Welcome home.

Th3 Goofball's home.  This is amazing - we've spent the past couple of nights at each others' places hanging out in person.  Although Skype has its uses, being together is so... different.  It's not only the studly sport coat he's taken to wearing or the long hair (I didn't think that it was possible for him to get any cuter).  It's remembering how to kiss or to hug, or even to hang out. 

I've missed that.

Finals and Lackluster Essays

I've been "working" very hard this week, with a double essay exam on Monday, a 10 page book report and 100 multiple choice test on Tuesday and an microeconomics essay test today. 

Astute readers should be crying out "But wait!  There's an essay missing!"  because they read the last post.

It's okay - I wouldn't have figured that out either.  Who really cares that much?

Back to my unwritten essay.  It's missing because I haven't done it.  I really should - I'm actually supposed to be writing it right now.  Even though it's on one of my favorite books, I can't seem to get the excitement going enough to just finish (read start) it. The worst part?  It was due on Wednesday.


I've been telling myself to "Just do it" since I was 5.  Clearly it hasn't stuck.

Help?

Finals

Yep, they're next week, which means that I have 2 papers to write and 3 finals to study for.

I also have to figure out when exactly these finals are - no one seems to know.

So I don't think that blogging will happen for awhile.

The Buck Stops Here

My sister and I have always been fundamentally different people. From early childhood to the present, we've had different views on just about everything. She's quiet and holds to a rigid set of laws of her own invention. I am very outspoken and go with whatever flow I want to.

She had her wedding already planned out by age 6 and regularly updates it to suit her current tastes and modern styles. If th3 Goofball and I ever tie the knot (or, knowing us, tie several knots together) he's planning it. If I have that sort of thing on my to do list, our wedding is going to be at the justice of the peace and a party of whoever happens to be available that day and sees the facebook post.

Once again, we've proven ourselves to be different.

As a college student, I don't have class on Friday. But my sister, who's still in high school does. So I was quite surprised to see her on the Internet when I eventually crawled out of my cave. She had woken up late and had some transportation problems - a friend that never materialized who was going to be her ride. Unfortunately, she never bothered to tell our parents.

And when teachers and similarly pro-education fathers are told that their offspring are skipping class, they tend to get angry. [This is bad.]

The main problem that was being had was that my sister never bothered to call anyone and notify them that there was a transportation problem. Not a phone call or text message to any of three adults with cars. My sister even went out to lunch with one of them - and came back home.

Throughout the subsequent argument my sister failed to agree that she had done anything wrong. She said that she thought that everyone was gone, so there was no point in notifying anyone. Obviously, my parents disagreed. The upshot was, as punishment for ditching, she wasn't allowed to sleep at a friend's house tonight.

I, too, was also in trouble for non-notification. But instead of firing back excuses - she's not my responsibility, I'm too sick, it's the codeine's fault, etc. - I just apoligized for not thinking the situation through and promised not to repeat my actions again. *Poof!* There was no problem.

Accepting responsibility for your actions, and apologizing for your mistakes seems to be a very obvious and simple way of resolving situations. Hostility is never rewarded - especially when the other side is already convinced of the correct viewpoint. And at the end of the day, is it really going to make a difference if you admit that you forgot to call? No - but if responsibility isn't accepted, then there will be much bigger consequences.

And this isn't only applicable to my family's domestic disturbances. Knowing when to accept responsibility for things that you legitimately did screw up is very important, especially when denial has severe repercussions. This doesn't mean that people should kowtow whenever any problem arises - if it really isn't your fault, then feel free to give hell. Just bear in mind that if hell is happening on a regular basis, then perhaps you have a responsibility to fix the air conditioner.

In short, don't buck the blame. It will only balloon other problems.

To the President

I generally try to not bring politics into this blog, but I've been ruminating on this for awhile. In the 2008 election, millions of young adults (generally the most apathetic apolitical demographic) was spurred into politics to urge Barack Obama to the presidency. Now, after almost a year in office, this same group is becoming dispirited and apolitical once more. Their hopes and dreams were invested into the campaign. And now? Their dreams have been deferred for the indefinite future. Langston Hughes said it best.

A Dream Deferred - Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

What's your function, Conjunction Junction?

I lost my voice today. It started to wander off yesterday when I was talking to a friend of mine over the Internet and hasn't really returned en masse. Perhaps it likes vacationing - if I was a voice, I would want to leave during this sort of weather too.

But while vacations may be nice to take, living without a voice is no fun - especially for me.

I've always loved talking; whether arguing with my Dad or hanging out with my friends, I always am verbally active. I whisper, project, cackle, persuade, inform, argue, excite, and shout. My life has always been full of speech - and hopefully always will be.

But today I am silent.

My function in life, to verbalize, to evoke emotion from dry, dusty words, is bereft. I can barely squeak a sentence out without attempting to hack out my lungs. My main activity is unavailable to me - how will I function?

It seems like this happens to many others as well - athletes who injure themselves, artists who go blind, intellectuals who get dementia. My grandmother, whose goal in life is to feed all who cross her path, can't do more than shuffle across her kitchen floor. She broke her hip last spring by dropping a carton of milk on it. She can no longer taste her cooking creations. Pretty soon, she's going to have to stop doing what she loves, what she identifies with. How will she identify herself then? As the woman who used to feed others?

That seems like a shitty label to me.

I don't get it.

I'm currently sitting in the library at th3 Goofball's college and trying to figure out the difference between his school and mine. He attends a small, liberal arts college in Colorado. I go to a fairly large community college in California. His school charges almost $50,000 for room, board, and tuition per year. Mine? About $800 per year for a full load. His school is full of rich (or upper-class), white kids (really). My school, due to the serious cheapness and accessibility, is heavily middle- and low-income people of all ages and backgrounds. Facility-wise, I think my school has more available computers, but th3 goofball's has more library tech. and more staff. The food here is decent, but it has to be (I bring my own lunch to campus, so I have no real frame of reference to judge on this). I think that there is a par on professor/student relations, but his school has better student to teacher ratios. California weather is clearly superior to Colorado's - snow is not acceptable.

Conclusion: This private college has great facilities, and devotes time to it's students. But this treatment is not worth paying $42,000 more for tuition and extras. In addition, the bland "mixture" of students does not add to the level of education received.

...

I don't get it.

Somebody is living on Writer's Block

And I'm not talking about the one here.

I think I should tell some story, but my life is currently boring and/or classified. (Damn pinky promises.)

So you should comment with some sort of suggestion as to what I should write about. Because I need the help.

Things I have learned from attending college

• Showing up to class is the easiest way to get a good grade.
• Communism is good.
• The appearance of thought is more important than thinking.
• Capitalism is bad.
• Other people may or may not be intelligent.
• Tenure is good.
• Professors overestimate how much effort students put in to their class.
• Apathy is bad.
• Professors can -and do- get pissed. The only difference is that they have a captive audience to rant to.
• Critical thinking is good.
• (Provided the end result is what the professor believes).
• Forgetting about sections of America's history is bad.
• Focusing on sections of America's history is good.

I haven't figured out if cynicism is good or not.

Not really awkward sounding, but the best I got.

At my college, there is a hang-out room for students in the honors program. As a newb freshman with no honors classes this semester, I didn't discover the lounge on my own - my friend J was kind enough to show me where it was.

As an honors student with no honors classes, I really didn't know the ropes of the program. My friend, the Music Man, was kind enough to show me where the honors hang-out room (classified as a "study area") was. He had to go talk to the adviser in the next room, so I sat down and was waiting for him in this room for honored people with hard classes. I felt like a fraud.

Due to my boredom and ill ease, I started to look around the room and noticed a whiteboard entitled the "Wall of Quotes". Hmm. As I began to peruse the mix of Nietzsche, Chomsky, and the bloke who sits next to me in English class, a girl flounces down into the chair across from me and surveys the Wall. "Ugh. Why are all the Nietzsche quotes lame?" Now, I was pretty sure that I was not being addressed, due to my fraudulent status as a student with a non-honors class workload. So I pretended to ignore her, while looking around the room, trying to avoid eye-contact, and desperately wishing that the Music Man didn't need to talk to advisers, especially of the honors variety, ever.

But then she went on. "And that Banksy quote - who quotes Banksy?"
And that crossed a line in my soul. This quote - "Sometimes I feel so sick at the state of the world I can't even finish my second apple pie." was wonderfully cynical and relevant. Besides, Banksy's work is just amazing. I rose up in protest, against this girl and her opinions, against snobby attitudes and opinions, and against the existence of honor lounges. I created an eloquent protest, citing the problem of globalization of crass consumerism, of world wide poverty, of apathy. I stood on my soap-box and let this spout of bourgeoisie origin have it. or something like that.

"Banksy's cool."

She turned her beady eyes on to me, (Ahhh! Eye contact with an actual honors student! They'll find out and disappear me into a secret room in the library!) and stared at the strange girl who dared to have an alternate opinion to her disdain.

"Did you write that?"

I looked at the floor, but it didn't seem to be swallowing me into a pit of doom. Yet.
It seems as though she thought that I might have the authority to participate in the honors activities. The pressure on my breathing passages (minimizing the amount of non-honors breath loosed in the general area) lessened. But I wasn't safe yet - I needed a quick, yet clever retort to re-establish the cool, I-belong-here vibe that I must be giving out. Aha! I had it.

"No."

"Oh." And she turned away.

The End.

Visiting th3 goofball

In a week and a half, I get to go see Goofball for the weekend. Since we haven't seen each other for 4 months, we're both very excited. The only snag is that, in order to go see him, I have to physically change location. This means that I will have to enter the territory of one of my oldest foes.

Winter.

In southern California, we manage to stave off this dreaded beast with smog, car exhaust, forest fires, and failing all else, heaters. But elsewhere does not fair as well as we. If I am to go a'visiting, then I will need to be ready for combat.

And believe me, I SHALL be prepared.

It is just waiting to snatch the poor innocents unaware of its powerful clutches. You know them - those people that like to go outside in the snow, who volunteer to make snowmen, those people who snowshoe for fun. Them. The rosy-cheeked masses permanently corrupted by the icy-fingered ice personified as a smiling snowman. Don't believe those coal-black button eyes- it's just a front for the cruel being that resides inside. Know why snowmen always smiles? Because they know that you are getting frost bite.

So people of the Internet, send me your warmest thoughts - if I can't get conquer the winter for the weekend you'll never see another blog post again.

Jagged honed down

I found a new site that is purported to help stimulate distracted writers. This site, Write or Die, provides negative stimuli (text boxes, screech-y violin music, or deleting what you wrote permanently word by word) whenever you stop working. This leads to some hasty writing, with no breaks for as long as was designated. However, at least for me, this process is infuriating. I like to sit and plan what I am going to write. If the sentence doesn't work, I rewrite it, giving it time to come to fruition. This is a luxury that isn't available on the website. My misspellings, illogical phrases, and unorganized thoughts are scattered about the document. This means that I have to completely ignore this rough sketch and redo whatever I was trying to say. Which defeats the whole purpose of the site.

However, I have discovered that the site can have some alternative uses - as a sounding board for ideas. As I have a paper due tomorrow that has a fairly vague topic, I was hunting around for a thesis that both fits the statement that I was supposed to respond to and that was also vaguely interesting and easy. This was quite hard. However, after surfing Facebook for most of the afternoon, I wrote out this on the site. As you see, this is fairly crappy writing - it's chaotic, misspelled, boring and lacks a common focus. It just is interesting to see that I eventually did come around to picking a topic. Write or Die may have some potential for me after all.

So clearly some issues are at hand. The prompt is looking at the existance of shock therapy and marketization form the perspective of primitive accumulation. Now. Marx was a smart guy, but could I do a cross analysis with Smith? Hmmm. Or do some cross-evaluation with China and Ussr and Poland. So. Perhaps the real issue at hand is the true nature of shock therapy by Sacchs. But what opinion does Schinke want us to have? This is the important bit.

So. What I could do - cross - analysis of Smith and Marx and then apply to russia

OR Marx :the theory and then Russia vs Poland OR China.

It all depends on how rebellious I'm feeling. And how much research I want to do.

Cohen has some stuff on the evils of shock therepy and has a quote about hoe the manipulating basterds didn't apply the theory correctly. But that may not really be in the prompt.

What do I believe thhe answer is? Perhaps the prob lem is that I don't know enough about the subject and I don't trust most of the information that schinke sends our way. He's much too biased to give us the fulol picture.

What do I know? Shock therapy, as it was applied in Russia was very bad and hurt many people's lifestyles - but not all. Total quality of life? - not sure.

Yeltsin altered the nature of the system and today there are ogliarchies in Russia - big difference in top 1% and rest of country. But I think the real question is if Primitive accumulation is what happened during this time. Beccause that is worth writing about. So Smith said it was gradual and based on worthiness but Marx said it was manipualtion. Basic difference.

What happened in Russia. Does the theory of primitive accumulation of capital apply? Why?

Sw33t. I have something to work off of. Now. Does it? Probably we need to look though some sort of lens. Marxist primitive accumulation would work best, since that is what was advocated in that class. But an explanation of the original idea from Smith would be in order.

Then what? Explain what happened in Russia under abit or Gorbachev and then Yeltsin. But need schok therapy before that;. Because it might make more sense. Explain why there are/aren't true to the theory and then apply Marx's primive accumulation.

Outline accomplished!

Sourcces?

Cohen has some quotes about the evilness of the USSR and Yeltsin's system. And sopme about the deviation of Yeltsin from schock therapy. As he's legit by schinke - use heqavily.

Main hanout. Idiotic to not use.

\

Any other handouts? Probably - there are many pages in the collection. Has to be something....

USe scholar google search because something mayturn up. Who knows? Word.

General Lee - and hating it

General Robert E. Lee was a prominent general during the American civil war. He, like many others during his generation, was forced to choose between the country that he loved - and was trained to protect and the beliefs of his family. Either way, he was considered a traitor.

My speech and debate coaches have been having some tension - and communication problems (yes, ironic). This has spilled into their general meetings - one person will say something and the other tries to explain it better. Students that work exclusively with one coach badmouth the other to some extent. But never has it reached the heights that it reached today.

Because we started a new quarter, our team had new people enrolled in our course, so today was supposed to be a very laid-back explanation of what speech and debate is and what we do. However, this was not to be the case.

Due to the large amounts of people who decided to join the class(es) for credits, our debate instructor decided to get a separate room- without telling anyone beforehand. This includes the other director who was as flabbergasted as the rest of the people there. When 12 of the expected 60+ students arrived, she still sailed out, commanding all who were in her class to follow along.

As someone who does both - and was planning on officially registering in the other class- I was quite confused. Why was she walking out of the meeting? What was going on?

After talking to the other coach and fixing up my appointments with him, I walked over to the room that my debate coach had claimed. She informed us that she would be meeting in this room from now on and if we wanted to get our A, we would need to show up each week in that room.

WTF.

After all the new people had left, she told the rest of the debaters that she left because it was too noisy and too inefficient in the other room for her to work sufficiently. She also said that she had suspicions that the other coach was trying to steal her students and that he wanted to kick her out because his best friend also applied for the job and failed to get it. She claimed that she does all the work and that she's in official trouble because of all the extra work that she's doing.

Now, I think that the majority of the stuff she's talking about is horse shit, that she's just sick and stressed (tenure review tends to do that to people), and there is a basic failure to communicate that has blowup out of proportion. But whether or not any of this stuff is true, she shouldn't be disclosing any of these suspicions to her students. That's unprofessional. Am I wrong for feeling awkward and confused? I really wish that this hadn't happened. Because I work with both coaches, I'm caught in the middle. I feel like I have to choose one side or the other - and like the general, I'm afraid there is no easy alternative.

A most exhausting weekend.

A cow goes moo,
A duck goes quack,
this chick says
She'll be right back!

Seriously folks, I have a debate tournament tomorrow and Sunday. I also have a speech that needs to be written and memorized before then. So go do something else unproductive until I recover.

18 minutes to be profound

My laptop is almost dead.

Crappy Brooding post

I have iron-deficiency anemia, which essentially means that I don't have enough hemoglobin carrying oxygen around my body. This is important because the oxygen is what allows your muscles to produce massive amounts of ATP (cell energy). This allows you to keep going for longer on less air.

I can't.

Without gasping like an out-of-shape car addict, it is impossible for me to climb stairs. I have to pace myself in activities and make sure that I have plenty of energy and am well rested before doing anything. I need to eat something before 10 or my vision starts blacking out (which can be annoying). I tend to get dizzy after donating blood and have an innate urge to snack. Due to this, I start my lunch at 10 am and space it out to about 2.

But that's boring background info.

The week after I decided to give blood (yes, they passed me), I wanted to ride my bike to school. Now, I was feeling good, and I had done it before, so I wasn't quite worried. Besides, the 10 mile ride is mostly downhill. What could go wrong?

Everything.

I was rushed on my way to school, so I neglected to eat breakfast before I left. I grabbed a bagel and stuffed it in my backpack to eat during my first class. I grabbed my bike and went on the road. It was cold and drippy outside - the rain pushed its wet drops on my face and helmet. I forged on, coasting and pedaling, trying to push some warmth into my frigid, frozen legs. I did fairly well for the first few miles, hitting the pavement at a decent speed. But I quickly got tired after the first hill and had to walk up it.

Oh well. It's windy and I'm tired.

I kept going up and down, but about half-way to my college I got tired. Really tired. I told myself that I needed a brake, so I stopped at a bus station to eat my bagel. I took a bite, and felt nauseous. My tired body was rebelling - I could not bike any further. I collapsed on a bench, parked my bike, and waited for my body to feel somewhat recovered so I could forge on - I still had to get to school.

All of a sudden, I woke up and realized that I had fainted. On a bus stop. And still had to travel 5 miles.

So I did what any self-sufficient and completely independent young adult would do. I called my father. He was stuck picking up something and told me that if I had wanted a ride, I should have said so earlier in the morning.

Thanks.

Slightly freaked out, I headed down the street, leaning on my bike for support. Eventually I saw a bus go by and flagged it down so I could transfer to a bus that would take me to my class. So it turned out all right.

But I haven't fainted since I was in elementary school. Although both of my grandmothers and my mom were anemic, they grew out of it when they became adults. I clearly haven't.

This worries me.

Satya

This week's challenge is to be honest. This includes the barring of white lies, and avoiding an issue for self-benefit. This does not include volunteering unsolicited information.

I think that that about covers it.

WTF???

Wandering around a locale is always interesting. It is fun to find the little quirks in the system, the things that make a center or city, well, unique. Which is why I highly recommend wandering around areas - the places, the people, the really freaky stuff that you can find while roaming suburbia or a downtown city is... amazing.

But I wasn't concerned with that today.

No, today, I just wanted to find somewhere quiet that I could play an episode of the daily show in peace. A big promotion was on campus, complete with bad karaoke echoing throughout the college. Of course, I couldn't use any building - the library aides tends to be pissy if you make noise, and the student center was full of talkative people. I decided to branch out and head over to the quiet [read deserted] section of campus - the science and math buildings. Go figure. I eventually find a deserted section of concrete, with a lovely row of plants offering some scenery, and settle down to watch my video. As I began to sit down (a complex process involving a backpack, jacket, book, laptop, and bottom), I realized that the tags denoting the plants were unusual - they explained, not only the normal and latin species name, but they also explained which parts of the plants were poisonous.

Yes, you read that right. This was a garden of poisonous plants.'

Really? What sort of campus tells you, not only that certain plants are poisonous, but what effect different bits have in the body AND lets them flourish for picking? Really?? It doesn't even have some sort of sign saying "Beware of the plants!" or anything... It just looked like as harmless a bunch of decorative, semi-maintained plants as you ever saw.

Moral - appearances can be deceiving. It's safer to not trust plants at all.

And.... yeah

Ahimsa is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I cannot add more regulations on - I'd either go nuts or start cheating. So I'm going to do a week of each. This lets me focus on the ideals while maintaining some semblance of sanity.

Ahimsa

This word, the first vow, means non-violence, or no harm. The traditional Jainist strives to do no harm to all living things, from the ant in the dirt to other human beings. This includes straining water to not be accidentally consuming bugs and becoming a vegetarian.

These are the guidelines that I will be adapting for the rest of the month.

• No meat or fish. As a vegetarian, I already do this. However, I will also add that I will not consume animal products at all, unless given to me by another person unsolicited. To not eat a meal offered due to my complex new diet is not fair to the others.
• No ad homiem attacks. At all.
• Offering criticism is allowed only if solisited AND if it is based on a skill or policy - not a person. For example, I can debate against others, and offer suggestions for improvement, if asked, but cannot start cussing them out.
• No hurting animals. Including cockroaches and strange spiders.
• Offer help to people when needed.
• No dirty thoughts about people. Even single-minded professors and corrupt politicians.
  
• No complaining about people OR people's actions unless they have harmed another.
• No physical violence against another.
• Be willing to say one positive thing about all that I meet.
• Smile and say hello to all.
• Love.

If you have any suggestions for me, please comment below.

But I'm still going to wear clothes

Sitting in my World Religion class yesterday, I decided to expand my horizons a bit. I am going to try to follow the Jain religion for the month of October. I will try to follow the 5 main vows of the religion and blog about my experiences along the way. Who knows? I might gain some different perspective on the religion or life as a whole.

As the bisexual said to the priest, "Some experimentation is good."

Because the 5 vows are quite nebulous, I will address each of them in their own posts. They'll probably pop-up by Monday, although I can't promise for certain (my weekend is quite slammed with a babysitting gig, a speech tournament, donating blood, and a Lincoln-Douglass debate bonanza. Whew! I feel tired just writing all of that!) I hope to get some concrete guidelines as to what I can and cannot do. For example, the first rule is of ahimsa, or no harming of others. Because gasoline is an inherently harmful commodity, causing the distruction of natural habitat of animals and a significant reason for at least 2 two wars, I will not use any for my own benefit. If I need to drive someone else, I will, lest I inconvenience them. I will accept carpooling. But I will not drive myself somewhere for my own benefit this month.

See why each one needs its own post? I tend to get detailed....
Hopefully this will give me new experiences in life.

I sound all idealistic. This is a good start.

;

I noticed that I've stopped using so many semi-colons in my speeches; I am unsure if this is a good thing.

Bumper stickers and catchphrases

I was wandering around Berkeley a year and a half ago, trying to decide if I wanted to go to Berkeley, when I found this beautiful sticker. It seemed like such a perfect phrase for my socialist/teenage radical mindset. As long as you complain about the perceived problems, you are upholding freedom, justice and Mom's homemade rhubarb pie. As Mad Eye Moody would say, constant vigilance!

But bumper stickers are misleading.

Dissent for the sake of dissent, or the lack of compromise due to focusing on the negative is very harmful. Enter Poland circa 1600. Poland was a proud nation, hell bent on protecting each lords' freedoms. In their version of Congress, each representative had a series of rights, the main one being the right to "explode" the diet, or end conversation/legislation on a particular topic. Due to the massive amounts of exploded topics, Poland was not able to legislate effectively; the dissent caused too many arguments and not enough compromise. Eventually, the nation was swallowed up by its less progressive and more assertive neighbors. Dissent killed their country.

Bumper stickers don't tell the whole truth - they just wrap up one side of it in a pretty message and a bow. They sound great and make it seem like you are intelligent - and you don't even have to think! [That was sarcastic.] But really? Save yourselves. Don't slogan me.

Goofball

I have realized that some people just need to be mentioned in my blog, due to their proximity to me. QED, I needed a cover name. Not only do I like covert action, but calling people "dude" throughout a post does not add to the depiction of a scene. Besides, if two girls or guys are featured in a story, it becomes fairly confusing if I have to use pronouns.

She and her alternate ego came up with an idea. She thought it was brilliant. Which one? You'll never know....

The person who may or may not feature prominently in these stories on a fairly regular basis is my boyfriend. Although calling him "boyfriend" works, it lacks finesse (a word that would never attempt to say). So, I asked him what name he wished to be known under. It went something like:

th3 egotist: I want to use a nickname for you in my blog. Because I am a kind and gentle soul at heart, I wish for you to choose a name for yourself. I do not wish to dictate your life to you.

Boyfriend: It doesn't matter; whatever you want to use is fine by me.

th3 egotist: I want you to pick because I am your loving girlfriend. I love you, dearest.

Boyfriend: Just use whatever you want.

th3egotist: Look, if you don't pick something, I'm going to call you Pookie-Bear. Forever. Grrrrrrrrr. *indicates aggression*

Boyfriend: Okay, if it's that important to you, how about Goofball? You call me that frequently.

th3 egotist: Thanks! Did I mention how much I love you? You are SOOO sweet!


Or something like that.

But, th3 boyfriend is now and hereafter called Goofball, for his goofy, pun-loving ways. He thinks he's puny and he's right. But are puns funny? I don't think so. [More on this later].

The Bus Stop

Due to a spontaneous decision to attend a lecture on the latest Iranian election, I had no transport back to my house. My cell phone had died, so I could not call for a pick-up. I borrowed a cell phone and told my parents that they shouldn't worry - I was going to ride the bus home.

No sweat.

I headed over to the nearest bus stop and began to wait for my bus. There was a lady sitting there who was quite agitated. It seemed that a friend had invited her over for the weekend, but this lady decided she was not comfortable with the friend, and so she left his house. Unfortunately, she is legally blind and has no car with which to travel the two-hour-by freeway journey. She had no idea where to go and her abrasive manner scared the crap out of everyone who traveled past. She didn't want to walk anywhere, because she didn't know where the best place to go would be. On top of this, she was a recovering alcoholic and wanted something to drink. I decided to take the next bus up the road to another transfer stop.

This may have been a bad idea.

The next stop was considerably more crowded - at least one other person was there the entire time I was. Probably the most interesting person there was an old man. He was well-dressed, but had a problem with one of his eyeballs - it was twisted up. He had a voice the jabbered - a bit hard to understand and fairly easy to ignore. He was sweet to me, singing me this song, but he threatened other passengers with a pair of scissors that initially looked like a very small blade and a lighter, that he would occasionally turn on just to stare at it. He was probably drunk.

A man named Victor was seeming to look out for him. Victor would tell him to knock it off or, once, physically pulled him away from two college kids. He confided to me that the dude had a moderately wealthy family that hired him to do an intervention and that there were cameras all around the street that were put in place to show the crazy guy how bad he had been (or was). Victor told me that he was thinking of quitting - it was too stressful of a job. He asked me to go out with him sometime with no strings attached. I declined - citing my boyfriend and pulled out his picture. He agreed with me that said boyfriend was an idiot for shaving the beard. Eventually he left to go chase after his charge.

Besides these two, a fair amount of students used the bus stop. I met one dude who had graduated from my same high school 5 years before I did. Once it was established that we went to the same school, we chatted for a bit and he asked for my number. I declined - citing my boyfriend. End of conversation. Many students from the other college went by as well - two dudes had a pizza and were heading back to their apartment to eat it, and a group came down to grab a bunch of doughnuts. They were mostly chatty with one another and freaked out by the other people waiting for the bus.

I waited for about 2 hours total before realizing that the bus line I was waiting for had already done its last run for the day. I called my dad at 10 pm from a local store and asked for a ride home. This took 20 minutes. Moral of the story: Public transportation sucks when you actually want to get somewhere.

It's a wonderful life.

I'm laying on the grass in my quiet college quad. The birds are chirping and the grass is refreshingly cool in the shade. I was just paid for a week's work. Life is good.

Let there be light! or, alternately, Fuck My Life

For the past year and a half, I have been without electricity in my bedroom. This has been quite a hassle, as one side, then the other, then the small bathroom lamp have all been eliminated from the electrical grid. During this time, I managed to adjust, bringing an extension cord in for light, using a desk lamp instead of a light overhead, not using electronics in my room (including a very dear boombox), and sleeping on the couch in the adjoining room. But all that ended today. My uncle came over, with my parents, and it was announced to me that he would be fixing my electricity problems. Sw33t! After a hasty clean-up of my room, hiding all undergarments and trying to make my room less of a disaster-zone (this was not expected), I came down with a big smile upon my face. Inwardly, I was rejoicing. [If you have not gone without some non-natural light source, you have no idea how hard it can be. I once went an entire day with a headband that I thought was brown in my hair. It was neon pink - color that has never, is never, and never will be represented in my wardrobe.]

I digress.

My Uncle literally flipped the breaker in the garage and my lights worked. All of that for a flipped switch! Still, I had light in my bedroom - something that I can't ignore. I was very happy and immediately flipped the switch and relished the flickering yellow light cast from the three naked bulbs in the center of my ceiling. I had light!

And an hour later, I sit in complete darkness - the breaker is still broken and I still have power problems. But for a flickering moment, I saw the light.

Obligations

The most superficially busy year of high school for me was my sophomore year. Because I had just shifted schools, I had no friends, and few acquaintances - certainly no one that I could hang out with. I had all this extra time that I needed to fill up with something. So I joined clubs. My first semester at this new high school was filled with a club everyday of the week.

Literally.

I had Christian Club, JSA, Interact, CSF, and an additional tutoring day which I spent tutoring or attending the Friday lunch service. My life was scheduled around my activities and my activities were my life. Without some structure, my life would have crumpled very easily. It was very hard to integrate into a school that had already established social groups and unwritten boundaries for me to navigate. It was like re-doing freshman year with the added disadvantage that all your classmates already had friends and knew their school status. Frequently, no one knew mine.

Luckily, I met some friends in my English class who introduced me into their circle of friends, so I wouldn't have to eat my way though high schools in pursuit of time-wasting activities. But at the same time, having friends meant that I would have to give up on some of my clubs and the duties incurred in them, insofar as any organization would trust a strange-looking 10th grader with anything. I happily tossed my scheduled life aside for friends, a choice I will never regret.

But now the choice returns full circle - I am over-booking myself, with 2 speeches in the next two weeks and research for debate due each week. I can hang out and enjoy life, or become a sucessful speaker, an accomplished Toastmaster, a brilliant debater, and a dedicated student. But I can't have it all. I need to balance my time spent working and having fun - no question about it. But what is the ratio that I can thrive at? How can I balance my obligations to the community AND to my personal happiness?

I need help.

Purple Fingers

I really shouldn't be writing right now - I have a paper for a class due tomorrow that's half written. Again.
But all that I can concentrate on is on my right hand's flanges. As indicated, they are an unnatural color, due to a leaky bottle of food coloring and my penchant for grilled cheese sandwiches. I can't stop looking at the mottled purple splotches that cover my index and middle fingers. When I forget and re-notice the discoloration, I have to remind myself that my hands are, in fact, clean, despite their strange appearance. This is not really helping. For gosh sakes, I have spent 4 hours writing a two page paper. This is taking waaaay too long. And purple fingers are NOT helping the process.

Percieving is believing

Life is all about perspective. What experiences you have had predicate what views you uphold. With a elementary school teacher for a mom, and an avid interest in reading that included the monthly union notices from the ACE, CTA, and NEA offices, I grew up quite pro-union, especially in the realm of education. How dare anyone impose teacher pay on a scale determined by "merit"? The ways we have of measuring teacher aptitude are based solely on student achievement - which eliminates any other factors that might play into the student's performance. These may be as varied as familial interest in school, appearance of behavioral issues, hunger level, interest, and roots in the community - factors which the teacher frequently has no control over. This is clearly a dumb idea, but has good intentions.

In the same way, I had firm opinions on NCLB. Like any good liberal, I was certain that this Bush plan was as stupid and ill thought out as the rest of his presidential term. But, last year, to enter the public forum debate, students were required to research the academic achievement of the NCLB. I was certain that the evidence would prove the neg (the opposition) to be irrefutably right. After all, all the articles I had read said that the program was screwing up our education, yeah? But, as I looked at reports and studies, the topic became more convoluted. The tests showed that the scores were increasing in tested areas - not only on the official NCLB test, but on the international, theoretically unbiased, NEAP. Well, crap. I had to reverse my original assessment to some degree. NCLB did what it was supposed to have done - it increased scores in Math and English on tests. My perspective suddenly shifted on this topic based on new experiences. What happens in your life makes your viewpoint what it is.

I never will get drunk - after getting drunk-dialed by my godfather all my life, I know what sort of embarrassing situations, a loss of control will put you in.

I am not having sex until marriage - my mom's siblings all had kids before they got married. Sometimes this worked out for them and sometimes it didn't. I don't want to put myself or my kid into that sort of situation - when it didn't work out, it was the kid and mom who were shafted or stuck.

I'm paranoid about cool people. After a good banishment from normal social means, what self-respecting nerd wouldn't be?

Naturally, someone else might have a different position. For example, my boyfriend's father offered to buy him some condoms for college experimentation purposes. His ideas of the appropriate situation to have sex and mine are very different. Who knows what experiences gave him his viewpoint; I only can know my own. Although it would be informative to implant one's experiences into another person's mind, it cannot be done. Nope. Nosirre. The only way to not butt heads and yell at your boyfriend's father for encouraging unwanted random sex is to -le gasp- compromise. In essence, I promise not to reproof the man or to invoke mother-of-boyfriend if he doesn't bring up the subject again. So far this is working. But life may throw another curveball and provide a new experience to change my viewpoints once again. I just hope that it isn't how to have the abstinence talk with dad-of boyfriend.

Holy crap.

I haven't used this in a while. I was busy with school and, well, the fad faded. However, I really need to rant - it has been too long for me to keep it inside much longer.

I've graduated and my life has exploded into a million pieces. Now all I can say is -

Holy crap.

People have hinted that this is going to happen for a long while. My friends have been applying, then accepting, then planning to go to their respective colleges for at least a year now. But it never truly sunk in - senior year was just supposed to strech out in to an oblivion of homework, essays and sleep-deprived nights. It wasn't supposed to end. And now it has and all I can think is

Holy Crap.

I'm an adult. With responsiblities and bills and things to arrange. I have to be motivated and put on makeup. The worst part is that I can do it. It would be so much easier if I knew that I would fail - I could just give up. But I can't. All I can do is complain and go

Holy Crap.

And then there's my boyfriend. I love him and, if not for my socio-economic level's upbringing, would marry him on the spot. But he's leaving for a college 800 miles away. And neither one of us can really do anything about it. He's going to be gone. And I'm stuck here where we first fell in love. And I'm going to remember that he's not here anymore. How am I going to be able to get though that? And yet, I love him, so I'm going to just have to. I'll just say the magic words under my breath and hopefully it won't be so bad.

Holy Crap.

I'm unique - just like everybody else.

I have dicovered that I lack the capacity for endurance - a funny thing for a cross-country captain to find out. I have initiative to start a project, but if there isn't some sort of short-term gratification, I quickly lose interest.

Thank goodness I'm not alone in this.

Look around. The most closely examined aspect of our financial system is the stock market, which, essentially is a measure of how many people think that they can make money off a company in the future. Measuring the Dow is essentially fiat. Yet, because numbers are being produced every day, every hour, every minute, they are reported constantly and heralded as the sole beacon of hope or despair - at least, until the next set of numbers comes in.

I feel like being profound.

The best gift you can give someone is a memory.