sometimes…you just have to experiment.
I’ve moved. Follow me to blogspot.
sometimes…you just have to experiment.
I’ve moved. Follow me to blogspot.
I’m around. Lurking through the webz.
I have a list of all these topics and items I want to write about. But I’m currently trying to re-vamp and identify — myself, my life, my blog, etc etc. That sounds way more philosophical than I truly intend it to be. I also intend on getting out of this procrastination rut and get to it. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but I’m working on finding the motivation to push myself.
For now, though, I sit at work, reading through this blog, sippin’ on some coffee, and becoming increasingly antsy to leave and get on the road with babe.
Road trips are my favorite, and aside from driving to Galveston, this will be the first road trip just me and him. (Well, and then billions of others at SXSW in Austin, TX, but you get my drift.)
So, fell off the bandwagon (again) but while I finally get around to typing out the 298304 blog article ideas I have, here’s a mini-essay in response to an article by my oh-so-smart boyfriend:
“The most interesting thing I take from the article and the bloggers is how easily Americans get caught up in defining a great “leader” by pointing out how much a person spent/provided for the citizens. The most difficult thing for other countries to grasp, and now most young Americans, is that the US is on a separate scale (should be/used to be) from all others. The third option in governing is through individualism. Stating that the US has poor people or doesn’t care for the poor is/should be completely irrelevant to what the purpose of the US actually is. In all other parts of the world, they dictate ‘poorness’ by how much or less the government provides. In the US, ‘poorness’ is dictated by how good or bad the economy is. America is “good” because the individual has the ability to choose their own path, whether miserable or happy, rich or poor, the individual doesn’t have a “leader” telling them how to live. The separation of powers makes it so that we don’t have something as pathetic as Venezuela. Most of my generation (maybe because we all grew up wanting to be famous on television) wants to be led by some great, enthusiastic, charismatic leader. The original ideas brought into the new world are dying. In Houston there is a mural of Obama. (Not in a state or federal building.) That’s not American. The American shouldn’t idolize and beg to be told how to live properly. We have lost our way because assimilation is deemed racist or something. Like my ancestors, I would rather starve, fight, and die than wait in line for a man/woman to decide on what rations I get. Some of you may have just finished your intro to philosophy class and want to say something smart like, “you think you’re free? you’re a slave to materialism, a slave to the corporate machine, a slave to fake money. you think you are fulfilling your own goals but they are goals given to you because you are limited to certain options, therefore you are not free, etc.” All I have to say to those bedwetters is, (in an anology to make it short) I am free to quit my job, I am free to not be able to pay rent, I am free to get kicked out of my apartment, I am free to default on my loans and car, and I am free to starve. The moment I take unemployment checks, foodstamps, donations, public housing, etc. Then I am no longer free. If you don’t like freedom because it means sick and poor people, then I understand why you like Chavez and progressive/socialist/modernamericanliberalism.”
I know you’ve seen them: the “memes” all over the internet that humorously attribute trivial and petty problems as “first world problems.” And while they’re generally hilarious, the truth in them is almost embarrassing. Growing up in the United States, I, as well as my peers, have had the luxury of not experiencing first-hand war, political unrest, and an overwhelming state of poverty usually found in third-world countries. This is what, obviously, distinguishes us as first-world country. We have entered into a wishful era where we, mainly my generation, believe war is obsolete. That we are truly are the closest to “world peace” than we have ever been. War, just like love, and jealously, and multitude of other things, is part of the human condition. And it is this disconnect with this human condition that leads to my generations desperate grasp for anything revolutionary. The desire to be a part of something. Any movement to get jacked up about. See the Occupy Movement.
Let me back up just a bit. War was a very integral part of the lives of my grandparents and great-grandparent’s generation. Right around the turn of the 20th century, the world was still pretty unstable and everyone was just trying to float along, for the most part. My parent’s generation was a bit of a bridge. Raised in strict, conservative households, it was finally acceptable to break free from those norms. Hello, the counterculture! And yes, there were demonstrations and protests against the Vietnam War, and then the less known Korean War. But fact of the matter is that the United States has been in a war pretty much since WWII. And somehow along the way, my generation is unaware of what happened in Kuwait. Or Bosnia. Or that the US presence in South Korea is what keeps the South Koreans safe. Not to mention the uprisings, and civil wars in the Middle East and Africa, the Persian Gulf War, Iraq invading Afghanistan. To describe this as merely conflicts is derogatory in the least.
Our ignorance is what has led us to become preoccupied with inconsequential circumstances, to our “first world problems.” We’re unaware and unaffected by what happens in the rest of the world, a complete contrast to our previous generations. Don’t get me wrong: I myself indulge in my first-world lifestyle and sometimes get caught up with frivolousness. I’m honestly neither saying this is wrong or right. But I just merely wish to point out the interesting progression of mankind. This is just my observation of how we’ve gotten to this point so far.
Your profession is to “play pretend,” much like my friends and I did when we were 8 during recess as princesses and fairies and teachers and god knows what else. The only difference being that you make millions of dollars by playing “house”, while I had to clean up my mess in time for dinner. You live in a pretend world that’s hardly reality. So with that being said, don’t liken yourself to everyday Americans and stay the hell out of everything else that is reality and understand that most people won’t take you seriously as long as the hardest part of your day is playing cowboys and indians.
Classes started last week and with it tons of anxiety as well. I’ve been out of school for five years, going on six, and I’m completely out of practice. Even though I’m only taking three classes, with a 40-hour work week, I’m pretty loaded. Plus on top of that I have a titten and a hims and a home to look after, so no easy task. But even though I wish I’d taken everyone’s advice and started college immediately after high school, a part of me is glad I’m starting that chapter of my life now. I’m more mature, more focused, and way more of a home body than I was 4-5 years ago. Plus it’s good to be busy.
Last week was TOO busy though. It was my last week at my second job since I wasn’t able to quit the week before I started school. (That would’ve been ideal…) But through all the craziness, Tuesday was a wonderful night. Jason had gotten on the list for a Lynard Skynard tribute show (hosted by Michael Berry). If you grew up in the south, you know swamp rock and you know Lynard Skynard. Jason particularly was raised listening to southern rock and blues. So the band was fanatastic, the free food was wonderful, managed to snag a picture with Michael Berry himself (I’ll post a picture later..), and got to meet Steve Cropper, who is a very, very talented musician in the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame, but the highlight of my night is when the band started playing “Simple Man.” I noticed to my right a young man was helping his (what I assumed to be) girlfriend from her wheelchair to stand and dance with him. It was a very sweet moment (let’s just say my eyes wouldn’t stay dry) and I’m glad to have been there to witness it. Later on, I struck up a conversation with the girl, whose name is Vanessa, and spent most of the rest of my night talking to her. I gave her my e-mail, and she has yet to send me a message, but I hope to to see one soon. Her story and the tenderness of that moment were very moving for me.
I’m glad to report that 2013 has been wonderful so far.