Thursday, March 31, 2005
The Dark Side of Womanhood
Sometimes, (especially now), I really hate being a girl. I should say "woman", or "wimyn" or something equally obscure, since apparently we and all our kind were liberated by feminists. I don't like feminists, myself. I know that they're not the butch, scary wymyn that people make them out to be. I know this. I still don't really like them.
I'm a girl. I like being a girl. It means that I didn't grow up yet. I'm not into growing up in any big way. I don't think anyone is.
I'm supposed to be going to this big formal gala on Saturday - with friends who I want to see, yes, but since last year and this one I've unlearned how to be formal. I honestly don't know how to do it.
Most of you, who know me, know I'm not great at being a girl, in most respects, most of the time. The only time I can get the "look" correct is when I'm sort of getting the ideas from other places. But for formal nights, everyone looks the same. All the women are trying to be different, but everyone ends up looking like some sort of clone. Does anyone ever really wear anything original?
I'm supposed to go and dress up. I'm horribly out of practise. Normally I'm ok at this. I'm not sure what happened.
I'm actually considering wearing jeans or something. I can say that it's the "new formal" or something equally ludicrous.
I think I just don't really care about these things. I feel like a rabbit. I'm in a corner - and I have to care. I have to look like one of the living. That's my goal.
To look like I'm alive.
I'm a girl. I like being a girl. It means that I didn't grow up yet. I'm not into growing up in any big way. I don't think anyone is.
I'm supposed to be going to this big formal gala on Saturday - with friends who I want to see, yes, but since last year and this one I've unlearned how to be formal. I honestly don't know how to do it.
Most of you, who know me, know I'm not great at being a girl, in most respects, most of the time. The only time I can get the "look" correct is when I'm sort of getting the ideas from other places. But for formal nights, everyone looks the same. All the women are trying to be different, but everyone ends up looking like some sort of clone. Does anyone ever really wear anything original?
I'm supposed to go and dress up. I'm horribly out of practise. Normally I'm ok at this. I'm not sure what happened.
I'm actually considering wearing jeans or something. I can say that it's the "new formal" or something equally ludicrous.
I think I just don't really care about these things. I feel like a rabbit. I'm in a corner - and I have to care. I have to look like one of the living. That's my goal.
To look like I'm alive.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
The State of the Nation
I wear a helmet when I go biking. This is for my own safety. If I crashed, or if something crashed into me, my brain would turn into a melon, and I wouldn't be around anymore. I also bike on the road. Biking on sidewalks is dangerous for pedestrians. Sometimes they get hit by bikes.
Some people don't care about pedestrians. Honestly, if you don't care about pedestrians, you should. You should try walking places. People don't walk enough these days.
Every day, I see an adult person on a bicycle, at least 1 person per day, without a helmet, biking down the sidewalk. I saw 4 today, separately, in a span of about 5 minutes. If they crash, their brains will turn into melons. I don't really care about them - they're the people making the bad choice - but think of those poor people who love them. Also - think of pedestrians, like myself. I don't want to have a melon brain because someone doesn't want to spend 30$. Fact: cheap bikes go for about 250$. Cheap helmets, about 25$. Your life costs only about 1/10 of the cost of that thing you're on. Think of it as insurance.
Here's what I propose. I want to carry around small baseballs. The hard kind. I want to wind up and pitch them at adults who are not wearing helmets and biking down sidewalks. At their heads.
If anyone complains, like the police, here's what I'll say:
"Well - they should have been wearing a helmet."
Coming home from class tonight, I sat in the back of the bus. I used to despise that particular seat - since it's right in front of the engine and the rumblings drown out the music on my headphones. You also get jangled around the most, in the back. When I rode the yellow school bus, everyone would fight for those back seats. Kids like to be jangled, I guess.
The reason why I chose the back seat was due to my luck, recently, with other passengers on the bus. On the way to class, an older woman, holding her face and sitting directly behind me, wailed and cried the whole time - at first loudly, then quietly. I wondered what was under her hand, what she persistently hid, under that hand. I never did see it.
She was speaking to anyone who would listen. To anyone who could help her, sounded like. I didn't understand her though. It could have been Spanish, or Italian, I'm not sure. Who knows?
I was going to turn around and ask her what was the matter. I really did care. Funny how that can happen. If I was a guy, they'd call me dickless. I couldn't face her. She later got off the bus. I certainly hope she'll be ok.
I wanted to deliver this message to her: "It's going to be ok."
But then - I'm not sure why I'd lie like that. Maybe because she was older - Old people need comfort.
Yesterday - I took the 85 home. It's a scarier route, mostly because it's so unfamilar, and the crazies take that bus too. A lady behind me cried the whole way home. For 40 minutes. I cared about her, too.
I didn't realize that things were so bad. We still have food and water, and we aren't pummeled by natual disasters every month like those poor people in Indonesia. We're the lucky ones, I thought. Things got bad for these people, and nobody, not even me, tried to help them. They care, but they didn't know what to do. Things are just too strange for that. Too awkward.
Good thing I sat in the back tonight.
Engines don't cry.
Some people don't care about pedestrians. Honestly, if you don't care about pedestrians, you should. You should try walking places. People don't walk enough these days.
Every day, I see an adult person on a bicycle, at least 1 person per day, without a helmet, biking down the sidewalk. I saw 4 today, separately, in a span of about 5 minutes. If they crash, their brains will turn into melons. I don't really care about them - they're the people making the bad choice - but think of those poor people who love them. Also - think of pedestrians, like myself. I don't want to have a melon brain because someone doesn't want to spend 30$. Fact: cheap bikes go for about 250$. Cheap helmets, about 25$. Your life costs only about 1/10 of the cost of that thing you're on. Think of it as insurance.
Here's what I propose. I want to carry around small baseballs. The hard kind. I want to wind up and pitch them at adults who are not wearing helmets and biking down sidewalks. At their heads.
If anyone complains, like the police, here's what I'll say:
"Well - they should have been wearing a helmet."
Coming home from class tonight, I sat in the back of the bus. I used to despise that particular seat - since it's right in front of the engine and the rumblings drown out the music on my headphones. You also get jangled around the most, in the back. When I rode the yellow school bus, everyone would fight for those back seats. Kids like to be jangled, I guess.
The reason why I chose the back seat was due to my luck, recently, with other passengers on the bus. On the way to class, an older woman, holding her face and sitting directly behind me, wailed and cried the whole time - at first loudly, then quietly. I wondered what was under her hand, what she persistently hid, under that hand. I never did see it.
She was speaking to anyone who would listen. To anyone who could help her, sounded like. I didn't understand her though. It could have been Spanish, or Italian, I'm not sure. Who knows?
I was going to turn around and ask her what was the matter. I really did care. Funny how that can happen. If I was a guy, they'd call me dickless. I couldn't face her. She later got off the bus. I certainly hope she'll be ok.
I wanted to deliver this message to her: "It's going to be ok."
But then - I'm not sure why I'd lie like that. Maybe because she was older - Old people need comfort.
Yesterday - I took the 85 home. It's a scarier route, mostly because it's so unfamilar, and the crazies take that bus too. A lady behind me cried the whole way home. For 40 minutes. I cared about her, too.
I didn't realize that things were so bad. We still have food and water, and we aren't pummeled by natual disasters every month like those poor people in Indonesia. We're the lucky ones, I thought. Things got bad for these people, and nobody, not even me, tried to help them. They care, but they didn't know what to do. Things are just too strange for that. Too awkward.
Good thing I sat in the back tonight.
Engines don't cry.
Meaning
The meaning of life, for most people, is to make the best of a bad situation.
In my case, I'm lucky. I don't feel the threat of extinction at my doorstep, like most people.
As a result, the meaning of life for we lucky people is to make the best of a really awkward situation.
In my case, I'm lucky. I don't feel the threat of extinction at my doorstep, like most people.
As a result, the meaning of life for we lucky people is to make the best of a really awkward situation.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Happy Easter
I guess - happy? Is Easter even supposed to be happy?
Do you feel renewed? Not sure I follow.
Craptastic thesis - so freaking long, and not done yet. I think I'm going to have to have it bound. Like a book. Because even a huge wonking paperclip won't cut it.
Do you feel renewed? Not sure I follow.
Craptastic thesis - so freaking long, and not done yet. I think I'm going to have to have it bound. Like a book. Because even a huge wonking paperclip won't cut it.
