Today I completed an assignment that required me to write a letter to myself in five years time. I have done similar things in the past, and generally I think this exercise is slightly ridiculous. I started to write the letter to myself in my usually sarcastic humor, begging my future self not to be fat. A wish that I truly do share, although I realize this is not a life shattering revelation.
Side note: how do thirty some year olds let themselves get fat?
Nevertheless, towards the end of the letter I wrote something that I have often thought about, but never really thought to articulate. I begged my future self to stop bitching and moaning. I know this will happen because I've lived with myself for 22 years. What I expect will happen is that I will get the letter in the mail and say.... oh golly, how swell for me, I was young, and blunt, and those were the "good ole days"
Good ole days? Really? Does Good ole Days really transfer into: days of poverty, exhaustion, sleeplessness, hunger, anxiety... and so on an so forth- the emotions that I associate with college.
Yet, surely I will do that... I know for a fact that in five, ten, or twenty years from now, I will be thinking, "Oh, when I was revolutionizing my worldview, what a fiery lad I was". Okay, I will use not of that particular language.
But seriously, I'm slightly bewildered by this. Why don't I see these things now? Retrospect is such a comfort, and rightfully so, as I don't want to look back at my college years and have a panic attack. Yet, at the same time, when do I give myself the pleasure of actually being happy in the moment. I refuse to believe that this moment is going to magically happen when I walk across a stage for a diploma. That's just bull. There will always be that next step that I'm working towards, the next anxiety... exams will be replaced with getting a job, getting a good grade will be replaced with getting a promotion. Boo! I want to be happy in the moment too!
Okay, so be happy then, right? I think this is a great concept, and then I look at people who live for instant gratification and realize that is not a life I want to live either. Instant gratification seems to turn into utter ruin when selfishness and gluttony seem to take over. Where is the balance to this? I want to look back at my life and be proud of my accomplishments, but I also want to look at my life currently and see that same "future glimmer".
I look back at childhood, which of course looks like a cake walk now. I look back at adolescence, which seems so diluted. I think: "wow, that was easy"
Reality check: it was not always easy. Not at the time at least. No victim here, just trying to have perspective.
Yet, what if I could live today, and look at the moments I'm currently living, and think those same thought, instead of saying "those where the days", I would live to say "today's the day"... (oh man, an unintentional segue into a B.B. motto).
This entry is tacky upon tacky. I will post it before I reread it and delete it.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Part One of the Microwaved Children Collection
All across this country, children are microwaved. I'm very concerned for them. However, microwaved children are very annoying. Here is a story of a microwaved child:
-Oh no, she's not right. What's wrong with her? She's unbearable? Is she alright? There must be a problem.
Indeed there was; lurking under the surface. With jeans pulled up to her boobs, her hair arranged by her pillow, she was without a doubt: a microwaved child. We don't know why her mother did it to her, it was probably in her science. She was cooked from the inside out, things that we cannot see are at work here. They are responsible for the dry red eyes and the inability for the microwaved girl to shut up. She's pouring words out like foam. She's a page in the Mayo Clinic book. Revolting, maladaptive, molded improperly. We cannot help but look, being a microwaved child is something different. Invisible waves cooked her from the inside out and now her cerebellum has melted into her sensory cortex. Her social responsibility is to shut up, put up, give up. What hope is there, she is a microwaved child, she cannot function alongside non-microwaved children. Our mothers loved us, they did not infect us with their horrible science of invisible waves. We here at the proper end of the spectrum, are alarmed.
And yet, there she is, this microwaved child, pretending to be okay with it. Why can't she see our stares. Is it because being microwaved means that you only see certain micro wavelengths? We in the middle of the electromagnetic spectrum wonder how she functions, being so unaware, so unconsumed with herself. What's this? The microwaved girl talks again? So confident. It must be a side product of being microwaved, I'm sure. The greens, the blues, the reds and the violets here in the middle, we gasp. How horrible, how tragic, we throw ourselves upon the ground, grasping into the dirt with our claws. -Have mercy on her Earth, is being microwaved not enough punishment. She's drooling out of her mouth, words so horrible she's pretending we cannot hear them.
We cringe, we council, we support ourselves. If only she was a gamma-ray we exclaim! We could help her then. We could bring her with the other gamma rays. Yes, a great solution we tell ourselves, we could put her with all the gamma-rays. This would not be as hard as putting her with the cosmic rays, which are clearly too far away from us here in the spectrum of color to help. Yet, she is not a gamma ray. How can we put a microwaved child with gamma rays? Look at her again speak, it's amost as if she knows what she's saying, what she's thinking. Microwaved children have that aspect to them. We must do something, clearly she's trying to fit in with the oranges, and the greens. Quick, don't look her in the eye- she's coming this way. Stop, see, right there, the way she walks with a gimp. Her hair from back here looks like a robin's nest. She's drooling words again. Oh god. She speaks.
-Oh no, she's not right. What's wrong with her? She's unbearable? Is she alright? There must be a problem.
Indeed there was; lurking under the surface. With jeans pulled up to her boobs, her hair arranged by her pillow, she was without a doubt: a microwaved child. We don't know why her mother did it to her, it was probably in her science. She was cooked from the inside out, things that we cannot see are at work here. They are responsible for the dry red eyes and the inability for the microwaved girl to shut up. She's pouring words out like foam. She's a page in the Mayo Clinic book. Revolting, maladaptive, molded improperly. We cannot help but look, being a microwaved child is something different. Invisible waves cooked her from the inside out and now her cerebellum has melted into her sensory cortex. Her social responsibility is to shut up, put up, give up. What hope is there, she is a microwaved child, she cannot function alongside non-microwaved children. Our mothers loved us, they did not infect us with their horrible science of invisible waves. We here at the proper end of the spectrum, are alarmed.
And yet, there she is, this microwaved child, pretending to be okay with it. Why can't she see our stares. Is it because being microwaved means that you only see certain micro wavelengths? We in the middle of the electromagnetic spectrum wonder how she functions, being so unaware, so unconsumed with herself. What's this? The microwaved girl talks again? So confident. It must be a side product of being microwaved, I'm sure. The greens, the blues, the reds and the violets here in the middle, we gasp. How horrible, how tragic, we throw ourselves upon the ground, grasping into the dirt with our claws. -Have mercy on her Earth, is being microwaved not enough punishment. She's drooling out of her mouth, words so horrible she's pretending we cannot hear them.
We cringe, we council, we support ourselves. If only she was a gamma-ray we exclaim! We could help her then. We could bring her with the other gamma rays. Yes, a great solution we tell ourselves, we could put her with all the gamma-rays. This would not be as hard as putting her with the cosmic rays, which are clearly too far away from us here in the spectrum of color to help. Yet, she is not a gamma ray. How can we put a microwaved child with gamma rays? Look at her again speak, it's amost as if she knows what she's saying, what she's thinking. Microwaved children have that aspect to them. We must do something, clearly she's trying to fit in with the oranges, and the greens. Quick, don't look her in the eye- she's coming this way. Stop, see, right there, the way she walks with a gimp. Her hair from back here looks like a robin's nest. She's drooling words again. Oh god. She speaks.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Anti-Furniture Religion
I have been on the cusp of starting my own relegion for awhile now. I really fee that an unearthy power is speaking to me, insisting that I start a religion that trumps other religions. Although I would say that a significant amount of time has gone by on Earth without my new religion. I believe that was just build up of my new religion... all that time has led to this moment in time. I'm happy to oblige, after all, who better to start a religion? I have what it takes surely.
Okay, the name of my religion is the Anti-Furniture Religion. And is really based off of one premise-- no furniture. Especially couches. Couches are the equivalent to certain lacking religions version of "the devil". However, couches are really more significant that any red-man with a nasty mustache. Couches are really the origin (I always forget the first i in this word) of evil.
Here is my intro pamphlet. I figured I would have people pass these out to fast food workers and spring break goers. Do you think I could sucker someone into doing that (I say this knowing I can).
So, what are you going to have to do to be a member of my religion?
Good question, well, because their is going to be no need to furnish the sacred places of my religion, you are lucky that you are not going to have to pay a high price. Perhaps a monthly fee of a baked good for our pot-luck dinners or a couple hours working our pancake breakfast. However, beyond that the Anti-Furniture Religion is relatively inexpensive?
What does it mean to be a member of the Anti-Furniture Religion?
Well, I anticipated that you would ask that. We do follow "commandments" of sorts, yet I (as the founder) prefer to call them "actments"... they are like commandments, yet they are actions. The one actment that is the most important is to get rid of your furniture-- all of it. We (I) in the Anti-Furniture Religion do not follow the status quo nights of sitting on furniture. Sitting on furniture, proping your glass on a table, and eating from a breakfast table are sins. We (I) do not partake in that, we cannot. To sit means that you are being lazy, and not doing the work of the Anti-Furniture God (or Gods, I haven't worked the beurarcracy out yet). Also, having furniture means that you have intentions of defying the laws of gravity. If you glass of water was meant to be suspended in air, the Anti-Furniture Gods would see to that with out material possessions.
What if I choose not to follow the Anti-Furniture Religion?
Ah, great question! Well, we do not have a hell... apparently that idea went out with the Clinton Adminstration. We do however, need something to scare you into following the rules of the Anti-Furniture God(s). So, whenever you get furniture, the God(s) will take slips of green paper on them marked with the portraits of dead leaders and numbers that you have no idea their meaning. Nevertheless, the God(s) of Anti-Furniture Religion do know what those numbers mean, and that should be sufficient enough to put down that vase.
What counts as furniture?
Everything that is not edible.
Where do I sign up?
At your local grocery store. In the dairy section
Is the Anti-Furniture Religion Tax Deductable?
No
Peace,
The Son? Friend? Chosen? No... those are too mideval... Howabout, "The Founder" (very scary sounding)
Okay, the name of my religion is the Anti-Furniture Religion. And is really based off of one premise-- no furniture. Especially couches. Couches are the equivalent to certain lacking religions version of "the devil". However, couches are really more significant that any red-man with a nasty mustache. Couches are really the origin (I always forget the first i in this word) of evil.
Here is my intro pamphlet. I figured I would have people pass these out to fast food workers and spring break goers. Do you think I could sucker someone into doing that (I say this knowing I can).
So, what are you going to have to do to be a member of my religion?
Good question, well, because their is going to be no need to furnish the sacred places of my religion, you are lucky that you are not going to have to pay a high price. Perhaps a monthly fee of a baked good for our pot-luck dinners or a couple hours working our pancake breakfast. However, beyond that the Anti-Furniture Religion is relatively inexpensive?
What does it mean to be a member of the Anti-Furniture Religion?
Well, I anticipated that you would ask that. We do follow "commandments" of sorts, yet I (as the founder) prefer to call them "actments"... they are like commandments, yet they are actions. The one actment that is the most important is to get rid of your furniture-- all of it. We (I) in the Anti-Furniture Religion do not follow the status quo nights of sitting on furniture. Sitting on furniture, proping your glass on a table, and eating from a breakfast table are sins. We (I) do not partake in that, we cannot. To sit means that you are being lazy, and not doing the work of the Anti-Furniture God (or Gods, I haven't worked the beurarcracy out yet). Also, having furniture means that you have intentions of defying the laws of gravity. If you glass of water was meant to be suspended in air, the Anti-Furniture Gods would see to that with out material possessions.
What if I choose not to follow the Anti-Furniture Religion?
Ah, great question! Well, we do not have a hell... apparently that idea went out with the Clinton Adminstration. We do however, need something to scare you into following the rules of the Anti-Furniture God(s). So, whenever you get furniture, the God(s) will take slips of green paper on them marked with the portraits of dead leaders and numbers that you have no idea their meaning. Nevertheless, the God(s) of Anti-Furniture Religion do know what those numbers mean, and that should be sufficient enough to put down that vase.
What counts as furniture?
Everything that is not edible.
Where do I sign up?
At your local grocery store. In the dairy section
Is the Anti-Furniture Religion Tax Deductable?
No
Peace,
The Son? Friend? Chosen? No... those are too mideval... Howabout, "The Founder" (very scary sounding)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Blog Black Hole
Hey Peep Shows!
So, I know that I had a totally different blog last time, but apparently I already had a blog from way back when registered under my gmail account. Anyways, this will be much easier to keep track of, so I will just stick with this one. Sorry to confuse the two people that subscribed.
So, what have I been up to now that I have not been dedicating myself to the amazing world of philanthropic hierarchy?
Well, quite a few things! In fact, I'm surprised to say that I have managed to keep myself very busy! Woop!
Okay, here are some things about my life post having it owned (in a good way) by Circle K:
1.) Research Methods, aka... class from hell
Imagine being thrown into a vat of chocolate pudding. Okay, that was just for funzies. Now, Imagine that you are thrown into a box of a million jig-saw puzzles, told to find the correct puzzle, put it's pieces together, and feed a family of four off it's contents. That's research methods.
2.) Having fun. A new concept I'm playing with.
I'm very happy to report that the first ever Jill Garrity Makeover Extravaganza was a papier mache pinata of great fun! Although I will not go into to much details over the debautchery of fun. I will implore you to ask Ms. Garrity was two things I forced her to do that night- I consider them highlights. Amongst other highlights included eyebrow tweasing, and late night chats on the phone. Check out that sexy picture of Jill Garrity (purrs)
3.) Research. After my grant got approved, I've been all over the board running around like a maniac.
4.) Reading. I have been reading so much for all my classes, it's crazy.
Yes, I have been reading articles on line, my research papers, some books for American Authors, text for Learning and Memory. When I'm not reading for classes, I'm on my laptop... reading. Today when I spent the afternoon catching up on some class reading. I realized how important this was in my life. During American Authors today, we sykyped with an author for one of our text. I found it really interesting when she said she doesn't reccomend reading without writing. This seems to be a concept that I have heard echoed in other classes. And indeed, for many of my classes, I have found myself writing a lot. Especially, in a "response" or "reflection" format. I think this is significany in turing "lessons" into concepts to work with.
Things that I'm not reading: Motivation and Emotion, Industrial-Organizational Psychology
So, someother noteworthy events in the recent history:
- Jill had a 50's inspired "shin dig"
-I have been running a lot, this is exciting for me!
-Watching movies on the brain
-Cured Cancer
-I have been watching a lot of good movies, some not so much, but all of them thought provoking, they include: America is Dead, The Obama Deception, Doubt, Revolutionary Road, MILK.
The main effect of all these movies has been, well... let me put it in a formula:
Hope-Hope= Exasperation/Apathy x Souless = Rock bottom + Denial of hoplessness x Facade of dreams = blissfull ignorance.
I do not give anyone the write to use that, I plan on turing that into a theory some day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)