaction to the stimulus, and men are more likely to find women who behave soft, fearful, and submissive during the film more attractive, in cases where peers found the persons in the study to be on an ordinary scale of attractiveness. Otherwise, those who were found to be exceptionally hot were still considered hot no matter how they reacted to the frightening content.
17. Also in a study on social interconnectedness and new media, those ostracized online, i.e., in a gaming context and otherwise, were shown to feel the same emotions they would in a real-world setting: loneliness, rejection and alienation.
18. In a study on the effects of media and mood, children who saw a film where a mean character got a new bike made them upset, and kept the feelings present even after viewing the film, whereas seeing a nice person get a new bike conversely put them in a good mood.
Labels: College, Orson Welles, The Media
Monday, April 21, 2008
Drugs, Dance and Music: Evolution and Culture
Contemporary dance music has many forms. Just as rock 'n' defined its own culture and norms, electronic music has also splintered off into a postmodern cornucopia of sound (Kotarba 2008). Dance, its earliest roots in disco music, has become a genre fueling a club and rave culture all its own (Kotarba 2007).
Electronic dance music is unique for many reasons. Simon Reynolds cited thirteen different characteristics of the music in his "Historia Electronica Preface," several of which are worth noting here (2005). First, dance music tends to focus more on texture and rhythm rather than melody and harmony (Reynolds 2005). This makes aesthetically logical sense, since it is created to promote physicality. Much of rave music is produced specifically to be played over massive sound systems in clubs, equipped with large dance floors to facilitate movement (Reynolds 2005). Like pop music, it engages the listener, but in such a way that arguably no other form of music does (Reynolds 2005).
Reynolds points out that one characteristic of electronic music is its emphasis on sound more than visual elements (2005). This goes hand in hand with the fact that members of the scene are generally faceless (Reynolds 2005). Though it is true that some producers are more of a novelty than others and are respected globally, such as John Digweed, members of the rave scene overall are anonymous (Reynolds 2005). When a DJ takes a stage at a club, the overall experience of the crowd is emphasized more than say, at a rock show, where fans might be more inclined to see a certain artist (Reynolds 2005).
Also, with ever-changing sound movements in the scene, Reynolds postulates that in the eyes of dancers, who are the majority of consumers of the genre, one who mixes is only as good as his latest track (2005). Also, in the mixing realm, innovations are not necessarily identified with a certain figure in the scene or sound; a free flow of ideas is most important, with the music at the center of a seemingly communal environment, where ideas can be shared and reproduced, and patrons do not frown upon it, because it is accepted and moreover expected (Reynolds 2005).
However, one thing rave music does have in common with its predecessors is the known use of drugs to accompany the music, and aid to its specific form of cultural union: the club scene (Kotarba 2008). After 70s disco started to die down in the early 80s, electronic music still had a place to call home in clubs (Kotarba 2007). By the early and mid-80s, DJ's in the United States began to experiment and play with sounds coming out of Europe (Brackett 2005). The blend of their spin on music created by acts overseas such as Kraftwerk melded sound to create techno out of house, and later, acid house (Brackett 2005). The sounds fragmented even further as the United States caught up with Europe and began to trade influences in the scene, including progressive, hard trance, industrial, jungle, dub-step, and countless others (Brackett 2005).
It is evident that marijuana played a role in the early blues scene, as did heroine with jazz (Kotarba 2007). On the same thread, marijuana, amphetamines, LSD and alcohol, among others, contributed to the development of the 60s rock 'n' roll scene and then lent to 70s disco, but one drug distinguishes itself from the others in rave culture: ecstasy (Kotarba 2007).
Although marijuana, methamphetamines, and others were certainly present in rave culture, ecstasy was the drug of choice for the majority (Kotarba 2007). And just as in the past when musical trends correlated positively with drug use, a new way of communicating about drug experience and music sharing evolved out of the scene: drugmusictalk (Kotarba 2008). Drugmusictalk existed in past scenes as well, for example, when blues singers sang in metaphors about their experiences, or when 80s rappers brought the discussion of crack cocaine into the mainstream (Kotarba 2008). But the advent of the Internet in the 90s and in the last decade has provided an even more specialized forum for ravers and party kids, as well as producers, to have a safe environment to speak freely about an underground, and largely illegal scene (Kotarba 2007).
Drugmusictalk is used online in several ways. First, the most obvious reason, is to talk about the music itself (Kotarba 2007). Another way it is used is as a forum for sharing drug experiences in the context of music (Kotarba 2007). "I prefer to take pills to enhance the music and the dancing when I go out. I usually start off on a whole then take have to keep the peak up until I start the downward spiral," one participant said (Kotarba 2007: 179). Those who post also do so not only a means to talk about drug music experiences on the surface, but also as they effect their individual lives (Kotarba 2008).
What should be clear is that none of these forms of drugmusictalk are mutually exclusive (Kotarba 2008). They oftentimes overlap. On one hand, a site member might write about a certain DJ, or the way the bass felt on the dance floor under the influence of ecstasy, but on the same note, might speak of the effect the drug music experience had on a personal relationship (Kotarba 2007). Drugmusictalk also evolved out of a need to discuss the various subgenres of electronic music, along with the fact that certain forms became popular with the rise of certain drugs, or were preferred as sounds to compliment the use of certain drugs. For example, one respondent recommended combining hardcore or drum 'n' bass with amphetamines, stating, "The sped up basslines parallel the sped up nature of the drug" (Kotarba 2007: 190). Music was also cited as a way to moderate moods, and focus on certain elements of the designer drug experience, as another user posted, "'Chick music' (Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos, etc.) are good for home experiences with one other friend. This makes the experience very calming, less chaotic, and quite personal" (Kotarba 2007: 189).
In conclusion, drugmusictalk has a history in that since at least the beginning of the 20th Century, drugs and music have been highly correlated (Kotarba 2007). Although music, fashion and taste can largely depend on one's social class, all music has its drug to counterpart, whether a high-brow upper class person drinking wine while listening to classical music, or someone who lives in the Dirty South below the poverty level drinking syrup and listening to DJ Screw (Kotarba 2008).
The Internet has opened up the table for social bonding via drugmusictalk by providing forums and allowing for anonymous communication to give us a window to observe this world of drugs, music, and culture like no other phenomenon has before.
Works Cited
Brackett, David. 2005, "The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.
Kotarba, Joseph. 2008. From "Drug Music" lecture at the University of Houston.
Joseph Kotarba. 2007. "Music as a Feature of the On-Line Discussion of Illegal Club Drugs." From Murguía, Edward, Melissa Tackett, and Ann LessemBook. Real Drugs in a Virtual World: Drug Discourse and Community Online. Lexington Books. 173-191.
Simon Reynolds. 2005. "Historia Electronica Preference." From Bracket, David. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 483-492.
Contemporary dance music has many forms. Just as rock 'n' defined its own culture and norms, electronic music has also splintered off into a postmodern cornucopia of sound (Kotarba 2008). Dance, its earliest roots in disco music, has become a genre fueling a club and rave culture all its own (Kotarba 2007).
Electronic dance music is unique for many reasons. Simon Reynolds cited thirteen different characteristics of the music in his "Historia Electronica Preface," several of which are worth noting here (2005). First, dance music tends to focus more on texture and rhythm rather than melody and harmony (Reynolds 2005). This makes aesthetically logical sense, since it is created to promote physicality. Much of rave music is produced specifically to be played over massive sound systems in clubs, equipped with large dance floors to facilitate movement (Reynolds 2005). Like pop music, it engages the listener, but in such a way that arguably no other form of music does (Reynolds 2005).
Reynolds points out that one characteristic of electronic music is its emphasis on sound more than visual elements (2005). This goes hand in hand with the fact that members of the scene are generally faceless (Reynolds 2005). Though it is true that some producers are more of a novelty than others and are respected globally, such as John Digweed, members of the rave scene overall are anonymous (Reynolds 2005). When a DJ takes a stage at a club, the overall experience of the crowd is emphasized more than say, at a rock show, where fans might be more inclined to see a certain artist (Reynolds 2005).
Also, with ever-changing sound movements in the scene, Reynolds postulates that in the eyes of dancers, who are the majority of consumers of the genre, one who mixes is only as good as his latest track (2005). Also, in the mixing realm, innovations are not necessarily identified with a certain figure in the scene or sound; a free flow of ideas is most important, with the music at the center of a seemingly communal environment, where ideas can be shared and reproduced, and patrons do not frown upon it, because it is accepted and moreover expected (Reynolds 2005).
However, one thing rave music does have in common with its predecessors is the known use of drugs to accompany the music, and aid to its specific form of cultural union: the club scene (Kotarba 2008). After 70s disco started to die down in the early 80s, electronic music still had a place to call home in clubs (Kotarba 2007). By the early and mid-80s, DJ's in the United States began to experiment and play with sounds coming out of Europe (Brackett 2005). The blend of their spin on music created by acts overseas such as Kraftwerk melded sound to create techno out of house, and later, acid house (Brackett 2005). The sounds fragmented even further as the United States caught up with Europe and began to trade influences in the scene, including progressive, hard trance, industrial, jungle, dub-step, and countless others (Brackett 2005).
It is evident that marijuana played a role in the early blues scene, as did heroine with jazz (Kotarba 2007). On the same thread, marijuana, amphetamines, LSD and alcohol, among others, contributed to the development of the 60s rock 'n' roll scene and then lent to 70s disco, but one drug distinguishes itself from the others in rave culture: ecstasy (Kotarba 2007).
Although marijuana, methamphetamines, and others were certainly present in rave culture, ecstasy was the drug of choice for the majority (Kotarba 2007). And just as in the past when musical trends correlated positively with drug use, a new way of communicating about drug experience and music sharing evolved out of the scene: drugmusictalk (Kotarba 2008). Drugmusictalk existed in past scenes as well, for example, when blues singers sang in metaphors about their experiences, or when 80s rappers brought the discussion of crack cocaine into the mainstream (Kotarba 2008). But the advent of the Internet in the 90s and in the last decade has provided an even more specialized forum for ravers and party kids, as well as producers, to have a safe environment to speak freely about an underground, and largely illegal scene (Kotarba 2007).
Drugmusictalk is used online in several ways. First, the most obvious reason, is to talk about the music itself (Kotarba 2007). Another way it is used is as a forum for sharing drug experiences in the context of music (Kotarba 2007). "I prefer to take pills to enhance the music and the dancing when I go out. I usually start off on a whole then take have to keep the peak up until I start the downward spiral," one participant said (Kotarba 2007: 179). Those who post also do so not only a means to talk about drug music experiences on the surface, but also as they effect their individual lives (Kotarba 2008).
What should be clear is that none of these forms of drugmusictalk are mutually exclusive (Kotarba 2008). They oftentimes overlap. On one hand, a site member might write about a certain DJ, or the way the bass felt on the dance floor under the influence of ecstasy, but on the same note, might speak of the effect the drug music experience had on a personal relationship (Kotarba 2007). Drugmusictalk also evolved out of a need to discuss the various subgenres of electronic music, along with the fact that certain forms became popular with the rise of certain drugs, or were preferred as sounds to compliment the use of certain drugs. For example, one respondent recommended combining hardcore or drum 'n' bass with amphetamines, stating, "The sped up basslines parallel the sped up nature of the drug" (Kotarba 2007: 190). Music was also cited as a way to moderate moods, and focus on certain elements of the designer drug experience, as another user posted, "'Chick music' (Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos, etc.) are good for home experiences with one other friend. This makes the experience very calming, less chaotic, and quite personal" (Kotarba 2007: 189).
In conclusion, drugmusictalk has a history in that since at least the beginning of the 20th Century, drugs and music have been highly correlated (Kotarba 2007). Although music, fashion and taste can largely depend on one's social class, all music has its drug to counterpart, whether a high-brow upper class person drinking wine while listening to classical music, or someone who lives in the Dirty South below the poverty level drinking syrup and listening to DJ Screw (Kotarba 2008).
The Internet has opened up the table for social bonding via drugmusictalk by providing forums and allowing for anonymous communication to give us a window to observe this world of drugs, music, and culture like no other phenomenon has before.
Works Cited
Brackett, David. 2005, "The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.
Kotarba, Joseph. 2008. From "Drug Music" lecture at the University of Houston.
Joseph Kotarba. 2007. "Music as a Feature of the On-Line Discussion of Illegal Club Drugs." From Murguía, Edward, Melissa Tackett, and Ann LessemBook. Real Drugs in a Virtual World: Drug Discourse and Community Online. Lexington Books. 173-191.
Simon Reynolds. 2005. "Historia Electronica Preference." From Bracket, David. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 483-492.
Labels: College
Saturday, April 19, 2008
"Frank Sinatra Said Rock Was 'Phony,' But I Still Think He's All Right"
The Legacy of Fear is an idea that states when a form of media becomes new, it is only a matter of time before parents become concerned about its social implications, and how it will affect children. It seems like even though society evolves, and new things become acceptable, one thread remains the same: the idea that a new form of entertainment can threaten the livelihood of our culture, including our attitudes, behaviors, and values. Pop music is no exception, but as we can see, the same fears in respect to rock 'n' roll's hitting the mainstream also came into the light with the Goth and dark wave movements, the punk scene, metal, then rap, and now more than ever, hip-hop.
One of the most fascinating ideas to me about this phenomenon, being new music, societal change, and society's reaction, is how complex it truly is. Music is a product of our culture, and our culture is a product of its influences. Even that is an oversimplification, because though some things remain the same, and themes regarding traditionalist thinking versus progressive go back and forth, things do go forward.
An interesting change that has taken place is the shift from adults having their own music, and having more influence over their children, to a consumer-culture where children are marketed music. Artists want to stay young, keep their audiences young, and keep making money, while parents just want to stay hip for as long as they can. And above all, music is fun for everybody. It eases drives in traffic after an eight-hour workday for adults. It makes bus rides more bearable for kids who would be completely bored without their ipods, and on weekends it gives everybody something to do: dance.
Also noteworthy is the idea of racial and other cultural tensions among audiences and critics of music. The Chicago Defender noted that Asa Carter, head of the North Alabama White Citizens Council said in the early stages of rock 'n' roll that it was "nothing but a plot by the NAACP to lower American youth's morals."
Critics also tried to marginalize members of the Gothic counterculture after the Columbine shootings, because the shooters had been wearing trench coats and were said to have listened to Marilyn Manson. A 17-year-old student at Berkeley High School observed this when she said, "It's always society's solution to blame something other than itself. They just want a scapegoat."
As a side-note, the story of the Goths dodging blame for the Columbine shootings sounded familiar, because in another class, we also explored the possibility of violence in video games being responsible, since the assailants were recorded to have been fans of Doom, a popular first-person shooter game from the time.
I believe parents fear the influence that music has on their children as much as they fear the impact of so many other countless things their children will be exposed to, and the idea that it is outside of their control. Studies have shown that even putting ratings on games and TV shows and movies isn't enough to stop kids from consuming them; in fact, it is thought by communication theorists that these ratings prohibiting children from viewing certain films have an alluring effect.
Then again, maybe parents are as much afraid of growing up as they are of allowing their children to grow up. They want to listen to the same music, and not change the radio station when things that might be inappropriate for children are being said, such as women being called derogatory names, or people singing about committing violence, they should understand that the world is not the same as it used to be, if only in the sense that the lyrics tend to be much more explicit, and children do pick up on their meaning.
Also, we're in an age we're people tend to consume multiple kinds of media simultaneously. If a child is watching MTV, they might see racy images. At the same time, they are digesting words I know I didn't hear in music twenty years ago.
And so, there is this ongoing notion that is constantly debated, on Oprah, on the Internet, and on the radio, that someone has to take responsibility for this. But it is a complex issue that I believe would involve education, more than just censorship or placing blame on artists, record labels, or parents.
My parents and I never fought about music in my life. I don't recall any conflicts taking place between them and my sisters, either. This is for several reasons. First, I grew up listening to music, and my mother was a musician, so it was always accepted. Second, we had rules, which had more to do with not playing anything super loud and disturbing everyone else, rather than what you were actually listening to. And third, my parents are young. I remember riding in a car when I was a kid, and my mom was single and in her 20s, and she was listening to pop music, like The Police, Hall and Oates, Eurythmics, Tina Turner, and Phil Collins. On second thought, maybe my influence in choosing music when I became older was also pretty tame.
As for my dad, he's a little younger than my mother, and he still loves to rock out. He will turn a Green Day song up in his truck and drum his thumbs on the steering wheel. He'll buy the new Disturbed album and turn it up so you can hear it in the whole house and it'll leak out while he's playing in his garden in the backyard. But the bottom line, though, is they gave me the space to make choices concerning what music I would listen to, and there was some kind of trust there in the sense that my sisters and I would know what was real and what was not, regardless of what our stereo was playing.
The Legacy of Fear is an idea that states when a form of media becomes new, it is only a matter of time before parents become concerned about its social implications, and how it will affect children. It seems like even though society evolves, and new things become acceptable, one thread remains the same: the idea that a new form of entertainment can threaten the livelihood of our culture, including our attitudes, behaviors, and values. Pop music is no exception, but as we can see, the same fears in respect to rock 'n' roll's hitting the mainstream also came into the light with the Goth and dark wave movements, the punk scene, metal, then rap, and now more than ever, hip-hop.
One of the most fascinating ideas to me about this phenomenon, being new music, societal change, and society's reaction, is how complex it truly is. Music is a product of our culture, and our culture is a product of its influences. Even that is an oversimplification, because though some things remain the same, and themes regarding traditionalist thinking versus progressive go back and forth, things do go forward.
An interesting change that has taken place is the shift from adults having their own music, and having more influence over their children, to a consumer-culture where children are marketed music. Artists want to stay young, keep their audiences young, and keep making money, while parents just want to stay hip for as long as they can. And above all, music is fun for everybody. It eases drives in traffic after an eight-hour workday for adults. It makes bus rides more bearable for kids who would be completely bored without their ipods, and on weekends it gives everybody something to do: dance.
Also noteworthy is the idea of racial and other cultural tensions among audiences and critics of music. The Chicago Defender noted that Asa Carter, head of the North Alabama White Citizens Council said in the early stages of rock 'n' roll that it was "nothing but a plot by the NAACP to lower American youth's morals."
Critics also tried to marginalize members of the Gothic counterculture after the Columbine shootings, because the shooters had been wearing trench coats and were said to have listened to Marilyn Manson. A 17-year-old student at Berkeley High School observed this when she said, "It's always society's solution to blame something other than itself. They just want a scapegoat."
As a side-note, the story of the Goths dodging blame for the Columbine shootings sounded familiar, because in another class, we also explored the possibility of violence in video games being responsible, since the assailants were recorded to have been fans of Doom, a popular first-person shooter game from the time.
I believe parents fear the influence that music has on their children as much as they fear the impact of so many other countless things their children will be exposed to, and the idea that it is outside of their control. Studies have shown that even putting ratings on games and TV shows and movies isn't enough to stop kids from consuming them; in fact, it is thought by communication theorists that these ratings prohibiting children from viewing certain films have an alluring effect.
Then again, maybe parents are as much afraid of growing up as they are of allowing their children to grow up. They want to listen to the same music, and not change the radio station when things that might be inappropriate for children are being said, such as women being called derogatory names, or people singing about committing violence, they should understand that the world is not the same as it used to be, if only in the sense that the lyrics tend to be much more explicit, and children do pick up on their meaning.
Also, we're in an age we're people tend to consume multiple kinds of media simultaneously. If a child is watching MTV, they might see racy images. At the same time, they are digesting words I know I didn't hear in music twenty years ago.
And so, there is this ongoing notion that is constantly debated, on Oprah, on the Internet, and on the radio, that someone has to take responsibility for this. But it is a complex issue that I believe would involve education, more than just censorship or placing blame on artists, record labels, or parents.
My parents and I never fought about music in my life. I don't recall any conflicts taking place between them and my sisters, either. This is for several reasons. First, I grew up listening to music, and my mother was a musician, so it was always accepted. Second, we had rules, which had more to do with not playing anything super loud and disturbing everyone else, rather than what you were actually listening to. And third, my parents are young. I remember riding in a car when I was a kid, and my mom was single and in her 20s, and she was listening to pop music, like The Police, Hall and Oates, Eurythmics, Tina Turner, and Phil Collins. On second thought, maybe my influence in choosing music when I became older was also pretty tame.
As for my dad, he's a little younger than my mother, and he still loves to rock out. He will turn a Green Day song up in his truck and drum his thumbs on the steering wheel. He'll buy the new Disturbed album and turn it up so you can hear it in the whole house and it'll leak out while he's playing in his garden in the backyard. But the bottom line, though, is they gave me the space to make choices concerning what music I would listen to, and there was some kind of trust there in the sense that my sisters and I would know what was real and what was not, regardless of what our stereo was playing.
Labels: College, Music, Sociology
Thursday, April 17, 2008
"The Blues: Examining the Past and Present of a Uniquely American Art Form"
The blues and its influence on American society is a complicated, multi-layered phenomenon that deserves closer examination. Of utmost importance in coming to understand the present-day is the simple act of being able to tread backward through time and begin at the beginning. As we shall see, sociologists attempt to seek out a more truthful representation of how things came to be, rather than romanticize things in ways pervasive among popular music articles and artist interviews.
What must also be understood is that the blues did not evolve out of nowhere. It developed out of a need: a need for expression, as well as a need for African-
Americans to find their place in the American superstructure. Although classic blues arose partly as production of the recording industry, and the notion that performers could earn a living making music, the earliest forms of blues came out of wanderers and field workers. Traditional training was not necessary; to have the blues was considered a part of being human.
"It was assumed that each man had his own blues and that he would sing them," Leroi Jones wrote. He added, "It was assumed that anybody could sing the blues. If someone had lived in this world into manhood, it was taken for granted that he had been given the content of his verses."
The blues as a form of entertainment for Americans had a way of uniting a divided society, though cultural and categorical divisions were present in the blues movement. It is relevant in our study to consider the different directions taken in the light of urban as well as rural areas of the country; the roles of men and women in the performance at the time; as well as regional differences in lifestyles between the north and south; and segregation and racial tension between blacks and whites.
Jones puts forth the idea that African-Americans were introduced to the entertainment industry through the advent of minstrels and vaudevilles. He cites Gertrude "Ma" Rainey as responsible for the beginnings of the classic, more structured, blues style, and says her travels with the Rabbit Foot Minstrels, a larger company that toured the south, led her to teach Bessie Smith (1898-1937), the future and still known "Empress of the Blues."
Interesting enough are those divisions spoken of previously: the great classic blues singers were predominantly women, while men dominated country blues singing. Robert Johnson (1911-1938), often the most highly regarded Delta blues musician, lived and recorded during precisely the same time Smith's work could be heard on the radio. It should be noted also that during this time country blues did not get the same attention inasmuch as airplay, but was ever-present in the south.
It was during this time also that big band and swing music took off, meeting the demands of dancehalls across the nation. Luckily, according to blues guitarist Lowell Fulson, T-Bone Walker solidified the art form and fought the fade out it seemed to face. "I always give him credit, because he's the first man brought the blues guitar – matter of fact, brought the guitar back in style, playing lead," he said.
These forms eventually united and coalesced into a new invention, later referred to by Billboard magazine in 1949 as "Rhythm and Blues." At the time, though, the new phrase was more a blanket term for nearly all African-American popular music.
Fast-forward to 2008, and the blues are highly regarded as a piece of Americana. One can feel the historical presence in almost all music made in the United States today. I believe the trick is, though, that regional location, as well as age, has more to do with the prototype for blues singers than anything. For example, it is known that Johnson rapidly grew in popularity, and as a consequence so did a love for the blues sound once again, when Columbia released his complete recordings in the '60s.
Johnson's recordings are still popular and are reaching new audiences even today. One summer several years ago, I recall taking an interest in old blues and jazz recordings. I asked a trusted friend of mine to recommend me some purchases in that realm. "Get the complete recordings of Robert Johnson," he said. I went out and paid $25 for that set, and it was worth every penny. Other than that, I began exploring blues and old jazz artists by purchasing cheap compilation albums of different artists at stores like K-Mart and Target. Sometimes they sell them for only $5 and $8. My favorite songs from these compilations were by Bessie Smith. I also enjoyed the recordings by Billie Holiday and Lightnin' Hopkins. Little did I know until taking this class how truly important they were in the context of blues history, as well as music in the making today.
After reading the text, I asked several friends if they knew most of the classic blues singers were women. The response was overwhelmingly, "No." I was surprised by this revelation as well. I also wondered if because I live in Texas, if that might be why even friends I speak to about the blues seem more familiar with country blues than classic blues. I wonder if it is a product of living in the south.
I also feel that all modern rock music, including independent music, can be traced back to the blues. I find the idea that musicians today tend to tie themselves to the blues through a personal narrative rather fascinating. However, I believe a generational shift is taking place. As an entertainment writer, I have often interviewed musicians and asked them to name their top five recording artists. Ninety-nine percent of the time I get at least one Beatles album or something by The Rolling Stones, as well as The Beach Boys sometimes, and occasionally Led Zeppelin. I am aware of the fact that all these artists were somehow influenced directly or indirectly by the blues.
In the same way, another friend of mine in conversation said 10 years from now everyone is going to be naming Nirvana on their list. I'm not sure if I agree with that, but I know that even if they do, Nirvana not only covered Leadbelly, but can most likely be traced as well to some classic rock acts, who had at one time or another been highly influenced by the blues.
Examples of this can be found online and in publications showcasing interviews of artists, local and international. In a search for Bessie Smith on MySpace, I found six fan pages created in her honor. Some include biography information, as well as pictures and recordings. Billie Holiday also has twenty-three MySpace pages dedicated to her. This is important because the women of the blues tie so closely to women in rock today. For example, Bessie Smith influenced Billie Holiday, who led to Dinah Washington, to Janis Joplin, and on to local Houston blues artist Carolyn Wonderland, and even some of today's biggest pop icons.
The blues is not only present in rock 'n' roll; it is also felt in soul and R & B recordings. Last month, an article on MTV.com declared Beyonce Knowles, a native Houstonian and international icon of Destiny's Child girl group, as well as a solo artist, is next returning to the big screen after her Dreamgirls debut, to star in the role of Etta James, famed blues singer, in the up-and-coming film, Cadillac Records.
In a related 2006 story also on MTV, pop singer Christina Aguilera participated in a photo shoot for InStyle Magazine, where she had the opportunity to pose for pictures with her self-described all-time favorite singer, Etta James. This also ties into the idea that modern artists feel the need to create a fiction, via memory or otherwise, to tie them to a revered master from another time in music, i.e. the blues.
"I've said it for the last seven years — since I had my first debut record out — in every interview, in every story, in every on- and off-camera question. I mean, all of Etta's old songs, countless songs I could name, I grew up listening to. That music was always such a huge escape for me, even from a young age," Aguilera said.
She also recounted a story of shopping for vintage records with her grandmother when she was seven years old, and immediately falling in love with the raw emotional sounds demonstrated in the earliest soul, blues, and jazz recordings. In the interview James seemed to recognize that influence in Aguilera's singing as well, and told her so. "It's like you were here many years ago," she said. "You don't look exactly like them, but there's something about you that's like Dinah Washington, Billie Holiday, those kinds of chicks. I've never seen a girl sing as tough as you sing, as little as you are. It's like you're an old soul."
As discussed, the blues has shown to be a pervasive part of American life. Even in popular music today, I believe it has great influence. Blues songs were about heartbreak, struggle, and basic human emotions people could relate to. The earliest singers were not classically trained, and the blues was thought to be a universal feeling. This is much like the lyrical content for a lot of popular songs, whether indie rock, pop punk, bubblegum songs by future American Idols, or alternative. Blues songs were personal. They were confessional, much like some of our favorite artists today.
I also think the success of the blues as an art form comes from the very instrument that expresses it: the guitar. If guitar is not going away, then certainly the blues never will, so whether in lyrics or instrumentation we are always going to experience the blues.
I once made a British friend, Tom, while working as a camp counselor in Seattle. I remember sitting at a pier on the Vaughn Bay with a bandana in my hair, playing my guitar. It was Tom's first time in America, working at this camp for the summer, and he said before it was over, he was going to participate in American life by purchasing his own acoustic guitar. He told me in England, going to the University there wasn't like being in college here. He had not the same experiences I had of going to parties or hanging outside the dorms while people passed a guitar around and played to each other. He said he wanted to take that home with him, and he did. He bought one, and I taught him a couple songs before the summer ended.
An acoustic guitar has many advantages. It is relatively cheap if you're not picky, and one of the greatest things about it is that it is so portable. A guitar is also unique in that it can be used solitarily or in combination with other musicians. It is also easy to learn, or at least to fake it. Most people I know at school can play at least one song, and the thing about guitar is that most general audiences don't notice mistakes, so you don't have to be great to be able to play for people. This dates back to the original blues players making music based on what they felt, rather than what they were taught.
***
Hey guys -- I've just been learning some really interesting shit this semester, and wanted to share it. Please let me know what your thoughts are, and if you read this far, thank you.
-c
The blues and its influence on American society is a complicated, multi-layered phenomenon that deserves closer examination. Of utmost importance in coming to understand the present-day is the simple act of being able to tread backward through time and begin at the beginning. As we shall see, sociologists attempt to seek out a more truthful representation of how things came to be, rather than romanticize things in ways pervasive among popular music articles and artist interviews.
What must also be understood is that the blues did not evolve out of nowhere. It developed out of a need: a need for expression, as well as a need for African-
Americans to find their place in the American superstructure. Although classic blues arose partly as production of the recording industry, and the notion that performers could earn a living making music, the earliest forms of blues came out of wanderers and field workers. Traditional training was not necessary; to have the blues was considered a part of being human.
"It was assumed that each man had his own blues and that he would sing them," Leroi Jones wrote. He added, "It was assumed that anybody could sing the blues. If someone had lived in this world into manhood, it was taken for granted that he had been given the content of his verses."
The blues as a form of entertainment for Americans had a way of uniting a divided society, though cultural and categorical divisions were present in the blues movement. It is relevant in our study to consider the different directions taken in the light of urban as well as rural areas of the country; the roles of men and women in the performance at the time; as well as regional differences in lifestyles between the north and south; and segregation and racial tension between blacks and whites.
Jones puts forth the idea that African-Americans were introduced to the entertainment industry through the advent of minstrels and vaudevilles. He cites Gertrude "Ma" Rainey as responsible for the beginnings of the classic, more structured, blues style, and says her travels with the Rabbit Foot Minstrels, a larger company that toured the south, led her to teach Bessie Smith (1898-1937), the future and still known "Empress of the Blues."
Interesting enough are those divisions spoken of previously: the great classic blues singers were predominantly women, while men dominated country blues singing. Robert Johnson (1911-1938), often the most highly regarded Delta blues musician, lived and recorded during precisely the same time Smith's work could be heard on the radio. It should be noted also that during this time country blues did not get the same attention inasmuch as airplay, but was ever-present in the south.
It was during this time also that big band and swing music took off, meeting the demands of dancehalls across the nation. Luckily, according to blues guitarist Lowell Fulson, T-Bone Walker solidified the art form and fought the fade out it seemed to face. "I always give him credit, because he's the first man brought the blues guitar – matter of fact, brought the guitar back in style, playing lead," he said.
These forms eventually united and coalesced into a new invention, later referred to by Billboard magazine in 1949 as "Rhythm and Blues." At the time, though, the new phrase was more a blanket term for nearly all African-American popular music.
Fast-forward to 2008, and the blues are highly regarded as a piece of Americana. One can feel the historical presence in almost all music made in the United States today. I believe the trick is, though, that regional location, as well as age, has more to do with the prototype for blues singers than anything. For example, it is known that Johnson rapidly grew in popularity, and as a consequence so did a love for the blues sound once again, when Columbia released his complete recordings in the '60s.
Johnson's recordings are still popular and are reaching new audiences even today. One summer several years ago, I recall taking an interest in old blues and jazz recordings. I asked a trusted friend of mine to recommend me some purchases in that realm. "Get the complete recordings of Robert Johnson," he said. I went out and paid $25 for that set, and it was worth every penny. Other than that, I began exploring blues and old jazz artists by purchasing cheap compilation albums of different artists at stores like K-Mart and Target. Sometimes they sell them for only $5 and $8. My favorite songs from these compilations were by Bessie Smith. I also enjoyed the recordings by Billie Holiday and Lightnin' Hopkins. Little did I know until taking this class how truly important they were in the context of blues history, as well as music in the making today.
After reading the text, I asked several friends if they knew most of the classic blues singers were women. The response was overwhelmingly, "No." I was surprised by this revelation as well. I also wondered if because I live in Texas, if that might be why even friends I speak to about the blues seem more familiar with country blues than classic blues. I wonder if it is a product of living in the south.
I also feel that all modern rock music, including independent music, can be traced back to the blues. I find the idea that musicians today tend to tie themselves to the blues through a personal narrative rather fascinating. However, I believe a generational shift is taking place. As an entertainment writer, I have often interviewed musicians and asked them to name their top five recording artists. Ninety-nine percent of the time I get at least one Beatles album or something by The Rolling Stones, as well as The Beach Boys sometimes, and occasionally Led Zeppelin. I am aware of the fact that all these artists were somehow influenced directly or indirectly by the blues.
In the same way, another friend of mine in conversation said 10 years from now everyone is going to be naming Nirvana on their list. I'm not sure if I agree with that, but I know that even if they do, Nirvana not only covered Leadbelly, but can most likely be traced as well to some classic rock acts, who had at one time or another been highly influenced by the blues.
Examples of this can be found online and in publications showcasing interviews of artists, local and international. In a search for Bessie Smith on MySpace, I found six fan pages created in her honor. Some include biography information, as well as pictures and recordings. Billie Holiday also has twenty-three MySpace pages dedicated to her. This is important because the women of the blues tie so closely to women in rock today. For example, Bessie Smith influenced Billie Holiday, who led to Dinah Washington, to Janis Joplin, and on to local Houston blues artist Carolyn Wonderland, and even some of today's biggest pop icons.
The blues is not only present in rock 'n' roll; it is also felt in soul and R & B recordings. Last month, an article on MTV.com declared Beyonce Knowles, a native Houstonian and international icon of Destiny's Child girl group, as well as a solo artist, is next returning to the big screen after her Dreamgirls debut, to star in the role of Etta James, famed blues singer, in the up-and-coming film, Cadillac Records.
In a related 2006 story also on MTV, pop singer Christina Aguilera participated in a photo shoot for InStyle Magazine, where she had the opportunity to pose for pictures with her self-described all-time favorite singer, Etta James. This also ties into the idea that modern artists feel the need to create a fiction, via memory or otherwise, to tie them to a revered master from another time in music, i.e. the blues.
"I've said it for the last seven years — since I had my first debut record out — in every interview, in every story, in every on- and off-camera question. I mean, all of Etta's old songs, countless songs I could name, I grew up listening to. That music was always such a huge escape for me, even from a young age," Aguilera said.
She also recounted a story of shopping for vintage records with her grandmother when she was seven years old, and immediately falling in love with the raw emotional sounds demonstrated in the earliest soul, blues, and jazz recordings. In the interview James seemed to recognize that influence in Aguilera's singing as well, and told her so. "It's like you were here many years ago," she said. "You don't look exactly like them, but there's something about you that's like Dinah Washington, Billie Holiday, those kinds of chicks. I've never seen a girl sing as tough as you sing, as little as you are. It's like you're an old soul."
As discussed, the blues has shown to be a pervasive part of American life. Even in popular music today, I believe it has great influence. Blues songs were about heartbreak, struggle, and basic human emotions people could relate to. The earliest singers were not classically trained, and the blues was thought to be a universal feeling. This is much like the lyrical content for a lot of popular songs, whether indie rock, pop punk, bubblegum songs by future American Idols, or alternative. Blues songs were personal. They were confessional, much like some of our favorite artists today.
I also think the success of the blues as an art form comes from the very instrument that expresses it: the guitar. If guitar is not going away, then certainly the blues never will, so whether in lyrics or instrumentation we are always going to experience the blues.
I once made a British friend, Tom, while working as a camp counselor in Seattle. I remember sitting at a pier on the Vaughn Bay with a bandana in my hair, playing my guitar. It was Tom's first time in America, working at this camp for the summer, and he said before it was over, he was going to participate in American life by purchasing his own acoustic guitar. He told me in England, going to the University there wasn't like being in college here. He had not the same experiences I had of going to parties or hanging outside the dorms while people passed a guitar around and played to each other. He said he wanted to take that home with him, and he did. He bought one, and I taught him a couple songs before the summer ended.
An acoustic guitar has many advantages. It is relatively cheap if you're not picky, and one of the greatest things about it is that it is so portable. A guitar is also unique in that it can be used solitarily or in combination with other musicians. It is also easy to learn, or at least to fake it. Most people I know at school can play at least one song, and the thing about guitar is that most general audiences don't notice mistakes, so you don't have to be great to be able to play for people. This dates back to the original blues players making music based on what they felt, rather than what they were taught.
***
Hey guys -- I've just been learning some really interesting shit this semester, and wanted to share it. Please let me know what your thoughts are, and if you read this far, thank you.
-c
Labels: College, Music, Sociology, The Blues
Monday, April 14, 2008
Whirlwind
My head has been mixed up all day. This morning, my camp director texted me saying he had just lost three female counselors and desperately needed me to come.
Meanwhile, we all know how excited I've been about not going, which is to say, not at all. I was looking at the future with optimism, but also with this protestant ethic of doing what I have to do. Pushing through, like I always do.
I thought I was graduating this December, but this afternoon, I went to see my adviser. Lo and behold, I need six classes to graduate, not four, like I thought. It would be absolutely impossible for me to get through it all between now and then. I know, because I know I'm really good at setting unrealistic goals. No way can I possibly afford and manage full-time work and two summer classes, or full-time work and four classes this fall. It would be impossible.
I dropped a class this semester, because I took on too much. It was a really tough decision. But between working full-time and writing for the paper, and my other classes, I had one grade that was suffering. I could not keep up, or catch up. I thought about the prospect of trying to kick my own ass with it to even get a C, but that might have been at the expense of my other high grades.
My job is stressful also. I don't know if I've described it much. I'm a temp, and I've been there for nearly four months, and am trying to get hired by the University. Meanwhile, the first round of interviews are set to begin two weeks from now.
And meanwhile, I have a lot of responsibility and am already struggling to do everything for school, when recently a higher-up told my supervisor he may want to talk to me about not doing my schoolwork while on the job, if I'm hired. That in itself pisses me off because a) she never said anything to me about it on her own, and b) I only do schoolwork when I am caught up with everything else, so it shouldn't be a problem; if I've got nothing to do but to answer the phones, at that point, what's it to her if I open up a textbook, especially when I work on a college campus?
So, I'm thinking I'm going to withdraw my application and stay as a temp until they hire someone or until I come to camp, whichever comes first.
I talked to my roommate, because the other important thing I needed to know was that all was cool on the homefront, and I could go to camp and pay my cheap rent, and she'd have the place to herself, but I could come back and live here and work and go to school until at least December. She said that was okay, so that way I can save my camp money for tuition instead of having to plan to move; I definitely would not be able to go out there if that were the case.
Man, lots of decisions in one day, but I feel like a weight has been lifted.
Of course, the job thing for the fall may stress me a little, but I think I should have no problem finding temp work again as soon as I get back, until I find something.
And I really feel like I need to go. Already, I was thinking about how much I would miss it. One of my ex-campers just found me on Facebook. She's 20 now, she's engaged, she's in college, and she has two kids. I didn't expect that at all, but although she is so young to already be a mother, she grew up in foster care, and it is just so nice to see her happy. And she's really happy, and I have no doubt she is a wonderful mother. She has emailed me sporadically over the years. I like to think I had a positive effect on her in some way, in at least that she stayed focused and kept a head on her shoulders, and knew things would get better.
That is why I want to go to camp. And it's the same reason I want to be a teacher. I feel like each and every person who works in that capacity is there for a reason. And there are things we say to these kids, and only we can say them. If I weren't there, maybe someone else would be, in my place. But every single person involved has something unique and important to contribute, and I love being part of that.
I'm applying to this program to teach "at-risk" children. I don't just want to be any teacher anywhere; I want to be in a specific place for the kids who need me. I know I will be able to reach at least some of them, and that will make everything worth it.
That's my motivation for finishing school at all right now, having the goal of getting out and teaching these kids. I think about it all the time.
So, whether I graduate this winter or next spring, doesn't really make a difference. No matter what I'm going to be doing something in the following fall, whether teaching, or on my way to teaching.
I guess it's funny how you can realize things all at once. It's all or nothing for me. All confusion or all clarity. But with everything I find out, I know I'm doing what's right. And I could stress about this or that or what if blah blah blah, but in the end, I always get where I'm going.
My head has been mixed up all day. This morning, my camp director texted me saying he had just lost three female counselors and desperately needed me to come.
Meanwhile, we all know how excited I've been about not going, which is to say, not at all. I was looking at the future with optimism, but also with this protestant ethic of doing what I have to do. Pushing through, like I always do.
I thought I was graduating this December, but this afternoon, I went to see my adviser. Lo and behold, I need six classes to graduate, not four, like I thought. It would be absolutely impossible for me to get through it all between now and then. I know, because I know I'm really good at setting unrealistic goals. No way can I possibly afford and manage full-time work and two summer classes, or full-time work and four classes this fall. It would be impossible.
I dropped a class this semester, because I took on too much. It was a really tough decision. But between working full-time and writing for the paper, and my other classes, I had one grade that was suffering. I could not keep up, or catch up. I thought about the prospect of trying to kick my own ass with it to even get a C, but that might have been at the expense of my other high grades.
My job is stressful also. I don't know if I've described it much. I'm a temp, and I've been there for nearly four months, and am trying to get hired by the University. Meanwhile, the first round of interviews are set to begin two weeks from now.
And meanwhile, I have a lot of responsibility and am already struggling to do everything for school, when recently a higher-up told my supervisor he may want to talk to me about not doing my schoolwork while on the job, if I'm hired. That in itself pisses me off because a) she never said anything to me about it on her own, and b) I only do schoolwork when I am caught up with everything else, so it shouldn't be a problem; if I've got nothing to do but to answer the phones, at that point, what's it to her if I open up a textbook, especially when I work on a college campus?
So, I'm thinking I'm going to withdraw my application and stay as a temp until they hire someone or until I come to camp, whichever comes first.
I talked to my roommate, because the other important thing I needed to know was that all was cool on the homefront, and I could go to camp and pay my cheap rent, and she'd have the place to herself, but I could come back and live here and work and go to school until at least December. She said that was okay, so that way I can save my camp money for tuition instead of having to plan to move; I definitely would not be able to go out there if that were the case.
Man, lots of decisions in one day, but I feel like a weight has been lifted.
Of course, the job thing for the fall may stress me a little, but I think I should have no problem finding temp work again as soon as I get back, until I find something.
And I really feel like I need to go. Already, I was thinking about how much I would miss it. One of my ex-campers just found me on Facebook. She's 20 now, she's engaged, she's in college, and she has two kids. I didn't expect that at all, but although she is so young to already be a mother, she grew up in foster care, and it is just so nice to see her happy. And she's really happy, and I have no doubt she is a wonderful mother. She has emailed me sporadically over the years. I like to think I had a positive effect on her in some way, in at least that she stayed focused and kept a head on her shoulders, and knew things would get better.
That is why I want to go to camp. And it's the same reason I want to be a teacher. I feel like each and every person who works in that capacity is there for a reason. And there are things we say to these kids, and only we can say them. If I weren't there, maybe someone else would be, in my place. But every single person involved has something unique and important to contribute, and I love being part of that.
I'm applying to this program to teach "at-risk" children. I don't just want to be any teacher anywhere; I want to be in a specific place for the kids who need me. I know I will be able to reach at least some of them, and that will make everything worth it.
That's my motivation for finishing school at all right now, having the goal of getting out and teaching these kids. I think about it all the time.
So, whether I graduate this winter or next spring, doesn't really make a difference. No matter what I'm going to be doing something in the following fall, whether teaching, or on my way to teaching.
I guess it's funny how you can realize things all at once. It's all or nothing for me. All confusion or all clarity. But with everything I find out, I know I'm doing what's right. And I could stress about this or that or what if blah blah blah, but in the end, I always get where I'm going.
Labels: Camp, College, Goals, Work
Friday, March 14, 2008
50 Years and So Many Songs! No Other Band Could Last So Long!
A student of media effects claimed today that after a week of tracking media messages, whether selectively sought or passively observed, one could not escape them unless he were asleep. Billboards, commercials, music, magazine covers in check out lines: they pervade our daily existence.
One could say that if media messages do shine so on through window panes --which is to say, they perforate us, willingly or not-so-willingly – then, whatsoever they provide for our days, The Beatles similarly yet thankfully do for our lives.
This four-piece 1960s version of a boy band was initially taken about as seriously as New Kids on the Block was nearly 20 years ago. This is clearly demonstrated in the 1964 New York Times article by Theordore Strongin: “The age of 15 or 16 or 14 or 13 is essential in a Beatles expert,” he wrote.
Strongin’s words would almost make it easy enough to subscribe to that line of thinking, if nearly 50 years later, we didn’t know any better. However, in sharp contrast, and just two weeks earlier, William Mann of the London Times saw things another way. He wrote, on inkling, an article that seemed to gather the not yet understood electricity in the air, and mimic a familiar theme to what had once been the title of a popular 1957 song: “Something’s Coming.”
For Mann, the fact that the Beatles took back the crown from all the American rock bands, who had been so lovingly worshipped in England for decades previously, was the icing on the cake. His excitement, however, seemed swept over by a slight veil of nervousness, which upon describing the phenomenon and everything positive to be found within the music, he stopped to make a bold, precautionary, and telling statement:
“These are some of the qualities that make one wonder with interest what The Beatles, and particularly Lennon and McCartney, will do next, and if America will spoil them or hold on to them, and if their next record will wear as well as the others. They have brought a distinctive and exhilarating flavor into a genre of music that was in danger of ceasing to be music at all.”
Insofar as anticipation, with the masses’ breathless attention so penetrating even skeptics could not deny it, all eyes were on the Beatles. A Hard Day’s Night, the band’s third album, along with its first movie of the same title, paved the yellow brick road for the Beatles. For the first time, critics were starting to wake up and smell the coffee, and Trix wasn’t just for kids anymore.
The rest is history, and today the chronology of Beatles albums is often muddled when downloaded in mp3 format, or when Number Ones are compiled onto one smashing album. Most important is that by the time they got to Revolver and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles, with credit also to those nameless predecessors of “acid-buddhist imagery and rock beat,” acknowledged in passing by Village Voice writer Richard Goldstein, in combination with seemingly endless new production possibilities provided by the technologically advantageous four-track, forged a new genre, one that no one has ever come close to be able to do better.
For the love of pop music, everyone must love the Beatles on some level. Yes, I’ve encountered a few prunes who swore up and down they hated them, but they’re just jealous. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. By and large, what I’ve always found uniquely interesting about the Beatles is that, although fans and pop critics may not always agree which Beatles album was ever the best, the point is that everyone has a favorite: Revolver, I’ve heard countless times. Sgt. Pepper’s, for the daring. The White Album, for the sentimental, which I’ll admit, includes me.
Being that the White Album is my favorite, I must say that Ellen Willis’ backhanded scoff at the title got me a little sore. But then, it has me laughing in a sense, like Mann was at bittersweet goods, since I do so want to know what her thoughts were on Weezer’s Blue Album, or Green Album, or Jay-Z’s Black Album, or better yet, the Gray Album: Danger Mouse’s online, legally suspect yet not-for-profit, brilliantly presented mix of The White Album’s beats and orchestrated strings serving as the backdrop for The Black Album’s punchy hip-hop lyrics. Then again, I think she would have enjoyed it; she did admit to harboring a rebellious, screaming teenager in her head.
Mania, recording innovations, and all aside, I can’t recall when I heard the Beatles first because they have always existed: in my lifetime, in the life before mine, and will afterward as well. But I can tell you the two things that make me pay attention: The first is that someone once told me if I wanted to learn how to play guitar I needed to play the Beatles. They never barred anything; they played all the chords the way they were supposed to be played. They didn’t cheat. I once heard they rode a bus for four hours one day just to find a rumored man who knew how to play the B7.
Besides that, I’ve always heard the Beatles never stressed about writing lyrics. That’s debatable, but I can say honestly I’ve never stressed too much about why I like their lyrics. To me, it seems like the lyrically complex are equally as entertaining and thoughtful as the more poppy ones, silly and catchy rhyme schemes and all -- so catchy I’ll bet you a dollar that whether you like a Beatles song, you could sing one, and with your eyes closed.
A student of media effects claimed today that after a week of tracking media messages, whether selectively sought or passively observed, one could not escape them unless he were asleep. Billboards, commercials, music, magazine covers in check out lines: they pervade our daily existence.
One could say that if media messages do shine so on through window panes --which is to say, they perforate us, willingly or not-so-willingly – then, whatsoever they provide for our days, The Beatles similarly yet thankfully do for our lives.
This four-piece 1960s version of a boy band was initially taken about as seriously as New Kids on the Block was nearly 20 years ago. This is clearly demonstrated in the 1964 New York Times article by Theordore Strongin: “The age of 15 or 16 or 14 or 13 is essential in a Beatles expert,” he wrote.
Strongin’s words would almost make it easy enough to subscribe to that line of thinking, if nearly 50 years later, we didn’t know any better. However, in sharp contrast, and just two weeks earlier, William Mann of the London Times saw things another way. He wrote, on inkling, an article that seemed to gather the not yet understood electricity in the air, and mimic a familiar theme to what had once been the title of a popular 1957 song: “Something’s Coming.”
For Mann, the fact that the Beatles took back the crown from all the American rock bands, who had been so lovingly worshipped in England for decades previously, was the icing on the cake. His excitement, however, seemed swept over by a slight veil of nervousness, which upon describing the phenomenon and everything positive to be found within the music, he stopped to make a bold, precautionary, and telling statement:
“These are some of the qualities that make one wonder with interest what The Beatles, and particularly Lennon and McCartney, will do next, and if America will spoil them or hold on to them, and if their next record will wear as well as the others. They have brought a distinctive and exhilarating flavor into a genre of music that was in danger of ceasing to be music at all.”
Insofar as anticipation, with the masses’ breathless attention so penetrating even skeptics could not deny it, all eyes were on the Beatles. A Hard Day’s Night, the band’s third album, along with its first movie of the same title, paved the yellow brick road for the Beatles. For the first time, critics were starting to wake up and smell the coffee, and Trix wasn’t just for kids anymore.
The rest is history, and today the chronology of Beatles albums is often muddled when downloaded in mp3 format, or when Number Ones are compiled onto one smashing album. Most important is that by the time they got to Revolver and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles, with credit also to those nameless predecessors of “acid-buddhist imagery and rock beat,” acknowledged in passing by Village Voice writer Richard Goldstein, in combination with seemingly endless new production possibilities provided by the technologically advantageous four-track, forged a new genre, one that no one has ever come close to be able to do better.
For the love of pop music, everyone must love the Beatles on some level. Yes, I’ve encountered a few prunes who swore up and down they hated them, but they’re just jealous. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. By and large, what I’ve always found uniquely interesting about the Beatles is that, although fans and pop critics may not always agree which Beatles album was ever the best, the point is that everyone has a favorite: Revolver, I’ve heard countless times. Sgt. Pepper’s, for the daring. The White Album, for the sentimental, which I’ll admit, includes me.
Being that the White Album is my favorite, I must say that Ellen Willis’ backhanded scoff at the title got me a little sore. But then, it has me laughing in a sense, like Mann was at bittersweet goods, since I do so want to know what her thoughts were on Weezer’s Blue Album, or Green Album, or Jay-Z’s Black Album, or better yet, the Gray Album: Danger Mouse’s online, legally suspect yet not-for-profit, brilliantly presented mix of The White Album’s beats and orchestrated strings serving as the backdrop for The Black Album’s punchy hip-hop lyrics. Then again, I think she would have enjoyed it; she did admit to harboring a rebellious, screaming teenager in her head.
Mania, recording innovations, and all aside, I can’t recall when I heard the Beatles first because they have always existed: in my lifetime, in the life before mine, and will afterward as well. But I can tell you the two things that make me pay attention: The first is that someone once told me if I wanted to learn how to play guitar I needed to play the Beatles. They never barred anything; they played all the chords the way they were supposed to be played. They didn’t cheat. I once heard they rode a bus for four hours one day just to find a rumored man who knew how to play the B7.
Besides that, I’ve always heard the Beatles never stressed about writing lyrics. That’s debatable, but I can say honestly I’ve never stressed too much about why I like their lyrics. To me, it seems like the lyrically complex are equally as entertaining and thoughtful as the more poppy ones, silly and catchy rhyme schemes and all -- so catchy I’ll bet you a dollar that whether you like a Beatles song, you could sing one, and with your eyes closed.
Labels: College, Music, Sociology, The Beatles
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Super Super Goodnesssss
Hi.
I haven't written in awhile. But I just wanted to tell you that life is so, so good right now.
I have an awesome new job. And I'm writing entertainment stuff again at the cougar. Just for practice and to make it my business again to check out some new shit.
So far, I've gotten into two new bands like whoa: The Whigs, and Peachcake. Seriously, check them out, guys.
Peachcake is going to be playing Houston on Saturday night, and I really, really want to go. More on that later.
So my job. My job is stressful at times, but that is because my department is short-staffed to begin with, and also because I have a lot of responsibility, which I really like.
Last weekend was my first full weekend off since I can't remember. Saturday AND Sunday. I quit Chuy's once I knew my job was definitely working out.
I work weekdays only, and I have my dream schedule for school: two Internet classes, plus one during the day where my office allows me to leave and come back, so I never miss that class.
I have study groups in all three of them, and think I'm maintaining everything pretty well. To finish up my minor, I'm taking a sociology class called Popular Music & Society. It's going to rule. I'm required to listen to music basically, and read about jazz and the blues, soul and rock. I am assigned essays from time to time, where I write about the music in a social context.
I'm about to go watch UH play 1 Memphis in Basketball. I haven't even been to a basketball game since I've been in college, and I don't even know why. I've always loved the game.
It's time.
Anyway, oh and I've discovered my new favorite show, Futurama. Thanks to Joe and his awesome DVD collection.
I've started cooking again, too. The other night I made spaghetti with my own sauce. I made it different than I ever had before. I put one whole small clove of garlic, then also oregano, mozzarella cheese, rosemary, basil, crushed red pepper and black pepper. Then I chopped red onions, green and red peppers, and added them to the tomato sauce, along with a can of diced tomatoes. It was beautiful, man. Fucking awesome.
I've been baking cookies, too, although the slice and bake kind cause they're so quick and easy. And I get a kick out of it. I'm thinking, though, about possibly spending some of my newfound weekend time exploring new recipes, and maybe trying to bake some simple shit at first, from scratch.
I'm trying to find a recipe for chocolate mint bars, similar to what Starbucks makes. Andy loves them. So if anybody knows any -- uh, Beckie? Fellow bakers? -- hook me up.
Well, peace and much love, and here's to a wonderful life and a fantastic week.
Oh, and my little niece is so beautiful. She is truly a miracle and I am looking forward to spending time with her, and also waiting for the so-near day that I will hold my newborn nephew. He's coming next month.
Man, good times.
Gotta go watch the game now!
Much love,
Hi.
I haven't written in awhile. But I just wanted to tell you that life is so, so good right now.
I have an awesome new job. And I'm writing entertainment stuff again at the cougar. Just for practice and to make it my business again to check out some new shit.
So far, I've gotten into two new bands like whoa: The Whigs, and Peachcake. Seriously, check them out, guys.
Peachcake is going to be playing Houston on Saturday night, and I really, really want to go. More on that later.
So my job. My job is stressful at times, but that is because my department is short-staffed to begin with, and also because I have a lot of responsibility, which I really like.
Last weekend was my first full weekend off since I can't remember. Saturday AND Sunday. I quit Chuy's once I knew my job was definitely working out.
I work weekdays only, and I have my dream schedule for school: two Internet classes, plus one during the day where my office allows me to leave and come back, so I never miss that class.
I have study groups in all three of them, and think I'm maintaining everything pretty well. To finish up my minor, I'm taking a sociology class called Popular Music & Society. It's going to rule. I'm required to listen to music basically, and read about jazz and the blues, soul and rock. I am assigned essays from time to time, where I write about the music in a social context.
I'm about to go watch UH play 1 Memphis in Basketball. I haven't even been to a basketball game since I've been in college, and I don't even know why. I've always loved the game.
It's time.
Anyway, oh and I've discovered my new favorite show, Futurama. Thanks to Joe and his awesome DVD collection.
I've started cooking again, too. The other night I made spaghetti with my own sauce. I made it different than I ever had before. I put one whole small clove of garlic, then also oregano, mozzarella cheese, rosemary, basil, crushed red pepper and black pepper. Then I chopped red onions, green and red peppers, and added them to the tomato sauce, along with a can of diced tomatoes. It was beautiful, man. Fucking awesome.
I've been baking cookies, too, although the slice and bake kind cause they're so quick and easy. And I get a kick out of it. I'm thinking, though, about possibly spending some of my newfound weekend time exploring new recipes, and maybe trying to bake some simple shit at first, from scratch.
I'm trying to find a recipe for chocolate mint bars, similar to what Starbucks makes. Andy loves them. So if anybody knows any -- uh, Beckie? Fellow bakers? -- hook me up.
Well, peace and much love, and here's to a wonderful life and a fantastic week.
Oh, and my little niece is so beautiful. She is truly a miracle and I am looking forward to spending time with her, and also waiting for the so-near day that I will hold my newborn nephew. He's coming next month.
Man, good times.
Gotta go watch the game now!
Much love,
Labels: College, Cooking, Music, Peachcake, Sociology, Work
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
You know what's funny?
I am doing so well lately. Very, very well. I have a new job. I work 8 to 5:30, and even get to leave for a couple hours on Tues. and Thurs. to go to a class.
I only need six classes to graduate, and I am enrolled in three.
I moved in with a friend of mine, a familiar place. Know lots of my neighbors, as they are old friends.
I'm making more money per hour than I ever have. I do not have to worry about financial stuff anymore at all, so long as I stick to this nice budget I made for myself that doesn't even have to be too strict.
My little sister just had a beautiful baby. I'm so excited. I haven't seen her yet, but may tonight, or by the end of the week.
I feel more on my own, and confident, and I have many goals that I think are realistic, and I've been reading some really amazing books that in a way like experience just propel me further into my own specific context, if that makes sense.
Oh, and my mother. I have been afraid to say anything, because she still has lots of chemo to go through and these things can be unpredictable and I don't want to get ahead of myself, but anyway, she had her first follow-up with the radiologist since the treatments started. It's a miracle, I believe. And I hope it is not a mistake. And I feel very blessed. But, after just a couple months of chemo, the consensus is that the spots are gone. I am amazed. How could one go from Stage 4 liver cancer, four spots, to nothing, in just a couple months? My mother is a brilliant, strong, compassionate woman. Some combination of god or her own will, or everyone else who loves her, of course, along with giving some credit to the advancement of modern medicine, is responsible. And I am grateful.
I was going to write about the two things that have left me slightly unsettled, but in the wake of all this good news, it seems a little silly. Maybe I'll come back to these things some other time.
Although, just for the title's sake, the funny part, which sums up the other stuff, I shall leave you with what this was initially supposed to lead up to -- the lyrics of the unfortunate Phil Collins song from which a small piece flew back and forth in my brain this morning, only to drift away and settle with me again here and now, on my lunch break.
"In Too Deep"
All that time I was searching, with nowhere to run to, it started me thinking,
Wondering what I could make of my life, and who'd be waiting,
Asking all kinds of questions, to myself, but never finding the answers,
Crying at the top of my voice, and no one listening,
All this time, I still remember everything you said
There's so much you promised, how could I ever forget.
Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.
So listen, listen to me,
Ooh you must believe me,
I can feel your eyes go thru me,
But I don't know why.
Ooh I know you're going, but I can't believe
It's the way that you're leaving,
It's like we never knew each other at all, it may be my fault,
I gave you too many reasons, being alone, when I didn't want to
I thought you'd always be there, I almost believed you,
All this time, I still remember everything you said, oh
There's so much you promised, how could I ever forget.
Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.
So listen, listen to me,
I can feel your eyes go thru me
It seems I've spent too long
Only thinking about myself - oh
Now I want to spend my life Just caring bout somebody else.
Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.
You know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep...
I am doing so well lately. Very, very well. I have a new job. I work 8 to 5:30, and even get to leave for a couple hours on Tues. and Thurs. to go to a class.
I only need six classes to graduate, and I am enrolled in three.
I moved in with a friend of mine, a familiar place. Know lots of my neighbors, as they are old friends.
I'm making more money per hour than I ever have. I do not have to worry about financial stuff anymore at all, so long as I stick to this nice budget I made for myself that doesn't even have to be too strict.
My little sister just had a beautiful baby. I'm so excited. I haven't seen her yet, but may tonight, or by the end of the week.
I feel more on my own, and confident, and I have many goals that I think are realistic, and I've been reading some really amazing books that in a way like experience just propel me further into my own specific context, if that makes sense.
Oh, and my mother. I have been afraid to say anything, because she still has lots of chemo to go through and these things can be unpredictable and I don't want to get ahead of myself, but anyway, she had her first follow-up with the radiologist since the treatments started. It's a miracle, I believe. And I hope it is not a mistake. And I feel very blessed. But, after just a couple months of chemo, the consensus is that the spots are gone. I am amazed. How could one go from Stage 4 liver cancer, four spots, to nothing, in just a couple months? My mother is a brilliant, strong, compassionate woman. Some combination of god or her own will, or everyone else who loves her, of course, along with giving some credit to the advancement of modern medicine, is responsible. And I am grateful.
I was going to write about the two things that have left me slightly unsettled, but in the wake of all this good news, it seems a little silly. Maybe I'll come back to these things some other time.
Although, just for the title's sake, the funny part, which sums up the other stuff, I shall leave you with what this was initially supposed to lead up to -- the lyrics of the unfortunate Phil Collins song from which a small piece flew back and forth in my brain this morning, only to drift away and settle with me again here and now, on my lunch break.
"In Too Deep"
All that time I was searching, with nowhere to run to, it started me thinking,
Wondering what I could make of my life, and who'd be waiting,
Asking all kinds of questions, to myself, but never finding the answers,
Crying at the top of my voice, and no one listening,
All this time, I still remember everything you said
There's so much you promised, how could I ever forget.
Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.
So listen, listen to me,
Ooh you must believe me,
I can feel your eyes go thru me,
But I don't know why.
Ooh I know you're going, but I can't believe
It's the way that you're leaving,
It's like we never knew each other at all, it may be my fault,
I gave you too many reasons, being alone, when I didn't want to
I thought you'd always be there, I almost believed you,
All this time, I still remember everything you said, oh
There's so much you promised, how could I ever forget.
Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.
So listen, listen to me,
I can feel your eyes go thru me
It seems I've spent too long
Only thinking about myself - oh
Now I want to spend my life Just caring bout somebody else.
Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.
You know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep...
Labels: Cancer, College, Goals, Graduation, Music
Sunday, December 02, 2007
So, I'm sitting here, listening to Jill Scott, and getting ready to go to work.
But something's on my mind. Well, many things, actually. Yesterday was a test to get through. I had a final. My sister called me to inform me she was in the hospital. She ended up getting out at 5:30, but that had me a wreck for a little while, considering my future niece in her little belly had a high heart rate, and they were monitoring her and renee all night while they waited for the fever to go down.
I had to call my mother and tell her the news. There has been a lot of this lately. Phone calls. They are one of the most real parts about being a grown up. All these calls. Like last time Renee was in the hospital, or when my mother had the surgery and I had to call people and tell them how it went.
And people calling me asking how my mother is doing. And I talk about the chemo, which I don't fully understand. She uses words like the pump, and the oncologist, and medications and side effects, and talks about medical bills flowing in like what seems like a tidal wave, and fighting with the insurance company, and how wigs aren't covered by insurance even though you're losing all your hair through the treatment of your disease. Pshhh. They're considered cosmetic.
And then I'm thinking about how I've been feeling lately. How I walk around with all this weight. Like how last night I looked forward to hanging out with good friends all day, but found myself stepping outside to make a phone call and then ended up crying quietly to myself on the ground for a minute.
Just keeping composure is so hard. I try to keep things in line, like things I need to do, and save my feelings for when I'm with specific people, or when I'm alone, or when I'm in therapy.
But I just started, needed to let a little out, and all the sudden I was worried that I wasn't going to stop. And I didn't want to make a scene. And I calmed down, went back inside, so drained and void.
On top of this, a few months ago I was debating High Fidelity love versus An Affair to Remember Love. I decided something, to take some advice both my grandmother and sister gave me: "Relationships are work, but it's worth it to you in the end."
But sometimes when you fall in love, you make excuses for people. You can do it over and over without even noticing it. You can sacrifice principles that are so important to you. You can keep things, or allow things or people to be brought into your life that you never really wanted in the first place. Or at least, things you had learned to let go of in order to personally evolve.
Evolve. That's all I want to do.
To fall in love and be able to do that with someone would be incredibly wonderful. Sometimes you can backslide, but you can help each other out, you know, if you've got similar vision, priorities, and ideas.
But what do you do when you wake up and realize you've bended yourself so far that you just don't know what to do anymore? And you just want that person for once, to see your side of things, and to validate it, and appreciate it, and respect it, but they just don't?
And then you think about all the other compromises you've ever made.
And you start to ask yourself again, the initial questions. But you know the only person who can truly answer that is yourself.
But something's on my mind. Well, many things, actually. Yesterday was a test to get through. I had a final. My sister called me to inform me she was in the hospital. She ended up getting out at 5:30, but that had me a wreck for a little while, considering my future niece in her little belly had a high heart rate, and they were monitoring her and renee all night while they waited for the fever to go down.
I had to call my mother and tell her the news. There has been a lot of this lately. Phone calls. They are one of the most real parts about being a grown up. All these calls. Like last time Renee was in the hospital, or when my mother had the surgery and I had to call people and tell them how it went.
And people calling me asking how my mother is doing. And I talk about the chemo, which I don't fully understand. She uses words like the pump, and the oncologist, and medications and side effects, and talks about medical bills flowing in like what seems like a tidal wave, and fighting with the insurance company, and how wigs aren't covered by insurance even though you're losing all your hair through the treatment of your disease. Pshhh. They're considered cosmetic.
And then I'm thinking about how I've been feeling lately. How I walk around with all this weight. Like how last night I looked forward to hanging out with good friends all day, but found myself stepping outside to make a phone call and then ended up crying quietly to myself on the ground for a minute.
Just keeping composure is so hard. I try to keep things in line, like things I need to do, and save my feelings for when I'm with specific people, or when I'm alone, or when I'm in therapy.
But I just started, needed to let a little out, and all the sudden I was worried that I wasn't going to stop. And I didn't want to make a scene. And I calmed down, went back inside, so drained and void.
On top of this, a few months ago I was debating High Fidelity love versus An Affair to Remember Love. I decided something, to take some advice both my grandmother and sister gave me: "Relationships are work, but it's worth it to you in the end."
But sometimes when you fall in love, you make excuses for people. You can do it over and over without even noticing it. You can sacrifice principles that are so important to you. You can keep things, or allow things or people to be brought into your life that you never really wanted in the first place. Or at least, things you had learned to let go of in order to personally evolve.
Evolve. That's all I want to do.
To fall in love and be able to do that with someone would be incredibly wonderful. Sometimes you can backslide, but you can help each other out, you know, if you've got similar vision, priorities, and ideas.
But what do you do when you wake up and realize you've bended yourself so far that you just don't know what to do anymore? And you just want that person for once, to see your side of things, and to validate it, and appreciate it, and respect it, but they just don't?
And then you think about all the other compromises you've ever made.
And you start to ask yourself again, the initial questions. But you know the only person who can truly answer that is yourself.
Labels: Cancer, College, Jill Scott, Love, Music, Relationships
Monday, August 21, 2006
Ho-Hum.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
Labels: Anxiety, Breaking Up, College, Seattle, Work
Saturday, August 19, 2006
How you holding up?
Well, thank you for asking. Actually, at the moment I am sadder than ever. That pain is back in my chest. It's hard to breathe. I've been smoking so much I'm worried I'm developing the lung capacity of a little fish. You know, little fishy gills. Having to take quick, short breaths. It's all I can do to stay calm in moments.
Man, I'm fucking great. I'm doing unbelievably great ...
I start school Monday. I am taking 15 hours.
Geology, Italian, Photography, and some communication classes ... Monday.
I've even talked to Aaron a couple times in the last week. We've smoothed a couple things over. Not like we're going to be friends or anything, but he did offer to give me some expensive photo paper for my class ... that's cool.
I have a new rule.
I remember when I went out to Seattle and I was all fucked up about boys. Three or four of them, actually, overlapping in some kinda sea of what ifs. I remember sitting on the pier one night when I spilled the whole story to Tom: the entire history of my short love life.
He said things too simply for me then for me to comprehend. He said things had to be black and white. No gray areas. When something's over, it's over. Not even friendship, or "Maybe Someday." It had to be clearcut. It was clearcut, he said.
And he was right. So, new rule. Never date anyone more than once. If it didn't work out the first time, it was for a reason. All other time spent would be time wasted to reach a similar conclusion, you dig?
That in mind, it will be easy to be friends with my exes. Fuck, since I decided that I could go have a drink with any-fucking-one without having to worry about the repercussions.
I'm in the most antisocial mood ever.
But I've had a long week of work, and I have been hanging out with my friends a lot.
I just got sad for a moment, and that's okay.
I wish I could be like Marie DeSalle. She said two very cool things in High Fidelity: -- at least, that's what I think -- she said, for one thing, that her ex wasn't going to come between her and a fuck. The other, was when John Cusack asked her if she missed him. James, her ex. And she said, "Of course. That's how it works, right." Then she smiled and tipped her hat and walked on like everything was cool.
I'm trying to channel Marie DeSalle. I'm not kidding. I don't care if that sounds crazy. I'm trying to keep my cool. To do what I do. What I enjoy. To spend time with my friends.
Only, once in awhile, and you know what I'm talking about. When certain conversations or smiles run through your head before you can stop them. Moments you can't get out of your head and you fear they may never, ever leave you.
Like making love, and how a certain person feels right. And how they might say things to you that no one else has ever said, and how, in those moments when they were said to you, you believed them, as they echoed through your brain, and you imagined they would float around for eternity.
And you were right. And when I say you, I mean me. My thoughts. Those thoughts. Those moments like dreams. Can't be any less real than anything you ever felt in your waking life, right? Even in the past. Even in "revisionist history."
So you want to go on. You want to make more memories. But the pain of daily life after such a loss is like trying to carry the weight of a thousand pounds on your shoulder.
Meanwhile, people keep saying things like this, for example ....
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
"I saw ______ a couple weeks ago. Is that why you're just okay?"
"Yeah ... He broke up with me last Saturday."
"Oh, well, I'm sorry. But you know, I like ______, but don't sweat it. You can do better. There are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Well, thank you, I ... the thing is I don't even feel like swimming. Or fishing. Or anything like that...."
And you know what? I fucking don't.
Well, thank you for asking. Actually, at the moment I am sadder than ever. That pain is back in my chest. It's hard to breathe. I've been smoking so much I'm worried I'm developing the lung capacity of a little fish. You know, little fishy gills. Having to take quick, short breaths. It's all I can do to stay calm in moments.
Man, I'm fucking great. I'm doing unbelievably great ...
I start school Monday. I am taking 15 hours.
Geology, Italian, Photography, and some communication classes ... Monday.
I've even talked to Aaron a couple times in the last week. We've smoothed a couple things over. Not like we're going to be friends or anything, but he did offer to give me some expensive photo paper for my class ... that's cool.
I have a new rule.
I remember when I went out to Seattle and I was all fucked up about boys. Three or four of them, actually, overlapping in some kinda sea of what ifs. I remember sitting on the pier one night when I spilled the whole story to Tom: the entire history of my short love life.
He said things too simply for me then for me to comprehend. He said things had to be black and white. No gray areas. When something's over, it's over. Not even friendship, or "Maybe Someday." It had to be clearcut. It was clearcut, he said.
And he was right. So, new rule. Never date anyone more than once. If it didn't work out the first time, it was for a reason. All other time spent would be time wasted to reach a similar conclusion, you dig?
That in mind, it will be easy to be friends with my exes. Fuck, since I decided that I could go have a drink with any-fucking-one without having to worry about the repercussions.
I'm in the most antisocial mood ever.
But I've had a long week of work, and I have been hanging out with my friends a lot.
I just got sad for a moment, and that's okay.
I wish I could be like Marie DeSalle. She said two very cool things in High Fidelity: -- at least, that's what I think -- she said, for one thing, that her ex wasn't going to come between her and a fuck. The other, was when John Cusack asked her if she missed him. James, her ex. And she said, "Of course. That's how it works, right." Then she smiled and tipped her hat and walked on like everything was cool.
I'm trying to channel Marie DeSalle. I'm not kidding. I don't care if that sounds crazy. I'm trying to keep my cool. To do what I do. What I enjoy. To spend time with my friends.
Only, once in awhile, and you know what I'm talking about. When certain conversations or smiles run through your head before you can stop them. Moments you can't get out of your head and you fear they may never, ever leave you.
Like making love, and how a certain person feels right. And how they might say things to you that no one else has ever said, and how, in those moments when they were said to you, you believed them, as they echoed through your brain, and you imagined they would float around for eternity.
And you were right. And when I say you, I mean me. My thoughts. Those thoughts. Those moments like dreams. Can't be any less real than anything you ever felt in your waking life, right? Even in the past. Even in "revisionist history."
So you want to go on. You want to make more memories. But the pain of daily life after such a loss is like trying to carry the weight of a thousand pounds on your shoulder.
Meanwhile, people keep saying things like this, for example ....
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
"I saw ______ a couple weeks ago. Is that why you're just okay?"
"Yeah ... He broke up with me last Saturday."
"Oh, well, I'm sorry. But you know, I like ______, but don't sweat it. You can do better. There are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Well, thank you, I ... the thing is I don't even feel like swimming. Or fishing. Or anything like that...."
And you know what? I fucking don't.
Labels: Breaking Up, College, Movies
Monday, August 07, 2006
Meh. An update of sorts.
I am no longer Office Biatch. Or so my friends called me ... Nope. If that's the "real world" then I'm just gonna have to say fuck that.
It was partly because I hated that fucking job anyway. And I really did try. I hated it after a week. After two months. Decided it was new, to give it more time ... REALLY hated it after four months. Seriously. It was becoming a struggle not to just walk out the door without looking back every day. I hated the clothes. I hated the people. I hated how 10 hours of my day seemed to just disappear. I hated being tired all the time. Putting myself on lockdown every night, staying home or coming home early so I could get up early and head to that awful place. I hated that I didn't give a fuck about anything I did there. It meant nothing to me, yet everything was so detailed it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't at least four people or more would let you know it was less than perfect. Even the same fuck wits who fucked up as much or more than you did. They sure would let you know if a date was wrong on something, or if it needed to be e-mailed to one more person, blah, blah, blah.
Then they asked me to bend over one more time, and I said you know what? Fuck You. You see, my sister got married two weeks ago in Miami. I was her maid of honor. I had paid four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. I told my boss about needing one Friday off in July on my second interview. I told her that before she hired me, when she was explaining me about yellow days on the calendar and how every other six weeks people weren't supposed to take off because that was the busy time there. She said one day would be all right.
Then, three months in advance I got the day off officially approved, by my boss and then by HR. So why, one week before my trip was planned did my boss e-mail me at five o'clock on a Friday to let me know that the director of HR approached her and all the sudden I wasn't allowed to take my trip?
Because she was a cunt, I guess.
So Monday when I just wasn't there, she all tried to play it off to everybody else, like, Where is she? She's supposed to have her vacation day on Friday. She must've gotten her days mixed up ...
Uh, actually, I quit! Man, it was awesome. I didn't care. That Monday, when I didn't show up or call my job, I was beginning another job. Bartending at Slicks during the day. A different location. A different job. Which happens to be just a few blocks down from my new place. I work 10 hour days, but I work alone. That in itself is priceless. I am my own boss during those hours. I'm the only one there working. I have keys to the store. I have the combination to the safe. It feels good. And I make more money there than the man even gave me.
And I'm going back to school. And I don't have to worry about what evening classes are available anymore. I want to take 12 hours. I haven't taken that many since 2000. But I'm going to.
I'm glad I had the experience of working in the office. Sometimes, as my friend Stephanie told me once, the only thing you can learn from something is that you never want to do it again. I can say that about my stint as office biatch.
I am no longer Office Biatch. Or so my friends called me ... Nope. If that's the "real world" then I'm just gonna have to say fuck that.
It was partly because I hated that fucking job anyway. And I really did try. I hated it after a week. After two months. Decided it was new, to give it more time ... REALLY hated it after four months. Seriously. It was becoming a struggle not to just walk out the door without looking back every day. I hated the clothes. I hated the people. I hated how 10 hours of my day seemed to just disappear. I hated being tired all the time. Putting myself on lockdown every night, staying home or coming home early so I could get up early and head to that awful place. I hated that I didn't give a fuck about anything I did there. It meant nothing to me, yet everything was so detailed it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't at least four people or more would let you know it was less than perfect. Even the same fuck wits who fucked up as much or more than you did. They sure would let you know if a date was wrong on something, or if it needed to be e-mailed to one more person, blah, blah, blah.
Then they asked me to bend over one more time, and I said you know what? Fuck You. You see, my sister got married two weeks ago in Miami. I was her maid of honor. I had paid four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. I told my boss about needing one Friday off in July on my second interview. I told her that before she hired me, when she was explaining me about yellow days on the calendar and how every other six weeks people weren't supposed to take off because that was the busy time there. She said one day would be all right.
Then, three months in advance I got the day off officially approved, by my boss and then by HR. So why, one week before my trip was planned did my boss e-mail me at five o'clock on a Friday to let me know that the director of HR approached her and all the sudden I wasn't allowed to take my trip?
Because she was a cunt, I guess.
So Monday when I just wasn't there, she all tried to play it off to everybody else, like, Where is she? She's supposed to have her vacation day on Friday. She must've gotten her days mixed up ...
Uh, actually, I quit! Man, it was awesome. I didn't care. That Monday, when I didn't show up or call my job, I was beginning another job. Bartending at Slicks during the day. A different location. A different job. Which happens to be just a few blocks down from my new place. I work 10 hour days, but I work alone. That in itself is priceless. I am my own boss during those hours. I'm the only one there working. I have keys to the store. I have the combination to the safe. It feels good. And I make more money there than the man even gave me.
And I'm going back to school. And I don't have to worry about what evening classes are available anymore. I want to take 12 hours. I haven't taken that many since 2000. But I'm going to.
I'm glad I had the experience of working in the office. Sometimes, as my friend Stephanie told me once, the only thing you can learn from something is that you never want to do it again. I can say that about my stint as office biatch.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Dead to the World
I listened to JamisonParker this morning. I forgot how much I love that EP.
I'm having a pretty good day. Fell asleep at like 10 last night. Woke up at 7. Did some dishes. Did some laundry. Enjoyed the brightness of my living room, all the big windows and the blinds drawn.
Lately I am so dissatisfied. I feel like ... I don't know ... dead to the world.
I haven't been riding my mountain bike because it's been cold outside. I haven't been playing my guitar because I feel like I suck; and the less I practice, the more I suck. So it just produces this crazy cycle of suckage.
I don't read anything. I read True Love, and half of Maybe, Maybe Not. I read the first page of A Tale of Two Cities. I've read pieces of magazine articles. But for the last few years I could count on one hand how many good books I've read.
Even when I read them, I don't discuss them. I don't think too critically about them. I just let them wash over me. Like water. It feels like doing something. But it's not really. Other than passing time, I suppose.
My schedule is changing. I'm adjusting. It's something I wanted. I let Slicks become some sort of staple in my life. Now I'm away from poeople, and that environment. I don't really miss it. In fact, I'm happier. Just trying to learn a new way to manage my time now that work doesn't take up so much. My nights are free to do as I please. I began to loathe working until 3 a.m., and how I always felt anxious -- like I needed to go out whenever I was off, rather than stay home. Otherwise, mid-week I'd go crazy watching everyone else hang out while I would bring them their drinks.
Now, though, I miss myself. I miss my apartment. Crazy how it sounds, but I think I spent more time at home when I was working two jobs and going to school than I do now.
And I spent so much more time alone. At least a couple hours a day.
I feel like my brain is melting. I don't read the paper or watch the news. I rarely have intelligent conversation. I feel so dispassionate about most things.
And some asshole broke my heart six months ago. Only, he wasn't an asshole. I only say that because I know the fact that I miss him still, after this long, is incredibly lame.
I need to spend more time alone. I am not even talking about boys here. I already decided awhile ago to take a break from dating. But I feel like I've already begun to distance myself from people mentally. Now, I want to do so even more. Just enough so that I can make the time to figure out what it is that I do, or would like to do. And what I would like to talk about. Because so many of the conversations I have aren't about anything at all.
And I'm lonely, but lonely for a sense of something that's missing. I'm lonelier in crowds, when I can feel the emptiness more acutely, than when I'm alone, taking time to relax. I think if a person spends enough time alone they can forget what loneliness is, and just be comfortable. I know I can, because this time last year that's exactly where I was, and it was wonderful. My life was as close to complete as it has ever been.
I listened to JamisonParker this morning. I forgot how much I love that EP.
I'm having a pretty good day. Fell asleep at like 10 last night. Woke up at 7. Did some dishes. Did some laundry. Enjoyed the brightness of my living room, all the big windows and the blinds drawn.
Lately I am so dissatisfied. I feel like ... I don't know ... dead to the world.
I haven't been riding my mountain bike because it's been cold outside. I haven't been playing my guitar because I feel like I suck; and the less I practice, the more I suck. So it just produces this crazy cycle of suckage.
I don't read anything. I read True Love, and half of Maybe, Maybe Not. I read the first page of A Tale of Two Cities. I've read pieces of magazine articles. But for the last few years I could count on one hand how many good books I've read.
Even when I read them, I don't discuss them. I don't think too critically about them. I just let them wash over me. Like water. It feels like doing something. But it's not really. Other than passing time, I suppose.
My schedule is changing. I'm adjusting. It's something I wanted. I let Slicks become some sort of staple in my life. Now I'm away from poeople, and that environment. I don't really miss it. In fact, I'm happier. Just trying to learn a new way to manage my time now that work doesn't take up so much. My nights are free to do as I please. I began to loathe working until 3 a.m., and how I always felt anxious -- like I needed to go out whenever I was off, rather than stay home. Otherwise, mid-week I'd go crazy watching everyone else hang out while I would bring them their drinks.
Now, though, I miss myself. I miss my apartment. Crazy how it sounds, but I think I spent more time at home when I was working two jobs and going to school than I do now.
And I spent so much more time alone. At least a couple hours a day.
I feel like my brain is melting. I don't read the paper or watch the news. I rarely have intelligent conversation. I feel so dispassionate about most things.
And some asshole broke my heart six months ago. Only, he wasn't an asshole. I only say that because I know the fact that I miss him still, after this long, is incredibly lame.
I need to spend more time alone. I am not even talking about boys here. I already decided awhile ago to take a break from dating. But I feel like I've already begun to distance myself from people mentally. Now, I want to do so even more. Just enough so that I can make the time to figure out what it is that I do, or would like to do. And what I would like to talk about. Because so many of the conversations I have aren't about anything at all.
And I'm lonely, but lonely for a sense of something that's missing. I'm lonelier in crowds, when I can feel the emptiness more acutely, than when I'm alone, taking time to relax. I think if a person spends enough time alone they can forget what loneliness is, and just be comfortable. I know I can, because this time last year that's exactly where I was, and it was wonderful. My life was as close to complete as it has ever been.
Labels: Books, College, Depression, JamisonParker, Music, Work
