1. Cheese sandwiches will always taste better right before bed when I'm not supposed to be eating.
2. I might never know enough about health care and foreign policy to have a definite opinion about it, but it doesn't stop me from trying.
3. Grammar is interesting.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I listen to alternative, and that's it.
"Everything except rap and country."
--The typical middle class-upper middle class response to "What kind of music do you like?"
Before I wrote this, my brother made a good point--that it was an uninformed answer that threw out the possibility of exceptions in two massive categories.
But the first impression that the answer gave me was a rejection of two very extreme cultures: one typically urban and one typically rural. So everything in between is the music of the burbs?
Not quite... because if someone doesn't like country, it's safe to say they don't like Western (die-hard fans swear there's a difference)... and might not enjoy Zydeco and Swamp pop either. And if someone doesn't like rap, maybe hip hop turns them off too.
The answer REALLY means, "whatever's on the popular 18-25 radio station." They can't literally like everything outside of those two genres. If they did, then exotic world music would take up more at the Barnes and Noble music store than half a rack. Jazz and blues would be huge. Weird fusions of reggae, bebop, and death metal concerts would sell out.
But they don't. Because "everything but country and rap" is a thin, thin blanket under which most people sound the same.
Maybe I'm wrong about the people who answer this way. Maybe they're just afraid of being too specific.
--The typical middle class-upper middle class response to "What kind of music do you like?"
Before I wrote this, my brother made a good point--that it was an uninformed answer that threw out the possibility of exceptions in two massive categories.
But the first impression that the answer gave me was a rejection of two very extreme cultures: one typically urban and one typically rural. So everything in between is the music of the burbs?
Not quite... because if someone doesn't like country, it's safe to say they don't like Western (die-hard fans swear there's a difference)... and might not enjoy Zydeco and Swamp pop either. And if someone doesn't like rap, maybe hip hop turns them off too.
The answer REALLY means, "whatever's on the popular 18-25 radio station." They can't literally like everything outside of those two genres. If they did, then exotic world music would take up more at the Barnes and Noble music store than half a rack. Jazz and blues would be huge. Weird fusions of reggae, bebop, and death metal concerts would sell out.
But they don't. Because "everything but country and rap" is a thin, thin blanket under which most people sound the same.
Maybe I'm wrong about the people who answer this way. Maybe they're just afraid of being too specific.
Monday, August 24, 2009
summer's over
We're always asked to give our reason for wanting to teach on the first day of class. There are always these really happy-looking girls there who had a clarifying moment after working as nanny or a camp counselor. I've never wanted to work with children in any other way but education. I'm fascinated by their inability to stop asking questions. I think that they deserveto have teachers who will never get tired of hearing those questions--at least the good ones. Anyone would get tired of hearing "can I go to the bathroom" 20 times a day.
I didn't like the look I got today after class. A woman--a perfectly nice, smart family woman who came back for her degree--addressed me when we were dismissed. I was already on my phone discussing something important with someone back home. She saw the phone on my ear; she saw I was talking, but she kept asking me the same question. I couldn't hear her. I pointed to my phone and made a mildly apologetic face, even though she was starting to annoy me. She said "goodbye" in a very put-out tone that annoyed me. I didn't pick up the phone during a conversation; I was already in it!
The first day of class went very smoothly. I like my teachers so far, although one of them might have the flu.
I didn't like the look I got today after class. A woman--a perfectly nice, smart family woman who came back for her degree--addressed me when we were dismissed. I was already on my phone discussing something important with someone back home. She saw the phone on my ear; she saw I was talking, but she kept asking me the same question. I couldn't hear her. I pointed to my phone and made a mildly apologetic face, even though she was starting to annoy me. She said "goodbye" in a very put-out tone that annoyed me. I didn't pick up the phone during a conversation; I was already in it!
The first day of class went very smoothly. I like my teachers so far, although one of them might have the flu.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
You're a grand old flag
http://news.aol.com/article/tattered-us-flag-angers-california-mans/604857?icid=main|aimzones|dl1|link3|http%3A%2F%2Fnews.aol.com%2Farticle%2Ftattered-us-flag-angers-california-mans%2F604857
Patriotism. I'm not against it. Inane bumper stickers and car flags probably help to stimulate the economy. I'm not against the military, either. They're just doing their jobs, and I'm grateful that someone will do it. I certainly don't want to.
But my God... obsessing over these slogans and symbols is destructive. Men didn't die for a flag. What they died for was a set of ideals. I don't like the idea of having laws or even unspoken rules attached to a piece of cloth that might as well be polka-dotted yellow and pink for all it moves me. This man's gesture moves me. A man's son is in Iraq, and he keeps a promise that their flag won't be taken down until he returns. Isn't that more beautiful than a perfectly-pressed Old Glory?
Purposeful destruction of a flag is disrespectful, but this man's actions are not. I wish people would get over it and listen to his story. It's respectful towards soldiers, or at least to one in particular.
Patriotism. I'm not against it. Inane bumper stickers and car flags probably help to stimulate the economy. I'm not against the military, either. They're just doing their jobs, and I'm grateful that someone will do it. I certainly don't want to.
But my God... obsessing over these slogans and symbols is destructive. Men didn't die for a flag. What they died for was a set of ideals. I don't like the idea of having laws or even unspoken rules attached to a piece of cloth that might as well be polka-dotted yellow and pink for all it moves me. This man's gesture moves me. A man's son is in Iraq, and he keeps a promise that their flag won't be taken down until he returns. Isn't that more beautiful than a perfectly-pressed Old Glory?
Purposeful destruction of a flag is disrespectful, but this man's actions are not. I wish people would get over it and listen to his story. It's respectful towards soldiers, or at least to one in particular.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Napping
I napped a lot from 2004-2006 when I had little direction, motivation, and intellectual curiosity. I's love to say that small-town living sapped those things from me, but let's face it, everyone has their stupid selfish years where little gets accomplished. Those were mine. I cooked, studied, watched Friends, and gained a lot of weight. Jake was with me in Thibodaux, and that made it much nicer. But we were both kind of wallowing in a very dangerous kind of ennui that I'm happy to be out of. Don't get me wrong; I don't consider those wasted years. I can now debone a chicken and make killer bread.
Now I'm back to where I was in high school: I do not understand napping. At all. I've pulled all-nighters and powered through the following day. Hell, I cooked and served at a benefit dinner after spending all night writing an essay and attending class all that day. It isn't easy, but it's easier then sleeping for one hour when you need 8 and trying to continue your day. I'd much rather drag on, accomplish what I need to accomplish, and get to bed at 9:30 like some old woman.
There seems to be a nap-based status message every day when I check facebook. And 7 times out of 10 that person is having trouble getting motivated after a nap. I thought they were supposed to refresh you. And what are 20-somethings doing taking naps in the middle of the day, anyway? What are we, 80?
Now I'm back to where I was in high school: I do not understand napping. At all. I've pulled all-nighters and powered through the following day. Hell, I cooked and served at a benefit dinner after spending all night writing an essay and attending class all that day. It isn't easy, but it's easier then sleeping for one hour when you need 8 and trying to continue your day. I'd much rather drag on, accomplish what I need to accomplish, and get to bed at 9:30 like some old woman.
There seems to be a nap-based status message every day when I check facebook. And 7 times out of 10 that person is having trouble getting motivated after a nap. I thought they were supposed to refresh you. And what are 20-somethings doing taking naps in the middle of the day, anyway? What are we, 80?
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Solidify
I just want to remember this great day, and there's no room left in my paper journal... where I usually put this sort of thing.
It started last night. After work, Jake met me at my apartment. We talked about our weeks--both not great. Just sitting together and letting everything else melt away is always good for stress. I sat on the couch, and he lay down with his head in my lap talking about the job that he sometimes hates/sometimes tolerates. Then we agree that we're both lucky to have jobs at all and enjoy a long night of just being close after days of chatting on stupid online programs. Then sleep.
He drives me to work. I'm five minutes late, because like a dummy, I just have to go and make myself fried eggs and toast instead of grabbing a cereal bar like normal people do when they're in a hurry. Anyway, work is quiet--which is always nice. It's basically time to read and chat online.
Then class. My teacher is a funny aging man with thick glasses, graying hair, and a wheelchair with blinking lights on the front. He talks in a thick accent that sounds like somewhere around Lafourche Parish. It's a good enough hour; most of it is a review of material learned in other classes. He has to leave early, which frees up more afternoon to check out an art show.
Jake and I walk to the art show after he picks me up. It was a mild, breezy morning, but now we're walking fast because it's all hot and wet. Clouds are coming in. We walk into the union gallery and are surprised by 3 lecturers. We sit in.
One woman talks about feminism and why female villains are known as villains because of their independence and focus on their own goals. I shrug internally and think that they're also called villains because--like male villains (independent or not)--they're not above harming others to achieve their goals. Then two men get up after her. One talks about Captain America and his place in our culture--what he's represented, etc etc. The next talks about the many faces of Batman--from silly and censored for the children's sake to dark, brooding, and gritty. After the lectures we enjoyed art from the Golden to the Modern age. It was interesting to see the transition they've gone through on a couple of walls.
Then I was hungry, and he bought me lunch. I got barbequed chicken, green beans, potatoes, and cornbread that was too saucy, too bitter, unsalted, and dry, respectively. But I'm just so happy to have an afternoon with him that it's the most delicious thing I've eaten all week. I hadn't had strawberry soda in about a year. I always forget how much I love it.
The rest of the afternoon was supposed to consist of coffee and conversation. There was still conversation, but it was in the comfort of my apartment, snuggled up close. A nice way to end the day-or-so we had. And I get to see him again tomorrow!
It started last night. After work, Jake met me at my apartment. We talked about our weeks--both not great. Just sitting together and letting everything else melt away is always good for stress. I sat on the couch, and he lay down with his head in my lap talking about the job that he sometimes hates/sometimes tolerates. Then we agree that we're both lucky to have jobs at all and enjoy a long night of just being close after days of chatting on stupid online programs. Then sleep.
He drives me to work. I'm five minutes late, because like a dummy, I just have to go and make myself fried eggs and toast instead of grabbing a cereal bar like normal people do when they're in a hurry. Anyway, work is quiet--which is always nice. It's basically time to read and chat online.
Then class. My teacher is a funny aging man with thick glasses, graying hair, and a wheelchair with blinking lights on the front. He talks in a thick accent that sounds like somewhere around Lafourche Parish. It's a good enough hour; most of it is a review of material learned in other classes. He has to leave early, which frees up more afternoon to check out an art show.
Jake and I walk to the art show after he picks me up. It was a mild, breezy morning, but now we're walking fast because it's all hot and wet. Clouds are coming in. We walk into the union gallery and are surprised by 3 lecturers. We sit in.
One woman talks about feminism and why female villains are known as villains because of their independence and focus on their own goals. I shrug internally and think that they're also called villains because--like male villains (independent or not)--they're not above harming others to achieve their goals. Then two men get up after her. One talks about Captain America and his place in our culture--what he's represented, etc etc. The next talks about the many faces of Batman--from silly and censored for the children's sake to dark, brooding, and gritty. After the lectures we enjoyed art from the Golden to the Modern age. It was interesting to see the transition they've gone through on a couple of walls.
Then I was hungry, and he bought me lunch. I got barbequed chicken, green beans, potatoes, and cornbread that was too saucy, too bitter, unsalted, and dry, respectively. But I'm just so happy to have an afternoon with him that it's the most delicious thing I've eaten all week. I hadn't had strawberry soda in about a year. I always forget how much I love it.
The rest of the afternoon was supposed to consist of coffee and conversation. There was still conversation, but it was in the comfort of my apartment, snuggled up close. A nice way to end the day-or-so we had. And I get to see him again tomorrow!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Faith, Part I
I wrote a short essay-type thing a while back about the time when I abandoned Catholicism, and shortly after, Christianity. They were not abhorrent to me; I didn't become an atheist or even anti-religion. Any religious organization has its good and bad, and they all have good people in them who work hard at their faith and put their beliefs into action. My leaving was mostly out of respect. Questions that couldn't be answers, nagging doubts, and refusal to compromise left me with no option but to leave the titles behind for now, until I can devote myself fully. Until then, I'm simply a theist who believes in treating others kindly and doing your best to learn every day.
The title was "Shopping for God," because that's what my brief foray into new-religion-hunting felt like. With every article or chapter or website I read, I pictured myself walking down a produce aisle squeezing fruit. "Too firm, not firm enough, rotten..."
It's inconvenient to be in college and have a crisis of faith at the same time. It's so cliche. I don't want to come off as a pseudo-intellectual whose eyes were suddenly opened by a bunch of elbow-patched bearded guys. The truth is that my doubts came early, but my confidence to face them came late. Catholic schools can be like that. You're swept up in it--all the singing and swaying and "me-toos" in Theology class.
More later. I'm just summing myself up for the moment: A noncommittal, analytical bullshitter who tries to be kind.
The title was "Shopping for God," because that's what my brief foray into new-religion-hunting felt like. With every article or chapter or website I read, I pictured myself walking down a produce aisle squeezing fruit. "Too firm, not firm enough, rotten..."
It's inconvenient to be in college and have a crisis of faith at the same time. It's so cliche. I don't want to come off as a pseudo-intellectual whose eyes were suddenly opened by a bunch of elbow-patched bearded guys. The truth is that my doubts came early, but my confidence to face them came late. Catholic schools can be like that. You're swept up in it--all the singing and swaying and "me-toos" in Theology class.
More later. I'm just summing myself up for the moment: A noncommittal, analytical bullshitter who tries to be kind.
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