Monday, April 28, 2008
Crap.
"The thing with the Democrats," said the seventeen year old girl from semi-suburban Columbus sitting at my table eating soft tacos from Taco Bell on Saturday morning, "is that they want to give all the money to the poor. When they do that, we're left with nothing. We don't have crap. We should give it to the rich and middle class so that we can hire the poor."
Luckily, the soft taco was mushy, and kind of stuck to the roof of my mouth. Talking would have been unfortunate at that moment.
We don't have crap.
We don't have crap.
This is our future, people. The law of diminishing returns is a disease infecting the minds of, like, everyone.
Guess what? I have crap. I have technology crap. I have a home crap. I have food in my stomach crap. I have paved roads crap and flouride in my water crap. I have friends who are willing to drive my pathetic 29 year-old carless ass around crap. I have an education that allows me to read and write and a constitution that allows me to voice my opinion crap. I have the freedom to make decisions crap. I have perspective.
I wonder if that girl will ever experience the joy of being content.
"The thing with the Democrats," said the seventeen year old girl from semi-suburban Columbus sitting at my table eating soft tacos from Taco Bell on Saturday morning, "is that they want to give all the money to the poor. When they do that, we're left with nothing. We don't have crap. We should give it to the rich and middle class so that we can hire the poor."
Luckily, the soft taco was mushy, and kind of stuck to the roof of my mouth. Talking would have been unfortunate at that moment.
We don't have crap.
We don't have crap.
This is our future, people. The law of diminishing returns is a disease infecting the minds of, like, everyone.
Guess what? I have crap. I have technology crap. I have a home crap. I have food in my stomach crap. I have paved roads crap and flouride in my water crap. I have friends who are willing to drive my pathetic 29 year-old carless ass around crap. I have an education that allows me to read and write and a constitution that allows me to voice my opinion crap. I have the freedom to make decisions crap. I have perspective.
I wonder if that girl will ever experience the joy of being content.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Birthday Girls.
The first one, she's not afraid of what anyone thinks of her. Bright colors, loud talking, questionable public snuggling and a strong personality. She encourages freedom, which can't help but make me think of Jesus. This is the way God is: not about to fuck around; he makes a statement and goes with it. There's no turning back. The first girl, she taught me that loving God is not antithetical to fun. Or being and celebrating who I am.
This first one, though, brought me to tears at the concert last night. The guy was singing. About a security guard and origami, about his cat, about regular every day life things. He could sing a song about a row of four girls at his concert, one of which was crying for the first one. He could sing about that.
The first one put two years of emotion, two years of pain and disconnect and struggle into one sentence. Too much editing, perhaps. I listened and then the lights went down while I wondered how long I'd not really listened. Probably two years. And the guy on stage sang and I cried. Just two tears. In the back row of the concert.
I am the second one. The crying girl, the one who feels everything and fears everything and wonders if it's okay to enjoy life. The one that feels peace in melancholy every once in awhile, the one who is starting to breathe again. The one who quit smoking again. Again. Again.
The third one is cautiously optimistic and thinking big. She's the stable one, the one who makes the good decisions, the one who listens, the one who doesn't mind telling the others to think with their heads, not their hearts. This time, though, she's moving forward, changing her life and tiptoeing on the line of spontaneity. This third one, though, will probably leave me, and I have to forgive her for that. Because she makes me smile, because she's writing her own story, because she's demonstrating that hope is an action.
The fourth one is the rebel, always. I think that's the part of Christ that she identifies with the most, the part of Christ that breaks the rules of society to love whom he pleases, to do what is right. This fourth one is feisty and ready for justice, this fourth one has changed my character, written boldness upon my heart. I love the fourth one and mean to tell her - because she needs to be told - but I don't do it enough. One of these days, the fourth one is going to change the world, like she's changed me. But first, perhaps, she must swallow the fact that she doesn't have to be a rebel to be loved. No. She's loved exactly the way she is.
The four girls sat in the back row in a concert hall in Southeast Ohio on Earth Day, watching the shadows come to life on stage.
The first one, she's not afraid of what anyone thinks of her. Bright colors, loud talking, questionable public snuggling and a strong personality. She encourages freedom, which can't help but make me think of Jesus. This is the way God is: not about to fuck around; he makes a statement and goes with it. There's no turning back. The first girl, she taught me that loving God is not antithetical to fun. Or being and celebrating who I am.
This first one, though, brought me to tears at the concert last night. The guy was singing. About a security guard and origami, about his cat, about regular every day life things. He could sing a song about a row of four girls at his concert, one of which was crying for the first one. He could sing about that.
The first one put two years of emotion, two years of pain and disconnect and struggle into one sentence. Too much editing, perhaps. I listened and then the lights went down while I wondered how long I'd not really listened. Probably two years. And the guy on stage sang and I cried. Just two tears. In the back row of the concert.
I am the second one. The crying girl, the one who feels everything and fears everything and wonders if it's okay to enjoy life. The one that feels peace in melancholy every once in awhile, the one who is starting to breathe again. The one who quit smoking again. Again. Again.
The third one is cautiously optimistic and thinking big. She's the stable one, the one who makes the good decisions, the one who listens, the one who doesn't mind telling the others to think with their heads, not their hearts. This time, though, she's moving forward, changing her life and tiptoeing on the line of spontaneity. This third one, though, will probably leave me, and I have to forgive her for that. Because she makes me smile, because she's writing her own story, because she's demonstrating that hope is an action.
The fourth one is the rebel, always. I think that's the part of Christ that she identifies with the most, the part of Christ that breaks the rules of society to love whom he pleases, to do what is right. This fourth one is feisty and ready for justice, this fourth one has changed my character, written boldness upon my heart. I love the fourth one and mean to tell her - because she needs to be told - but I don't do it enough. One of these days, the fourth one is going to change the world, like she's changed me. But first, perhaps, she must swallow the fact that she doesn't have to be a rebel to be loved. No. She's loved exactly the way she is.
The four girls sat in the back row in a concert hall in Southeast Ohio on Earth Day, watching the shadows come to life on stage.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Things That I've Done Between The Last Post and Now:
1. I chased down a kid off of Cleveland Avenue because I was pretty sure he had my laptop in his backpack. I'm 90 percent sure that he did. I used 10 percent of my brain when I decided to fling my skinny white self in his direction while bringing a minor with me. When I caught up to him, it dawned on me that I had no plan beyond reaching him. Use logic to get him to give me back my computer? Use force? Go to hug him, knee him in the genitals and grab his backpack? Instead, I asked him if he had my laptop and when he said no, I said, "You can go now." And then I wept on the phone to people who do not like to be wept at while I watched my computer walk away. (I got the laptop back, eventually. I'll write another post on that. In, like, September or something.)
2. I waded, barefoot, through five and a half inches of sewer water in my basement. I also learned that sump pumps work a lot better when they're plugged in. I'm thinking about making this some sort of public service campaign, complete with celebrity endorsements and flat ribbon magnets for cars: May 15th is National Plug In Your Sump Pump Day. Mark your calendars. And if you know any children who have big eyes and can look somber, please let me know. I might use them in the marketing.
3. I got "missed connectioned" on craigslist. No kidding. It was rather flattering, the way that he described my dress, my look (librarian-esque) and how he used his words to describe his feelings: I'm hot to feel you. Still haven't contacted my suitor. Mainly because I'm not sure what the Emily Post Etiquette response to that line is. Thank you, but I respectively decline? Or Perhaps we should discuss this over tea? Or Where?
4. I realized that I've been driving around with a blown head gasket since winter. I learned this shortly after my roommate called me to tell me that my car had no breaks. (She was also the one who called me to tell me about the wading pool in the basement. I'm almost afraid to answer the phone when she calls, these days.) So. It turns out that that black frozen slushy coolant I found in the coolant holder several months ago wasn't actually coolant - because antifreeze doesn't freeze - but oil. Just plain, non frozen oil. So I'm getting rides to work now, until I figure out my finances.
5. I modeled at Saks Fifth Avenue. For real. Or for charity. The day after I was getting all tough in the ghetto, I was holding a teal blue Prada bag and prancing down the aisle in an outfit that could very well be a down payment on a new car.
6. I sang karaoke. Two songs. I Think We're Alone Now (during which I did pantomime running) and Wind Beneath My Wings (during which I jumped up and down and frantically flapped one arm as if I were an ungraceful, non-flying penguin wishing I were a majestic eagle in a dive bar in Worthington). The singing was shit and I think that I made a lot of people uncomfortable. Luckily, they had beers and other alcoholic beverages in front of them.
7. I realized that part of the reason I haven't been to the gym since August is that I'm missing one tennis shoe. That, and I'm busy. But now, I can easily tell people that I'll work out with them "as soon as I find my other tennis shoe." What I won't tell them is that I haven't bothered looking for it. Not my number one priority.
1. I chased down a kid off of Cleveland Avenue because I was pretty sure he had my laptop in his backpack. I'm 90 percent sure that he did. I used 10 percent of my brain when I decided to fling my skinny white self in his direction while bringing a minor with me. When I caught up to him, it dawned on me that I had no plan beyond reaching him. Use logic to get him to give me back my computer? Use force? Go to hug him, knee him in the genitals and grab his backpack? Instead, I asked him if he had my laptop and when he said no, I said, "You can go now." And then I wept on the phone to people who do not like to be wept at while I watched my computer walk away. (I got the laptop back, eventually. I'll write another post on that. In, like, September or something.)
2. I waded, barefoot, through five and a half inches of sewer water in my basement. I also learned that sump pumps work a lot better when they're plugged in. I'm thinking about making this some sort of public service campaign, complete with celebrity endorsements and flat ribbon magnets for cars: May 15th is National Plug In Your Sump Pump Day. Mark your calendars. And if you know any children who have big eyes and can look somber, please let me know. I might use them in the marketing.
3. I got "missed connectioned" on craigslist. No kidding. It was rather flattering, the way that he described my dress, my look (librarian-esque) and how he used his words to describe his feelings: I'm hot to feel you. Still haven't contacted my suitor. Mainly because I'm not sure what the Emily Post Etiquette response to that line is. Thank you, but I respectively decline? Or Perhaps we should discuss this over tea? Or Where?
4. I realized that I've been driving around with a blown head gasket since winter. I learned this shortly after my roommate called me to tell me that my car had no breaks. (She was also the one who called me to tell me about the wading pool in the basement. I'm almost afraid to answer the phone when she calls, these days.) So. It turns out that that black frozen slushy coolant I found in the coolant holder several months ago wasn't actually coolant - because antifreeze doesn't freeze - but oil. Just plain, non frozen oil. So I'm getting rides to work now, until I figure out my finances.
5. I modeled at Saks Fifth Avenue. For real. Or for charity. The day after I was getting all tough in the ghetto, I was holding a teal blue Prada bag and prancing down the aisle in an outfit that could very well be a down payment on a new car.
6. I sang karaoke. Two songs. I Think We're Alone Now (during which I did pantomime running) and Wind Beneath My Wings (during which I jumped up and down and frantically flapped one arm as if I were an ungraceful, non-flying penguin wishing I were a majestic eagle in a dive bar in Worthington). The singing was shit and I think that I made a lot of people uncomfortable. Luckily, they had beers and other alcoholic beverages in front of them.
7. I realized that part of the reason I haven't been to the gym since August is that I'm missing one tennis shoe. That, and I'm busy. But now, I can easily tell people that I'll work out with them "as soon as I find my other tennis shoe." What I won't tell them is that I haven't bothered looking for it. Not my number one priority.
