The way to a man's heart

Is an axe through his sternum.

Five minutes alone

I'm pretty sure Dimebag Darrel had an entirely different vision for that phrase than I do.

I don't have much of anything substantive to blog about tonight.  There are a thousand political topics I could speak on - but I would direct you to just turn on MSNBC any evening from now until the election. 

What I'm almost equally concerned about currently is the fact that my psyche is bouncing back and forth between enamored and angry nearly every five minutes.  Throw in a little frightened and uncertain about my future and you have a recipe for absolute mental chaos.

So, honestly - can you please just give us... well, you know.

Oh, Bravo

The other day MSNBC was making a sorry attempt at "fairness" by showing McCain giving a speech at some rally - so I flipped the channel momentarily. I turned over to Bravo - because frankly, 3 out of 5 of their reality shows have highly-amusing flamboyantly gay dudes, and I love it.

"Top Design" happened to be on at that particular moment. Now, I don't watch nearly enough television to know much about the contestants (or even objectives) of most of these programs - however - that doesn't stop me from making a quick judgment about its content. As I watched the tail-end of this episode of Top Design - I kept thinking to myself, "How in the hell can you really JUDGE a design?" Interior decorating, in my opinion, is just purely subjective. If all four judges think someones design is utter crap, there's a chance that there are more than a few "rich-folk" who would shell out their disposable incomes for that very crap. So what makes one a professional when it comes to design? It's just art. And we all know how broad the spectrum of art can be.

This leads me to the thought I had this afternoon regarding my own passion and professional direction. I'm a student of rhetoric and theory. There have been a whole lot of theorists that I've read in my time that I've absolutely rallied against - insisting that their highly-acclaimed writing is nothing but a headache between two covers. And yet, esteemed professors that I respect and admire greatly have stressed the importance of their theoretical contributions.

All I can do is hope that those reading my latest theoretical project consider it to be substantially better than "crap." That, my dear readers, is how applying for graduate school is like being on a fucking reality show.

Lyrical posture

I'm not gonna lie, when other people post lyrics in their blogs I usually react with a crinkle of my nose and a silent "Ugh, c'mon."  However, I am prone to posting lyrics, myself - because they help me to stand behind a theory or an emotion of which I'm not quite prepared to devote my own words.  It's a tiny hypocritical aspect of my character, I guess.  

I heard a song tonight that resonates with a very strong emotional connection I'm experiencing.  I love when that happens.  I can't stop listening to the song, my imagination running wild, driving my brain out into an expanse of dark, quiet land and leaving it there to create...

Then my text message alert goes off and I snap back into reality.  I sigh, and swear I'm going to stop following so many mobile updates on Twitter.  Yeah, that'll happen.

And, seriously, how many babies were made to the sound of  the album "Crash" by DMB?  Phew.  I'm gonna go with at least 4000+.

My writing muscle has been a tad atrophied of late.  I think my brain is suffering the atmosphere change.  I need to get back into an academic atmosphere before I lose myself.  I can only blog about everyday things before I grow bored and long to sit in a room full of individuals who can wax theoretically about society, rhetoric and technology.

Ever just have a random memory hit you for no reason?  I remember making out in my car once, and Boston's "More than a Feeling" came on the radio.  He and I both stopped for a brief moment, contemplated turning it off, but instead just let it blast.  Not the hottest make-out tune, but definitely one that makes goofy memories.

I have festive Halloween decor in my room, now.  I also cleaned stuff.  It smells pretty.  

Overall I'd say it was a productive Sunday.

My inbox

Today:

This week, our campus has faced challenges to the civility and respect that are a foundation of our society.  Several people have chosen to use Gullen Mall to express opinions that others have found disrespectful and offensive. 

Many people have questioned why we have allowed the speakers to remain on campus. The answer is simple: we are a public institution and members of the public may speak in our outdoor areas when they are not being used for university programs or by student or university organizations.

As an institution of higher learning, Wayne State University promotes respect for all individuals. We defend each person’s right to free speech, which is a basic tenet of our society and must be protected.  We may not always agree with one another but we must preserve the right of others to assert their views.

I urge you to listen courteously or simply avoid listening if that is your preference.  The respect for diversity that is shown by members of the Wayne State University community is a very important feature of university life.

Sincerely,

Nancy S. Barrett
Provost and Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs

---

How unfortunate that people need to be reminded that in the United States we are allowed the freedom to express our ideas in public - and even worse, those who need this lesson are taking part in higher learning.

Have you seen me lately?

It wasn't just because there happened to be an empty spot on the wall next to my desk.  It wasn't because I had nowhere else to put the damn thing.  My degree hangs on the wall most present in my peripheral for a good reason:  It reminds me of dreams I had while growing up - that while they changed drastically over the years, several components remained the same.  It reminds me that I could've given up so many times - I could've succumbed to devastating relationship problems, the death of my grandfather, disheartening financial situations and many bouts of self-doubt.  I have given credit to a few over the years for keeping my head above the water - but ultimately, I fought hard because exemplifying strength is what I was raised to do and it's what I'm used to. 

A co-worker said to me the other day, "I love how you just don't care and you'll call anyone out straight to their face.  You're just not afraid."

For years people have leaned on my shoulder - sought me out when they needed to sob, when they needed someone to tell them that the only reason the sun rolls over the horizon tomorrow is because they want it to.  I've patted backs, wiped away tears, hugged as strong and solidly as possible - I've made them smile with humorous realities and helped them laugh at their own folly.  I've never sugar-coated or tip-toed for anyone.  And at the end of each day, I come home to my room, my cat, my books and my itunes library.  And I'll make a playlist for the night, climb into my bed followed by my loyal feline friend, curl up with a book - and the shy tears will trickle down.  And its not every night that ends up this way - but when they do, the first thing I lament is the inability to be vulnerable in front of anyone else because they refuse to handle me in such a state.  Amy's always so strong, so passionate, so focused, so determined - how could anything ever get her down?  How, indeed.

I'll be the first to announce that I didn't ask for the stigma.  Sometimes all I really want to be is a fragile, soft, sweet girl who people can understand as able to be heartbroken or stepped on or used.  I'd like people to adopt a perspective that perhaps the reason I can console on such a broad spectrum just might be because I've been there - I've felt that - I remember the pain... but most importantly, I remember a colder version of the wound - the kind without the hug, without the fingertips to wipe the tears.  I remember "you're a tough girl, you'll get over it."  And it resonates, still.

Perhaps I still have some of that fight left in me.  If I can reach deep down one more time and pull that passion for self-preservation, wrestle it once again - this time, I'll fight to defend my own emotions.  Instead of resigning myself to losing another battle, to finding myself in another emotive failure, I will give a little bit of myself every day to keeping this alive - at least until two fingers grip the wick and douse the flame.

And through it all, the nice warm feelings of hope and the pangs of empty regret, I can't help but feel like I made a lovely mistake of which I'll pay the price for quite some time.  "And I'll say my prayers, light myself on fire, and walk out on the wire once again..."

Give me the keys and I'll drive you crazy

A few times in my life people have asked me if I ever plan to write a memoire.  To this I reply silently with a look of confusion because frankly - why in the hell would I write a memoire?  What have I done that people would want to read about?  But, whatever - I gave up attempting to figure out the folks I pal around with a long time ago - collectively, we're all a few picnics shy of a happy childhood. 

If I ever do publish a few things - or become a kickass english professor who does something noteworthy for urban education - perhaps I will write an autobiography.  Oh - but what would I title it?  There are so many witty things I could think of - but in the case of my life it's best to just get straight to the point:

"Lowered Expectations"

It never fails that each day I'm met with a situation where I have to question another individual's capacity to take in breath let alone hold down a job or operate a motor vehicle.  Call me arrogant - call me elitist - call me a bitch - call me whatever the hell you want, I assure you it's nothing I haven't already heard.  Allow me to point out a wonderful irony in lieu of being called "arrogant and elitist" for highlighting the short-comings of others...

In this United States of America we are, collectively, the most arrogant, swine-brained son-of-a-bitches on the entire planet.  We are a nation comprised of people who believe that their concept of God has somehow decided to bless them over others, and that their overall way of life should be adopted by the rest of the globe - yes, this way of life: false democracy, obesity, sedentary lifestyles, failed educational systems, mental and physical laziness, racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and die-hard de-regulated capitalism.  So, to the next motherfucker with a flag t-shirt and a 10th grade education who calls me elitist : God Bless America, Dickhead!

In happier news: 

It's breast cancer awareness month and Best Buy employees get to participate by sporting pink polos!

Having lost loved ones to cancer - I am quite passionate about cancer research, fund raising for it, and general support for survivors and their families as well as the families of victims.  Though I give my time in volunteering for this cause - I still advise everyone to do the most charitable thing anyone can do - and that is to love everyone in your life as strong as you can every single day - even if they're egocentric nationalistic brats. ;)

Possible "Polignorance" and the prospect of a paramour

It's far from a secret that I'm a huge fan of alliteration, folks.  Now that identifying the obvious is out of the way, let's get down to some proverbial "business."

I'm guessing that the majority of my readership already knows that my birthday is (yes, feel free to gasp at how awesome this really isn't) election day: The Ever-Aggrandized Glorious 4th Day of November, Two-Thousand-Eight.  

Has this caused me to pay more attention to politics than I usually would?  Maybe.  Alright, no - but I am willing to poke fun at my occasional trips into the land of self-importance.  Truth be told, I'm just a struggling 20-something staring down a car-finance (Let's say a Bentley rather than a Honda) sized student loan debt while spending MORE money attempting to get yet ANOTHER degree.  No, no - not stupid, just passionate.  Point being - as our presidential candidates this year - I'm "just like you!"  Except... I really am just like you... broke but not impoverished, determined but but susceptible to distractions, and overwhelmed but hard-working (assuming lazy people don't read my blog, which is repellent yet wishful thinking on my part.)  As I approach the great quarter-century mark of my existence, I have been pondering many things to the point of exhaustion.  Those of you who have known me for years are now rolling your eyes and stating "And that's different from any other time, how?"

Hush, now - we must not look to the past!  Haven't you learned a thing from Caribou Barbie?  Yes, that last statement was entirely gratuitous and purely for my own amusement.  

What I've been wondering is, where are my people?  Not my "people" as in say, my emissaries - whom I still haven't been able to allocate despite great efforts, mind you.  I mean my "people" as in, those who were born in the early eighties - ya know, the other assholes who give equal blog space to politics and Sex and the City episodes that flesh out their fears of being single and approaching thirty.  Where are those of us who in one day can bemoan yet another friends wedding invitation as well as socialized health care all in a matter of a few hours?

The answer I've come up with is simply this: We're wearing red and white striped shirts against a two-page spread of people hanging out at a carnival.  If you're looking up, over and behind you right now - what I mean to say is: we're hard to find.  But WHY are we so hard to find - those 20-somethings that should have every reason to pay equal attention to politics as well as the commonly erratic nature of our quarter life-crises?   It's an epidemic dripped slowly into the water by several forms of media - and I have officially coined this epidemic "Polignorance."  

Now, because I already fear someone stealing the terminology from me as is - I will not go on at length about my theories surrounding the word.  Suffice to say that my participation in National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo) this year will hopefully provide a very funny, yet very informed and well thought-out take on why politics in the United States (EVEN after this year's diverse contest) still fails to grab my age group by the respective reproductive organs.  So, hopefully some day you'll find me on Bill Maher's panel or soaking up a segment of Olberman's "Countdown" - but trust me, that's not because of my liberal bias - it's purely because if Glenn Beck were to ask me onto his show, I wouldn't be able to fight the urge to request that he replay over and over again the clip in which he refers to himself as "white trash."  I mean, we just wouldn't get anything covered in that interview.

Lacking a clever transition, here's the little "meta-moment" of this blog.

Human chemistry.  It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?  That wonderful feeling that so often is difficult to equate to much of anything.  Some try to hard to make it work - experimenting day in and day out with different methods, straining profusely to find the right quantity of this to mix with that.  Some labor over this seemingly endless experiment - taking years to convince themselves that coming close to the perfect chemical solution is the best they'll ever get.  Some people are alright with settling for mediocrity - for respected diligence over effortless quality.  I have frowned at such efforts for as long as I've witnessed them, and I swore to myself that I would rather live alone than have to labor for love.

I am fully aware that even the most intensely loving relationships involve some elbow grease and a decent amount of compromise - but all too often, people mistake the necessity for personal diversity in a relationship as surrendering your license to be loved, respected, and admired by the other on a daily basis instead of when it's convenient for them.  Extenuating circumstances are simply not enough to give up the prospect of spending your time with someone who makes you happy without testing several formulas in order to do so.  Those things at stake in a split: Mortgages, children, that awesome hoodie you're certain she'll keep if you dump her - grandiose to miniscule - with the right amount of effort and 100% heart, all are manageable.  With so little time we have in life, there is no excuse for second-guessing or for working hard at emotions that we know can come so easily.

So what do you do when you're almost positive you've found that chemistry?  How do you handle the idea that you just might be falling in love?  Of course the usual answer is: Shout it from the fuckin' rooftops!  Tell everyone!  Tell him/her!  Write sappy poems and stick them under their windshield wiper!  Send them flowers, make them a mix tape - shit, the list goes on.  But what if there exists more than one factor which steals away your freedom of expression?  Like a thick pane of glass between two people - there they sit, tapping occasionally, pressing their hands against the cold, transparent, but solid wall - at least one, maybe both hoping that soon someone might gather enough strength to smash it to pieces.  So what works?  How do you reconcile that cheesy butterfly feeling every time he touches you?  How do you pass off the blushing, or losing yourself in listening to him speak?  How in the HELL do you escape the goddamned Disney movie you find yourself living in?  

Self-promotion is ineffective - if you're genuine then it should be absolutely clear what you have to offer.  Simply making a blind move to alter the circumstances (that is, without consulting the other person first) could cause long-term discomfort if the ultimate end is not achieved via the means.  So, if making the case and making the move are both out of the question - all you have left is honesty, and patience - oddly enough, two of the greatest components of any healthy relationship.

And there's the one-two punch: your author is falling in love - and she's willing to wait it out.  And even if it all turns out to be futile or a farce, if it's sooner rather than later - it's worth it.  Ask me why, and that's an entirely different blog that would threaten to waste just as much of your time, if not more. :)