[Enigmation]

Not a Bashing, Just a Theory...

2006-05-09T17:27:00.000-04:00

Dear Oprah Winfrey and Kristin Richard,

I decided to watch the Oprah Show today because the topic of conversation intrigued me: why did Kristin’s marriage end with Lance Armstrong?

As it was, the cycling world was in shock. No one had heard much about the marriage besides the little amusing tidbits that came with any famous marriage. That you were happy, famous, and were overcoming the odds by creating Luke, Isabelle, and Grace. These were all things that gave Americans hope. Lance had overcome the impossible with you at his side, and as a couple, you both seemed unstoppable.

But then it came. News that perhaps this curtain of athletics and family togetherness was masking something not as perfect as we saw on the front of Bicycling Magazine. These were words that made the fans and the media uneasy. Words of separation and a suspicion of divorce. How can this be? ESPN’s power couple was falling apart and no one knew why.

And now, after your eventual separation and divorce, his broken relationship with Sheryl Crow [whom, it’s ok, I don’t really like either…..and does anyone find it ironic that she’s taken over Lance’s Subaru ads?] , we hear that you claim the failure of the marriage to be mostly the fault of both of you losing yourself along the way. You claim that after you fell in love with him, you lost your sense of independence and self. You always had a ‘list’ of why you loved and admired him, but your own self-image suffered along the way.

Not to be said as a cynic or anything [for I, myself, have never been married], but I suspect this to be the reason that the marriage success rate is dropping. In today’s day and age, you are more likely to become vastly wealthy than to be able to stay in a marriage. As my high school Advanced Placement American History teacher would say, “Go to the alter and flip a coin. That’ll tell you whether it’ll work or not.” To tell the truth, this saddens me.

I don’t think it’s because we’ve modernized. I don’t think it’s because we, as a country and world, have become more mature or independent. I think it’s because we, as a worldwide community, and especially the United States has become more self-centered. Today we live in a ‘Me! Me!! Me!!!” society which prides itself on not knowing it’s neighbors and keeping itself TO itself at whatever costs. Many of those today who are paranoid about the government looking into their files are housewives sharing baking recipes and guys questioning their latest eBay buy. The government doesn’t care about that. It cares about those dangerous people that won’t ever speak up about their rights being imposed upon, because they would hate to bring attention to themselves.

So why do we care? Why is it that we believe our freedom of speech has been encroached upon*? It’s because all we care about is that we are heard. Not the words we use or the story we tell, but just the fact that our voices, diction, and overall being is put out on the line as our own personal sacrifice just so that we can brag and cry that we, as American citizens, have made a difference in the world.

That’s why I don’t think marriages work today [no, not because of excessive blogging]. People are afraid.

They’re afraid of giving. Giving time, giving money, giving effort , and mostly, giving themselves completely to a cause that they believe in. Perhaps, in a sense, what I am trying to say, is that many Americans today are losing faith.

As God becomes more and more a profitable thing by high-strung and self-taught religious communities, the true message of why he was here has begun to elude us. To all those that have kept their religious path clear, than God bless you and keep you, but there are many, no matter how they worship, that have found God an ‘inconvenience’ and therefore, ignore His existence. [To tell the truth, I don’t even care what you worship, as long as you have some sort of guiding force in your life which will give you total satisfaction……….and doesn’t involve getting bitten by snakes, because that’s just not cool].

But back to the topic at hand. Why don’t marriages last? I think the main reason that comes to my mind is that people aren’t willing to believe. People aren’t willing to trust another person with their life love, ideas, and being to the point where they ‘belong’ to them. So many find marriage as a form of emotional slavery. That’s not what it is. It is a sacred union between two people willing to give everything they have just to be with this one person for the rest of their lives. [EX. Hollywood marriages aren’t really marriages, their more like ‘emotional loans’]

I’m sorry if you disagree, but much like going into a test, if you have your heart set on failure in the beginning, then all you shall find is failure in the end. It’s true that there are many people who believe that they legitimately love each other, go through getting married and it ‘just doesn’t work out’. This could stem from the fact that they were not dating or engaged long enough to realize their mistake, or that one or the other had some sort of addiction that hindered the marriage, and of course if abuse is involved that it should come to a swift end, but in my theory of life, those should really be the only reasons it ‘doesn’t work out’. If you’re really ready, really trying, and really in love, then differences can easily be resolved. It’s work. It’s energy, it’s time and it’s patience. These are many things that so many today are not willing to give. So wrapped up in their own lives. So independent and short sited. Prenuptial agreements and 4th and 5th husbands and wives are so common that children bring home forms that clearly state ‘guardian’ rather than ‘mother/father’s name’.

Does this sadden anyone else?

As a little girl I always imagined getting married to be………

Well, I must tell the truth. Unlike a lot of little girls, I disliked the thought of getting married. I didn’t like dresses and flowers. My GI Joes certainly were not playing with my Barbies and that was that. But I had witnessed the ceremonies. I had seen my aunts and uncles standing on the alter of the church with the person they loved. I had been a bystander to something that they found so sacred that it was never going to be broken. I suppose that’s what I always thought of marriage. I thought that divorce was actually illegal for a long time. My uncle became a divorcee a few years ago because his wife ran away with their child. I didn’t understand then what I do now.

She thought her life was being intruded upon. His love was strangling her. What he felt for her was only a taste of what she thought the rest of the world had in store, and she ran to go get it, child in tow.

So to you, Ms. Richard, I say this. I am glad that you did not bash Lance. I am sorry that your husband is such a dedicated man when it comes to riding, but it is understandable; no one wins that much without that sort of dedication. I’m sorry that he didn’t have that gusto when it came to your marriage. I hope that, when you say that you sort of lost yourself along the way, that you have now found yourself, and I also hope that someday you WILL be remarried, and when you are, you’ll feel yourself change. This change, though, will be an agreement of the heart and a compromise of the soul. I hope that you shall always feel love for Lance even if he is not there, and that you will believe that he will one day be happy too. I’m just hoping that you didn’t leave the man that you loved merely because you felt like water to his oil.

Happiness on your journey ahead,

Caitlin Shea O’Leary

University of Kentucky
Lexington, KY

* "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances"

AKA

You may practice your religious beliefs and speak out against your government without conviction by government law or force.

Read it and weep.

A Day In The Life....

2006-01-24T01:56:00.001-05:00

So I guess that’s why they call it the blues…..or college…or whatever [I’m sorry if you didn’t catch the reference, but my familiarity with music astounds some people…Patrick…].

Beside the point!

The point here is that I haven’t written in a while, and since I know that there are people out there that actually read this, I figure I might as well tell you what’s going on. Not one of these little filler posts. Just what happens to be going on with me lately. Call it…a whim? If you are not brave, then perhaps, a whimp?

So yes, first off, let’s start with the basics. I’m still at UK and I love it. The campus is such a great place to be. The seasons change, one to the other, and I can look from nineteen stories up to see the snowfall upon rooftops or the rain that will ruin my day. The campus itself is actually more beautiful to me now than it was before I left here on break to Coconut Creek. This isn’t because I have discovered some new wonderful beauty about it, or that I’ve become philosophical, or even that drugs are involved. It merely involves a lens. The lens of an eye, but even more so, the lens of my new camera. My brother, in his infinite wisdom, has gotten me addicted to something. Fortunately for me it’s cheap and yet still fulfilling. If you’re still a bit lost about that which I speak, let me give you a hint: photography.

I don’t leave the room without my camera now. It’s small and stout, which allows it’s easy travel, yet uneasy losing ability. Though it’s not as advanced as Patrick’s, it still allows me to have some say over the exposure and clarity of my shots, which is all I need. After a brief yet fun experience at the Georgia Aquarium, I now know enough to be able to correctly use it to it’s full potential. Ever since I’ve returned to the mundane surroundings of the campus, now, I’ve discovered images that I never thought I would have found before. It’s very…cool.

Beyond photography, though, new developments have taken place on the educational front as well. I made Dean’s List last semester with a Theater major and a few stray classes in tow, yet I still wasn’t really fulfilled. See, there is a slight difference between Theater majors and the rest of the majors out there.

Theater majors depend on other people to tell them that they are a success. Other majors can rely on self-victories. Besides perhaps the School of Nursing, I have never heard of the speeches that come from the Theater Dept. come from any other college. “I hope you’re not in theater because you just like it. If you’re not good at it, look elsewhere. Theater is made up of people that are already better than you. If you really want to make an impact, then you have to not only out-speak your peers, but your elders as well.” say most of the teachers on the first days of classes. My acting teacher gives any want-to-be actors little choice in the matter. “If you want to act, you must uproot and go to LA. No one will notice anyone from Kentucky unless you want to do Children’s Theater. Even if you do move, though, your chances of successfully being noticed by someone who matter are little more than zilch.”

Nothing like building you up.

But that would lead to being a good thing. As I sat listening to the speech for the 9th or 10th time in my Vocal Production class, I realized that I was in the wrong class. No, the classroom was correct, all of the people there were on the roster [perhaps except for a scruffy fellow self-nicknamed “Stoney” whose blank stare could have rivaled a dog’s second eyelid], and the class being taught was what I signed up for. The thing that was most out of place was me.

Theater, as I told Chris the other day, is something that I may enjoy. I shall always love theater,. I will always go to shows, enjoy shows, sing show tunes and keep up with what’s new and the greatest of the old….but though it was my love, it was not my passion, and therefore it was something I had to let go. A man who owned a bike shop once told me that to turn your hobby into your work is a relaxation suicide. The more I sat there, the more it hit me. ‘I don’t know what I want to do with theater. I could advertise, sure, but really, why am I here? [Much like that whole ‘Why are we on Earth?’ thing, but on a smaller scale] I’m not talented enough at anything that they would play me for my work. How am I supposed to be able to live off of this?‘

Last, though, I discovered that sitting in that class was….boring. Interesting, yet, but boring. It didn’t catch my interest. It didn’t spark a light that a teacher would see and say “Now YOU’RE going to make it!”. I felt as though I had done something so long , been so accustomed to the thought that that was what I was going to do, that it wasn’t real anymore. Any sort of want to fit it into my life as a commonplace had gone, left by a sort of dread. My only hope? Find out what would full in that hole and leave me at peace.

So I thought it out logically. I started at what I was good at and worked from there. First off, and most obvious, would be advertising. I love to draw and I’ve done many posters for people back in London as a sort of charity work, especially for the church. Catch phrases and silly commercial ideas have always come to my mind as I see something new coming my way. It’s not necessarily something I enjoy, though, it’s just something I’m good at.

Again, another natural choice: Public Relations. Though as a small child I always said it as “Private Relations” because I couldn’t tell the difference, dealing with people has never been a problem for me. I’ve always wanted to work at Disney on The Great Movie Ride in MGM, which counts as well. My idea of a fulfilling workday, though, doesn’t include being uber nice and spunky to everyone who walks through my door. I want to be able to do my job, do it well, do it right, and not have to worry about what people think of me.

So now for the twist.

If you read this blog, you’ve been privy to some strange readings, I’m sure. I’ve written on all kinds of things, mostly concerning my own ideologies within my current world of obligations and homework vacations. Though all of my soapboxes have been built at different heights, they are all made of the same material. Words. Words make the world go round. There are tons of words that I don’t know, but there are a mere few that I do. English makes the world go round. It is something that I have never given any thought to. It’s been a class to me, but never necessarily a ‘companion’. A tool at the most. Now I’m finding, though, that I enjoy it. I enjoy reading and analyzing stories to their full potential. My English teacher last semester even told me that her name was always available for a reference whenever I needed one. She refused to say ‘better or worse’, but she always claimed that I had a ‘unique writing style’ that ‘explored all aspects of what needed to be said and what needed to be left up to the reading to figure out for themselves’. Writing stories, responses, quick papers….anything in essay form, has always come quite easily for me.

But no, I’m not done. An English major may be good, but it gets better and far more difficult. After I hopefully gain a BA in English, I hope on from there. The University of Kentucky College of Law was a natural choice. Though Mom and I have talked about it once or twice, it never crossed my mind as being a possible major until I got it into my head that ‘hey, I’m in college, I might as well do something that I will enjoy.’

The law fascinates me. The legal bounds of anything astound me. How some people get away with the most obvious of indiscrepancies covering the evidence, yet the most innocent are held blows my mind. So now I’m going to try to fix it. Not a single-handed self-appointed superstar like the stereotype theater major becomes, but rather, I’ll be making a difference in people’s lives, not just entertaining them.

Beyond my major change from Theatre=Law/English, not a whole lot has really been going on. Corey and I, who are still together, will be going skiing this Saturday on the Perfect North slopes in Indiana with my old youth group. Brooke has gotten us addicted to the show LOST, and if you’ve never seen it, it’s actually very well done. It’s a cliffhanger show, though, where everything is very dramatic, yet, the characters are so laid back all at the same time. Perhaps that is why it’s so good. I don’t know, all I know is that we have five episodes to go till the Season One finale and I can’t wait to see how it ends up.

I went to Hamburg Pavilion last week to look for a job. I won’t die without money anytime soon, but I am running out. With a light workload right now and a transfer optimal for the summer, I am going to apply at Linens-n-Things soon so that I can begin getting in the groove of working again.

Otherwise, I’m getting really tired. It’s 1:54 am here and my roommate has already gone to bed. Given, she has an earlier class than me, but I don’t wish to disturb her, nor do I want to be drowsy when I wake up for my 11 am classes today [I say as I smile gleefully to myself…].

I worked out today. I hurt. Ouch.

My neck hurts when I sleep. Ouch.

I’m not really sure what else you want from me. That’s all that’s really been going on. Other then that, my lie has been fine, great almost. But now…now I’m just so tired that bed sounds good….g’night!

Ads Follow-up

2005-12-23T12:38:00.001-05:00

It seems that someone read my last post! Or not. Probably not. The system probably got enough complaints that now they are requiring all comments to go through the ‘human or not’ test. You know the one I’m talking about. The one where you read the letters and re-write them again? The thing is, computers [right now] can’t read them because the letters are easily hidden or in a skewed font. Thanks goodness. No more false hopes of meaningful or witty comments!

2005-10-22T10:53:00.000-04:00

For anyone who has a blog, they’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

One of the greatest things someone can do for a person who blogs is leave a comment. The blogger’s heart sores with excitement when they see “1 comments” a the bottom of their very on piece of posting material. Of curse, now that has all changed.

With a new age comes new technology, and with new technology comes new ways to…advertise. Yes, that’s right. From flyers in your mailbox to junk porn in your e-mails to fake comments on blogging sites in order to advertise THEIR product on your own creative space. This really burns my toes.

On the internet there are many ways to make money off of websites using advertising, including hosting advertising for a company. every time someone clicks on their banner add on your site, the company and you make money off of them. Sort of ‘money from ignorance’ or ‘money from curiosity’, if you will. How many of us daily play the little shooter flashing game at the bottom of the screen just to shoot something….I know I do. I don’t want their FRE PRIZE!!!!!! But it kind of does make me wish I had had those two seconds of my life back.

But now, now there is no conscious decision involved in having an ugly advertisement on your site. They take care of it all for you! It’s easy! Simply write a post, come back a week later and there it is! A shiny new ad that makes no money for you and buco bucks for anyone it leads to. And don’t worry, you’ll make no money off of it even though it’s your site hosting it.

Geezy pete.

There’s something wrong with that.

First Day of Class

2005-08-24T13:58:00.000-04:00

Tell us a little about yourself!

Let's be enthusiastic!!

Make sure to try out for our production of ....!!!

What's your name again?

-Acting I
-Roundtable

not alot changes from teacher to teacher

New Semesters Resolutions

2005-08-16T17:34:00.000-04:00

1.Do homework first, then socialize. This is for obvious reasons. I don’t like stress, though a certain amount is what makes school work and what keeps students going. I am going to try to make sure everything is done before I go to the movies or hang out, that way, no worries.

2. Eat. From what I hear, I can either eat or keep from it, and I’d rather choose the happy medium. There are a lot of people who talk of the ‘”Freshman 15”, but whether that’s gained or lost is really up to the student. I’m counting on going to the gym at least once a week, if not three times [MWF] as my class load allows.

3.Keep track of expenses. I know that in the past I’ve just let money slip through my fingers, but I’m slowly learning about checking accounts, savings, and how to keep track in easier ways then I thought possible, and that really helps. I’d like to start splitting my money between my checking account and carry-around cash as well as keeping an eye on my savings and putting more gift and extra money into it.

4.Keep track of time. I have a watch. I’d like to start USING it for more than the few minute checks out of boredom. I need to be on time for class, group meetings, and other events and I don’t want to be late. I am also going to start planning weekends and days before hand, especially for the weekends when I travel back to London.

5. Keep track of people. I know that I’ll meet new people, but that doesn’t mean that I want to lose the old. With new experiences often times comes a neglect to those whom have known us longer, and that’s not something I want to happen. I am going to see my friends I have now when I can, I’ll make time for them if I have to. I also would like to regularly see the people I’ve left behind in London.

6.Continue going to church. A lot of people that I know don’t go to church, or don’t go regularly. Some people that I know have quite going since entering college, but I don’t wish that to be my own fate. I will either go to church late Sunday mornings at either the Newman Center on campus or the cathedral in Lexington. If I’m in town, of course, I’ll go to St. Willies. There’s no reason why I can’t go to college and still be close to God.

7. Watch money and other valuables. As many of you know, I had a large quantity of money stolen from me while I attended the summer program at the Atlanta College of Art last year. Now I know better than to trust anyone, anyplace, anywhere, with my money. When it happened, I just wasn’t thinking. I had left my bag in the classroom, and the classroom had been walked into and my purse gone through. Now, though, since I’ve learned, I know that I’ll keep my money with me at all times, or in a lockbox in my room. It’s not that I’m paranoid, it’s just that I am.

8. There is no eight

9. No pufters

10.Have fun. I already know that between class and generally living, I’ll be busy. When I have class, I’ll be focusing on the topics, when I’m in the dorm, I’ll be thinking about what I have to get done, but in all that, I really hope that I remember to have fun too. There’s nothing like a happy balance!

I believe in the 7 Blunders of the World

2005-08-07T17:13:00.000-04:00

1. Wealth without work

2. Pleasure without conscience

3. Knowledge without character

4. Commerce without morality

5. Science without humanity

6. Worship without sacrifice

7. Politics without principle

—Mahatma Gandhi

"...but I'm going to the Island..."

2005-07-22T22:10:00.000-04:00

For everyone, there is a dream. This dream may differ from person to person, often times involving career choices and the types of people that they may meet along the way, but most dreams all have one thing in common. The want, the need, that humans have to ‘survive no matter what’ and the fact that to be immortal, or to have that be an open option, would in fact make any life, a happy one.

But the real quandary is, with immortality, what do we risk? Besides the fact that our own lives will drastically change and then become almost meaningless over that amount of time, there are other repercussions as well. With everything that occurs to one, it will always effect another. With everlasting life comes the truth that there are only ways of achieving it. Besides the chemicals and medicines that doctors have only just begun to scrap from the bottom of the scientific barrel, there is now another option. Cloning.

The controversy of creating another human being for the benefit of another. And for that to be it’s soul purpose. That’s it. A person is ‘created’ and grown for the sake of being taken apart of organ transplants. They don’t have a choice. They don’t have license with little organ stickers on the back nor do they have any way to know any different. That is their purpose, and only purpose.

Though the government has only recently [within the last few years] been testing and playing with the idea of cloning as a true medical treatment, it’s certainly not something to be played without first reading the rules. Also recently, the film The Island directed by Michael Bay, takes into account that aside from the life that takes part in our own lives, there is also that life of which is going to be taken that should be considered as well.

He brings into view the graphic yet fundamental images that truly make up what some scientists want to do. A small civilization, literally underground, that has manifested from the money of the rich given to those poor of soul and guilt. To watch, you first see this little colony of human being s as being kind of cool. A very space age look taking it’s cues from George Lucas’s classic THX 1138, but in fact, all of the glam that is portrayed is merely the silver lining to an ever-growing dark cloud over society. Behind the masquerade of perfect people running around under fabulous settings [going to clubs and the like] there is an undertone of the film that does sit right with the audience as soon as Ewan McGregor is missing a left shoe. His sarcasm remark ‘I’m missing a left shoe,” into the small camera in his room, “and when you get a chance, can I get some in another color?”

The unblemished outward appearance doesn’t stay so for long. Not too far from the opening credits there is an overwhelming want to get out. The audiences has only been in this utopia for a 3 minutes or so, yet the character Lincoln 6 Echo has been there for three years. His curiosity helps nudge those watching until finally the truth is heard. Much like a water balloon with a small hole, everything inside begins to come out at a fantastic rate of speed. The story never slows for a second.

The film puts into perspective a lot of things. Apart from the car chases, deception, and overall paranoia felt as McGregor and Johansson try to navigate in the ‘real world’, there is the question asked by all. Is this moral? Is it right? To create just to destroy? Is it still murder? Or is it worse to let those ‘more human’ die?

The ‘God complex’ is also brought in a lot. The fact that the administrator at one point asks who else can help save a child from leukemia and the only answer is God Himself is a point to that fact. Big Brother most certainly is always watching as everyone within the boundaries is taken into account as well.

Certain boundaries are set up. Within the there is no love, no sex, no affection. If two clones are within limits that set of a ‘proximity alert’, they are told to move away. No one knows any of these things, though. Considering that %100 of the things we learn is from exposure one way or the other, they no nothing but what they’ve been taught. And they are only taught to have the education of a 15 year old.

Many don’t question. Many live their lives as they would anywhere else. They are told that the outside world is contaminated and that they are survivors. They believe it because that is what they are told. They are told tat the only place left for them that is a paradise of cleanliness is the Island. And so they are told, and so they believe. It’s a vicious cycle.

Vicious because there is no Island. The random lotteries taken by this administrators of the complex are not as random as they try to make the unsuspecting clones believe. They are more like death certificates. The lottery is taken everyday to send those to the island, but the winners are in fact not winners. Those who are chosen are taken to their medical facility and are unexpectedly killed, by either injection, or lack of some vital organ. It could be kidneys, lungs, hearts, skin, even brains. They make no excepts for the squeamish as they show one of the unlucky ones as he is cut down the middle of the chest, yet tries to run away.

Yet even more heart breaking is the artificial insemination of women within the colony. Since there is no sex, there is also no question as to where the child came from, or where it is going. At the birth of a new child, the mother and child are bother taken to the Island. In other more gruesome words, the child is taken to give to new adoptive parents outside the bounds of the Institute, and the mother is euphemized. It seems that even the most vulnerable can be victims too.

But they don’t consider it to be murder. They don’t think it to be cruel. They find it as humane as putting down a suffering animal.

I suppose that the whole meaning of the story rots from what you believe life to be. Do you think that it is merely made from how you look, or the convenience of your health? Is any life, whether test tube or natural, a real life? Is there life before birth? Life after death? And everything in between? What remains to be seen is how an unsuspecting public takes this ethically motivated movie. Since Hollywood more often then not sides with the more profitable and liberal side of the porch, it’s very different for them to have chose this side on this plank. The sheer fact that the movie is pro-life will entail that it doesn’t receive as much media coverage as it deserves.

But it’s not what Hollywood thinks, it’s what the public wants. For Bush supporters, along with anyone else pro-life, I believe that the response will be overwhelming. To see this film is to pas it on. With it’s beautiful settings, computer and real life visual ingenuity, and wonderful story line, it’s not easily forgotten as several other summer ‘blockbusters’ have been this year. Instead, it will hopefully bring into account a whole new audience of people who either haven’t made up their mines about cloning yet, or who put enough faith in it to spread the word about it. If nothing else, besides the political undertones and obvious illusions to what life is and what it’s all about, it’s just a great movie.

I only say this as to not make one think that I watched it purely with intents to be able to use it as a political statistic. It’s got lots of BOOMS! BANGS! PUNCH! and ZOOMS! in it. If anything, the adventure part of it, which holds true throughout, is a constant. From the beginning to end, the motion of them trying to find the truth carries the audience along a ride of many twists and turns. The characters that McGregor and Johansson play are very identifiable as well, which is always a sure thing for true viewer participation.

All in all, it was fun. Fun. Fun, but it made you think. What if we had that option? What if you could grow a human, just like you, and when you were in trouble, you could take from them what you wouldn’t want taken from you? Would you do it? Could you do it? Would you consider that what it takes for a perfect life?

"Play it again, Sam..."

2005-07-12T00:32:00.000-04:00

Casablanca is arguably on of the greatest movies of all time, but does that mean that it is also the greatest movie of our time? Yes, we all know the lines by heart, including ‘Play it again, Sam’ which, in fact, isn’t even said at all. The scene at the airport with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman is known around the world as the moment when ‘three people’s problems [didn’t] amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world’. the black and white stylings of the period made it way into the hearts of millions at the time of it’s release. But then, those really don’t count when the theme is so out of date…or is it?

Guy loves girl. Girls loves guy, but loves husband more. Husband disappears and girl falls for guy. Husband survives and comes back to girl asking guy for help. Guy does the ‘right’ thing. Ok, so it’s not something you might see everyday as you walk down the street, but it does hold dear the simple principles that apply universally no matter what the time period. Love, is shown as a great beyond that no one, no matter how pretentious, can understand.

Yes, once again humans are reminded that they are only human. The thought that we can’t help who we fall in love with and the overbearing fact that there’s not much we can do to wipe out The Human Condition is evident in the film. Bogart, who plays the reserved bar owner Rick, is the case in point. He fell in love long ago and his reserved nature keeps him cool until Bergman walks back into his life. Throughout the film it is quite easy to see that Rick wants to fight what he felt before for this woman, but it is impossible in the end. He finally does what is best for the common good of the film. What is good for his country, the girl, and the guy: he lets her go.

The point of the movie is to tell the truths that fall within the boundaries of real life. That sometimes life’s choices aren’t the easiest to make. That, perhaps, sometimes love lost is a better lesson then love grasped and gasped of breath. Even, maybe, that though life may not follow the predicted route we want, it’s not worth running away from.

The strength of the characters then is also a tribute to that strength that everyone must hold in their hearts at sometime. When Ilsa, Bergman’s character, must finally let go and say goodbye to Rick a the end, you can see the pain in her face as she walks away in her husband, Victor Laszlo’s, arms. Rick holds the same pain, but he also holds it upon himself to ‘think for all three’ of them, so his faces twists as he tries not to show it.

So with it’s character themes and love story that still pokes you in the eye enough to cause a tear to drop, can Casablanca cross the line from ‘great movie’ into ‘classic’? I suppose it’s up to the new-age general public. Can they handle the old style noir of the time, or will they dismiss it as being lame? I’d go with the thought of a newborn appreciation. Just take he time to watch it, I can only hope you agree. If you do, “Here’s looking at you, kid”.

We Have Too Much Stuff

2005-07-05T20:28:00.000-04:00

So if you know me, you know my current situation. I lived in the small town of London, Kentucky for ten years up to this point. We were only just recently moved from that little town to the much larger area of Coconut Creek, near Fort Lauderdale Florida. It’s strange because no matter where I am, I’ll always know London as my hometown, though it seems I’m already slipping back into my Floridian ways once more.

What do I mean? it’s quite simple really. That even though I’ve been out of Florida for ten years, part of me can, at least, still function to it’s customs and find a niche where that I can find myself reasonably comfortable. So here I sit.

Strange things that happen here, though. To some, it might be considered a completely different country. Much like the Scottish and the English, both have customs that are quite alike, but to the Iranians or Japanese whom share the same continent with them, they are completely alien. This can also be said for Florida and Kentucky.

Whereas Kentucky is full of rolling hills covered with lush greens on which horses roam, or spans of land with big red barns decorating the landscape, here…..here there’s none of that. Here, you’d be lucky to find a yard that it takes more than an hour to mow. Here, if you look down the road, you can see for miles rather than millimeters because the end isn’t obscured by hills, twists, or turn of any kind. Here, the grid system rules, much like any other large city, though the buildings in this particular town are much shorter.

You drive down 192 in London, or Richmond Road in Lexington and you can get anywhere. From Coconut Creek you have to take Banks road and Atlantic and University and 441 in order to get anywhere, but even if you can’t, even if those are obstructed by traffic or flooding or what have you, there’s always another east-west road to take, always another north-south road to jump on, and always a duplicate store not so far away from the one you originally wanted to go to.

The main home improvement store in London really wasn’t even IN London. It was the Corbin Lowes. A small, modest Lowes nestled where the subtle subtleties of it’s alike appearance with Wal-Mart would be seen. We have two here. Or four in the general area. But if you really want to be a part of the crowd here, you shop at Home Depot, which there are eight of.

And that’s just one example. We have two malls, one is the Coconut Creek mall, a modest mall outspanding the Lexington mall about 50 times, and the Sawgrass Mills mall which is one of the largest I’ve ever seen. It includes a 23 screen theater with each the size of the large theater of the Regency, along with a full sized town call Wannado for children, which is a completely hands-on experience allowing them to do everything from putting out fires to playing doctor [which sounds about write considering they’re already got the handwriting down pact].

Every time we come to Atlantic, Dad says ‘Now, if you want to go to the beach, go left till you hit the sand. If you want to get to the malls, go right till you get to em’. Yeah, we’re 20 minutes from the beach. Pompino or Coco, I don’t know which and really don’t care. Lately it’s not been beach weather. Within the last three days there have been three shark attacks and it’s rained each day. It’s rained everyday we’ve been here. It rains and it rains, the Florida room [back porch screened in room] flooded an inch and a half when dad first came, leading us to believe that we might have to replace part of the roof. Upon further inspection, though, we had to clean out the gutters.

Or at least the ones that we have. Which adds up to one. One gutter that spans the very back of the house, and that’s all. This means that the water runs straight off soaking all who dare try to enter the house from any other means, including the front door.

There are so many other things wrong with the house that we’ve only found upon further inspection. The fact that they painted over all the wall sockets and that when wiring, they would tie them together with electrical tape and leave it at that. How most of the blinds are broken in the house, and any that aren’t, are impossibly unclean, holding up to a quarter inch of dust, dirt and grime.

The house itself was built in 1981, making it very styled to the time, but with a lot of present-day potential as well. Unfortunately, along its route from its original owners to us, it met a Hispanic family with a flair for color, but, whom were, to their dismay, most likely color blind. Color blind to the point that, after choosing their vibrant and, I might say, quite illegal colors, they were so afraid to color entire entities with it that they just sparsely used the paint instead….or…in quite simple terms…they sponge painted everything.

Doors, medicine cabinets, entire bathroom cabinets and fixtures. They were gracious enough to, in the kitchen, wipe up when they were done, so it’s not sponge paint as much as…smeared…sponge paint….

And from the looks of it, the Liberache Center for Home Design only gave out samples of these wild colors because it seems they didn’t have enough to actually paint behind the furniture. Everywhere there are outlines of armoires and shelving units. You can see the scrolled wood tops of hutches and cabinets. There are lines that show the ghostly lack of presence on either side of the fireplace. It’s a very strange thing to see. And to top it all off, our next door neighbor said that the previous owner was a wonderful decorator. Yeah? Then SHE should live here….

But as I’ve said before, it has a lot of potential. A fireplace in a sunken living room with vaulted ceilings, plenty of room to expand the kitchen, and lots of open area in the main living space, allowing one to see the TV while on the computer, or to watch Iron Chef while actually trying it all for yourself in the kitchen.

So even with the pink carpets and foam baseboards that were just glued into place, even though the circuit breaker says one thing, but shuts off another, and beside the fact that the house is orange, there are still pinholes of light shining through…..and no, not from inside the house, we’ve fixed all those already.

I can say this, though. Between painting, stripping wallpaper, cleaning grout, painting more, putting up closets, painting more, unpacking boxes, sanding, spackling, cleaning, and otherwise using other power tools, this has been the most tiring home we’ve ever moved into. It’s the sort of place that, as I come home gradually from UK, I’ll see improvements upon it as I go. Perhaps maybe they will be able to put in a swimming pool, or do outdoor lighting, but first all the sinks have to stop leaking and the living room must be made so that it doesn’t constantly feel like 7 pm.

Headlines or Tales

2005-05-28T20:21:00.000-04:00

So now it seems that the art girl is thinking about something that has never before crossed her mind. Since the beginning of my senior year, I’ve been writing pieces for Mr. Nantz’s class and most of them were pretty good I guess. Many held a certain style that’s all my own with all the hidden jokes and political pokes I wanted to make but I really never thought anything of it. Writing for that class was never like writing because you had to, it was writing because you had the opportunity to. Big difference.

Then Yearbook came around and it 'made mesuffer, it's my lot in life' as I read some of the worst writing that had ever adorned the page. The articles weren’t hard; two paragraphs saying what this sports team did during the season, or what this club has accomplished. Written to compliment the pictures that covered each individual page, many of the articles merely insulted the photographs. Note to Cait: kids can take pictures with a $500 camera, but not an article with a .25 cent pencil. Point made to the competence of the new generation.

See, I was never one to dismiss the Senior Project as just another time consuming hurdle for the senior’s to overcome, but rather, an opening for practice that many people in our school don’t get: the chance to write and do what they want for the betterment of the community. I mean, BESIDES the whole ‘I helped the community, bleh, bleh, bleh’ part, the writing part was made much as writing is in the real world. A report on procedure and purpose as according to the steps and guidelines given by the governing body of the project, South Laurel. Unfortunately, this year it was taken out of the curriculum and now half of the 2005 graduating class doesn’t even know how to spell ‘Graduation’.

My point, is this

.

That many of the students at South usually don’t think of writing as something you can do, but much more likely, something you must do. It’s very sad….

So as I sit here and think about it, it occurs to me that I am, in fact, the anti-child if that is, in fact, the case. Considering my blogging record, my portfolio which I fought for, my current 10.0 entertainment value to the general populace, and the fact that the UK Journalism and Communications College sent me a letter-o-congrats!, I’ve been considering a few things when it comes right down to my major.

Indeed, a Major Problem [This pun brought to you by the ‘Oh, you think you’re sooooo pun-ny’ Commission.]

Lately, I’ve been considering my options. Looking at my friends, the ones already attending UK, Western, and Cumberland, I’m thinking about what I want to do. Yes, I do want to take part in theater. I would love to act, I’d enjoy writing plays, I would die to be able to direct one, but that’s not, perhaps, what I should be thinking about. If I went to UK, I could take part in the acting program no matter what. A few auditions, perhaps, but nothing major, and considering the college program’s reputation for needing actor[esses], I may have odds on my side.

As I’ve thought about it and wondered what I would like to do, enjoy, and most important, what I could live off of, three seems to be an obvious choice right in front of me, but I’ve not seen it because let’s face it, I have bad eyes. What I can do, still use my creativity in make money, and make a difference…hmm…..

Well, it’s completely slipped my mind. I’ve only been told by Nantz to be an English major several times, I was only one of 7 to take the AP English IV test, I have been known to edit Corey’s work seeing as he is a Journalism Major at UK already. Yeah, that’s right, I’m thinking about Journalism now. It’s not because of my parents, Corey, or Chris changing his once again. It’s because I need to think long term instead of ‘what will I have fun doing’, I should think, ‘what will I be satisfied doing’. Paint a picture or paint a wall….

Maybe I can still write screenplays like I’d like to do, though I don’t seem to have much of a knack for it. Good scenes, good ideas, but not much merit and I always seem to slight the fact that it needs a plot. *shrugs* oh well. Now, the decision’s not final, but I’m allowed to contemplate it at least; leave it open as an option.

But to think, there’s also so much good I can do for the people [And next up for Miss America…Caitlin O’Leary…*applause*……freakin’ no, that’s not what I meant]. I meant that this world is slowly dying. It’s losing it’s will to live. In a country today that has boys fighting in a war to save us, all we can think to do is cheer them on to their faces, yet turn our backs in shame when they turn to fight an enemy that’s only thought in killing us is ‘how many?’ our media today is shaped slowly by the fact that communities want to give instead of teach, to help, yet secretly hinder. Lies, scandal, intrigue [Danger! Suspense! Ok, I’ll stop..]

But what can I do about it? Can I write the truth with the intent to keep a nation’s mind on the target. Can I save freedom from the nations intent to implode on top of it? Is it possible for me, as a writer to save millions of lives the suffering of living under socialism disguised as the democracy that is set before us?

No. but I can sure try.

20/20!

2005-05-22T14:18:00.000-04:00

-Yearbook production holds that only 4 pages are left to be completed. That’s not bad considering those pages are reserved for the graduation pages. Everything else is either done or was poorly placed into the yearbook with barely a thought from me while I attended graduation practice. GREAT!

-I’m not a Graduate of South Laurel High School. I didn’t cry. I wasn’t sad. I didn’t look at it as many other people did; another separation of people, people that you may never see again. Instead, I saw it as a celebration. There was no remorse for my friends as I walked the line. If they are my friends now, then I am close enough to them that we will make the effort to keep in touch. If not, then they were not that close to me and I will go out into the world and make new friends, holding their memories close to me. The world is tough, ‘get a helmet’.

-Star Wars was….it was….there are so many things I would have done differently. I’m not saying ‘it was bad’ as much as ‘it was a good start!’. The entire movie seemed rushed. I understand that they had a lot of story to fit into a very limited time, but still, enough action-to-action, and more explanation of what and why everything is going on. There are many things that made little sense to people that did no to little research on the film expecting it to be like the other: self-explanatory by the characters dialogue with the help of overly obvious plot lines scripted for them. There was only one point at which there was one of these moments, in the beginning when Anakin meets Padme behind the pillar and he tells where he’s been in the passing months. But that was it. It’s just that so many questions are left unanswered. Where is Grievous from? Why does he have a human heart and a continuous cough? How does it come about that Anakin turns faster in five minutes then his entire 19 or so years of training taught him to stay with the light side? Why is Padme such a whimp now? Don’t EVEN get me started on the things that don’t match up with the hold movies.

-IIIIIII’m 18 now, but I haven’t really noticed all that much. I don’t know if I will. I’m still trying to let it sink in that I’m an adult out of high school. It’s been kind of cool how it’s worked out, though, because my birthday and graduation have just melded together into the ONE GIGANTIC MONITARY GIFT-GIVING WEEKEND EXTRAVAGANZA! Awesome!

-There are Skittles allll over the deck now.

-I ended up reading at my baccalaureate. I did the benediction after Michael Tolle read. It was a very nice ceremony. I was told I was ‘VERY Catholic’. That I ‘Seeped CATHOLICISM!’. Yes, my job is done.

-Brett Martin did a wonderful job of the prayer. I knew he would, he’s very religious, and very faithful. I enjoyed it very much and yes, I did do the sign of the cross.

Another Episode

2005-05-14T18:37:00.000-04:00

If someone were to say “Hey Cait! What’s been going on with you lately?’, my answer would be short. “Nothing”. Because that ‘nothing’ is what is expected. ‘Nothing’ covers all kinds of things in one word than many words tend to cover just as efficiently. Unfortunately in my case, though, if I were to answer ‘nothing’ it would be a bald faced lie and I might be, in fact, smited from the Heavens above for saying it.
So now you ask “Oh? So what HAS been going on?” which is what kids my age dread hearing because that involves talking much more than we’re accustomed to to an adult audience. That and most of the things we have to say we’re quite sure will be followed by either “Aww, it’ll be alright” to our faces or “They’re worrying too much about the little things” to another adult behind our backs. But I’ve finally gotten to the point where I realize that no matter what is said by anyone in the world, there will always be someone to either dispute it or agree with it, often times having no evidence to back either of these options in any way therefore belonging, automatically, to the other side of the argument.
But all of this is beside the point.
.beside
My point is that , in fact, a lot of things have been going on. It’s my last week of going to South Laurel High and yet it feels like I’ve already quit. My days are spent more often then not helping out teachers I don’t even have with their work rather than going to the classes I DO have and watching movies all day because their lesson plans didn’t count on their students being lazy. Half the time I feel as though I could walk out and no one would know and the other half of the time I am being asked if I would ‘sign myself out’ so that I can go with friends somewhere for lunch [which is impossible considering I turn 18 on May 19th and that dates not come yet].
Ahhh, May 19th. One of the most important days of the year, this year especially. Let’s consider this day. What is the most important thing happening on May 19th this year? Oh, I think it’s quite obvious. I think that the answer stands out like a Jedi at a Sith convention. Star Wars Episode III, Revenge of the Sith comes out to theaters. The last in a [to some] disappointing trilogy that is a prequel to the films our parents grew up with. I’m really not sure what to think, though. Usually I’ll stay with the impressed side of things and say ‘Yes, I think they blend nicely’ but then sometimes I tend to fall into the ‘You know the originals? The ORIGINAL originals? The ones that came out before Lucas got edit-happy and ruined them? Yeah, those are my favorites by a long shot…’. It was said in the paper that the new movies relied on spectacular visual effects as well as flowing situations in order to capture the viewer’s attention. That the older films used the corny dialogue and memorable characters to hold the audience captivated. I think this is true. I can see that the older movies were deeper with the new ones being eye-candy, but then again, Ewan McGregor IS in the new episodes….. “Perhaps I’m a bit biased” as Corey would say. I can’t help but like a movie with a Hot Jedi. [Hayden Christiansen is ugly, bleh]
Oh yeah, and May 19th is my Birthday. Big deal. It’s funny because I keep forgetting. I keep getting
“Can you wait till May 19th?”
“NO! I’m FREAKING OUT about Star Wars!”
“No, I mean, about turning 18?”
“Hehehe, oh yeah…woops….”
And that’s not an exaggeration. Yes, I’m a sad sad person….
School’s almost over too. There’s only 6 days left and I don’t have to go but half of one of those days because of graduation practice. This weekend is Baccalaureate and I’m yet to hear back form Father Charles on whether I have to write a prayer or do a reading at it. I’m sure I’ll find out….last minute…..
And last minute seems to be a running theme now. I’m the head editor of South’s yearbook and it’s not even close to done. Only yesterday there were still 8 pages not begun. Considering the fact that each page must be done, go through me, Mrs. Bush, and then be fixed, back to me and Mrs. Bush, then fixed again until completion, I’m a little freaked out for the welfare of those in charge of those pages as well as my own completion grade. Hopefully they’ll be done in the crunch. That would be nice.
Mom and Dad are moving away which is stressful too. I don’t like to think about it much because it’s sad and that adds to the sadness of leaving high school along with the uncertainties of college and that puts me in a state of disrepair. I’ll have plenty of time to be sad later.
Let’s see, what else…what else…I ran for class president and lost. Big deal. Considering we had the election and results in one week that was three weeks from the end of school, it seems a bit of a false position. The only thing I know that they’re responsibility for are class reunions and the prayer at graduation. I’m not all that distraught over it because I knew it was a popularity contest and Brett Martin is much more well known then I am. Besides, I know he’ll do a good job.
Dance is coming to a close as well. Mrs. Diane is stressed as ever already. Kelly is freaking out. All the girls are working hard to try to remember the dances. Yep, it’s the end of the year alright. We’re doing Sway, The Phantom of the Opera, and an 80’s Mixed dance for our performances and they all seem like they’ll be pretty cool.
My friends are driving me nuts. ‘Yeah? What’s new?’
Corey and I are still going out.
UK still hasn’t sent me anything on housing.
I got to see Megs after a really long time today.
And my feet hurt.
Ok, I think those are all the updates. If that doesn’t cover it, then I don’t know what will.
I’m going to go back to watching Star Wars now, and if you ask me what’s going on while I’m watching, I’ll either ignore you or say ‘Nothing’ to cover.

To Wash or Not To...oh, alright, I'll wash it.

2005-04-10T20:20:00.000-04:00

So that was it, I could stand it no longer. I pulled out the scrubbers, the soap, and the bucket and I just had to clean it.

For a little back story, this is why I was cleaning my brother’s Neon. Not just any Neon, but a Plymouth Neon. Not just ANY outdated Plymouth Neon, but THE neon he won by picking out the shiniest key, putting it into the slot, and the car going ‘vroom vroom’. Well, after it’s had five accidents, one of which can be partially contributed to Patrick, I now have it in my care. Why, you may ask? Because it went in for a routine check up and it was found that [fill in car talk, something about brakes, it was dangerous, couldn’t be driven, boo hoo, BE A MAN! You don’t need brakes!] and so he took my car. The Subaru. The Outback. He says his friends think it’s brand new right down to the car smell. Darn right they do….

So I mowed the lawn today, and every time I would go by, it would lack doing something and I would be bothered. As the sun shown brightly, it REFUSED to shine. Not even a glimmer from the rearview mirrors. And so that was that, I had to clean it.

Our earlier conversations on the subject had been

“hey, could you clean my car for me and replace the windshield wipers?”
“yeah, sure”
“no, never mind, don’t worry about it”
“ok”

But if I’m to be seen in this car, the something had to be done, so something was. I took out the bucket, the sponges, the little scrubby one with the netting for your scrubbing convenience, and I looked at my enemy. I sized it up. I put the right amount of soap in, added water to the bucket, and I began.

Now, when a normal person cleans their car, they will go to a cheap carwash and get all the dirt knocked off and that will be that, but if this had gone through, the carwash would have to either work on it for a week, or shut down from using too much water.

No kidding.

As I began with the normal big, fat, sponge of death, I decided that I would need much more firepower. I pulled out the big guns. I pulled out….the Sponge of Demise. I took that car all the way down TO THE PAIN…

…or to the paint, either one. All I know is if that vehicle were a person, it would have hurt. It would have bled. It would have sighed in relief.

As I worked my way clockwise from the front to the front, I realized that it wasn’t such a bad little car after all. It was small, compact, and kinda reminded me of a Go-Kart……I’ve always wanted a Go-Kart……

There must be a law, somewhere, about how many bugs can legally hit your windshield before it can be ruled ‘unsafe at any speed’. I mean, anything that could fly could be found. From the smallest of nats to the biggest of…most likely one of his wind tunnel projects…was on his car! Soooo I cleaned it off. Most of it, anyway.

So as I came to my finish, using the Absorber to clean off the windows before they were smeared by the sun, I finally hooked up my CD player with Give Up by The Postal Service and cleaned the windows INSIDE as well.

Which wasn’t bad [advice for cleaning inside of car windows: use Windex and a clean old shirt instead of a paper towel to wipe clean. Leaves less smearing and more shine!]

Inside wasn’t that bad, though. Dust, LOTS of dust, little random mechanical things I hope he didn’t need to keep the car running. There were screwdrivers, coins of all kinds [which is kind of weird, let me tell ya. They were in the cupcoin holder that is on the floor, so I was a bit blustered by all of this] holder, not the , and…..hmm…this part is hard to explain…

There are places where restaurants order their supplies. These companies provide the forks, spoons, trays…everything for these places, including, NAPKINS. Now, my brother must have an aspiration to one day be just like one of those supply companies because he's got to have the worlds largest collection of napkins in his glove compartment/center console. I put them in a plastic bag all by themselves and secluded all 1,001 or em in the trunk. [Perhaps in the dark, in the heat, they won’t multiply.] I also found all of his parking passes from the last…6 years or so. “A Look Through Time From Your Parking Space”. Almost sounds like “This Is Your Life” for cars, don't it?

So yeah, after all was said, done, washed, dusted, and otherwise cleaned, the car shone like nobody’s business. Well, of course, it was my business now. But even after that, I looked at my accomplishment and I thought, it’s not a bad little car, it just needed a little TLC to make it a Tender Lovin’ Car, that’s all.

[REMINDER: Get new wipers…]

Individuality Isn't What It Used To Be

2005-04-10T19:29:00.000-04:00

Each of us
Is a living billboard
What do you stand for?

Some wear black
Dream of hell
Are clothed in skin painted in figures
That dance in pagan firelight

Some wear crosses
Dream of heaven
Are clothed in skin painted by visible sin
That not even priests know what they like

Some wear clarity
Dream of another life
Are clothed in skin that they feel is not their own
That they believe belongs to someone with their presence.

Some
Dream
For that is their essence

But they all stand
For abstract ideas
Thoughts that are theirs
Along with anyone else that thinks them

There is no such thing as individuality
Yet, there is no such thing as conformity.

Rather Walk In Rain

2005-03-04T20:54:00.000-05:00

The rain falls again,
Straight down,
It is like being.

It comes from above with no real reason,
It makes us miserable,
It taunts our plans,
Plays with our minds.

And then it hits us,
Faces turned towards it,
We look to it for answers,
And it beats us lacking care.

As it touches its final destination,
It’s final moments,
That is only when it truly reaches the point of best reality,
Where children play in puddles,
And seas fill with it’s undying supply.

It hinders those who don’t have it.
Those who thirst for life are those
who have it gushing from their reservoirs.

To those who drink of it,
Refresh themselves under it,
Take part in the healing that is only of their mind,
Their thirst for life never falls barren.

So with a dry tongue,
And a bored disposition,
I gaze beyond my window
With a famine for that which now falls from the sky….

Affirmative Reaction

2005-02-02T10:55:00.000-05:00

Minorities. That poor group of people who seem to get no attention from the fascist white rich that rule our country. Those unsatisfied souls who long to be heard only to better their race, religion, or sexual choice. Aww, poor babies….

Which is what they are: Babies. Is it just me, or is it that the minorities want only to deplete the country of its pride? They insist on being called names such as “African-American” or “Spanish–American” instead of just either an American, or what they are, Black or Spanish.

Has it ever occurred to them that in the wide scope of the world, nobody really cares about that? The more that they point it out, the more cumbersome they become, as well.

For instance, this episode resembles that of someone with too much fame. They only want bottled water, their grapes must be sheathed of the stems, and if their room isn’t perfect for their arrival, they’ll be ‘ell to pay.

Welcome to the minority point of view. They want to be called a certain something, treated a certain way. They think they’re more deserving of such treatment because they don’t like being ‘brought down by The Man’. Because they were born, of their own choice, apparently, a little different from the cliché white American male. Give me a break, please.

Yeah, that’s right ladies; I’m referring to you too. Women, gays, blacks, Mexicans, Chinese, animal rights even….all fall within the ‘gimme, gimme’ society standards that are set as being ‘normal' today. ‘It maketh me sad’.

The arguments are amusing too. They’re not smart, so they need affirmative action. They don’t like being discriminated against, so they want to be called ‘African’ Americans [or otherwise]. They are too lazy to work, so they deserve special welfare privileges. They want to be grouped with a normal married couple, but they also want to be respected for how they believe. They don’t want to make a big deal out of their sex, but they want to be EQUAL Equal equal on all levels. Geezy pete.

So instead of working, learning, loving, thinking, and living within their own rights, they like to push their beliefs on others who really, to tell the complete truth, don’t give a flying circus about what they think. I’m a white young teenage middle-class publicly schooled catholic girl with a military background from my father and my mother was a stay at home mom. I don’t care if your life was hard because you’re gay. I don’t care if you think your opportunities were stubbed because you’re black. I REALLY don’t care.

The only reason I can see you having any way of complaining is if you don’t do something about it. Doing something about it would include learning, studying, being the best you can be, not starting another ‘cry me a river’ organization in order to overstep your rights as a United States citizen [which, by the way, you should Thank God you are in the first place.]

The only reason someone in a minority can be held back is because they hold themselves back. The more they separate themselves from the majority, the worse off they are. I always thought two heads are better then one, but apparently, if one scalp is black and one is white, there must be a shouting match on who’s to rule before any progress is made.

This doesn’t apply to all of the people of a particular minority. There are many people who have followed a path, known their goals, and succeeded without a complaint. Those are the people to which I say ‘Thank You’. Those are the people that the rest should look at and say ‘I want to be like them’.

Unfortunately, they are the ones who are said to be too much like the stereotypical successful American. They are often times described as greedy and self-sacrificing. Yes, yes they are. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with working for your goals? Not all people in the majority hate the minorities, you know. As long as they don’t whine and complain, becoming tolerable responsible individuals, then they are amongst the majority of successful uncomplaining individuals. Race, sex, or not.

This goes unseen, though, behind a curtain of deceit. Not only that, but the fact that those who retch about unfair lives and discrimination often forget that they themselves are not only discriminating against their race, but they are creating reverse discrimination versus that majority they hate. They are falling victim to that vice which they loathe. Discrimination’s a real piece of work, ain’t it?

The United States is about individuality, yes, but it’s also about teamwork. Lots of teamwork. It’s built upon its people, and if its people won’t stand together, then what is this country to stand on?

So I say to you, my fellow Americans, stand together. Let us not, from anyone, separate because of the fault lines placed there only by personal prejudices and a thought of deservedness because of things we cannot control. Allow us to live in a world where the NCAA and NAACP don’t exist. Where people don’t take advantage of the color of their skin or their sexual preference in order to rape the country of true patriotism.

If you don’t agree with me, you can always start the SCFS [‘Stop Cait From Speaking’] organization.

God Bless America.

2005-02-01T10:42:00.000-05:00

Over the years, ABC news has led to the disappointment most of us now share in the media. The ever-so Liberal Media. Why does it seem that every time the channel is changed to some large corporate number, it contains the views shared only by those who don’t like to follow the logical views of a conservative public [as shown by the 2004 Presidential Election]?

A blemish on their plan? John Stossel. Without a doubt, he is the clean spot on their dirty window. The window that hides the truth behind it while he tries to draw your attention to it.

Check these out:

http://abcnews.go.com/2020/ABCNEWSSpecial/

http://www.supportjohnstossel.org/

http://www.techcentralstation.com/030504E.html

Theater Abused

2005-01-28T13:22:00.000-05:00

So today, as I was looking at all the movies we own, I began to think about old movies. Not just old movies, the good old movies. Ones like The Philadelphia Story which has gotten a bad name since Tom Hanks decided to star in Philadelphia story which includes gays and aids. There’s also An American in Paris and Singin’ in the Rain which many say are the worst movie musicals ever. That they were flimsy story wise and that the characters were too stereotypical. The ballet at the end of an American would bore today’s audiences, sure, but I don’t think that’s the movie's fault.

Movies ‘back then’ were not about blowing people up, shooting people down. They didn’t have to have special effects, and if they did, they were done in such a way that you knew that they were there, but you didn’t pay any attention. It didn’t matter. It drove the story. Ah yes, the story. You see, the major difference between movies of the ‘now’s and movies of the ‘then’s is story, how today’s movies lack it, and how years ago, when people cared and wanted to think during films, they were loaded with it.

Tora! Tora! Tora! could be a better 3 hours spent then Troy if you only would take the time to care. West Side Story, with it’s strangely designed camera angles and more street-wise style shows Ernest Lehman in a better light then Baz Luhrmann who produced his modern day take on Romeo+Juliet. Both, in their own right, showed a unique fines about them, but one tends to pull you in more. That’s because they didn’t make movies for entertainment then.

Movies then were not meant to flash before audiences eyes and then be talked about or mocked as they are today. Kids who show up at L ot R openings and even , dare I say, S t ar W a r s box office blasts dressed as their favorite characters. I love these movies, but that’ s all they are: Movies.

Films born from the reels of yesteryear are not entertainment. At the time of their release, that’s what they were. They were releases for the public in order to get away from their ‘hum drum lives’. The news could be shown on the same screen after the movie. Telephones were new and only just becoming popular. These reels were shown in small towns and even large cities, but they drew the nation together under one theatrical roof. Everyone wanted to be a movie star. Everyone wanted to be like Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart, and James Stewart. The women were taking their cues from either Katherine Hepburn for a stronger feel, or Audrey for the perfectly feminine look.

Through the screen, they learned of different cultures, cultures we could reach by airplane quite cheap and quite quickly today. In Gigi, we see a glimpse of Paris, in My Fair Lady, England itself is characterized by Rex Harrison and his reaction to why no one recognizes English as their language anymore [“In America, they haven't used it for years!”]

Ideas that had not yet reached them also flooded in through that 5th sense. They learned morals and character through the things said on the screen. Citizen Kane showed how Orson Welles felt about the power one could hold and how to wield it. Mary Poppins, one of the most famous movies of all times, still teaches families that the only real importance to life is to cherish the family while you can.

Don’t misinterpret, though. Some good films have been made. My earlier bashing of Baz was only justified on that movie alone. I believe he out forth the effort on Moulin Rouge to make the audience want to be part of the story. Chicago, starring Catherine Zeta-Jones, Renee Zellweger and Richard Gere held the classic Fosse story above the names that were in the spotlight. Down With Love, A Knight’s Tale, Big Fish, all can be placed with movies that are worthy of being seen at least once.

Some such as Are We There Yet?, Saw, and White Noise, though seem to be cheap ploys to make money. They were created merely to take the cash out of the easily amused pockets of under cultured ‘movie enthusiasts’. Shr ek, Stewart Little, and Spongebob are just eye candy to distract children that should be learning, not how to make crude inside jokes, but morals and values that can help them later on in life. God knows their parents aren’t teaching them.

So, your homework? Turn on an old movie. Watch The Maltese Falcon, or Casablanca once. Check out My Fair Lady or Mary Poppins with your family. Put up with seeing one musical number from An American in Paris or West Side Story……

And tell me, with a straight face, that you’re not hooked for life…

Again, and Again, and Again...

2005-01-13T20:11:00.000-05:00

I feel as though I should post, that I’m abandoning my poor blog to oblivion. I’m not, I just have had nothing truly exciting to write about lately. I have, though, decided to start keeping a blog for an everyday journal. Yeah, I know, another one. I just can’t write on notebook paper, or I won’t actually keep up with it, and since I’m always at the computer anyway…

So that’s all I’m working on right now. This site will most likely keep falling to movie critiques and such. I like movies, and I just get so excited about them that I have to vent it out onto my own small screen. If you don’t like it, if you’d rather me write the very ‘deep’ stuff, the extremely sarcastic yet realistic stuff, then that’ll still be here too, I just can’t be forced into it, that’s all.

After a few days or so, a few weeks if I feel right, I may release the location of my new blog. I hate to go to live journal because it hates my pc and me, and I hate it. When such a relationship takes place, you try to avoid confrontation. It’s easier this way. I love blogging.

Daae

2005-01-11T13:52:00.000-05:00

I think, in retrospect, I would have picked the Phantom.

[I'm such a loser. It's Mansfields fault, lol]

The Phantom of the Opera

2005-01-09T14:45:00.000-05:00

“And do
I dream again?
For now
I find
the Phantom of the Opera
is there -
inside my mind ... “

I don’t think it can be put any more plainly then that.

Since once again, South Laurel has decided to screw over it’s patrons of anything social, my friend Brooke and I decided that we didn’t want to have any part of it. So we thought. What could we do? What would be fun? Perhaps Lexington would be a great idea? Ah yes! With the great Regal theater. Now what to see…?

Obvious.

Resurrected once again for the viewing pleasure of an unsuspecting and under cultured audience [“Why are they singing so much?”], The Phantom of the Opera graces us with its incredible music and wonderful underlying scores. Anyone who’s heard the organ play the classic theme song from Phantom knows what I mean. the feeling, the rush of excitement within the first five minute of the movie. The chandelier. The barrel organ and monkey. The tune of “Masquerade”. If you’ve ever seen it before, then the movie version should fail to let your hopes down. If you, such as I had, never seen it, then your first impression is “Why the frickn’ heck HADN’T I seen it?!”

Quickly, for those whom have been residing on other planets for the last 94 years, here is the main idea. The Phantom, with his grossly deformed face, hides his hideousness in the depths of the French opera house, Opera Populaire. Also there, a young chorus girl named Christine who’s father died, leaving her to the main choreographer of the opera house. Before his death, he promised her an Angel of Music that would take care of her.

“Father once spoke
of an angel ...
I used to dream he'd
appear ... “

The Phantom, seeking her skill and her love, masquerades as this Angel and gains her trust as being her fathers spirit guiding her singing.

When the main operatic singer, Carlotta gets a bit huffy about her roll and leaves, Christine takes her chance to bring forth her talents to the rest of the world. Under the watchful, yet unseen eyes, of the Phantom of the Opera, she sings beautifully in their production of Hannibal. Also watching, though, is her previous childhood sweetheart, a young influential named Raoul. After witnessing Hannibal, the realization strikes him that it is Christine, and he immediately falls in love with her once again.

The rest of the film/play is the struggle of Raoul and the Phantom [Erik] for Christine’s heart. It is not, in fact, the normal ‘beauty and the beast’ story. In fact, if we go by all the most popular Disney version, then we are indeed left with saying that the beast would be the more horrid of the two characters and we would also be left wanting Belle to leave with Gaston. But this story certainly is not Disney. It is much darker…

“Fear can
Turn to love - you'll
learn to see”

The Phantom’s love tends to come across as more of an obsession then anything else. Raoul’s love is more comforting to her in the more general sense, but she is always hypnotized by the Phantom’s song. I can see why. Butler, the actor playing the Phantom, is, most certainly, Scottish. If you know me, then you understand.

“Past the point
of no return
the final threshold -
the bridge
is crossed, so stand
and watch it burn ... "

But all that I’ve written is still incomplete. The music will be stuck in your head, the story will stay with you forever, but the visuals, the way that Schumacher has portrayed this classic is in a word, “Beautiful”. The colors, the costumes, even the mask worn by the Phantom has an air or era. Everything fits. The way the stage is shown in the movie, with it’s lights, not electric, but inflamed, is more or less a reasonable rendition of what the stage at that time might look like. The passageways created for the travel of the Phantom is also quite well thought. They are not clean hallways, but instead bare wood, oftentimes built with scaffolding and bare wood, and always dark.

The only parts of the film which are in contrast with the dark skeleton of the Opera Populaire is the stage itself. Often shown adorned in gold and reds, it means more then just light. It can also be, to look way too into the story, symbolic of how the only light within the Phantom’s life is that of the opera, which is where Christine also is. How he holds back his soul in the dark depths of nothingness underground, the opposite of Christine. He is, in short, a…

“ repulsive
carcass, who
seems a beast, but secretly
dreams of beauty,
secretly ...
secretly .. “

After all is said, types, seen, sung, and done, there really is only one word to describe it. Gorgeous. See it as soon as you can.

May I recommend…Box 5?

"Sometimes, I Just Like To Steal..."

2004-12-24T17:08:00.000-05:00

I would put up a “What a Year!” post, but that’s too cliché. Instead, I think I’ll write about……..

I’ve seen a few heist movies within the last few days and I’ve come to a conclusion. If you have 3 or more hot guys, a girl, and unlimited sources of materials, you can steal anything. Hey, if Hollywood does it then it must be practical. Yeesh.

Let’s look at the facts. There’s Ocean's 12 which came out recently. It has George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and a bunch of other guys stealing a Fabergé Egg right under the highly guarded noses of it’s current home in a big European museum.

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah.

[check out the reviews.]

Ok, so, I’m not going to give it away, but like any good heist movie, they come out much richer [and in this case, with more livelihood] in the end. It looks so easy. Raise a building here, sleep with the investigating detective there, and BAM. You’re a few million dollars richer.

When you’re watching it, you really don’t notice, though, what’s going on. They have a pow-wow in the beginning of the film which refers to how much they owe their previous victim [around 99 mill or so] but then they spend about that much stealing the egg.

So then we come to The Italian Job [newer, not older with Michael Caine]. They have explosives, boats, computers, 3 mini coopers from BMW along with tons of miscellaneous electronic equipment that came from the mysterious Skinny Pete.

#1, how does Skinny Pete get a hold of this stuff? #2, how do they pay him when only 20 minutes before, they were drowning in an ice covered river with no money or hope. It went from bleak to very very sunny, don’t you think?

Why is it that it’s the rich that always steal in these movies? The plot usually consists of a rich guy who gets bored and steals. It follows much the same script that Steve McQueen had in The Thomas Crowne Affair. Considering that both Oceans 11 and The Italian Job were originally written in the 1960’s [or around said time] maybe it was just the directors and screen writers thought that that’s what the audience wants to see.

Perhaps it is the fact that what spikes the viewers fancy is often not a grungy, grimy act of desperation for cash, but rather a casual outing that lends a hefty amount to the robbers bank account. The clean lines and set course of behaviors set out by the actors makes us feel comfortable, while the guy who broke into your house and stole all your audio equipment made you feel QUITE uneasy.

American’s like clean. They like rich. Who can blame us? We’re American. We only like the best.

text coloration

2004-12-19T18:10:00.000-05:00

patrick's trying to mess with my posting. that loser.

How Do They Think This Stuff Up...?

2004-12-16T13:27:00.000-05:00

Alright, after reading Dave's Gift Giving Guide, I thought of al the weird stuff I'd heard about people recieving this year, too. I was just wondering, where do they GET this stuff? So I decided a little scavenger hunt was in order....

For all Those who are fans of the USSR
They use this for...ya know....secret stuff.....

Just when you thought action heros got all the cool stuff
Well, I suppose there was "Brave Brave Sir Robin..."

If you've ever had to stay at a hosiptal
then I bet this is for you...and everyone behind you.
[haha, dad, haha]

When you have no use for a razor, Guys
and you want one.

When a Girl wants a knife,
ya gotta give her a knife.

01000010011010010110111001
10000101110010011110010010
00000110001101101100011011
11011000110110101100111111
hehehehe........

Yeah, I'd call this a paradox.
what is the world coming to?!

Finals #3

2004-12-16T13:12:00.000-05:00

I’ve just finished one of my finals. It was for yearbook, nothing to really worry about. Perhaps they may take a few points off for length since it was a page and a half written and it only need be half a page. Oh well, I can’t help it if arguing for them to keep the class spans more then the allotted space.

Northfork

2004-12-14T20:50:00.000-05:00

I just viewed the movie Northfork. It’s one of those cinematically beautiful and deeply set films that centers itself on everyday things that everyday people never think about. The main plot of the story surrounds a small town, Northfork, which the government is about to flood because of poor choice in politicians. Dwelling there are a verity of people whom are not focused on as much as the men whom are trying to be the ‘life preservers' of the stubborn ones; the ones who won’t leave.

They’re the classic men in the black trench coats who come to your door and when you won’t evict your home, they calmly make you leave by throwing your belongings out the window. That, or they tell you stories such as the man who created an ark to float through ‘the flood’:

What if this boat of yours doesn’t float, sir? And you’ll be on your roof, and a neighbor in a little rowboat will float by, and he’ll yell “hey! Do you need any help?” and do you know what you’ll yell back? You’ll say “no, we’re waiting for a sign from God.” A few days pass. The government send out a few men, like me and Wilson here, and we’ll say “need a lift?” and you’ll say “no, I’m waiting on a sign from God”. Then you’ll die, and you’ll go to talk to God. You’ll be before him and you’ll ask him “God, why didn’t you send us a sign?” and he’ll look at you with disbelief and say “I sent you a neighbor and two government men in rowboats, what other kind of sign did you want?!”

And the little boy. To watch the movie, there is strength within that child that surpasses the most strong of weightlifters and hardened of the elderly. It’s not from experience, though his diseased body does give the viewer reason to pity him for such, but it is the outlook with which he takes the fact that he will die. In his imagination, which is seen more then his fleshed state, he is what he is: An Angel. In the end, when the heavenly bodies looking for the ‘unknown’ angel finally find this young man, he is truly set free to show what wings he has.

The movie is about basic things. Death, Life, God, Humanity. It’s not so deep that you wouldn’t understand, but it’s just startling enough to spark a creative note in the mind of the general public, well, those whom understand it. There are many puns within the story as well, such as when they are examining the boy’s feathers that are supposedly his wings. The man with the glasses, Happy, says “Duck, Duck, Goose…” as he goes between each of his lenses. When taking off at the end, one may notice that ‘God is the copilot’ of the plane. While the agents are trying to ‘depart’ the people of the town, they pull out a pair of angel wings with a "signed note of authenticity.”

But if you can look beyond the small bits of humour, the jokes about religion, the jabberwocky on stilts, then you can easily see this film for what it is meant to be. There are good bits of lighthearted banter between a father and son mixed with the distressed priests inability to take this child from the misery that is the child’s life.

I would recommend this movie, without a doubt, to anyone who’s ever thought about Life and Death. I would force this film on anyone who’s never even begun to think about it.

life, perhaps?

2004-12-09T16:34:00.000-05:00

I have a need to sum up life. I don’t wish to belittle is by making it into a more graspable concept, though, I merely want to clarify some thought I’ve had recently on it. That we are not the amazing enigmas that rittle a planet within its vacuum, but rather we are humble innocents that have but the capacity to dream up such ideas of reality.

What we first must identify with is the fact that we are human, though animals alike. We need the basics (food, water, shelter) that any creature of this Earth would need. We work to gain food so that we may populate and void extinction. We walk, we eat, we drink, reproduce, see, taste,….

And talk. And have opposable thumbs.

Suddenly, we’re a little different. A tad bit superior to those whom communicate through clicks and squeaks, now. And with the introduction of speech, there is a wall broken through that endeavors to present an entirely new world of thought to us:
Thought itself.

Without the intermingling of numerous minds for the betterment of a community or environment, the only goals our minds must reach are the simple ideas related to ultimate survival.

When people have a lacking barrier around their own abilities, then it is only natural to extend their thoughts farther then the shadow of those old boundaries. From this idea, some decide that shelters can be water tight, food can be kept and saved, and relationships between beings can extend beyond the rivalries held by hunters in order to work together for the common good.

We see each other differently as well. We notice that women and men are different, but that is not such a bad thing. Relationships outside the limits of ‘friendship’ occur, and those who had formally found themselves merely loving to survive are now loving just for the sensation of love itself. We are expanding our minds to new ideas.

Ideas that have sometimes been questioned up to, eve, the point of today. With the birth of Jesus Christ, we are introduced tot eh subject of ‘religion’ and the fact that it is not based on fact, but rather, the purposeful lack of fact:

we discover ‘Faith’.

The thought of a larger entity that holds our lives in the palm of an Almighty hand. Other religions occurred as well following the same formula. Buddhism, Judaism, Atheism (though agreeing to disagree).all with the theory of ‘something bigger than us’.

So with religion, we adjust our lives accordingly. We avoid sin against God, as attend church and celebrate holidays for the deity. We are given things. Our brains are filled with faith, yes, but also hope and compassion.

But ‘for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction’, to quote Sir Issac Newton ‘s third law, and so we are drawn back to thought. Back to the flourishing ideas of the mind. All throughout these times, man himself begins to develop his own notions on ‘interest’ and how it can take place. Art and Literature is born. People are found to be writing things, symbols, in a common language. Our eyes begin to take the beauty of the world and spread it with berry and rock, or paint and canvas. We think, look, see things differently then anytime previous. Poetry is born of mans ‘emotions’ and stories are constructed for ‘entertainment’. Paintings and drawing are being judged, first on how ‘realistic’ they seem, but then we learn of ‘abstract’ ideas, and we see its beauty. To some, this happening was in itself a great wonder of history. To others, though, this is a curse and nuisance of tolerable thought.

So we come to those whose thoughts, ideas, beliefs, and theories follow strict lines that may resemble a train upon a track of fact. These are men who believe the norms of universal, organized skepticism, communalism, and disinterestedness to be just as important as the constitution to an American. They stay along the lines that have often brought puzzlement among some. They only believe what is within their own bounds of physical to chemical ideology, yet their aspirations spread far beyond that from unknown depths of the Earth (Jules Verne, Artist of words, ‘Journey to the Center of the Earth’) to the Space that goes farther then a telescopic lens can fathom (Arthur C. Clarke, superman of script, ‘2001:A Space Odyssey'). through all this, they keep their glassed eyes focused on the test tube

And so we have those who‘s heads are in the clouds and those who know how the clouds formed. There are those who fall on the line. They are the archeologists and others who can grasp both concepts of ‘fact’ and ‘truth’ and use it responsibly.

Life is happening simultaneously now, all at once. The laid-back lifestyle that ruled our lives not that long ago quickens to a pace where vehicles, televisions, computers are manufactured in order to keep up. Things, objects made for utilitarian or entertainment reasons are forged more and more holding us back to our simple roots.

We now have currency to buy materials that make life easier, utensils that we could do without under dire circumstances. You have cities, capitals, schools that catch up on what you’ve missed while you were nonexistent. This information ‘society’ hopes you to build on.

But we trace this back to our beginnings. Naïve, innocent no suspecting jumbles of matter. Where we taught each other the nude simplicities that we needed, never suspecting that one say, others would teach for us.

To bring all of this, this concept of being to be down to one sentence, a single equation rittled with y’s and x’s of mysterious origin would and will most probably always be an impossibility. We don’t live to love, nor do we live solely to think, though it does lead to our expansion. We live to grown perhaps, but that can’t be true, proven wrong by all those whom live, either in the past of in the images of such.

So what is life? Life is what happens between conception and death. It is ‘what you make of it’, as some would say. There will one say be no world. It cannot last forever. Perhaps it can, but you won’t. The words here, now, will be buried under piles of web pages and digital files. We will not exist or be remembered.

Why do we live? Because we are our own witnesses to our lives. We are witnesses to other’s lives. It flows back to our very first feelings of closeness to other humans. We live for ourselves and for them, because our emotional stability, guilt, anger of betrayal, cannot let those others down. We live to think, to explore through the use of a brain, and to keep living the best way possible:

By not dying.

Ophelia, Daughter of Denmark

2004-12-02T21:23:00.000-05:00

For my Lit. class, I was supposed to create a writing inspired by William Shakespeare's Hamlet. This is what I came up with....

Those Whom Look Upon My Cold Body,

Cry “Adventurer“, for that is all I am,
I, though the river hath drawn it’s sword of fury upon my life,
Sheathed mine, and in doing so, I accomplished thine own task.

To thee, as a last testament to unbreakable chains,
I confess what torture I hath brought upon so many,
For what is to take one’s life, giving chance for a greater morbid state,
When left behind is yet another instance of being strewn of guilt?

From days that numbered many before the last sunset,
My heart leapt from bindings far stronger then men.
An impossible feet? Nay, an expected glance of horrid fate,
That I love the Prince Hamlet.

And yet it was unforeseen that my life to him was such a hunted game,
That he followed it only so far as to present it’s prize to mine own hand once more.

He left me with shards of what was to be the most poor of lasting wealth,
I lay my body upon the flowing liquid stream,
The life-giving body from which many survive,
And give up my breath to yon sky,
The sky that’s blue fills our bodies with air,
And close mine eyes to the blackness of the Earth,
encompassing all whom dwell upon it,
And sit within my tomb of burden till Life itself spites me, leaving me vacant..

As the hand of Mother Nature clutches me downward,
So that escape from It deprives itself of me,
My regrets are muted by actions of not so long ago,
And the occurrence of men dying two-fold over unseen aggressions.

Thy Hamlet and Polonius,
Sharing only in the misery caused them by closeness of heart,
From a body that presently lay in bandaged state beneath fertile soil.
They occupied no quarrel. Their hands, as far looked upon as mine own eyes,
Were within the boundaries of good terms.

Without rooster’s crow or dog’s feral bark,
My innocence met with a father’s death
and a love lost of no reason besides troubled, unconscious mind.

The hands of my own are at fault for such acts of devilish being,
Without returned love, Hamlet’s heart did die, and reason with it.
Not accompanied by the reason any man only has rights to posses,
He murdered a council in blood now cold,
Though once before red liquid warmed in course by the heart of a father.
Why is it I that have been designated by Lord God to bring such strife?

I need not know the answers, now,
For another world awaits.

From Lands Far Beyond Men’s Sight,
Ophelia, Daughter of Denmark

The-hater?

2004-12-02T19:25:00.000-05:00

Yes, that’s right. I only worked there for about a month, and I quit. One question probably jumps to your minds, “When did THIS happen?”. That or “Why did you quit?”

There are many reasons, to answer the second question. First, I was working so much, I didn’t have time for anything else. One of my schedule would run me four days in a row from 3:30 after school to 10 to 11:30 at night. For me, this is a type of mental torture. I’m the kind of person who needs sleep. Some have told me that all they need is the minimum of 5 minutes of sleep, and they are ready for the new day, refreshed and as red-eyed as ever. I, on the other hand, want at least 7 to 8 hours of sleep before I have to even consider that my alarm clock is making noise….perhaps I should break it with a baseball bat.

Second of all, coming home and hearing “Hey, you smell like POPCORN!!!” was becoming a little lousy. I love popcorn. Always have. I love movies, as well, always have. When you work at a places where you see the behind the scenes of the concession stand so that a movie to you is merely the smell of Pepsi syrup from the trashcans in the back, that’s when you know you’ve ruined your entire movie experience. The only two movies that were slaughtered by this, though, were The Incredibles and Spongebob Squarepants [the second of which was supposed to be National Treasure. [Either way, it was going to be a night of rubbed eyes and blank looks]

The boss, Stella[!] didn’t help either. If you mix the wicked stepsisters and the evil witch and the sorceresses from all the Disney movies into one and give them bad teeth and a thick southern accent, you have my former boss. She’s also the one that would set up the awful schedule that the people that still work there suffer from [I pray for you all!].

So I’ve found myself leaving the theater for the last time as an employee only to return in my best kakis to watch the next film of interest to hit the screen [Lemony Snickets?]

Farwell register #4, goodbye popcorn machine, so long broom and dustpan, hello to a new job search.

"PROFANITY!!!!"

2004-12-02T17:30:00.000-05:00

The results are back and it seems I’m not a winner. Nantz gave us back our long-awaited portfolios grades yesterday, and I wasn’t pleased.

It wasn’t that I disliked my grade as much as I disapproved of the way I ‘earned’ it. One of the people who was grading the paper in question, which just happens to be posted beneath this post, said that it was “well written” and they were “dying to know what happens”, but they failed to take into account that that IS the end. Grading it a proficient, though high, did not spark a nerve in me to produce a smile. A note attached also said that I should word on it because it was “confusing” in places. Yes, well, I suppose confusion can happen when you’re required to think, but I thought that South screened their staff better.

After a rant that got the attention of the entire class and a small conference over the pieces with Mr. Nantz which the whole class could easily hear, I’ve decided what to do. I’m going to re-submit my portfolio for review in April….but I’m not touching the short story. It shall stay the same. I have two other writings [Reasons or Excuses for War as well as my Letter to the Review] that I suppose I can work on to boost my points up to a distinguished. This ‘prostinguished ‘ that I was greeted with, though, was a dismal blow to any writing I’ve done. I know that I’m no Shakespeare and I’m not half as funny as Dave, but the words written on the 13 pages of that file folder were good, dare I say, very good, and that line between proficient and distinguished is going to be crossed this April with vengeance….

Departure

2004-11-29T18:11:00.000-05:00

I'm calling this a Nantz pick. From what I hear, he read it and enjoyed it....as well as his wife......and his daughter....and most likely the rest of his extended family and a few british folksas well. It ended up going into my Porfolio [of DOOM!!!]. If you start reading it and don't like it, then just wait for the end, it gets better. The better part being that there is an end.

Besides, if you don't think I can write like this, trust me, my Shakespearian is much better.

~\/~

The note went from his hand to hers.
“Is this what you wanted me to see?” she asked, the cool breeze of the front porch playing in her blonde curls. “What is it?”
“Well, it’s duty in an envelope,” the sandy haired boy replied. His mood was much more somber than that playful little kid she had once known.
The girl slid her thumb under the tucked flap and unfolded the paper inside. She gripped it with both hands as though it were the most fragile of parchment.
Her eyes flew across the page, left to right, and her expression grew from concern to that of an almost hidden fear.
“Drafted?” her hands felt like lead weights as they fell to her lap which swung the porch swing that much more. He looked to find her mouth open in shock and her eyes wide.
He loved those eyes. They told him everything about her. They were the windows which were never covered with shutters. He could see into her thoughts and even the very depths of her soul with uttermost clarity. Their blue-green gaze had often cast her emotions during this friendship.
They’d met in grammar school, but it seemed that their daily teasing and friendly taunting was about to come to a most abrupt end.
“I only got it two days ago. I leave tomorrow.” The mood had taken a strict turn to clash with the beautiful spring day surrounding them. He could see her entireness darken against the little white house she’d always lived in.
“Tomorrow? What about saying goodbyes? What about training? What about…”
“We take the ship up to a northern port. From there we train, and when they think we’re ready enough, we leave for duty.”
Her shock had begun to wear off. Now she just appeared to be miserable. She felt her cheeks go red with anger and fear. I hate the government, she thought. I hate our government and any other government that caused this stupid war. Sending men who are soldiers is one thing, but a draft? They’re taking my friend, my best friend, and their setting him on a ship so that he can…
Her mind stumbled over the word ‘die’ as not to make it too real; not to seal his fate.
“There’s something else I need to tell you about,” interrupted her thoughts.
“Can it be any worse?”
“Well,” he said, looking away over his shoulder, trying to collect his words, “depends on how you look at it.” His hand lightly pulled the paper from her grip. He could feel where her hands had crumpled it in her frustration. His hands subconsciously then placed the envelope back into the pocket of his faded plaid shirt.
She gave him a wry look, “Alright,” she sighed, “What is it?”
He let out a breathe, gathered himself, and looked her straight in the eyes. Those big blue-green eyes.

Her reaction wasn’t quite what he was expecting. Her hands had moved to her mouth in even more immense show of shock and she whispered a solitary phrase:
“It can‘t be…”
One “It can‘t be” to his “I seem to have found myself in love with you,” was bad enough, but when she began to repeat a soft, negative “no” from behind her hand, that’s when the situation looked grim. She had stood from her position beside him on the swing and continued her stare of shock focused on him.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to…” he started. His hands flew open in a show of innocence, “I just couldn’t stand the thought of going overseas without telling you first.”

Her eyes, her current barometer, were telling him he’d stepped over the line. How could he love me?! We’re friends. Friends don’t love each other. At least, friends don’t fall in love. His mind began to spin just as her world currently was.
“When did this happen?” she whispered, now holding the railing after finally removing her hand.
“Since I’d met you I believe,” his truth was like a bandage barely big enough to cover the wound.
“But it’s been ten years. You’ve known but never told me?” Him leaving was slowly trailing away from her immediate thoughts.
“I,” he struggled, having no real explanation, “didn’t know how you would react. I was afraid you‘d never talk to me again. I didn’t want to hurt our friendship.” His voice was pleading now and he knew it. His face resembled more that of a lost pup then that of a man about to go to war.
“Hurt our friendship? I think that waiting this long has only deepened the wound.”
“So it has hurt you? So you don’t feel the same?” It sounded more a statement to him then a question.
“No! I don’t!” she made her way to the screen door and began to step inside but stopped a foot short of the carpet.
“I can’t respect you now. Keeping a secret like this is…like a sin against what we’ve always said. I’ve always felt that I could tell you anything, I’m so sorry that you never felt the same. I wouldn’t love you in a million years.”
‘Slam’
And he was left to his own demise on the porch once more.

She had stormed into the house. Her mind reeled from what she’d heard. Her room remained her only sanctuary. She perched on the window seat and watched him, one foot in front of the other, walk back to his own house.
What a friend. What a friend, indeed, she thought sarcastically. He’s your closest companion . From diapers to high school. There when you cry, there when you…..
Again she couldn’t bear to bring forth the word that dwelled in the back of her thoughts. The fact that he might have to meet that fate is the reason he’d revealed himself to her. That he might die and not tell her would have, in itself, killed him twofold.
By this time, she had begun to cool down. The breeze carried through the window and she felt its cool hand upon her face.
Perhaps she was looking at this wrong.
They’d met at Watkins Elementary in the year 1907. She recalled their first day of being playmates. She had smiled at him and he’d thrown mud at her. That mere memory made her smile today as she sat in her room by the window.

“That went well,” he grumbled aloud on his trek home. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong. It always seemed to work in the cinema. The guy would tell of his true feelings and wham! The next thing you’d know, the girl would be in his arms. It always happened like that. Well, apparently not if you were friends for as long as you can remember.
He walked sullenly, head down, showing the silhouette of a broken boy. When he arrived at the door to his room, his hand nudged it open and there is was. Just as he had left it.
A navy blue uniform lay on the bed. It’s seams were lined with white piped stripes that matched the hat. The hat of a sailor, no, of a soldier of the sea.
He sat on his bed, hands clasped, and stared at the clothing beside him. He thought of all the men who had before worn the same show of patriotism. He thought of all the men who had died so that the country could remain free.
Feeling a renewed sense of pride, he rose to continue packing his duffle again only to stop dead in his tracks and swivel towards the bed again. He’d suddenly thought of all the girls who had been left at home…

Her night concluded better then she had hoped. After crying herself to sleep, it seemed all downhill. Her mind wasn’t as tired as she was it seemed, though. Her vivid dreams came more now as vivid reminders.
She was taken back to Watkins, back to that first seed of companionship that would forever be planted within her. As she tossed and turned, she traveled time to a place she could only barely remember, or only try to forget. There was the time she had fallen and he’d saved her with an entire package of Band-Aids. Then came all their late-noon walks and finally to their private conversations on the front porch swing.
She had awakened herself by this time and was hugging her knees by the window. The early light of the new day had decided to show itself and so had a new awareness.
The epiphany had snuck up on her. It was something too obviously right that it could have been law. Why couldn’t they still be friends? Why couldn’t she suddenly find herself in love with the man she had just shunned the afternoon before?

He’d had a sleepless night, turning over and over her rejection in his head. He couldn’t help but still love her, but to what avail? How could he love someone who thought him to be an unfaithful friend?
He tossed the questions aside and decided not to dwell on the matter. The day at hand would have enough worry and weep about it to not have to add his slum mood to the mix.
He dressed in the white casual uniform, one of the two assigned to him, and peered into the mirror.
“Wow, you really look like a man now!” he joked himself aloud.
You are a broken hearted boy none the less, he thought to himself.
He grabbed his duffle, slung its weight over his shoulder, and headed to his new home abroad.

She ran, her skirt was pushing against her shins. Trying to hold her back. Nothing could hold her back now.
She had made it to his house in time to read the note on the door:
At the dock to say goodbye,
then to church to pray
That’s when she found herself sprinting to the dock. The mile between their home and the boat that would take him away seemed endless, though her speed could rival that of any professional runner. Her feet hit the ground giving the illusion of a drum beat making time almost stop. By the time she had finally ground her bare feet into the wooden planks of the dock, she felt like she couldn’t go on, but she first had to tell him she was sorry, she forgave him, and most of all, that she loved him.

He’d climbed the ramp, another boy among boys thrown into this conflict, this “World War“. He didn’t feel any different then a needle would in a stack of thousands.
The bag he carried became heavier now. His eyes stared at his feet, afraid to look at the future ahead of him, but even more afraid to look back. Afraid of whom he might see in his group of family…and friends…
He’d reached the peak of the gang plank now. Handing his papers to the officer at guard, he was startled by the sound…

…of a blow horn. He was about to leave. The crowd of people was too densely packed for her to get through. She would have to get higher.
Not caring about the dress she wore or the fact that everyone may see her, she quickly discovered a formidable perch on top of some packing crates. From here, her view had only slightly improved. She stamped her foot in frustration, her hands balled into fists.

From the plank they’d been ushered onto one of the upper decks. Though not one of the choice spots, it suited him fine.
His sharp eyesight allowed for him to easily receive the waves that were sent by his group of well-wishers. He took in the crowd. There were all kinds of people holding different emotions for the boys on the boat.
He saw women crying over the departure of sons, children clinging to mothers only five minutes separated from young husbands, proud fathers, girls waving frantically on crates.

Her arms were wearing. Her almost jumping-jack type movements exhausted her whole body as she searched for his likeness hidden between the thousands of other boys in that sea of white.
After being conned a few times by 18 year olds of his same stature, she glanced at the upper deck to find him staring straight towards her. At least, she hoped it was him.
“I didn’t mean it!!” she screamed, her lungs still burning from her desperate run. “I didn’t mean it! I love you!”
She watched desperately for his reply and was shortly disappointed. He didn’t flinch in surprise nor did he walk away in anger at the sight of her. In fact, he did something she expected even less; he waved.
She heard the blow horn sing its sad song once more for the ramps to be safely docked. Falling to her knees, she began to cry. Her hands covered her wet face completely from the world.
The crowd around the boat began to disperse and she heard the weeping of thousands of eyes pass her on their way to churches and homes. Many people would pray for their boy or comfort others as they said goodbye, but she was unable to move.
She choked back the tears at last. Wiping the salted water from her cheeks, she raised her eyes to the back of the boat. It left at such hurried speed, so quick to carry away our boys, to carry away their lives.
Her tears had subsided enough by this time to become numb. Daintily she let herself down from the box and left. Her mission had failed. He hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t understood her message.
The walk home was cold, lonely, and uneventful. She lay on her bed that night, and, in a fit of sorrow, cried herself to sleep.

The girl on the crate had seemed crazy at first, wildly swinging her hands in a fit of attention. Her blue dress was wrinkled and messy, but to him it appeared to be the last thing on her mind.
He watched as she raised her hands to her mouth and began to yell something. He merely waved back, grinning as best he could.
“What do you think she said?” a fellow sailor asked following his gaze to the crowd below.
“She just said how short a million years can be,” he answered. He then turned, heading into the boat with a renewed sensation of pride.

PreViewReViews

2004-11-17T20:46:00.000-05:00

I had to work yesterday. Tuesday. The most fun day in the world to work at a Theater. Nobody of sane mind goes to movies on a Tuesday, so we usually look like we’re busy, clean stuff, and mostly, talk about movies-to-be.

But over the last few working days, I’ve been constantly talking to people, whether customers or otherwise, about the new line-up of talkies soon to hit and hopefully not break, a screen near you. So here’s what we’ve decided. Between Jeff, Cam, Chris, Pete, Jacob, Brooke, and Myself, we think we’ve got our minds made up on this list of upcoming flicks:

-Oceans 12- Simple. Who can pass up a heist movie? Nix that. What girl can pass up a heist movie with so many hott guys in it?

-Spongebob Squarepants-*please don’t make me work that theater, please don’t make me work that theater* he’s not even a natural SPONGE! This movie just shows how parents are becoming careless by letting them watch such filth of stupidity. I say, if they want a good ocean movie, watch Master and Commander.

-National Treasure- WOW, if this isn’t a Indiana Jones rip off, I don’t know what is…well…besides Tomb Raider….Nick Cage being al adventurous is a real turn off for this movie considering his type-casting usually includes films like The Family Man.

-Beyond the Sea- *somewhere ,waiting for me* starring Kevin Spacey, this looks like it’s my kind of movie. It’s another biographically based film, much like Ray that follows Bobby Darrin through his eyes, through his life. It looks kind of cool, kind of interesting, but let’s face it, I’m going for the music.

-Alexander- I haven’t made my mind up about, yet. I’m sort of grouping it in the category with Troy [though THAT was a great movie, Ankle Boy] This one’s up in the air, though, so far. Hmm, I wonder if we’re even getting it here……..?

And so, with that in your minds this Holiday Season, just ignore it and go to what you want. We don’t know what’s best, we can only recommend from what we see and from liking what Stella [!] hates. But just remember, if you’re sane, don’t go to the movie of your choice on Tuesday…

Sleep Deprivation and Symptoms Henceforth

2004-11-12T15:00:00.000-05:00

And so I find myself in a hole of injustice once again. It’s not that I mean to do this to myself, I just do.

Lately, I’ve been disconnected. No, I don’t mean that I haven’t posted a lot lately because my internet decided not to work, either. I mean it in the sense that I’ve been talking little and being snide often.

I don’t know what has caused this change in my external attitude towards the human race, nor do I know if it is “just a phase”, but what I do know is that if I say something of immense stupidity, loathing, sarcasm, or even or wry humour, please forgive my current actions and hit me.

If you’re currently one of the people I frequent on MSN, then you can hit me next time you see me if I wrong you so.

As for me now, expect avoidance. I hate to say that I’m “thinking” because that would lead some to think I can only think all at once. I’ve just been….thinking….more deeply, that’s all. I’ve been reading Hamlet and questioning ideals and items never before brought to my attention.
So, once again, forgive my rudeness, untalkative behavior, self-centered agony of mind, and I’ll try to come around as a saner Citizen Cait once more

Part C 1/2

2004-11-09T22:02:00.000-05:00

Part C ½ because Part B was boring and really long

Mostly, as a general populous in the United states, we try to analyze how we are different. That’s how we get minorities, spite, and democrats. Today, though, lets instead look at something only a sociologist would be amused by: Sociology.
First, let us break down this word. ‘Soc’ is short for “Sociology” or “the study of human society and human behavior”. “I” is a lot like the word meaning ‘one’s self’. The ‘ology’ part means that they dissected the word in “biology” and forgot what prefix to put back on it again.
Ok, now that we have all of that semi-edukashonal stuff out of the way, let’s move on to the topic at hand. It has often been asked:

“What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of? Frogs and snails,
And puppy-dogs’ tails,
What are little boys made of?

What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of”
Sugar and spice
And all that is nice,
What are little girls made of?”

And how come they can’t get along?

To answer this question, I’ve conducted extensive research at a high-tech facility which observes the patterns in socializing between males and females. This place, which will remain anonymous, isn’t my high school.

If you watch the girl, they’re very…..well….girly. For physical purposes, they look like they’re out of magazines. They’re not humans, their walking, talking, 3-dimensional perfections of a stereotype society. They tend to fall into the ‘gender roles’ set forth to them since they were born a bit too nicely. They are the ones who don’t even know how to spell IQ. The ones that have enough makeup in their purse alone to sustain an army of clowns for months on end.

Some, though, beat that rap. They are beautiful figures that represent the perfection of feminism, yet they have the brain to back themselves up. They are the perfect students that everyone wants to be like but doesn’t even have a chance. They only count about one in a bazillion, which is why I think guys are intrigued by them.

Which leads me to my next point: guys like rare stuff. I mean, think about it. Yes, a few girls do this too, but guys like things such as antique cars, full size or model, they like old airplane props, bottle caps, pieces of a nuclear reactor. If you consider a guy you know, you’ll see what I mean. the most nostalgic value attached to an object, whether through it personally r just by hearsay, a guy will want it [if it’s “manly”].

When they see a rare girl, they usually think the same thing, but with a twist. Not only is she a prize, but she is a live specimen which they must be most cunning to catch. Do they have the skill? Do they have the wit? How can they turn down such a challenge of ‘manhood’? Well, some guys do anyway.

Some, on the other plate, are intimidated by this and tend to look away or not stop starring. “She’s too perfect, I don’t have a chance” gets them nowhere. Some will give up while some will just watch as the sand that has slipped through their fingers continues out into the sea once more for someone else to get a hold of. For all of these guys, I’d recommend a bit of advice: don’t let that happen. If you like something , go for it. If you like some ONE , go for it. The worse you could do would be rejected. So what? Move on. The best way to a girls heart, is to follow the map set before you through years and years of research. If you’re nice, polite, a gentlemen to the last, then she’d be crazy to turn you down. If you are a showy jerk who isn’t even interesting in the same things as her, let her be and please move out of the way so that her prince charming may come because if you’re not even going to try, then it’s not fair to her [or you].

So mostly what you guys are looking for is a girls of fit physical nature wit a great personality, optimistic and good-hearted who will listen when you speak. She must be intelligent to your needs as well as book-smart in itself and has to be able to carry on a conversation that doesn’t make you wince. She has to be low-maintenance and a perfect ‘lady’, though the phrase may be out of date. Am Ii hitting any marks here? If you’ve more to add, comment, please. I’m a girl and I only have the information from the research to go by on this one.

Girls post to come soon. I don’t want to express MY personal opinions, but those of my fellow girls as well. Besides, who would want to hear mine, anyway?

All Out Freeze-Tag Style , Guys in Blue, Girls in Pink Battle Between the Sexes

2004-11-07T22:32:00.000-05:00

I know that this subject has been beaten to death, so I just figured I’d bury it. The question “What do women want?” can only be counteracted by “What do guys want?”, and we need answers to both. Hopefully I will help you, no matter what sex you are, to improve your odds of “getting’ a date” by at least 10 points. If not, then at least I can falsely promise you a cookie.

Situation #1:Girls to Guys

You walk into the restaurant on his arm and everything seems to be going fine so far….
Except that when you go to sit down, he spots someone he knows from across the room and goes to talk to them saying “I’ll be right back”. When he finally returns he tries to sound sly by not only telling you what he wants without the menu, but also telling you about his last experience with that food [“I swear, that burger was HUGE! I ate half, threw it up, then had to finish. It took me an hour!!!”]. When you finally get the check he wants to seem courteous, so he picks it up…..an gives it to you to divide into his and yours.

When you finally go to the movies, he makes you pay for your own ticket and picks the worst seats in the house. His conversing skills need a little work as you sit quietly waiting for the movie to start with nothing to say, and when it finally does start, he won’t shut up. Finally, as you leave the theater, he asks you to “be a sweetie “ and hand him his “dip cup”. Yeck.

You walk out to your car and he…waves goodbye and walks off with a chance “See ya later!”

Sound familiar girls?

Situation #2: Guys to Girls

She’s finally done getting ready even though your date was a half hour ago, but it’s alright, you play it cool. You get in the car and begin to drive only to find out that she’s forgotten something and has to go back for it. The drive to the restaurant seems pleasant except that you might have bruises from where she kept hitting your arm followed by “slow down/ speed up! Do you always drive like this?!”

Her mouth never seems to quite moving the entire time you eat, including all the times she actually does have food in her mouth. It wouldn’t be too bad , but she only seems to have one channel that is tuned into a shopping network when all you want to hear is ESPN or, for some, the occasional Fox News update.

Her choice of movie is, of course a chick flick and when you say it’s “not your type of film” she says that’s alright and sends you on a ‘reverse psychology’ guilt trip. So, sticking to you guns, you give in and end up watching some sad movie with the main chick flick plot which can be described as:

Guy love girl+ Cancer=Tears

You walk out to the car and you’re exhausted from falling asleep in the movie, but when you try to get away with a “see ya later” she looks confused so you roll your eyes and walk off.

Sound familiar?

Part B of Cait’s All Out Freeze-Tag Style , Guys in Blue, Girls in Pink Battle Between the Sexes……….the next time I get a chance.

Well class? Comments?

mmm...security

2004-11-03T15:00:00.000-05:00

8/4/2004 I found this to be quite funny....

Someday, some way
The road goes ever
on and on, down from the liberal sinkhole where it began:

WASHINGTON - Homeland Security Secretary Tom Ridge on
Tuesday defended the decision to tighten security in New York and Washington
even though the intelligence behind the latest terror warnings was as much as
four years old.
So
I was having a conversation with a friend the other night, and I mentioned how
much I like Cheney and Rumsfeld, mostly because they just don’t take a lot of
crap from reporters. Once, just once, I’d love to see a press conference that
went something like this:

Press: “Mr. Ridge, how do you respond to charges that this security
alert is really a scare tactic being used for political purposes by the Bush
administration?”
Ridge: “Christ almighty, what is it with you people? You’ve spent a
couple of years asking why we didn’t prevent 9/11, calling for an investigation,
asking ‘how much did Bush know and when did he know it?’ You blamed us for
something we failed to prevent after eight months in office, and yet to this day
you give the Clinton admin a free pass, even though he had eight years—eight
fucking years, people—to do something about al Qaeda and didn’t do one goddamned
thing.
“You
finally get your investigation, the results of which confirm most of what we’d
been saying all along, but you don’t want to hear that any more than you wanted
to hear about the fact that one of the Democrat commissioners, Jamie Gorelick,
was responsible for the so-called “wall of separation” prohibiting
information-sharing between the FBI and CIA, which nearly everyone now
acknowledges was one of the biggest problems preventing any effective defense
against terrorist networks. You do deign to acknowledge that problem, but the
part you originally claimed to be most interested in—who was responsible—is
suddenly not so interesting anymore the moment you realized you couldn’t
reasonably blame us for it.
“You insist that Condi and Bush must testify publicly to the
commission (even though Condi had already testified once), but it doesn’t seem
to bother you when Clinton gets to testify behind closed doors. You laud Richard
Clarke’s and Joe Wilson’s credibility, but when it’s clearly shown that they’re
liars you don’t seem to want to bring it up anymore. You hint at all sorts of
sinister skullduggery on our part, but when Sandy Berger openly admits to
stealing classified documents for God only knows what reason, you couldn’t care
less.
“Meanwhile,
al Qaeda continues to plot and scheme, and we all know that these major attacks
aren’t something that Osama and a few others cobble together over tea and
crumpets on Wednesday afternoon and then perpetrate the following Friday lunch.
We go to no little trouble to get what information we have out there in hopes
that people will be more alert and perhaps be of some help in their own defense,
and also in hopes that al Qaeda will know we’re awake to the threat and will
possibly cancel out. And damned if you people don’t find some way to bitch about
that.
“You piss
and moan about everything we’ve done to deal with the threat—and when you’re not
complaining about how little we’re doing about it, you’re complaining that we’re
either doing too much, doing the wrong things, or even worse, you try to claim
that there isn’t a threat in the first place.
“We go after al Qaeda and its
sponsoring government in Afghanistan—and you complain about it. We identify an
emerging threat in Saddam’s Iraq—and everybody but you Einsteins and those who
still swallow your thin gruel whole knows he was a threat not only to us but to
his neighbors in the Middle East; hell, he’d only been shooting at our pilots
for ten fucking years, which is apparently not enough to qualify as a threat for
you security experts—and you take time out from the last several years’ worth of
bitching about how awful the sanctions against him are (sanctions which were on
the way to collapsing completely, by the way) to complain about the fact that we
actually had the temerity to not just identify the threat, but do something
about it.
“You
still insist that a Democrat, any Democrat, would do a better job of defending
the country than we have, but in the meantime there have been no—repeat, no,
zip, zero, nada—successful attacks on US soil since 9/11, and we both know that
ain’t because of the fine job Clinton did in scaring them off, or because John
Kerry spent four months in Vietnam on his way to a career as a professional
political nonentity. We free 50 million—that’s 50 with six zeros behind it for
you economics-beat reporters—oppressed Muslims and you guys don’t notice
anything but a handful of prisoners with panties on their heads and a shitload
of illegal combatants in Gitmo getting fat and sloppy from their ‘inhuman’
bondage.
“You care
about the Geneva Conventions—irrelevant in this war because our opponents have
certainly neither signed on to it nor abided by it—only when you think you might
be able to use it to help pour another bucket of shame and contrition over
American heads. You care about freedom and liberty and democracy only when
you’re whining about “stifling of dissent” here at home—even in the middle of
dissenting at the top of your lungs with no repercussions beyond the ridicule of
the still-sane—and not about the fact that 90% of eligible Afghans are now
registered to vote. You worry about civilian casualties in the war, but not so
much that you can’t find a way to hint now and then that maybe three thousand
office workers in the WTC might’ve had it coming in some small way because
Reagan thought the Sandinistas sucked. You paint us as the enemy, when most
Americans know we’ve got enemies aplenty without having to waste time fooling
around with nut-job Art Bell-like conspiracy theories to find them here at
home.
“You show
endless repeats of that panty-on-the-head video because it’s awful and Americans
have a right to know the whole truth, but atrocities committed by our enemies
are carefully hidden away. Hell, you won’t even show footage of 9/11 anymore
because Americans might actually remember it and wonder who the hell’s side
you’re on in the first place. Shit, you people don’t even have the stones to
show videos of Islamist whackjob imams calling for our destruction at wholesale
rates in mosques all over the world. But if Falwell offered Muslims the choice
between conversion or violent death you’d be all over it with both feet—and
you’d blame Bush for the fact that Falwell was nuts.
“You complain about divisiveness
and uncivil discourse, but Bush is a Nazi and all Republicans are extremist
right-wing religious maniacs. You call Dick Cheney Bush’s “hitman” but Howard
Dean is just a reasonable Democrat floating interesting ideas about terror
alerts. Israelis are genocidal monsters for building a security fence to keep
murderers from their midst, but the Palestinian killers they’re trying to thwart
are ‘militants.’ Terrorists in Iraq trying to kill not only our servicemen and
women but any civilians they can get within machete’s reach of are ‘gunmen’ or
‘extremists’—when a handful of you aren’t gushing outright about how they’re no
different from George Washington. Who owned slaves, let’s never forget, the
dirty terrorist.
“Wonder how awful you people would think it was if any Al Jazeera
reporters “destroyed their credibility and objectivity” by wearing little pins
identifying them as jihad supporters in their lapels? I bet it wouldn’t bother
you nearly as much as Fox News reporters’ wearing American flags in theirs seems
to.
“You bitch
about how horrible and irresponsible SUVs are and drive them yourselves. You
complain that Bush misled the entire world, and applaud the “importance” of a
movie that is nothing but a steaming, stinking pile of innuendo-laden
propaganda. Politicians who have money are “oligarchs,” unless they’re
Democrats. Campaign finance reform is a wonderful thing, until it works against
Democrats. American gun owners are talked about as if they were terrorists, and
terrorists are talked about as if they were simply misunderstood children. And
the only time you even use the word “terrorist” at all anymore is when they’re
attacking the hotel in Baghdad where you all cower and file reports from.
“You decry the importance
of cheap oil to the world’s economy and complain about what a terrible thing
higher gas prices were earlier this year—and it’s all Bush’s fault again, of
course. You talk about how vital it is to have France’s support in the WoT when
France said in no uncertain terms that they would never, ever support enforcing
the UN’s own resolutions against Saddam. You talk about our “unilateralism” when
we went to Iraq with the support of nearly 40 countries, and you lament the
“rush to war” when we spent more than a year at the UN begging for them to make
themselves useful for once.
“You bitch about how awful corporate corruption is, and can’t be
bothered with reporting on a UN oil-for-bribes scandal that makes the gang at
Enron look like a bunch of half-assed pikers, like kids toilet-papering a
suburban lawn on Halloween. You talk about how the Bush admin calls its
opponents “unAmerican”—not bothering at all with the fact that we’ve never
actually done it—but when your choice for future first lady does precisely that,
you get pissed off because an actual journalist has the audacity to ask her for
a clarification.
“Al Gore tried his damnedest to steal the election in 2000 and
failed, and you guys still claim that Bush not only tried to, but did. Gore
failed because the Supreme Court finally stepped in to put a halt to Gore’s
shenanigans, and you guys lament a supposed “activism” on the part of the
Supremes that you’ve spent the last thirty years applauding.
“You complain that Bush has no
‘exit strategy’ in Iraq, no plan for ‘winning the peace’—as if any plan ever
survives first contact with the enemy, as any first-year West Point cadet
knows—but you don’t go after Kerry when he refuses to talk about his “secret
plan” to get us out of there – a Nixonian subterfuge if there ever was one, and
we all remember how much you guys liked him. You take the word of insane
dictators on simple blind faith, but if Bush mentions that he took a dump this
morning after two cups of coffee you’ll claim he’s lying and call for an
investigation.
“You people are, frankly, full of shit. It’s damned if we do and
damned if we don’t with you Clymers, and I’m beginning to wonder why we even
bother at all. No wonder nobody but yourselves and those pitiful few poor saps
you still manage to fool pays much attention to you anymore. It’s too damned bad
it’s come to this, but it’s your own damned fault.
“No more questions. Shove it.”

2004-11-02T22:12:00.000-05:00

After watching the presidential debates today, I’ve decided I know who I would have voted for. Yes, I know my age impairs me from voicing my vote in the form of the ballot box, but I figure I’ll scream it and maybe that’ll work better.
Now, I’ve check out this guys website and I like the way he thinks. Perhaps, one day, we will come ot our senses and we will elect DAVE BARRY PRESIDENT.

You Don't Know Me.....

2004-11-01T21:47:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the lounge. Tonight our band brings us back one of the classics........

You give your hand to me
Then you say hello
And I can hardly speak
My heart is beating so
And anyone can tell
You think you know me well
But you don't know me
Ooh no
You don't know the one
Who dreams of you at night
And longs to kiss your lips
Longs to hold you tight
I'm just a friend
That's all I've ever been
Cause you don't know me

For I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you
Afraid and shy I let my chance go by
The chance that you might love me too

You give your hand to me
Then you say goodbye
I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy
You'll never never know
The one who loves you so
Well you don't know me

Oh I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you
Afraid and shy I let my chance go by
The chance that you might love me too

You give your hand to me
Ten you say goodbye
I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy
Oh you will never know The one who loves you so
Cause you don't know me
Oh no you don't know me
Oohh...you don't know me

[Don't worry, I'm only trying to culture you.]

It's Not Just Babbling...

2004-11-01T15:00:00.000-05:00

A place of work doth take the toll of its own one ones mind and spirit. I feel unwhole, as one who has given a piece of ones-self to an unseen force. Smoke, nor drink, nor drug has given me such a state that I might not be fit for social obligation, but instead it is one of many rampant a disease. My unrest begins not at the home, but rather in the place, the very same, that usually brings such joy to the masses. The theater, in its own unforgiving entertainment of ‘buttery topping’ torture, steals my soul, much like sin to a holy monk might make him think.
Therefore my only rest is sleep, for I know my mind does not. My pondering thoughts do not let me live through such a luxury as to merely trudge among others in a state of neither approval nor disapproval at the world. I, unfortunately, have been doth fitted with a brain of appropriate size and weight by the Maker himself. My thoughts, ironically as the Earth is to spin around the Sun, clog my mind.
What a day is this when ones duties fill theory instead of life itself?

NaNoWriMo

2004-10-28T13:30:00.000-04:00

What is NaNoWriMo?

National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.

Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over talent and craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved.

Because of the limited writing window, the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.

Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.

As you spend November writing, you can draw comfort from the fact that, all around the world, other National Novel Writing Month participants are going through the same joys and sorrows of producing the Great Frantic Novel. Wrimos meet throughout the month to offer encouragement, commiseration, and -- when the thing is done -- the kind of raucous celebrations that tend to frighten animals and small children.

In 2003, we had about 25,000 participants. Over 3500 of them crossed the 50k finish line by the midnight deadline, entering into the annals of NaNoWriMo superstardom forever. They started the month as auto mechanics, out-of-work actors, and middle school English teachers. They walked away novelists.

So, to recap:

What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.

Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.

Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from your novel at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.

When: Sign-ups began October 1, 2004. Writing begins November 1. To be added to the official list of winners, you must reach the 50,000-word mark by November 30 at midnight. Once your novel has been verified by our web-based team of robotic word counters, the partying begins.

For any aspiring writers, or people out there who are just bored, I have a challenge for you. I would like to encourage you to join the many other people, including me, who have joined the NaNoWriMo Challenge.

How many of you will accept? How many of you will begin? How many will fail?
It’s only 50,000 words.

2004-10-28T01:30:00.000-04:00

I usually try to keep the mood of my postings at a minimal level of hilarity. Just enough to tickle your funny bone and keep you coming back for more.

Today, though, I would like to turn the attention of my readers onto a more serious note. I would like to talk about the world. Yes, a large subject, but only large depending on how you look at it.

If you look at this Third Rock from the Sun as a giant ball of dirt and magma with a surface covered mostly by water and the occasional billion human beings eating and drinking the resources set here by God himself, then yes, I suppose that you can consider the Earth as being a enormous topic with little or no room for interest, or, if I actually attempt it, an end.

But if you see it through my eyes, it is not that at all. It holds those things to be evidence of it’s beauty and enigmation, yes, but that is not what see when I observe the world as my world.

I see pattern.

Pattern, as a noun of such things as shape and time, is normally shown as the occasional triangle and circle on the page of a younger generations worksheet, never to be taken again with which seriousness which is should be taken. All forms of life apply pattern, and I find it to be fascinating.

I walk through the halls that separate our growing minds to the tragic world beyond and I find myself in a world of it’s own. I don’t refer simply to the presence of food, water, shelter, business, exchange, etc. no. rather, I speak of human nature between and within the student body itself. There are people talking to each other, laughing, crying, comforting. There is hugging, punching, and occasionally, kissing. Guys shout, defend, and hold pride above most logical matters while girls watch the guys do such things and usually fix their face using their never-ending supply of make-up. How is this any different from the real world? We reach to things outside of school and come to school to share those experiences much the same way adults attend work.

True, we are not paid conventionally, with money or dental plans, but we give ourselves to the benefit of knowledge, and in doing so, learn about the world and other humans through interaction.

We have the ones at school that hold themselves above the others, speaking behind their backs, judging on latest styles instead of tests scores. These are the ones that don’t need the knowledge, just the lineage. They depend on their family name to carry them through, as it will, and they easy grip that between their spoon-fed lips. These are the ones who shall, and always will remain, what they are in society right now.

Attending also are the children of secrets, the ones that tell nothing of home and family to the ones at school for fear of being ridiculed.' “My father drinks” won’t go well with the other kids in class', could easily be one of their thoughts. They are the ones whom wear the same shirts twice in one week. They are the ones whom hold the most secrets; the most pain.

Then there are people like me. Insecure. Unsure. Paranoid. I don’t think that the school or the government is out to get me, no, it’s much different then that. I think that, indirectly, I’m out to get myself, but once again, that’s just another study in human nature. I find my enemies to be words such as “procrastination” and “cram”. Seniorities is not an excuse for any behavior, nor is the new term, 'Juniorities', which should not apply at all.

And all of the people are broken up into groups. The stereotypes fall into place neatly, the lines are drawn. A friend, a senior last year, but now in college, once told me that “the lines tend to blur once you become a senior”. I thought, for a brief glimpse in time, that the eyes of the students had begun to smear and that a unified class of 2005 had begun to rise from the ashes of what can only be called a holocaust of shallowness, but I was most sadly mistaken.

What does this have to do with the world? This is the world. Not my world, not just a students world, not just a teachers world. It is the world on a small scale. It is the ultimate training academy for human beings to merely depend and interact with other human beings under such circumstances.

As I drove home today, I watched as an elderly man struggled to swept the sidewalk in front of his home. I sat at the stop sign for a moment to watch him and noticed no cars in the driveway; he lived alone most likely. He was diligently working on removing the leaves from that pavement, though. His back was bent with age and skin wrinkled over his skeletal remains of a face. He didn't look content, or happy. He was only alive, but that was it. He reminded me of the students at school whom feel like that sometimes. They are mentally and physically exhausted, but they know they must go on and do their work, they won’t be at teh school, much as the elder man will die, much longer anyway……

Dean....Co-Dean......

2004-10-27T02:00:00.000-04:00

This is for all of you whom last year followed your favorite Democratic-Once-Presidential-Nominie-But-Now-Only-Footnote-In-History..

LINK! GET US OUT OF HERE!

2004-10-25T09:22:00.000-04:00

For anyone out there who would like to, there are about a zillion selectively….selectived spots open for suggested links on my sidebar. If you have a link or even if you want a link to your blog [or LiveJournal,to satisfy the majority of 'my public'] then I will place it on my site with appropriate title. Just place the http:// web address in the comments folder and you will see results as soon as 5 business days. That, or pay me five bucks.

Alright, just kidding abuot the business days......

but not about the five bucks....

Thank you, and have a good day, all day.

;D

Comment to Your Kidney's Desire!

2004-10-25T03:30:00.000-04:00

For all of you out there whom actually read my blog, please, feel free to comment. I don’t like typing to a crowd of deaf people. In fact, I usually like it if they’re not blind as well.

But back to my point. If you have any thought or even song lyric stuck in your head all day that you keep thinking of over and over till you want to gouge out your eye with a spoon, please post it as a comment.

If you are not a member of the Blogger organization, too bad.
Hehehe
If you’re a member of LiveJournal, really…REALLY too bad. No, we mean it. Really. Hahahahahahahaha
But if you fall in these categories, you can post a comment anonymously. You can do this if you’re a member or if you just want to say something rude or call me a democrat and you know me personally.

Just remember, when I blog, I share. When you comment, you show you care. When old people drive, they crash. Just remember that.

New Restaurant in Lakeland

2004-10-25T02:51:00.000-04:00

I have four words for you:

Ethiopian Bar and Grill

Swingin' in Florida like it's 2000!

2004-10-25T02:32:00.000-04:00

Dear George W. Bush,

Congratulations to you for winning the 2004 electoral race against that weenie, John Freaky Kerry “JFK“. yes, I know that the ballots haven’t come in yet. Yes, I know that they haven’t even been filled out yet, but I can tell just by what I see in the current American people that not only will you win this election, but you will win. Not only will you win it, but you will win it fair and square, not unfair and round.

I just arrived home from a week-and-a-day trip to Florida. I heard, through the grapevine, word of mouth, and the giant billboards while entering the state, that it is a very important swing-state for you. I don’t believe that this swingin’ state is really jumpin’ as much as the kangaroos do, [if you set me adrift]. From what I could see as I drove miles…and miles…and miles…and kilometers into the heart of the Sunshine State, you have absolutely nothing to fear, except for the occasional wandering armadillo. Though there was a population of Kerry signs, there was a greater or equal then number of Bush signs. Since I don’t believe that most of the people are gardeners, I think that they back you.

The most amusing instance of Bush/ Kerry rivalry was while watching out the window on highway 75. In one farm, a giant billboard for KERRY/ EDWARDS. Not 100 armadillo-lengths away, a even larger BUSH/ CHENEY sign. Yes, we have them now…

Many of the yard signs also could give you much hope. For instance, if you drive down Cleveland Heights in Lakeland Fl, you observe that the majority of the yard signs are for Bush while only a select few are for Kerry. The signs for Kerry are in front of the these gigantomous houses that cost a million dollars or so while the Bush signs are in front of the Florida homes hit by one of 3 hurricanes and will take a million dollars to fix.

So, to you George, I say congrats. I know it‘s premature, and if you don’t win I‘ll kick myself and the next democrat I see, I but I forsee you having a job with top level security and a dental plan once more.
Cait, Republican on a Mission

Atlanta, Lakeland, and everything in between...

2004-10-18T08:15:00.000-04:00

Howdy from the sunny state of Florida. Here I sit at my grandfathers computer and make a post of my vacation so far. This silly thing called "Fall Break". hu.
As it was, the vacation was going to be a little lopsided anyway. My father was unable to attend because he had to *mumble mumble mumble*......
SO...Mom and I came by ourselves. Dad still came to Georgia Tech with us in order to watch the game [Buzz beat the devils....oooOOOOO STING EM!] but had to leave soon afterwards in order to go to work.
But while we resided in Atlanta, we were able to observe why we DON'T live in the city.
We were coming back from a lovely evening at Ted [Turner, yeah, CNN]'s Bar and Bison Station when we began to really look at the city. At the restaurant itself there was a line of cars going tout into the street. They weren't waiting to get in, no. That might have been too easy. They were waiting for some punk kid to park their car. Valet Parking. A joke to me. Let some kid park your car at full speed in order to go back to get the next suckers car that much quicker. Very nice. This is some high class stuff.
Then I noticed the sign . "FREE Valet Parking". For all of you out there that have never been around Valet Parking, you've never seen the tips these guys get from the owners of the Porche's and Farari's that they park. This leads me to believe that there is no such thing as Free [Valet Parking].
So as we pull out of the parking lot and get on the road again to our modest hotel room at the Crowne Plaza, we come to a stoplight. It's late at night, the time when the city itself is most beautiful, so I'm looking otu the sunroof and such, gazing at my surroundings. Buildings, roads, drivers playing harmonicas....
yes, that's right. When we first looked, we thought "Wow, that's the shiniest cell phone we've ever seen." But when he began to turn to go the opposite direction from which we'd come, he began to play, that's right, play the cell phone. He was playing the little metal object in one hand, and driving with the other.
Geezy, City people.
And so it came time for us to leave. We ate at a nice little Asian Cafe called the Tin Drum that night and had said goodbye to Patrick. Mom and I had left that morning going South on 85 while Dad had gone on 85 in order to meet up with 75. He kept calling us to make sure we knew how to get out of the city. About the 3rd call in, though, he says "I've been riding 85 and never got off on 75 north".
But that wasn't the funniest thing that happened on the road. I find that God doesn't like to kill people as much as he likes to scare them. Yeah. He likes to make sure that YOU know that you are alive. Yes, God has a sense of humour.
Do I know this because a tanker almost ran over my Mom and I on a two-lane backroad? Do I know this because there were bikers from behind us cursing us and our car? OR do i just know?
Just a hunch.

What Cleese Says, Goes....

2004-10-15T01:28:00.000-04:00

This, Ladies and Gents, is why we love John Cleese:

"How many Bush administration officials does it take to change a light bulb?

None. There’s nothing wrong with that light bulb. There is no need to change anything. We made the right decision and nothing has happened to change our minds. People who criticize this light bulb now, just because it doesn’t work anymore, supported us when we first screwed it in, and when these flip-floppers insist on saying that it is burned out, they are merely giving aid and encouragement to the Forces of Darkness"

see more about wine here.

Heaven-n-Hell

2004-10-14T21:22:00.000-04:00

For all of you who understand what I’m writing about, here is the continuation of my rantings during Lit today:

Catholics:
Heaven [US?]/ Purgatory [Canada?]/ Hell [France?]

Demos:
Heaven [The Whitehouse, though may God let them never see it"?"]/Hell[ The Currently Flourishing United States [[Fonda, just leave, please?]]]

Republicans:
Heaven [Democracy?]/ Hell [The Heinz Factory?]

College Students:
Heaven [college?]/Hell [college?]

The Baby Boomers:
Heaven [The 6o's?] / Hell [The 90's]

Pessimists:
Hell [Ronald Reagan?]/Hell [Living in Jamaica]

John Kerry, Al Gore, and all of the others that look and think like horses too:
Heaven [Finally looking as though their IQ matches the amount of money in their bank account?]/ Hell [well, I believe the 2004 election speaks for itself ]

What have I learned?

2004-10-14T17:16:00.000-04:00

I have learned never to blog tired.
and I apologize to all whom were massacred.
RIP
Mr. Labcoat, Track Star, and Dave the Barry

When I have more time, I shall resurrect thee

Until then, I have a meeting after 6th period at the pool....

Every Line is a Quote

2004-10-14T03:41:00.000-04:00

How come the American public is so obsessed with quotes? Is it that they can be universal? That we can easily show the greatness of others through their own words? Or the simple fact that we can’t think of clever things to say all by ourselves?

We quote everything. Movies, Politicians, Songs, ranting Blogs, and even, sometimes, on extreme rare occasion, we even quote our friends and family. What kind of a sick, sad culture are we that our first reaction anymore to “I love you” is “I know”?

When it comes to me personally, I have to be the saddest of them all. I don’t think I’ve spoken an original sentence in my entire life. I’m one of those Lit. students that opens every essay with a witty sarcastic remark FOUND by me but SAID by someone else. I find this to be the only way to go in a world where to quote Confucius is to get educational approval while quoting Usher is to get the popular vote.

My mind was currently dwelling on quotes today when I mentioned their effect on society to a friend of mine in our AP Lit. class. We were talking about how some of the best quotes aren’t from written speeches or books the size of Kansas, but rather, the best ones are the mundane ones.

Yes.

That’s right. The best time for a quote is when your doing everyday things such as : driving in a car, trying to do Calculus on one string of lead, studying for your next AP United States History exam, or brushing your teeth. These are all great examples of things you can do in your everyday life to extract wonderful quotes that you can remember forever.

Just remember this. When the chips are down and it’s you against them, it’s your choice. Use a quote, or say something stupid that can turn into a quote. The choice is yours. Now, go get yourself a Pesi…..

Another Holiday[s] is Upon Us

2004-10-13T03:45:00.000-04:00

It’s that time of the year again! The time when people come out at night and give you things. Yep, that’s right.
It’s Christmas.
See, when I was young, Christmas came somewhere between the beginning and end of December. Now, though, they’ve completely skipped Halloween and Thanksgiving and they’ve just come to the more Politically Correct “Fun-All-Around” holiday where the only people you have to trick is Santa, and there is plenty of thanksgiving. It seems to me that there are two holidays, though, that get under credited as being “hip”.
Halloween has suddenly, at least in my small Baptist community, a satanic ritual. There are two options for a proper Halloween here. 1) Go to a church funded get together which takes away all the sport of trick-or-treating because they give away the candy by the truckloads [which may be leading our country into obesity in itself, but I’ll blog about that later] or 2) go to every neighborhood in town in the back of a pick up truck and rake in candy by the bagfuls. [I think the age range for this particular behavior is between the adolescent stages of 17 and up]. Many people give them the candy anyways, though. Why not? You’d hate to be sued because you were the only one apparently not being “Politically Correct” about having an equal chance at being greedy.

But as I was saying about Christmas, Christ’s birth…. OH! I shouldn’t say that. Might I say “Pull out the Menorah” then? Or “Happy Kwanzaa!”

I personally don’t understand this whole Politically Correct myth. Yeah, you heard me. Myth.
Being of the species “Roman Catholic and Proud of It!” I am unable to understand the thinking of other religions to be more correct then mine. Perhaps it is my logic, perhaps it is theirs. Maybe it is possible though that we can all live like the true Christians we are and just say that Christmas is Christmas.
Celebrate it, yes.
Rub it in that you have yet ANOTHER different name for it, no.

I’ve decided to do research on this subject and I shall be sure to blog at a later date, closer to the upcoming holiday [season].

For All Those in 'Da Business'

2004-10-12T22:25:00.000-04:00

I have recently acquired a job. It seems that through my hard work, integrity, ingenuity, and a $20 bill I have become the leading popcorn gourmet at our local theater, Regency Cinema 7.
When I went for my job interview, it was a grueling test of wits:

"Do you work weekends?"
"Yes"
"Do you work Holidays?"
"Yes"
"Are you willing to sell us your soul?"
"Yes"
"Are you willing to clean bathrooms?"
"Sure"

I knew that if i wasn't careful, I might just lose my chance to sell you your next ticket to an overpriced, uncomfortably seated movie. I would have hated for that to happen.
As it was, I seem to have figured out her little mind game, and in the end, I won.

Now as a theater employed citizen of the movie-going industry, i must ask you, please pick up your cups, gummy bears, and tray tables when you leave the theater. I may work there, but I’d rather not have to actually DO anything.

Case in point, I am an art student and therefore I CAN’T do anything, so don't make me go against my nature.

So the next time you decide that Mel Gibson needs a yellow Skittle stuck up his nose, please, reconsider.

deeply appreciated

Ah, the Most Pointless Day of Existance!

2004-10-12T22:00:00.000-04:00

Today I'd just like to say school should be canceled. The point of going to school today was void of meaning. Quite blank.
My first block of the day began with the, as always, cynical mumblings of Mr. Reynolds, our art teacher.
My second block followed about the same pattern.
As did A plus.
As did the Two remaining blocks of the day.
"How are you so brilliant to be able to get out of a mound of makeup work?!" some may ask. The answer is easy...

"Art students never do jack"

That's our motto after all...

Following my theory, though, ALL school for ALL art students should be canceled. this would make OUR lives much easier as well as save you, the [son, daughter, or dog of a ] tax payer a trabillion dollars a year.
In other words, kids, if you want to live the 'high life', pretend that you can draw!

Welcome! [and i'm sorry already...]

2004-10-12T20:28:00.000-04:00

SSSNNNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!

AH! The smell of a new blog! Or, for those who know me, of a first blog. Welcome one and all to the only real blog online that really matters....except for all those medical ones floating around out there.....maybe....

Hopefully we shall share a laugh or two, but I’d mostly like to discuss the important topics such as "why does the toilet water in Australia flow the wrong way?" and " why do democrats exist?"

So join me, Comment on me, and Bear with me as I take you through a world where, hopefully, all your questions will be answered .