Thursday, November 13, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Palin-tics
I'm not an expert on politics and I definitely don't have much background to have anything significant to say about the elections, but Sarah Palin makes me laugh. The kind of laugh that you do when you see a stupid person, showing her stupidity but covers it up with "witty" comments and an "endearing" attitude. I can see how the American viewer may get distracted from the fact that she doesn't know anything about anything by her constant reinforcement of taglines. But really, listening to her is like listening to a college freshman paper being read out loud. You know, the paper with a vague thesis, but you earn points for structure and reinforcing the point, which you can't really substantiate with anything else besides the common concluding sentence in every section.
So people say they like her for a number of reasons: she's real, she's strong, she's a pitt-bull, she embodies the American spirit, she can relate to working mothers and even growing young women, etc. Others hate her because she's a farce, because she IS a woman, because she's just a face, because she has no experience or brains and they're afraid is McCain passes, the US will be in the hands of a stupid hockey mom. I don't like her because she is just a face, but she's not even a smart face. She's been trained in what to say, and she delivers her lines well. But those lines suck, the fact that she has to deliver them shows her incompetence, and I see right through them. Half of America sees through them-- no wonder SNL does those spoofs. And they're freaking hilarious.
I'm not writing any of this with any solid background in politics or whatever. But as a woman, I'm embarassed. Palin's a historical figure now that she's the first woman to be a candidate, but she only got there as a political ploy. She's not as qualified as any other male candidate. She got there because she's a woman. And other women are proud of that; they think she deserves it. But she's a prop that can't really contribute much other than witty one-liners that aren't really that witty. That's embarassing.
So people say they like her for a number of reasons: she's real, she's strong, she's a pitt-bull, she embodies the American spirit, she can relate to working mothers and even growing young women, etc. Others hate her because she's a farce, because she IS a woman, because she's just a face, because she has no experience or brains and they're afraid is McCain passes, the US will be in the hands of a stupid hockey mom. I don't like her because she is just a face, but she's not even a smart face. She's been trained in what to say, and she delivers her lines well. But those lines suck, the fact that she has to deliver them shows her incompetence, and I see right through them. Half of America sees through them-- no wonder SNL does those spoofs. And they're freaking hilarious.
I'm not writing any of this with any solid background in politics or whatever. But as a woman, I'm embarassed. Palin's a historical figure now that she's the first woman to be a candidate, but she only got there as a political ploy. She's not as qualified as any other male candidate. She got there because she's a woman. And other women are proud of that; they think she deserves it. But she's a prop that can't really contribute much other than witty one-liners that aren't really that witty. That's embarassing.
Friday, September 19, 2008
"hun"
I don't like unnecessary nicknames. Like "babe" when it's said in that terse, trying-too-hard way. That's the real reason why I hate "babe." These nicknames are annoying. And the un-necessity of them makes them stupid. I don't think un-necessity is even a word.
I'm in Panera hoping to get a job application done. The girl at the counter is probably under 20. She looks pretty young. And the first thing she says is "Hey hun! How are you? I'll be right here whenever you're ready." Yea, she's doing her job by being friendly. But she totally ruined it with the "hun."
I don't want to be called "hun" by you, HUN. If you were obviously older than me, I wouldn't mind you calling me "hun." It'd even be nice, maybe. But if you're obviously my peer or even younger, and you're not my friend, I'm not your hun. And the woman who ordered after me is not your hun either. She's got a 5 year-old daughter with her, and I saw the way she reacted when you called her "hun." She didn't like it either.
I've become such a hater. Maybe I am a hun, but more of the scary, destructive Asian variety that you learn about in World History. Sorry girl, I didn't like it. I don't hate you. But I'm annoyed.
geez.
I need Jesus.
I'm in Panera hoping to get a job application done. The girl at the counter is probably under 20. She looks pretty young. And the first thing she says is "Hey hun! How are you? I'll be right here whenever you're ready." Yea, she's doing her job by being friendly. But she totally ruined it with the "hun."
I don't want to be called "hun" by you, HUN. If you were obviously older than me, I wouldn't mind you calling me "hun." It'd even be nice, maybe. But if you're obviously my peer or even younger, and you're not my friend, I'm not your hun. And the woman who ordered after me is not your hun either. She's got a 5 year-old daughter with her, and I saw the way she reacted when you called her "hun." She didn't like it either.
I've become such a hater. Maybe I am a hun, but more of the scary, destructive Asian variety that you learn about in World History. Sorry girl, I didn't like it. I don't hate you. But I'm annoyed.
geez.
I need Jesus.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
B.A.
My study abroad organization had facebooks for each group of abroad students, complete with a picture and basic information about each student. When I saw my information, I sort of regretted my major. And as if on cue, I heard a dude in the back of the bus say, "What the hell is 'Growth and Structure of Cities'?"
I'm in a rough spot with little to no realistic possibilities. At least it feels that way. And it doesn't feel so great.
I'm in a rough spot with little to no realistic possibilities. At least it feels that way. And it doesn't feel so great.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
blind
Last summer we took Amtrak from 30th Street Station to D. C. for a mini-vacation. The man in front of us in line stared at us, long and hard, squinting his eyes before he motioned for us to come closer. I don't remember his name, but he was deaf, mute, and almost blind, and he was headed to D.C. for a national Deaf/Blind conference. He drew us a picture showing how excited he was to be riding the "bullet-train" and made the "whooosh!" noise as he did the train-motion with his hand. I felt like crying and wanted to hug him and offer him to join us on the bullet-train. But he couldn't hear me when he turned around.
A few nights ago on the 6 subway uptown there was a blind man in front of me to my left and a homeless man to my right. When I first spotted the white cane I panicked like I always do, looking around to make sure no one gets in his way. There were people rushing in while the automated voice requested "Stand clear of the closing doors, please," and a few bumped into the blind man. I got mad at those idiots who weren't more careful, and sad because there wasn't anything I could do. Then I felt bad because of course these people didn't shove him on purpose. They just really wanted to get on the train to head home from a long day's work.
This especial concern for the blind bothers me. Is it pity or compassion? I dislike pity, a lot. I might even say that I despise it. But compassion is different. I'd like to think of myself as a compassionate person, but who's to say, really? And what do I do with this compassion?
Not much point to this post, but I liked the memory of the bullet-train man. I forget his name, but his face was priceless. Though he was scrunching his face and standing a bit close for comfort, he just wanted to discern who he was sharing the amazing bullet-train experience with. So open with his joy. It was encouraging and humbling.
A few nights ago on the 6 subway uptown there was a blind man in front of me to my left and a homeless man to my right. When I first spotted the white cane I panicked like I always do, looking around to make sure no one gets in his way. There were people rushing in while the automated voice requested "Stand clear of the closing doors, please," and a few bumped into the blind man. I got mad at those idiots who weren't more careful, and sad because there wasn't anything I could do. Then I felt bad because of course these people didn't shove him on purpose. They just really wanted to get on the train to head home from a long day's work.
This especial concern for the blind bothers me. Is it pity or compassion? I dislike pity, a lot. I might even say that I despise it. But compassion is different. I'd like to think of myself as a compassionate person, but who's to say, really? And what do I do with this compassion?
Not much point to this post, but I liked the memory of the bullet-train man. I forget his name, but his face was priceless. Though he was scrunching his face and standing a bit close for comfort, he just wanted to discern who he was sharing the amazing bullet-train experience with. So open with his joy. It was encouraging and humbling.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
over and over and over again
oops i fell.
I've reverted back to the melodramatic mood swings of high school. How lame. I blame it on being at home, where I don't really do anything besides go to church on the weekend, shop a lot, watch t.v., and do a million family activities. Not that it's bad, it just causes my mindset to become static. And once I'm feeling static, I think too much and it's pretty ridiculous what I can come up with. Maybe it's PMS. Sorry was that gross?
A really terrible thing about this weird restless mood is that I'm getting mad at people about nothing. Literally- nothing. And I don't tell them. Well there's nothing to say if there's nothing to be mad at. I also feel pretty unhappy- even though I'm not. How can you feel an emotion when you're really not? Maybe I'm bored. I'm just in a pissy mood. Horrible. I really think and hope this is PMS, even though it's no real justification for being stupid and pissy.
I went to New York yesterday and finally got back to reading "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis on the train ride back home. It's written as a series of letters sent by an official of hell, Screwtape, addressed to his nephew Wormwood of how to fight the 'Enemy' in attaining the souls of people on Earth. This chapter was .. good. Here are some chunks:
'My dear Wormwood,
...
Men are not angered by mere misfortune but by misfortune conceived as injury. And the sense of injury depends on the feeling that a legitimate claim has been denied. The more claims on life, therefore, that your patient can be induced to make, the more often he will feel injured and, as a result, ill-tempered. Now you will have noticed that nothing throws him into a passion so easily as to find a tract of time which he reckoned on having at his own disposal unexpectedly taken from him. It is the unexpected visitor (when he looked forward to a quiet evening), or the friend's talkative wife (turning up when he looked forward to a tete-a-tete with the friend), that throw him out of gear. Now he is not yet so uncharitable or slothful that these small demands on his courtesy are in themselves too much for it. They anger him because he regards his time as his own and feels that it is being stolen. You must therefore zealously guard in his mind the curious assumption 'My time is my own'. Let him have the feeling that he starts each day as the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours... But what he must never be permitted to doubt is that the total from which these deductions have been made was, in some mysterious sense, his own personal birthright.
You have here a delicate task. The assumption which you want him to go on making is so absurd that, if once it is questioned, even we cannot find a shred of argument in tis defence. The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and moon as his chattels. He is also, in theory, committed to a total service of the Enemy; and if the Enemy appeared to him in bodily form and demanded that total service for even a day, he would not refuse. He would be greatly relieved if that one day involved nothing harder than listening to the conversation of a foolish woman; and he would be relieved almost to the pitch of disappointment if for one half-hour in that day the Enemy said 'Now you may go and amuse yourself'. Now if he thinks about his assumption for a moment, even he is bound to realise that he is actually in this situation every day. When I speak of preserving this assumption in his mind, therefore, the last thing I mean you to do is furnish him with arguments in its defence. There aren't any. Your task is purely negative. Don't let his thoughts come anywhere near it. Wrap a darkness about it, and in the center of that darkness let his sense of ownership-in-Time lie silent, uninspected, and operative.'
What I desire to do and be are so vastly different from what I do and am now. I can't wait to get things rolling. But I don't know what those things are. Wow I'm really emotional. It must be PMS.
I've reverted back to the melodramatic mood swings of high school. How lame. I blame it on being at home, where I don't really do anything besides go to church on the weekend, shop a lot, watch t.v., and do a million family activities. Not that it's bad, it just causes my mindset to become static. And once I'm feeling static, I think too much and it's pretty ridiculous what I can come up with. Maybe it's PMS. Sorry was that gross?
A really terrible thing about this weird restless mood is that I'm getting mad at people about nothing. Literally- nothing. And I don't tell them. Well there's nothing to say if there's nothing to be mad at. I also feel pretty unhappy- even though I'm not. How can you feel an emotion when you're really not? Maybe I'm bored. I'm just in a pissy mood. Horrible. I really think and hope this is PMS, even though it's no real justification for being stupid and pissy.
I went to New York yesterday and finally got back to reading "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis on the train ride back home. It's written as a series of letters sent by an official of hell, Screwtape, addressed to his nephew Wormwood of how to fight the 'Enemy' in attaining the souls of people on Earth. This chapter was .. good. Here are some chunks:
'My dear Wormwood,
...
Men are not angered by mere misfortune but by misfortune conceived as injury. And the sense of injury depends on the feeling that a legitimate claim has been denied. The more claims on life, therefore, that your patient can be induced to make, the more often he will feel injured and, as a result, ill-tempered. Now you will have noticed that nothing throws him into a passion so easily as to find a tract of time which he reckoned on having at his own disposal unexpectedly taken from him. It is the unexpected visitor (when he looked forward to a quiet evening), or the friend's talkative wife (turning up when he looked forward to a tete-a-tete with the friend), that throw him out of gear. Now he is not yet so uncharitable or slothful that these small demands on his courtesy are in themselves too much for it. They anger him because he regards his time as his own and feels that it is being stolen. You must therefore zealously guard in his mind the curious assumption 'My time is my own'. Let him have the feeling that he starts each day as the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours... But what he must never be permitted to doubt is that the total from which these deductions have been made was, in some mysterious sense, his own personal birthright.
You have here a delicate task. The assumption which you want him to go on making is so absurd that, if once it is questioned, even we cannot find a shred of argument in tis defence. The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and moon as his chattels. He is also, in theory, committed to a total service of the Enemy; and if the Enemy appeared to him in bodily form and demanded that total service for even a day, he would not refuse. He would be greatly relieved if that one day involved nothing harder than listening to the conversation of a foolish woman; and he would be relieved almost to the pitch of disappointment if for one half-hour in that day the Enemy said 'Now you may go and amuse yourself'. Now if he thinks about his assumption for a moment, even he is bound to realise that he is actually in this situation every day. When I speak of preserving this assumption in his mind, therefore, the last thing I mean you to do is furnish him with arguments in its defence. There aren't any. Your task is purely negative. Don't let his thoughts come anywhere near it. Wrap a darkness about it, and in the center of that darkness let his sense of ownership-in-Time lie silent, uninspected, and operative.'
What I desire to do and be are so vastly different from what I do and am now. I can't wait to get things rolling. But I don't know what those things are. Wow I'm really emotional. It must be PMS.
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