Starlight, Star-bright

Where the fuck is the Blue Fairy when you need her?

I'm sorry, I usually refrain from using profanities in my blog. Which is a big step for me. But I am frustrated right now.

I have wishes, and I want them fucking fulfilled. Sometimes this fulfillment seems as though it's going to take a miracle of Disney-like proportions to do it. Hence my wondering of where the magic is.
This is the biggest wish I have right now is this: why can you not just know deep in your bones what you are supposed to do with your life? Not just what you are going to do with your life, but what your calling is, what it is that you will put out into the world that is utterly unique - that no one else could have or will. I know this is both a naive belief, and a largely culturally influenced one. The idea of everyone being special, of individuals, is and has been a Western belief, a perspective - not even reality. This doesn't deter me from firmly believing that there is something specific that everyone is meant to do. Something that we are good at, or good for. We all have something to offer, though not all of us discover it within our lifetimes. Or sometimes it is too late. Then there are those who do.
You know who I'm talking about. The teacher whose impact was so strong that you remember them __ years later. The author whose book moved you to act, whether it was laughter, tears, or something greater. The leaders who made monumental decisions for their countries and bettered the world. The men and women who have made and make great scientific discoveries every day. The musicians who write music unlike anything we have heard before or will hear again.
These are the people who have discovered what they are supposed to do. I am not one of them

I desperately wish that I was. I know that I am a gifted writer. To me, this statement is in no way egotistical - it is a fact. I say it the same way I tell my friends that they are incredibly talented at __ thing - it is not praise to make them feel good about themselves, it is fact. When you are naturally gifted at something, however, I find it, at least for me, is difficult to be passionate about it. How is it that we can be passionate about walking? Breathing? Something that is so basic to us. And yet there are great hikers, great athletes. There are those whose lives are dedicated for meditation - to valuing a slow breath and quiet mind.
We are in university so that we may catapult ourselves into our lives. We are mostly 18 or 19 when we enter and we (mostly) leave four years later. Whether or not we return is irrelevant, because my point is this: in those four years, at this young age, how is it that we are supposed to make the biggest decision of our lives? How do we decide what we are supposed to do?

I wish I had the answer to that question.
Or maybe there is no answer - maybe we don't decide. Maybe we aren't meant to. Maybe life is a process of trial and error. Of guesses. Maybe all we can do is try and understand what it is we love, what it is we would rather die that give up. Maybe there is no Blue Fairy.

On another note

Have you ever looked at your friends?
What a silly question, I know. I mean, we look at our friends everyday (in fact, one of them needs a shave, I think), but, of course, I'm talking about a different kind of "looking". The metaphorical kind that goes much deeper than the skin, than the ordinary.
Yesterday I noticed something about my friends, I noticed that of a fairly large group of us we want to become teachers, doctors, psychologists, humanitarians, and various other things that involve helping others, guiding others. Now, I realize that it's quite common for people, especially the young and impressionable types of people found in universities to want to help others. However, I find it excessively interesting that somehow, through what could largely be random chance, we have found and surrounded ourselves with such types of people. None of us want to be historians, lawyers (I don't think), librarians, bankers, accountants, etc. We aren't interested in putting a coldness between us and others. We aren't in this education business for the sole reason of making money. All of us can agree that money is nice, money is necessary, but ultimately the majority of us are interested in "humanity". And it doesn't matter what our faculty is.
We all have that interest invested in others. How does this happen? How do people come together, friends mostly because we live conveniently in the same building, in the same hallway, and end up with this deep-rooted likeness to each other. Of all of the people who I first met, first hung out with, I now live with three, and am friends with all. The first thing we asked was not, "what is your purpose in life", though, oddly enough, this was our first drunken philosophical conversation, approximately a week and a half after meeting. I am aware that people befriend based on convenience and similarity, but I find it remarkable that we found each other. Was it chance? Was it instant realization that basically we must all have such similar backgrounds and goals? Are all university students now just in it for others?
Who knows. One day I might actually study these questions, but as for now I remain overtired at eleven pm, and procrastinating from my studies that will turn me into a humanitarian. I hope.

In class surfing.

You've got to wonder just what people get up to on their laptops.
It's this tiny little database of everything you could possibly be interested in, it has the ability to hold all your thoughts (word processing), all your memories (photos/videos), all of your personal preferences... someone's laptop says a lot about them. But, what I wonder, is just what people use them for, which also makes me wonder exactly what classroom laptop etiquette is.
I mean, if someone's got Facebook up and is quite obviously creeping on some cute guy they just met, or jealously photo-stalking a friend, are you allowed to watch? It is in the middle of a room, and they've got to be aware of the other people around them, but what they're doing represents that evil part of your person. The part of you that obsesses over that guy, the part of you that secretly hates your friend, your classmates aren't supposed to witness that piece of yourself.
So why are you making it so goddamn easy?

I was sitting in Creative Writing they other day, and I noticed the girl next to me was idly browsing the internet. No big deal. The next time I looked back at her screen, though, she was intensely reading a Wikipedia article about Stockholm syndrome. Why? Of course, I quickly looked away, I didn't really think she'd appreciate me goggling at the fact she's reading an article about what can happen to someone who's been kidnapped. And then I started thinking, had she recently been kidnapped? Was she in an abusive relationship she likened to being kidnapped? Did she know someone in a cult who she thought was experienceing Stockholm syndrome? Had she simply NEVER paid attention to any psych/sociology/any humanities course/TV show about spies/etc, and therefore did not understand the term "Stockholm syndrome"? Had she accidentally clicked on it and just decided to read it? Did she just happen to have a seriously intense reading face?
All of these thoughts were flowing through my mind when I was supposed to be thinking about the setting of my short story.
I was so confused, though. I wanted to ask her why she was reading that, but something told me that it probably wasn't very good laptop etiquette to admit that I had been reading over her shoulder. And what if she was suffering from Stockholm syndrome? I can imagine it would be a rather touchy subject. But why look at something like that in class? Why allow everyone sitting around you to see exactly what's going on inside your head?
It's like that scene in Batman Forever, when the Riddler has that weird TV device that takes your thoughts and projects them in front of you. Side note: why does Batman have bats on the brain? I mean, that can't be the only thing going on up there. Anyways, it's almost as thought Batman Forever was telling the future, laptops have quite clearly become the things upon which our thoughts are projected.
Is this good or bad?
I have yet to decide.

More to... what?

I feel like it's kind of wrong to capitalize off "fat" people.
I am, of course, talking about the show 'More to Love' that I watch partially to feel good about myself, partially to laugh, and partially because it holds the same morbid fascination as a car wreck. I understand that the basic premise of the show is to demonstrate that plus-size people can find love too. Apparently, the average size of a woman on a dating show is a 2 and the average size of the people on this show has got to be 14 and upwards. The only thing I'm not understanding is that if the average size of a woman in North America is a 12, which likely means most women hover around there, but also fall below at both 8 and 10, how come, in the name of showing this, the woman on this show are bordering on the cusp of unhealthy?
I understand the aspect of portraying part of our culture that usually doesn't get much air-time in favor of the skinnier counterparts. I also feel as though this kind of program is glorifying obesity. It's not like I'm a part of the population that's 2, but I still am uncomfortable with the capitalization off "fat".
Putting the insecurities up on TV, listening to at least one woman bemoan wearing a bathing suit every single week also doesn't seem like something designed to muster the sensitivity of viewers. I feel like it's designed so that people can either a. laugh at it or b. feel better about their own self esteem because of it.
This is, however, an incredibly touchy subject. Am I saying that I don't believe that the plus-sized should be entitled to love? To trashy dating shows? No, I'm asking why it's necessary they have their own? Why must they be segregated from the population? Is it wholly acceptable that there has to be dating shows for "skinny" people and dating shows for "fat" people.
I've watched both of these varieties. On the "skinny" shows, it's all about sex and chemistry, on the "fat" show, it's largely about self-esteem and "loving for what's on the inside". I'm on episode 6 and there has still been no hot house hook-up. The thing is, I think the guy on 'More to Love' is just as douchey as the other Bachelors out there. Just because he's plus-sized, doesn't mean he's a total player who's learned to say the words, "I really want to get to know you deeper, what you're really all about" while making puppy-dog eyes. In one episode one of the ladies is looking at a breath-taking view of the city, he says it's beautiful, she says "I know", and he goes, "I was talking about you". And then I vomited. Just a little. In my mouth.
Basically what I have a problem with is the segregation of "skinny" and "fat" when really I don't think those things make a really large difference of who a person is. There are teeny mega-bitches, and there are plus-sized mega-bitches. So, capitalizing off the "fat" aspect of a show, unless it's something legitimate, like "The Biggest Loser" which is about health and improving for the sake of yourself, is wrong. It's not demonstrating "understanding" for different kinds of people, it's putting barriers between people.

BTS

Ohh BTS. In Vancouver it's greeted by intermittent rain and sun, falling leaves, and a general quaint-ness in the air.
I have always felt like Back-to-School is the beginning of a season. Ok, yes, September is the technical beginning of autumn, so what?! But anyways, it's not just the beginning of the "fall" season, but also something that happens more in the mind. The gears seem to click from summer laziness into a larger focus, things start to happen. Having classes gives everyone a sense of purpose greater than a random summer job, or sitting on the couch watching really bad MTV, but it also gives everyone a sense of wanting to do something. People want relationships, they want friendships, they want to start in with clubs, and, I think, people want to feel as though they are a part of something.
Now, I'm not sure if the sense of purpose is just an off-shoot of starting school, the epitome of "purpose", at the same time every year since we can remember, or if it's the physical seasonal change. Most likely, it's a combination of both. I mean, after four months of sitting around, dozing in the sun, and reading crappy vampire teen books, there's a bit of a snap, and that "if I don't do something I might actually go insane". But also, as the hot weather tapers off and we can't laze on the beach, it seems appropriate we find other ways to keep warm. We join things, we meet people, we do.

However, the initial hustle is dying down, and I can feel a burn out coming on. My housemates and I are sleepier in the mornings, we're more tired at night. Perhaps we're just adjusting, or perhaps the summer was just too good to us.

Don't you wanna...

Fanta?

Just kidding.
Though, a fizzy beverage would be nice right now.
But seriously, don't you ever want to say, "Let's get real here". Don't you want to be that earth-shattering, soul-crushing, oh-so-satisfying, reality check. The "REALLY?" from SNL, but every night, and day?
Don't you want to avoid all that guilt that you just know will come welling up afterwords?

Check out www.getrealzies.blogspot.com and send them your guilty pleasure of reality checks via email.

A Little Shout Out from the Silent Bob of This Operation

I may not be on campus but I've got a few tricks up my sleves. So keep your trampy commuter stamp to yourself and sleep with one eye open UBC, cause I'm not going anywhere.

Memo to Consumers

My days of working in a retail, mainstream, clothing store are nearly over. Four shifts remain, standing between me and freedom of the perpetual fold. Even if I remain in the customer service industry, which I will, there is a list I feel I must make. An ode of sorts to my customers.

You're walking into the store. It is neat, clean, respectable. Your first instinct upon spotting the item you're looking for is to rifle through the piles, grabbing one of each color of course, and leaving only disaster in your wake. You realize you have grabbed the wrong size, you ask the nearest Fitting Room Attendant to find you the right ones. In every color. After trying on each shirt, you drop them unceremoniously onto the bench in your change room and select one (ONE) to actually buy. You want another color, one you did not see on the table, so you pester an available Sales Associate for it. Finding that we do not, you go up to pay and heckle over the price because somewhere on your journey you have seen a price that says "5 Dollars". The Cashier insists you are wrong. You demand to speak with a manager. The manager is summoned, and promptly dismisses you, telling the cashier to charge you the demanded price for the shirt. You leave the store with a sense of triumph.

"You" are my days and nights. And there are a few things you should know.

1. That table you first ruined? I've folded every single shirt on it more times than I can count. I will do it again and glare at you as you leave the vicinity. If I catch your eye and you feign bashfulness, whispering "sorry", I will hold back a biting response. Contrary to popular belief, "sorry" doesn't fold things. I do. All day.
2. Even if something comes in different colors, they will all fit you the same if they are in the same size.
3. That size? You should know it. You're 26 and up.
4. You may think that it's our job, but we're not there solely to dash off and get you sizes, in each color you've picked out. We, the Sales Associate, have shit to do. If you're going to need someone to be at your beck and call, bring a friend or family member. The same goes for telling you if you're butt looks alright in those pants. Let's face it, it's weird for both of us.
5. If you open the fitting room door upon getting a size, and you're naked, even if you're standing behind the door, we can still see you. There is a mirror right next to you, and yes, this is also awkward for us.
6. If you're in a couple, no you may not change together. I don't care if you're both V4L, children are changing in rooms all around you and the last thing their parents need is to be faced with the question of "what are those sounds?". I also do not need to catch flak from those parents. Don't be exhibitionists.
7. I am not your mother. When you leave clothes all over the floor and bench in those tiny fitting rooms, I do not enjoy having to clean up after you. Argue that it's "my job" all you want, but it's called common courtesy, and you should find it.
8. In the back of every store is a magical door through which everything you have ever asked an Associate for resides. Sizes, colors, you name it. You know this because you always seem to ask if we have any "in the back" - a code for this place. This place is also home to all of the mythical creatures from the land of Narnia.
9. Illiteracy is still a problem in this country. I know this because even if the sign says "dresses" you will still insist that it is for the shirts seven feet from it.
10. You're belief system is strong. So much so that you will fight for a fifty cent difference since you believe it is right. I think "cheap", you think "righteous". You are not a knight, this is not Camelot, it is fifty cents.
11. That manager that you felt an instant sense of comradeship with when she told me to "go ahead and do it", by default agreeing with you, is not your friend. Fifty seconds after you leave they will turn to me and ask exactly what you have gotten stuck up your ass that morning. I will speculate various objects, making them laugh.
12. There are some of you that I like, that I want to help, that I want to give discounts to. These are the ones who have worked in retail, who have made this list in their head. They understand. You should be this person, perhaps then you could find Narnia, too.

Wheel of Fortune

I've been ignoring the news lately.
And by lately I mean all summer.
Though the BBC News is my homepage, I somehow bypass it every time I log on in favor of Facebook and other such mindless things.
I'm now catching up on my headlines, and I realize that it's an incredibly luxury to be able to ignore the news. To be able to ignore such things as the release of highly dangerous bombers (Lockerbie bombing, UK and Middle East), major explosions of power-plants (Russia), thousands of children falling sick with lead poisoning due to toxic factory leaks (China), and people coming together courageously to vote in an election opposed by the Taliban. It's a luxury that, sitting pretty in my home over here in North America, I can ignore what's happening in and to the world, retreating into my bubble.
I look at it as a blessing and a curse. Obviously, it is a blessing that I live in a country safe enough to be immune to all of these atrocities, but the blissfulness of ignorance is still simply ignorance. It's a trait I can not stand in others, although I know I have it, too. It comes from a lifetime of being bred in a bubble in which I remain safely untouched by the events of the world.
The first time I realized this was the traumatic 9/11, though compared to many world events 9/11 is far from the worst. I was informed of it at eleven years of age. Sitting in my Grade 6 classroom. We were silent for a full minute. The moment passed. Life resumed as though nothing had happened. Across the continent there was panic, heart wrenching despair, and disbelief. My emotions were limited to annoyance for the notes I made on various subjects.
Since then life has kept to its fashion. I rarely am cursed by having to feel any outrage or sadness at events happening many miles from where I am. I think the closest I have come was the four months I spent my last year of high school on a crusade against all the bad in the world. If I could have I would have hopped a plane to Burma and protested along with the monks. Of course, the more you watch the world crumble, the more hopeless it becomes.
I am not only ignorant, but a coward. Even in talking about the strife of the world, I have become horribly self-indulgent. So I digress.
It is remarkably bittersweet that half the world can tastefully remove itself from global pain. It can sit back into its comfortable homes and change the channel when the African children with stomachs distended from hunger interrupt their sitcoms. For all that we do, there is still all that we could be doing, but ignorance, cowardice, and the basic, ever-present, human greed stand in the way of many. Yes, there are the few who strike out to support a world that seemingly crumbles around us, but they are not enough. When I think of my future career, like many others, I am torn. There is the path that would lead to wild success, to obvious wealth, to comfort in my bubble, and then there is the uncertain path of aid.

What if we, the university students deciding our futures, took the second path as Robert Frost so often wishes he had at graduations. What if the lawyers worked pro-bono more than pro-wealth, the doctors without borders, and myself, a student of society, did something, anything, to burst the bubble?
Well - what if?

Ch-ch-ch-changes.

I feel like I've entitled a blog by this beloved David Bowie lyric before, which is not in the spirit of the song at all, but meh.
On an entirely different note from the previous blog of the night. I am in a good place right now. It's that place wherein I have an indescribable itch. No, it is not an STI. It is that itch that comes when I want change, but more so when I am ready for change. Sometimes this manifests in slightly sinister ways, like cheating on a boyfriend or involving yourself in a little self-destructive partying. Fortunately, these are both things that are wholly acceptable to first-year, and also in my past. What is more fortunate, though, is that this time I am itching for a change I am in a very cheerful mood. Which of course means that the changes I will inevitably seek to make will be good ones. That, or they will blow up in my unsuspecting face.
Either way, the itch will not go away until change is made. Therefore it is also good that I am moving back to my beloved city, moving in with some beloved friends, and moving on with some not so beloved bits of past and such.
Sometimes, I really enjoy the self-indulgence of having a blog and therefore a silent audience.
I mean, really, it's very alike to being the torturer at an inquisition, whatever you do your captive audience simply has to receive, and as the author you don't really have to give a damn what they think. It's great. Though, hopefully I am not torturing any of the readers, and if so... Stop reading, you silly masochists.
Julie and Julia (an acting feat of Meryl Streep, an excellent performance by Stanley Tuchi, but really just a silly movie) points out that blogs are self-indulgent, and made successful by the selfish. Mostly because, when all else fails, you just talk about yourself in second, or third, person. Personally, though, I highly recommend it.
A little bit of selfishness in life is what everyone needs, because even the most selfless person needs me time. And instead of maxing out a credit card on new clothes, or remodeling your bathroom, or embarking on a riotous and scandalous affair, why not just take a while to talk about yourself, your feelings, your thoughts, to what seems like an entirely captivated, hushed audience?

Confession time

I have never had a "song" with anyone I've dated. Mind you, I'm not particularly the cutesy type like that, but still. Never have I had a song to smile over, and then later sob along to after a bittersweet breakup. However, as weird as it may be, I frequently have "songs" with my friends. Ones that we dance to, ones that come to us unexpectedly. This might be SClub or HSM- like. They might be the ones that you bounce around your room to, or play drinking games in secret along with (who knew they were illegal in BC? The drinking games, that is.). They may be the ones that blast every Friday from your hallmate's bedroom down the hall, and even though you don't really like techno, every time you hear you it you remember those Fridays, and of course the last, and unofficial Friday, the Last Day Of Class. They could even be the songs that continuously play on the radio for some reason when you and two close friends happen to be together. They could be the songs that become the anthem of the day, the roadtrip, the week, and the memory.
Wow, for all that I say I've never had a "song" from the above, I realize I'm kind of a "song" slut.
Sometimes, there is just no better way to express yourself. Sometimes everything you need and want to say comes in lyrical format. It's an interesting phenomenon, and one that the world is familiar with - we have been making music for pretty much the entire existance of humanity. It is not my place to break new ground.
The great thing about having these soundtracks is that, like the powerful memory trigger of smell, certain songs can trigger great things, and they can trigger terrible things. It's why the bfs and gfs of the world like to have a "song". They can feel good about themselves and let that quickly turn to feelings of regret, self-loathing, and a weird sense of relief. It is truly much safer to have "songs" for yourself, and events that just kind of happen. It simplifies thing so that sad events are accompanied by songs that make you feel that way, and happy events are accompanied by songs that buoy you. See? Life is simple. You just have to know how to work it.

Slap in the Face

I've just finished My Best Friends Wedding. The overly large cellphones Julia and her gay best friend speak on at the end used to strike me as so sophisticated when I first saw this movie - I was most likely seven at the time. Now twelve years later (yikes) my own phone is about a fifth of the size, and my hair is shockingly alike to Ms. Roberts in that movie, and I even have a handful of gay friends with whom to dance the night away. This movie has been one of the only chick flicks I will watch repeatedly, and the only that comes to mind that I actually respect as a piece of cinematic magic, not solely based on the fact that my life has weirdly come to resemble it.
Back when I was seven and first watched this movie, I thought that Julia would end up with the debonair English man, who nearly always strikes me as the more pleasant choice between Mr. Clingy and himself. Back when I was seven I also really didn't comprehend what it meant to be "gay". I watched the movie again at ten (ish) and realized that I loved it.
It wasn't until later in life that I knew I loved it for being reality. I loved it for the lack of suger coating, I loved it for the moment when Julia Roberts realizes the man she loves has married someone else because sometimes you don't end up with the person you want, sometimes you end up alone with only a gay best friend. That's life.
It seems that everyone right now is obsessed with the idea of the happy ending, of the bright side. Everyone wants to live in a dream world. Don't get me wrong, I am technically a dreamer. I scheme and plan and have crazy scenarios that I want desperately to happen. I want to make the impossible possible constantly. I have this one friend whose purpose it seems is to pop my proverbial balloon, but I love him anyways because he is the person-version of My Best Friend's Wedding.
What gets me is the sugary outside of all these movies and plot lines and fantasy lives that everyone seems to want to lead. You've got girls singing about they're happy endings all over the radio at fifteen and middle-aged women falling all over themselves to get a man in movies. And what's more is that these stories all have the happy ending. They get the guy, get married and drop off into the sunset. The groundbreaking days of the Sex and the City reality are over. We've officially regressed.
There is nothing wrong with a happy ending. It's just from the moment I was ten, when I understood why My Best Friend's Wedding was so revolutionary to me, I've understood that it can be foolish to pursue one straight out of Hollywood. These ideas of perfection are the "lies our mother told us", the fairy tales that we are supposed to be guarded against. When popular fairy tales were first conceived they were grisly and often harsh. Cautionary tales. My personal favorite Disney movie, Beauty and the Beast, was a story girls were told before they're wedding night. Think about it, though I try not to. I really love that movie.
Outside of the realm of Disney, I am of the belief that a cold, hard dose of reality is needed. The movies that I love are the ones that are realistic, that end the way life does. I understand that hope is something that keeps us going as humans, but where does the line between hope and foolishness end? The player is not going to fall for the sweet girl and ultimately change his ways as we would be left to believe, even by a cynical series such as Sex and the City. Fundamentally, people do not change, people do not follow a script. Unpredictability is the best hope that we have, it's exciting and it's life. Who needs Hollywood?

Right now...

I'm glaring at my duffel bag. It's stylish, black, overly large, and apparently not enough for a low-key, two week vacation from life and slavery at an Old Navy.
I hate packing. It's so irksome, having to consider everything I might do, everywhere I might go... let's just say I'm not someone who microscopically considers all of the things one might fill two weeks with. I much prefer living in the moment entirely, letting my days take me where they will. And obviously this requires a much more versatile wardrobe than a little black bag. No matter how stylish.
Life, I think, is not meant to be lived out of a small, pre-planned duffel. It just happens, unfolding as it will. And hopefully from the confines of an extra-large closet. My metaphors are slowly spiraling out of control here, but it's true. I feel as though I need to be dressed for my day, my mood, for what I want to do. Everyone is a little like that. It's why the fashion industry has so much impact, and what makes it a multi-billion dollar business. As Shakespeare once said, life is a stage and we're all the players. Except he said it much more eloquently, and I feel awful using one of the most quoted lines in the history of the English language. But my point. Clothing makes us who we are, it puts us in the right state of mind. There are clothes that are "us" and there are those that are not. I know I wear something trendy when I am feeling particularly cool, and something sophisticated when I feel like a lady. I act differently depending my clothes. You can see these mood shifts in others in the way they carry themselves in new clothes, old clothes, different clothes.
Alright, after saying clothes so many times in the past sentence I have finally admitted to myself something I have been toying with over the past few weeks: I need a vacation.

Virgin Words

I was intrigued by a Virgin ad today. Virgin Mobile, that is.
It read, "It didn't happen if it's not on Facebook." And it's true. It seems as though right now we, at least here in the good ol' North American region, validate ourselves through Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, IM. If something in our lives isn't online, it may as well not exist. The internet has become the new pyramids. I touch on this issue a lot, the influence of technology in our lives, but it just has such ringing truth. And it's a truth that has come to be sardonically and readily acknowledged.
Friends of mine became a couple a few months back. I am ashamed to admit that after they delivered the news I asked quickly, "Is it Facebook-official yet?". Essentially this means, "Yes, but have you told the world? Your world? The online community?" Without this so-called community's acknowledgement, it is as though a relationship, even one that I witnessed (unfortunately and fortunately) first-hand, was not "reality" until it was cyber. A bunch of ones and zeros floating around in the vortex of reality. A black space of megapixels that life seemingly takes place in.
"Surrogates" is a new movie (coming to theatres this Fall) that is based on the notion that humans will one day live through robot counter parts, simply laying in a bed, plugging in one's mind, and letting the machine go out and live your life. Which is kind of like a live-action Facebook when you think about it. Facebook is our therapist - we take quizzes to see who/what we are. Facebook is our social life - our friends connect with us on it. Facebook is our fun - it has games galore, right?
It would be ridiculous to think that we could simply give up on life and live it plugged in. And yet, a very large part of me tells me that's already in the works. It may have already happened when we weren't looking. Well, when we were looking at our screens.
This whole rant, though, is entirely hypocritical. I blog instead of raising a voice. The String is my soap-box, and I stand on it proudly.
However, I'm coming to believe that for all our "advancements" we're missing out on something. The bigger picture perhaps. After all, it is hard to see the 'big picture' when we're all focused on such little screens.

The End of an Era

North Korea is threatening nuclear war, the Swine Flu rages on, the Recession is (apparently) in full swing, and Michael Jackson has died. The latter is the buzz around the globe right now, and as we (apparently) sit on the brink of The End of the World, it's raised some questions for me. The most pressing of which is: what is going to happen to the kids of tomorrow? What is Gen-Whatever going to be like?
Michael was the Prince. What he did for pop-culture simply can not be duplicated. I realize this is not a revolutionary thought but all the same it is true. But, like MJ, these "greats" are fading. Or dying of overdoses.
Too soon?
Anyways, I was informed today by my usual pop-culture aid that a movie quite close to our hearts, and a large part of the 90s, is being made into a television series. By Disney. It's "10 Things I Hate About You" and yes, you are allowed to be shocked and repulsed, as you should be. How can this happen? How can something that should be sacred be replicated. This is worse than when Fall Out Boy and John Mayer collaborated on a cover of "Beat It". With all this copy-cat business going around, all future generations are going to be left with are cheap knock-offs of the great things of the past. And everyone knows a cheap knock-off isn't even a tenth as good as the real thing.
I find it really sad that instead of perpetuating what was good it needs to be "updated" for this new, techno-immersed generation. We need... Sorry, I took a short break to watch the "First Look" of the series. Now I am utterly incensed. Check out the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYY8wXaMhLI&feature=related.
Anyways. My point is, amidst all the "serious" world drama that will have a definite impact on generations to come, it's this indefinite impact of pop-culture that has me thrown. Although it's largely North American, it spreads itself around the globe, and soon everyone is doing the "Numa. Numa" dance (a little insider- YouTube joke there). While I think my generation is the last to truly get a taste of the era of pop-culture that was original, new and groundbreaking, the next one is not going to get that luxury. Instead, it gets the Disney Channel.

INXS

No, not the band, but actually excess. Working in retail you can't help but think about excess. About people walking in with bags full of stuff, walking out with bags full of stuff. Buying, buying, buying. Heckling over prices from thirty to two dollars. It's kind of sickening when you begin to consider the amount of consumption in society. Mostly just the perverse excuse for culture North America has to offer, but there are some outer edges in which having is everything.
I believe that the longer one spends working in retail the more faith is lost in humanity. I'm at that point right now, and I work at an Old Navy, somewhere not even close to the top echel0ns of the consumer world, but perhaps observing from the bottom is key. Of all the Gap, Inc. chains, Old Navy is the only one to have increased in profits in the last year. It's cheap, people get more for less. I just find this mania to get more more more slightly depressing.
That's not to say that I don't still get the urge to sell my soul for that really exquisite pair of Manolo Blahniks. Because I do. Every time I see one. But the fact that we're all so obsessed with consumption has got me down.
Perhaps it's because I'm watching a thirteen year old British munchkin get the birthday of her dreams on My Super Sweet Sixteen. The only thing running through my mind is that this little Barbie-doll make up, St. Tropez tanning, Italian designer gown buying, flipping shit over a lack of a performer, swearing at her mother girl is only THIRTEEN. She doesn't even meet the age requirement of the show and yet she's talking about her Juicy Couture items and buying a Zac Posson gown while lusting after a Balenciaga bag. Alright, I'm dropping names slightly. But it's absolutely appalling to me that at only thirteen this girl has already discovered how to boss around party planners, name drop, and pinky wrap. And she gets literally everything she's after. (Probably due to the lack of "Daddy" to match "Mummy" - alamony, perhaps?) All I got when I was thirteen was low self esteem.
Some people have all the luck... and represents everything the average [over]consumer dreams of having.

Time.

It's incredibly terrifying how quickly it goes?
As I sit here watching the pilot of Heroes and listen to the tiny, enthusiastic, Asian man ramble on about time travel and how most people envision time as a straight line I realized just how long its been since I blogged. Immediately I sprang to defend it with just how busy I've been - two jobs, finally being able to exercise again, living my life, pondering just what I'm doing with my life - oh, hang on, tiny Asian man just teleported into a whorehouse and then claimed not to be a pervert. Amusing.
Anyways, my point was that no matter how time passes and how things manage to get in the way, it is your choices that bring it there. I probably could have found time to write, just like I could be finding time to do everything that I want to do. Which right now is a jumble of confusing things bundled with worries about how I will find the means to do them. Is it terrible to want to have an amazing life? I don't really think so. I think that everyone wants that. Everyone wants to make a difference and be remembered and feel worthwhile, but somehow time gets in the way of things.
Which brings me back to the time-as-a-straight-line thing. I just don't picture time that way. I think it's more composed of pictures. Think about it, you can be sitting here, like me, plotting your future, trying to imagine what it would be like to complete a double major, or say f*** it and run off to build houses in Peru, or go on exchange, and then you can go downstairs and eat some watermelon and look out at your teeny backyard and suddenly your four again, sitting with your Dad in your Grandma's old house, slurping messily on watermelon.
People simply don't exist in straight lines. We're all over the place. We're constantly transporting ourselves (much like the tiny Asian man) from point to point in time. It doesn't seem to matter too much that while physically, yes, we progress generally along a fixed "line" mentally we are going through something else entirely. Some people get stalled in the past, and some people are simply too fixed on the future to enjoy the moment, and those living just in the moment usually end up screwing themselves in the long run. I think that in order to properly exist we've all just got to live the life we picture for ourselves, without letting random choices get in the way.

Is it terrifying?

That I finally understand the lure of reality TV?
It comes back to the movie business. We're so used to the story lines, the intimate cliches so well known by now, that reality TV is actually, well, refreshing.
I'll back up.
Alright, so there are approximately 41 different narratives in existence. Which means there are 41 different patterns any book, movie, or TV show can follow. At this point we're fairly used to the well-known narratives. The romantic comedies in which someone falls for another person, it's unrequited until the last second when the loved one realizes she/he too is in love with their best friend/doorman/waiter, etc. There's the stories in which there's a drastic change of heart, and the person changes for the better. There's the rags-to-riches, the crime drama in which the main character and the character we least expect to live survive, the horror movie in which the blonde and the stupid jock always die first. And now we've got the Seth Rogen, in which the endearingly dorky/unfit protagonist always gets the girl/achieves his mission in the end. Essentially, it's all been done, and as much as I love movies, it gets pretty predictable. In fact, my test of a movie's, or TV show's, merit is if I can guess the outcome before it ends. The guesswork is taking all the fun out of it, though. And then there's "reality TV".
The thing about this new aspect of television is that their is not script, no pre-determined narrative. It's people, who, yes, are more than likely scripted for maximal drama, but at least it's based off life. There's no necessary pattern. The boy can like a girl, yeah, but he doesn't have to change to end up with her - he just has to get her drunk off her ass and sleep with her. Welcome to The Real World. My personal favorite TV drama. And it's got all these new things - the most recent one was composed of people gay, straight, transexual, ex-military, dancers, college dropouts and so on. Reality TV hits its market based on the fact that its life, or the more interesting derivitve of it.
Who knows, perhaps I've been sitting at home too long watching all this "reality" instead of living it, but I think I finally get the pull of this new piece of television.

An intimate look at the life of...

I still can't answer that question, because on the adventure I am about to regale you with, I actually witnessed zero human activity.
Let me introduce you to the life of a woman who has nothing to do with her days except wait for a bone to heal. It's exciting stuff. Not really. Yesterday was a mild exception to the rule of day-time TV watching and listless crunches in lieu of actual cardiovascular exercise.
I'm going to assume no one has ever heard of a hamlet called Madden. No? Alright, solid. I doubt there's internet access out there anyways. It's not on any maps, either, so don't go looking for it.
Madden is located somewhere North of Calgary, though my friends and I took so many wrong turns and back roads to reach it that I can't even begin to give directions. When I first pictured this place I saw maybe four buildings on the main street, a couple of houses, and shiny farmland. Very Little House. What does Madden actually consist of? A sign boasting "You are now entering the hamlet of Madden; Speed Limit 40", not one, but two, closed down General Stores, a town hall/community center shanty that looks as though it's been built from tin foil, and a couple of houses. That is actually it. Oh, and what can only be a distantly related bus shelter made of plywood bearing the very hilarious, spray painted, slogan "Slow Kids + Bus". Considering this place begs for jokes about good old fashioned inbreeding, I find that very fitting.
Our adventure to reach Madden, explore it (3 seconds flat in the brand new Honda), and ridicule it (we're still working on the jokes), does not end there. On top of Madden itself we witnessed a real-live crazy cat lady shelter - eight cats wandering the front yard and counting - and probably trespassed on a dairy farm. On this farm we also managed to lure every single cow to the fence by simply calling them. Like dogs. Very fun. On top of that we found the very beautiful Madden Golf Course, a random ice-rink exclusively for curling, someone possessing their own giant pond/paddle boat combination, and a flat horse that I later discovered was made from metal.
Our exploring spirit was slightly crushed/bruised by the fact that the signs boasting 'Dog Pound' were not in fact for a dog pound in which we could play with the puppies, but for a county. Named 'Dog Pound'. We also discovered there is a county named 'Moose Factory' somewhere in Ontario. I always wondered how moose were created. On our way home, however, we did manage to find a kinda creepy B&B in the absolute middle of nowhere.
What really got to me is who chooses to live that far away from any type of civilization whatsoever. Who is not a farmer. I mean, really, what pull does that life have? It's so isolated. I actually feel a kindred spirit with that level of isolation. I am a cripple, and the people (who may or may not exist) live in the hamlet of Madden or county of Dog Pound.
But then, I suppose there is something to be said about living self-sufficiently, without the implements of society. These people do kind of embody the point at which human civilization was doing pretty well, before the Industrial Revolution which has inadvertently led to a globe condemned to death at every turn, rumors of Global Warming, weapons of mass destruction, multiple genocides, and our current economic stalwart.

I'm moving to Madden.

Perceptions.

I've always had this theory that since actors don't write their lines, direct their movies, design the sets, choose their costumes, or choose their coworkers, their main job is just to look good. If they can't handle this, well, you probably deserve to be ripped apart by the tabloids. I mean, really. Alright yes, truly great actors have that thing, the part of them that entices you to watch their movies, and I'm not talking a chiseled jawbone and an amazing body. It's the delivery, it's their charisma. But honestly, when was the last time you saw a movie just for fun that contained one of these actors?
I'm expecting a long silence of thought here.
I'm one of those people who would really have to think about the last time I saw a movie worth bringing up in conversation. I think 'Milk' is the first one that comes to mind - the only Oscar nominated movie I didn't have to force myself to watch simply because it had an Academy nod. As far as I'm concerned there are the everyday movies that people see, which are now roughly divided into "Seth Rogen and Crew", "Things that Go Boom", and "Awww, of course they end up together!". I'm not challenging the fact that some of these movies are worth seeing, Iron Man comes to mind with a memorable performance by Mr. Downey Jr. And I think Superbad was full of teenage comedic genius. I'm simply arguing that movies aren't made they way they used to be.
Actors back then we're simply beautiful, not created by plastic and shaping. They also made movies that were nearly always worth seeing, that weren't fluff you can shovel popcorn in your mouth to. Movies like "The Godfather" and "Casablanca", "Singin' in the Rain" and "Psycho". Basically, all the stuff that has been sequeled and remade today. "Star Wars" and "Ocean's 11" stand as a testament to this.
Today we have a few of these such greats, more recent versions of the great movies. "Pulp Fiction" and "Memento", "Amerian Beauty" and "Forrest Gump". All of these were amazing films. Great directors, and the actors that had 'it'. But these aren't the screen jems that are mainly around today, they're rare. Like finding a diamond randomly in your backyard.
Ok, to get to the point of all this - what happened to Hollywood? Where are the good days, when the paparazzi kept their distance, when movies were original, and when actors were just that - actors. They weren't contrived Disney kids, or surgeried actresses, or fakely tanned. What's more, their faces even moved with, OMG, emotion. I miss those days. I wasn't even around in those days, but I still miss them. As someone who toys with the idea of writing and directing, it's sad for me to watch Hollywood run down the drain, its plastic melting in the heat of LA.

Identity. Boy What a Concept

The other day I got to thinking about the Canadian identity - or lack thereof, rather. In an article I was reading it was pointed out to me by an article I'm reading for [yet another] scholarship application that the Canadian identity is composed of institutions and a "we're not like them" attitude concerning our neighbors to the South. We are constantly fighting off what we are not - a nearly-United State, another colony, or a piece of property stolen from the true Canadians of the country. The First Nations spirit does not capture all of the country, nor do our roots in Europe, with the advent of a globalized society, so who are Canadians?
Any MolsonCanadian beer commercial will tell us we say "eh?", drink maple syrup by the gallon, have a pet beaver, revel in the glorious sport of hockey, and that we follow an elaborate, semi-ridiculous "code". So why is the font of the beer in red and blue, not red and white? Why is our pride and joy, Tim Hortons, now owned by Americans, and why are we known for being so damn polite when Don Cherry is one of the most well-known Canadians? Why don't we know who we are? The answer remains to be seen.
Over a delicious breakfast I got two takes on the Canadian identity. One was that we don't have one because we aren't old enough, but I find that hard to believe. When Rome started they weren't that old either - but they stole the identity of the Greeks. The second option was no more illuminating, but it was highly entertaining.
The thought began as Canada being the lovechild of France, our good-for-nothing Father, and Britain, the doting mother that obtained custody. Of course, Quebec is Father's favorite, and when he has his visits he remains with him, the whiner. The Maritimes are the favorites of Mother, despite over-achieving Ontario. Alberta is the beauty-pageant winner, whose looks will give out as her oil supplies do, plunging her into glory-day reminisces. British Columbia is often ignored as the hippie son that both parents would rather ignore than deal with. Meanwhile, Saskatchewan is "special" and Manitoba is forgotten, an ice-queen anyways. The territories are, of course, the adopted sons that nobody really talks about.
Isn't Canada more fun when it's a dysfunctional family?

The Proverbial "Knife in Back" Situation

I bet the first person who was stabbed in the back did something unforgivable to the knife wielder. I mean, what enrages people, what entices them to evil, what makes them thirst for blood more than revenge?
Klondike bars.
But seriously folks, what's up with the vengeance? Not only has my knee injury brought out the comedian in everybody (you know who you are, dirty old man with the sideburns and blinged-out earring), but it's also brought out the... greed?
The first question I get, usually after the "are you ok?!" (well, a truck slammed into my leg, causing my knee bones to bump together which lead to the fracture... so yeah, I'm doing pretty good thanks), I get, "are you suing?". Sometimes it prefaces the concern for my well being. It took me a while to get it. I mean, in the face of it all does money really matter? I'd much rather be alive and hobbling than broken and taking the bastard for all he's worth. Finally, someone put it into perspective. People tend to want revenge when something goes wrong, yeah? So in actuality, everyone asking me if I was going to try and bleed this person dry (such violent imagery), was really just everyone reaching out and being sympathetic. It's like, in some odd way, they're defending my honor.
I still think the whole revenge thing is a terrible aspect of the human mind. It's true, however, that when something goes wrong, or someone does something to us, the mind automatically leaps at how to get back at them. Rude waitress? No tip. Best friend steals your boyfriend? Steal hers. Boyfriend cheats on you? Go Carrie Underwood on his car. Books have been written about getting even, great Shakespearean works and soap operas alike often feature revenge. It helps create drama, but it also gives us some feeling of power. Obviously whatever happened to make someone want revenge was out of their control, and by seeking vengeance, by letting your wrath against these people be shown, you're effectively taking that control back. Really, when you get down to it, revenge, like optimism, is just another coping mechanism to keep us sane.

Isn't it Ironic?

That song has always bothered me. I think it's true title is "Ironic" by Alanis Morisette. To begin with, I find her highly hypocritical. I mean, there was all the man-hating, girl power stuff that "Ironic" came from, and then as soon as Mr. Reynolds came along she had the happy-go-lucky pop churning out like nobodies business, and right after he moved on to greener, less angsty, pastures she was right back down to man-hating. So which is it? Are women supposed to only feel happy and valued with a man in their lives? It would seem so.
But that one song in particular... nothing that happens in it is actually ironic... it's just bad luck. Maybe that's the irony of the song, but something tells me Miss. Teen-Angst had actual irony in mind. What the world needs is some true irony, the world needs to laugh at itself instead of becomming embittered songstresses.
The greatest source of this "worldwide [web]" irony is FML. It's an enjoyable way to capitalize off the pain of others. In case you haven't hopped on the most recent internet bandwagon (I feel like that word should be updated considering the inclination towards technology the world has experienced...), FML is basically a site where people can post sad, hysterical, ironic, and terrible occurrances in their lives. In the style of Mr. Tucker Max it's a fantastic idea. What's more is that random strangers can actually rate whether your life sucks or you deserved what you got. Isn't the internet grand?
Recently, I've actually been toying with posting my own FML. Now, as much as I like the spot light I don't care for pity... or strangers telling me that I deserve my pain, but I can imagine that it would be quite satisfying to post something. I mean, it's not as though just anyone can say anything on FML, it has to really be something that causes your insides to curl up just a little bit. So far the rough draft of mine looks like, "I came home triumphantly from university to a town that is gray, freezing, and essentially suburbia hell today. As if that wasn't bad enough, five hours after arriving I was hit by a drunk driving a huge truck (in the suburbs!!) in a crosswalk. The light was mine. I was training to run a half marathon and have to work to pay for my beloved university. I now have a fractured knee. FML."
Not too shabby, huh? The insides curled yet? Well, it's true, and I'm avoiding the coos of pity simply because I don't need people to feel bad, just to get better. The conclusion? I get to chronicle my bitter healing process for the next two months to a soundtrack of "Changes" by Bowie.

I never went to camp.

Until university, that is. Living in a dorm, getting through first year in one piece, has definitely been an adventure. I will never forget most of what has happened to me in the past 8 months.
It's been like sleep-away camp, boot-camp for your brain, and camping when it comes to overall cleanliness and food quality.
And, in being ridiculously nostalgic (and procrastinating from studying), I choose to impart my newly acquired first year knowledge on the virtual world.

1. Long distance relationships will fail, generally high school sweethearts do not end up together. Especially if you're only 18. Especially if you're living in a state of delusion. I don't know what I was thinking really, going off to university believing that I could handle a long distance relationship on top of a major life change. I was meeting new people, doing new things, taking classes with hundreds of people, and generally having fun. When someone's in another city they are not a part of all that, and it's really difficult to force it.
2. Generally, time is spent with a group of people you will inevitably see everyday. They become your family, your world, and it becomes odd not to see a friend on any given day. Which brings me to my next point.
3. Time is just odd in university. While two days can seem like eons, weeks pass at warp speed. You just kinda have to get used to it and the fact that you no longer live in the "real world" and have entered some kind of "la la" Universityland.
4. You will find a balance, or fail. You can't be stressed out and work all the time, but then you can't be like that guy who got evicted and never went to class because he was smoking pot all the time. University means figuring out what works for you and what kind of person you are going to be.
5. The idea of going away and reinventing yourself is only half true. You are who you are. You are going to grow and change and figure out new ways of approaching things, but essentially you are gonna be the way that you have always been. And this is not a bad thing.
5. Mysterious marks/stains/etc. on any surface are better left that way. Whether it's your mattress, the ceiling, the chairs in the lounge, the carpet, the bathroom wall... those are all the places that I remember having found and discussed disturbing stains, but regardless it's best not to think about it and just move on, the possibilities soon become frightening.
6. It's really easy to go through life passively, but don't. I made the mistake of not being involved with clubs/societies/etc this year, and am going to remedy it this year. Living in this whole summer camp situation meant I still met people, but I had nothing to fill my boredom with but Facebook. Also, if you're going to just let life pass you by, then what is the point? All of my best memories are when I went out and did something.
7. You will make horrible, irrevocable mistakes. But you will learn from them, and you will grow, and you will surround yourself with people who support you no matter what. It's better to realize that these mistakes are going to happen then to try and avoid them.
8. Students are like sardines. They smell funny.
Just kidding. We live in tiny little boxes stacked on top of each other and beside each other. We take up space with our personalities, not our things. We have gotten used to close quarters and living in this little box. It means that we don't really stay in one place too long, which is I think something profound in itself.
9. You will begin to think in a "we" context. Even if you are not dating someone, the amount of time spent with your friends, the people you care about, automatically means considering the world from the perspective of "we". What "we" should eat for dinner, what "we" are doing this weekend, when are "we" flying home. As much as "we" are independent, there is a big part of you that relies on companionship and your friends. You don't really do much alone. You can, but simply do not.
10. You are going to surprise yourself. One day it will just hit you, and you'll realize you've made decisions you never thought you would, you've done things you can't imagine, and you've become someone like you and then wholly not. This isn't necessarily negative, it's just... surprising.

I'm packing up and leaving first year. Some of my close friends have begun to leave, and it's a really bittersweet feeling. One the one hand we're done and it's summer and it's just really great not to have to think and stress and do all the hoop jumping anymore. But we're leaving, we don't get to stay in Universityland anymore. It's back to the real world, and that means the loose, rag-tag bunch of us is being split up. For what is the first long time since we met. The Nicknamer pointed out something interesting (via Facebook, of course, people don't communicate real thoughts anymore... ) - it's really difficult to pack up eight months of your life. It means it's really over. Nothing will be the same again, and while change is amazing for you, it is truly difficult to say goodbye to something as wonderful as the first year of true independence, true friendships, and true memories.

Recession? Depression? Who cares?

I think "Recession" has just become trendy.
I noticed today as I was 'studying' (read: looking for magazines to buy and read once finished exams) that lately the media's attention have - finally - been turning toward Recession.
Perhaps I should clarify. I know that Recession (with a capital R) has been in the headlines for a while, I know stockbrokers and Joe the Plumbers alike have been focusing on what this means for investments and finance for months, and I know a lot of people are scared. However, Recession is not a world that exists in the glossy world of fashion. This is a world I like to escape to, filled with clothes I will never afford and eating disorders I do not have the willpower for. What I noticed today, however, was that on the glowing cover of Vogue a headline read "You're Fired!: Surviving and Thriving After the Pink Slip" and I think it was ELLE that also featured an article about what to do once you've been fired.
Talk about harshing the glossy mellow.
I know that magazines such as Vanity Fair (the "smart" fashion magazine) have been toting articles on the recession, and I know that Vogue itself devoted an entire issue to "smart" shopping, which had to be taken with grain of salt since the following issue contained furs, gold, and furs dipped in gold, but since when does on of the scariest "F" words make the cover? I think "Fired" is second only to "F***" and "Feminism". What I also know is that even magazines such as Vogue have to connect with their target reader, which is, presumably, every woman over the age of 16 and under the age of 90. However, seeing the word "Fired" on Vogue is like a giant slap in the face. It's either become hot to be in debt, or there's no choice even in the world of the privaleged.
Recession is now Real. It's not just the scary word in the headlines of the newspapers anymore. It's not just for businessman. It's invaded every part of the world, even the perfect glossy one. This means, of course, that now everyone has advice on how to deal with it, what to do, the worst case scenarios, you name it.We're supposed to be going back to school, investing smartly instead of pulling everything out, and keeping optimistic in the face of cutbacks, layoffs, and pink slips.
The thing about Recession is that its depressing, it's supposed to stay out of things that exist for the entertainment of the haute masses, like Vogue, because once it invades those things, it's a reality. And a bleak one at that. As a student who will, within a couple years, be looking for a career in what was a thriving market creating new jobs, changing old ones, and burning through cash, it's quite terrifying to think that if conditions worsen even a little bit I'll be stuck folding clothes for what could be the majority of my adult life.
I think that the most surprising thing about the invasion of the fashion magazines be the big R is that it means there's nowhere to hide, nowhere to stick your head in the stand. In a culture obsessed with escapism and a quotationed reality (i.e. "reality" TV), we're now stuck in the real world. The glossy fantasy is over, it's time to face "reality".

The New Rant.

My friends are always the greatest source of inspiration.
Today we talked about people smelling weird.
You know, the ones who smell SO strongly of perfume/cologne when you walk by it gets in your mouth and you spend the rest of the day feeling like the perfume counter lady has spritzed the inside of you mouth. Or the ones who smell oddly of pepperoni and staleness. Or the ones who smell like an old apartment building. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. Or the ones who just have really bad BO.
What I think is weird is that no one seems to notice they smell this way. I mean, there comes a certain point when you begin to notice all that stuff. Especially when people shy away from you.
Today I was sitting in one of the many study rooms at the library, after finding out my favorite spot had been occupied since probably 7:59 AM onwards, and "studying" which morphed into "glancing up and evaluating the people walking in". What had never occurred to me before today, even though it really should have, is that while I pick out clothes, do my hair, and judge myself in the mirror every morning, everyone else is doing the same thing.
It struck me between "Oh, I like those shoes" and "Why would he pick that". It's funny to think about, actually, that people judge themselves, picking out something that will say what they're all about to the world.
I know some people just roll out of bed, grab the closest garments, and leave, but that's making a statement right there. Something along the lines of "I don't care", "I look great in anything", or "I'm in Science and have 6 exams this week". It really all depends. Then there are those who meticulously pick out their clothes, matching everything, making sure it fits just right, and that it's going to say the right thing. "Yes, this cost more than your meal-plan", "Of course I look this good without even trying", "Daddy's. Platinum. Amex.". And of course there's everything in between.
The interesting thing is that what someone wants to say, and what other people decide they're saying can be completely different. How can something that you spend so much time figuring out go so astray? I suppose it has to do with the fact that everyone has unique perceptions of how the world appears, and read everything just minutely differently. Yes, within a culture we all generally follow the same patterns, but we're all going to read what someone's putting off differently, and that's when it gets interesting.
So maybe those people who smell like pepperoni really like pepperoni, or at least the smell, and think it's ok to smell weird... well, in their minds I'm sure it wouldn't be "weird", but pepperoni isn't exactly a regular scent.

Silly Miley...

Pop is for Michael.
You know, I think my favorite part of the Metric concert I saw was when Emily Haines began to discuss her music, and how everyone was telling her to lighten up. She bemoaned the fact that she couldn't write songs like, "I kissed a girl...". Of course, it was sarcasm, but that's what made it so damn amazing.
Then, just the other day, WBP and I were being bombarded with the sounds of silly pop songs and Miley Cyrus, a fate worse than Katy Perry, being to play. So, it's bad enough that she's brainwashed the minds of 7-13 year olds everywhere, and has become the new generation of Disney Kids, and will probably crash and burn just like the last idol did (Lindsay Lohan, anyone? Or worse, Hillary Duff, so boring she had to date a "badass" member of Good Charlotte). And it's also terrible that her lyrics are less than inspired, and she's 16 and somehow managed to sign record contract after contract, but now she's targeting speech impediments? I mean, really, she's not that classy anyways, what with having a mullet for a father and a backwater town for a home, but to target the speech impaired? It's just cruel.
To quote Miss Cyrus - "The last time I freaked out, I just kept lookin' down/I st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I'm thinkin' bout/Felt like I couldn't breathe, you asked what's wrong with me/". I realize she's talking about prepubsecent boy troubles. But I personally think it's just cruel to make fun of a stutter. I stutter sometimes, for some kids it's actually quite a sensitive issue, one that gets worse when they "freak out" and then feel like they can't breathe. Seriously, Miley, we're dealing with your most sensitive fans.
Pop has become so inane that I'm actually talking about the offensiveness of Miley Cyrus. I could make fun of Katy Perry and her "bold" lyrics (Alanis Morissette has so been there, done that). Or I could talk about the glory days of Michael Jackson, the Prince himself. Back when Billie Jean was just a knocked up chick who swore she had been with him, and when zombie dances were breaking out everywhere. Back when the lyrics were actually something that could be discussed. Like PYT - pretty young thing? What about cougars Michael?
I would even rather talk about the glory days of the boy bands and slutty blondes. God, how I miss Christina and Britney, and does anyone remember when Jess Simpson was lumped in with them? The only thing that keeps me going these days are the JT and Timba pair ups in a sea of High School Musicals.
Let's face it, pop is dead. And Disney Kids murdered it.

Wreck[ed] Beach

Well, my original plan was to write about lovely Wreck beach, and how distracting and wondrous and difficult-to-climb-up-the-stairs-at-one-in-the-morning-in-the-dark as a tribute to the newly dubbed WBP.
And then it slushed. It's raining and snowing. All at once. And it's April. I realize that "April showers bring May flowers", but I will not be in Van to enjoy those flowers. I will be home where there will most likely be snow on the ground and everything will be in shades of gray. And what does Van do to say goodbye?! It slushes. As if it isn't becoming increasingly depressing enough every single day that classes and school and thinking stretch on and on and on.
On that note, is anyone else noticing the depression that's settling in? The I-can't-do-this-for-three-more-years? Right now, it just doesn't seem logical or plausible to be able to keep trudging through classes you only half like in order to get a degree that you're only half sure about. It seems even more logical when you start to realize that what you're working towards doesn't make you happy. And then there's the inevitable choice between happiness and money. And it's all pretty heavy when you haven't even hit your twenties yet.
School has become tedious. The constant regurgitation of what we've been learning is getting really difficult to maintain. I'm bored of it all.
It may just be the time of year (I would say Spring Fever, but we can all look outside and see THAT'S not true) but it seems to me that something needs to change about higher education. I don't think anyone really wants to pay to be tested and have to do all these things. I think people are paying to learn. Why isn't education better tailored to fit the student? Why can't science kids do labs that they actually find relevant instead of doing what I understand to be 'pointless' stuff and then really long exams? Why can't we Arts students just stick to our paper writing, or presentations, or high minded discussions? When Aristotle and Plato and all the great thinkers we're taught about were first going down the path of education, I don't think they had pop-quizzes. Back then it was about speculation and learning and rhetoric and discovery. It was the sharing of thoughts, not the duplication.
When did education become standardized? And when did we stop caring that it was?

The Jedi Mind Trick

I am completely not an expert on this, so give me a little leeway when I say, that when a boy likes a girl, he generally doesn't beat around the bush too much. Sure, he'll feel things out a little bit, making sure he's not about to get fully humiliated, but generally... when a boy likes a girl, he goes for it and asks her out.
Now, girls are another story. I don't even think "beating around the bush" remotely begins to cover it. You've seen those movies where the football coach points and gestures a lot at a playboard(?) and makes circles and draws arrows? And those war movies in which there's a map and figurines and the leaders move them around as they make their strategies? And of course the Star Wars movies in which Obi Wan performs countless mind tricks? Well, combine all of those thoughts and add a little more girliness and you've got the basic girl mentality when it comes to the guy she's into.
Kinda scary, huh?
We like to plan, we like to manipulate. And by "like" I mean of course that it's our nature. It's fun to create the playing field, the game, and be the winner all at once. And how is it that we do this? Well, it's based a lot on common sense, really. We know that men like the thrill of the chase, so we know to rotate ourselves from being available and unavailable, warm and sub-zero, saran-wrap and... air. That's probably enough metaphors. Anyways, further than that, we also know how to flip our hair, giggle at semi-lame jokes, and talk intelligently when it's required. Attracting people is like a fun game for us. And also a hell of a challenge. Which is where the strategizing comes in.
Times of day that we can "bump" into you, inside jokes that we can bring up every so often via text, just to make conversation, and so on. No, those things do not just kinda happen. They are carefully and meticulously executed, like a sports play or a military manuever.
Sometimes I wonder, though, why we go through all this. I mean, it would just be simpler to ask a guy on a date as soon as you realize you're into him instead of stalking him for hours upon hours on Facebook and then commencing withe Operation Boy. Yes, it would, but what guy wants to be asked out by a girl when he could be enticed to do so himself? Not a lot. And I know that "confidence is sexy" but it's been demonstrated that interest is generally held longer when the person is harder to get. If the game ends too soon because it's too easy no one is going to want to play. Plus, what would we all do with our time when we're not busy trying to get someone to fall for us?

I can open doors... all by myself!

So, chivalry is dead.
Just FYI, on the DL, and all that jazz. I know there are guys out there who will argue that they are still polite and still open doors for ladies and always, always pay for dinner. And that is all well and good. I'm not saying that men have all become pigs and that's why chivalry is dead. Actually, all the fault lies with women who, like a few ladies I know (myself included) have given up on chivalry, gone behind it's back, put cyanide in its classy beverages, and then stabbed it a few times just to be sure it's really gone.
The other day I was walking out of a class just as a young gentleman was walking in, it had double doors, so naturally I opened one all by myself, not realizing at the same time this guy was opening the other door for me. I smiled politely, but stuck by my choice to open a door. All by myself.
I know it was just out of politeness, and that I may have done the same thing in his situation, but I thought it was kind of silly. There are two perfectly good doors, we are both obviously in a hurry, why not make use of the double doors? I realize that it could be argued that I would have been offended if he had not opened the door for me and simply breezed by. Honestly, being angry over something small like this would not have crossed my mind, simply because I don't expect chivalry in my daily life. I don't expect doors to be opened for me, chairs pulled out, compliments to flow, and jackets to be draped over the (many) puddle lurking around campus.
The whole feminist movement thing created a type of woman who doesn't man-hate because chivalry doesn't exist, but destroyed it herself so she wouldn't have to deal with it. I mean, if every woman out in the world went around expecting men to be perfect gentlemen all the time, then she would more often than not be sadly disappointed. There are some very nice guys out there, but I have yet to meet one who is Sir Lancelot reincarnated.
By destroying all the hope that there will come a man who will open doors, buy us flowers, and treat us like damsels - rescuing us, and so on - women remove all chances of disappointment. At the same time though, we're removing all chances of being impressed. I have to say that every romantic moment any guy has ever tried to create for me, I have completely destroyed, rather inadvertently or not. Most times it was accidentally, simply because I don't do the corny thing. I have become so jaded when it comes to chivalry that it impedes the ability to accept romanticism. It's a terrible thing, because every girl wants to be swept off her feet. And it wasn't just me spiking chivalry's drink - it's women everywhere.
We've been taught for so long that men suck, that they're jerks, that we should be empowered and fight for ourselves and say "screw you, I'm walking" to the shiny night on the white pony, that we almost lost the ability to accept something as simple as a door being opened for them. We'll watch old musicals and want to be swept off our feet by a song just as the starlet is, and then snap back to reality and open doors... all by ourselves.

Negligence.

Negligence.
You can be incarcerated for the above word, depending on the circumstances.
Basically, you can be imprisoned for not caring. Sometimes. It's really all in what you don't care about - you can only be punished for not caring that someone is about to kill somebody else, or something of a like magnitude.
But what about the people who don't care about the environment? The ones who water their emerald lawns during a drought, refuse to recycle, and leave lights and heat on 24/7? Where's their punishment as the words on everyone's lips seems to be "global warming"? (Actually, we're entering a period of cooling, most experts say, and everything is cyclical, but the fact that the human race has negatively impacted the planet still remains). The people who don't care about the environment don't have to answer for it, even as this exact neglect is what keeps environmental harm from being a 'social problem'.
A social problem, by the way, is generally defined as a phenomenon regarded as bad or undesirable by a significant number of people, or a number of significant people, who then mobilize against it. So, yes, a number of significant people have begun to raise awareness about the scary monster "global warming", but Gore and his disciple diCaprio can preach until they're blue in the face until enough people, hopefully a majority, take up the cause.
There are other problems in our society other than the ever-popular environment. Homelessness is one (that I've previously discussed), but one that I find fascinating is government accountability.
No, I am not going to rant about how corrupt politicians are, because I am targeting the citizen this time. We bitch and moan about 'political accountability' (so much so that it became a major part of Obama's campaign) and yes, it is essential in a democracy that the elected officials properly and honestly represent the people. What I find astounding, however, is that barely anyone (among the everyday masses) shows up to keep them that way.
Recently I was watching a documentary entitled "Why We Fight" and I wasn't aware that Bush eventually admitted in a press conference that Iraq was not necessarily to blame for 9/11. Well, I know it was an Al Queda attack, which is in no way directly associated with Iraq, but what shocked me is not that Bush didn't originally admit that, it was people's reactions to it. They were absolutely appalled that the "wool had been pulled over their eyes", and that their patriotism and united front against Iraq, questing for retaliation for 9/11, was all for naught. I realize that the most likley reason the US targetted Iraq is in the name of economic Imperialism, and now most people do too, but just the fact that no majority really questioned the motives for going into Iraq originally was shocking for me. More shocking was that people could be so disgusted with their government.
Yes, the government did use your call for justice against you, but where were you to question them? Where was the citizen to hold the government accountable? I believe that as much as it is the responsibility of elected officials to be accountable to the people they're representing, it is also the responsibility of the citizen to question them. It is part of being a "citizen" of a country to involve yourself in it, and sometimes that means keeping the government honest. I assume that eventually people did speak up, or Bush never would have admitted what he did, but it was too late, the US had become involved in Iraq, and the rest is history.

Making an Ass out of You and Me.

... but mostly just me.
Don't you love that feeling? When you've got everything all figured out. You know exactly what's going on in his/her head. You, sir, have got a handle on your life.
Or do you? Oh wait, he's dating her, and what you thought was this was actually that.
And shit, there goes your life, crumbling by the wayside.
Assumptions. They're killing us.
GDL (first mentioned as GD) has made a formal request that I discuss assumptions, and, as I am oh-so familiar with these fancies, I am happy to comply.
Everyday, all around the world, millions of assumptions are made. About what people are thinking or feeling, about who they are as people, about what is really going on with a certain situation and so on. It's really difficult not to make assumptions, because often assuming is what gets us by on a day to day basis.
There are ambiguous assumptions, and these are kind of a "no-harm-no-foul" situation. You see someone on the street and immediately create a backstory for them - they come from this neighborhood, they look as though they're doing this, and so on. If this person is interesting enough, sometimes you even foreshadow for them - they're going to do this, they feel like this, and they're noticing this. It's automatic, and, as long as you're not making extreme discriminations (at least aloud) they're pretty much harmless. I mean, if we didn't make assumptions in certain situations how would math ever get done?
Assumptions become less harmless, however, when it involves people or things you are directly in contact with in your life. That's when you have the danger of making an ass of yourself, because you've got to see this person every. single. day.
So don't screw up.
That advice has probably come too late, though. Or, at least, it has for me. I've made assumptions that have gotten me in trouble so many times that I... can't even think of a rational number of times. A lot of times it involves my fantastically large ego thinking that it is beloved by many members of the opposite sex. Well my friends, it is not. You would think that said ego would have shrunk by now, but no such luck. Other assumptions have involved things such as assuming that I have studied enough, assuming that drinking every time the word "love" is said in Moulin Rouge was a GOOD idea (do you have any idea how many times in 'Elephant Love Medly' they say it - 22!), and assuming that the bus will be late because I am. Now, all of these don't involve people in my daily life, but they have all affected it quite deliberately, and I have in fact made an ass of myself. But not you, unfortunately.
In fact, I don't really understand that whole phrase, because when you make an assumption and then make an ass out of yourself, you generally don't make an ass of the person you've made an assumption about. In fact, they end up looking rational and you look like a crazy person. For example, say you think that your boyfriend is blatantly ignoring your multiple (and pressingly important) text messages, so you call, get voice mail, leave an angry message, then text lots of messages ranting about what an asshole he's being and how immature he is... then a few hours later you get a call saying that he had been out of service for the past couple hours. In a very small voice you say 'oh' and feel about thisbig. Then you essentially have to grovel, and apologize for being a crazy. Which you aren't, you just made a fatal assumption.
Not that that has happened to me with a boyfriend.
Perhaps an ex-boyfriend though... but only perhaps. I'm not committing to anything. And don't go assuming it's true - you may just make an ass of yourself.

Now this has just gotten ridiculous.

Facebook.
Essentially everyone has one, whether it's for "work" or your friends physically forced you into one or you just love wasting hours of time on Tetris and Jetman, nearly everyone I know (in all my white, middle class, urban glory) has got a Facebook. When they don't, the average reaction is shock, horror, and fear, because wow someone doesn't have Facebook and how do they keep in touch/what do they do in their spare time and they're probably an alien/OMG they R not trendy. So yeah, Facebook is ridiculous in that you can spend hours simply scrolling through pages, stalking and information downloading as your brain is at the OFF switch, but as of, well, right now according to mine, but others may be further ahead, Facebook has reached its highest level of ridiculous-ness.
Facebook is starting trends. No, not like the whole "thong well above waistline so that it looks painful" trend, trends that are specifically formatted for Facebook and that in a sweeping fashion deteriorate your friends list as each person succumbs to the awesome power that it electronic peer pressure. Facebook has become the silent killer of social independence.
Applications can probably be blamed as the beginning of what will come to be known as the Facebook-Assertive Social Trend Movement, otherwise known as FAST-Move., a term that I will have no problem taking full credit with its coinage. Applications were a secret kind of peer pressure, because in order to be your average nosey self and see exactly what your friends results on quizzes were, or write snarky, but "honest" comments about them, you needed to add the same application. Before long, your page was polluted with boxes, the smog of the applications hiding your Wall from those who just wanted to say, "hey, wassup?".
Then the applications thing died off; people got tired of it. We all kept our favorites and staggered out into the light of the screen left blank by the vacation of the boxes.
Recently, "25" has taken over. First it was just one person filling it out - they tagged their friends. Not to be outdone, their friends all boasted 25 "interesting" things about themselves. Soon every time you logged on someone had creted a new 25 note and ANOTHER 25 people had been tagged. The competition of coming up with a witty title sprang up, as people declared "Oh, sigh, I guess I'll do it too". Really, how many people can write 25 original things about themselves? Facebook's answer: a lot. Finally, it's starting to die down, it's just the peope being 'ironic' and filling it all out with false answers (who takes 45 minutes just to do that, I ask you?!) and those that log on maybe once a month finally getting around to publishing their own note.
Now, Facebook has gone one step further. Mr. Men and Little Miss. Remember those books from our childhoods? My favorites were always Little Miss Bossy, Little Miss Chatterbox, and Little Miss Quick... hmm. Revealing. Well, these loveable little nonsense characters have made a huge comeback. As Facebook's latest trend. People have begun to post them as their profile pictures, tagging their friends as whichever Mr. Man or Little Miss they find them to be. It's only happend to a few on my friends list so far, but I foresee it coming through and knocking out the friends list once again.
Facebook has become the YouTube of this year - people are no longer going to become famous because of what hilarious videos they come up with for YouTube, but because of what trends they start on Facebook, or something that has not yet been invented for Facebook. The power this one website has is both ridiculous and terrifying.
Oh, and as for myself, I broke and wrote my only 25 things, in a non-ironic way. However, I REFUSE to make a ridiculous profile picture. At least, maybe not this week.

Touchdown

The Obama-Rama came to Canada yesterday. For approximately six hours, but it hit and inspired everyday folk to dress in "gangsta" attire sporting none other than the badass Prez himself, emblazoned across their chests, trademark smile and all. The chains and the leather jackets slightly distracted from this, but nonetheless there he was.
He was also at the side of one Mr. Stephen Harper, walking down the halls of Canada's own parliament building, signign the guestbook, and then disappearing behind closed doors, most likely to plot the end of hunger, poverty, and corruption. Simultaneously.
I watched all this on an hour flight, most people around me had also tuned in to watch the new President stand beside a man either deemed "genius" or "corrupt evil tyrant" by some. Personally, I think Harper is smart, savvy, and logical, which is exactly what the country needs in a time of economic crisis. No, I don't agree with all of his policy, but I don't think he'll have the time to get to some point of it with the big R ahead of us. It was interesting, though, to see Obama, a man hailed as the answer to prayers and the image of the "new" America, next to a man who has been compared to Darth Sidius in various photo-edits. There were smiles and photo-ops, and I couldn't help but notice (of course) their respective attires.
First off, how many blue ties can one man own? I find the Republican v. Democrat system of the US not only limiting in a political sense, but also in dress. Republicans have their shiny red ties to rep. their party, while Democrats are always, ALWAYS found in a blue tie. I've been following Obama's campaign for a while, and each time he speaks it's a different blue tie. It must get incredibly boring.
Then there's Harper, who is reputedly styled and fed people-skills by his lovely wife. She has great subliminal messaging sense, because his tie was red, white, and orange. Just kidding. It was red, white, and blue. Showing his support for the US? I think that Canada doesn't have to worry about that. The whole world knows that were this a prison, we would be the collar-wearing, skulking bitch of the States. Or a more PG analogy: were this ancient Greece we'd be busy slathering the US in olive oil and feeding it grapes. It's a great political gesture to wear the colors of the visiting nation, but do you think that Harper dons yellow, red and blue when receiving a visit from the Mongolian consulate? Probably not. He also probably does not receive regular visits from Mongolian diplomats, but you get the point.
I am all for Obama, I think a country that is so supposedly "great" needs a great man to be in charge of it, but it shocks me that Canadians support him so much. A large part of his platform was originally to slowly remove Canadian products from the US - the Made in American Clause. Or something like that. The point is that Obama's focus may not help Canada out all that much. In fact, in this lovely time of Recession, it may royally screw us. The States is our greatest trade partner, by far, and if they start looking elsewhere to fulfill their needs, we're going to take a hit. A big one. Like Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler style.
In the long run, I think something like that would help Canada. We've been mooching off the States long enough. We have a great reputation as peacemakers but a terrible reputation as push-overs because of our relationship with the US. Obama is loved not for his politics, but by his charisma when it comes to Canadians. He has a 90% approval rating here, but do you really think the everyman has looked up his policies? And if that's true then how many Americans have actually paid attention to his politics?
Obama walking beside Harper is a beautiful sight - it inspires hope for a lot of Canadians who love Obama and want to see him work with us, and Canadians who want to have faith in their OWN government. The only worry I have is that people will focus too much on the picture, and not on the politics. Government should be held responsible, and the only way to do that is to look behind the smiles and handshakes.

"Personal" Statements

Isn't it amazing all the great qualities you have when you need to live someplace/do something/meet someone. Lavalife, housing, what's the difference, really? I mean, both require a complete focus on good traits, false smiles, and being on your best behavior.
However, it's not always a cake-walk to create a persona of oneself that is just so damn perfect.
And that's where your friends come in. They have no problem making huge exaggerations about your character, or discussing your many (HA!) triumphs... all of which may actually be true. At this point there is a distinction made between online dating sites and housing applications, because with the former, many people are fully able to liken their high school basketball team to being "a nationally ranked athlete" or playing in a garage band made up of thinning hair and bad backs to being "brooding, and musically gifted".
Searching for a mate seems to activate the very human tendency toward "positive self-thought" which is, unlike Freud's idea of repression, our most powerful defense mechanism. In categorizing ourselves (usually privately) as a step up from nearly everybody else, we are keeping ourselves happy and therefore productive and healthy. So, when you convince yourself that, yes, that tragically good-looking person was staring at you because they are irrevocably in love with you, it's basically so you don't kill yourself from despair. Some may find this depressing, I find it fascinating. The idea that we find ourselves good at sports/intelligent/attractive/whatever is mostly just our mind keeping us positive so that we can keep going through our daily life in a healthy, normal fashion.
Alright, so we think highly of ourselves to avoid suicide, and when it comes to finding a mate we have absolutely no problem elevating ourselves, consoling ourselves when nothing happens with a new prospect (I won't explain this one here - pick up He's Just Not That Into You or see the movie), so how come people have such a problem thinking highly of themselves when it comes to something actually important?
Housing applications, scholarships, personal essays for university entrance - it becomes so difficult to speak highly of our achievements, our good qualities, and our education. We're trained from childhood not to brag about these things, so when it comes time to talk ourselves up in a positive fashion, we falter. At the same time, we've been trained to find Ms. Right and Mr. Perfect - now can you imagine if THOSE two got together? - at any cost. Making ourselves more attractive is encouraged, displaying our positive qualities overtly is not. Funny, huh? I find it's always better to get friends to write about you - for both. Friends won't exaggerate about you, even if it means you getting laid. Friends will also be honest about just what a spectacular person you are and have been and perhaps will be in the future for various applications.
Aren't friends great?

Everyone's Got an Ipod

That's the response, isn't it? When someone reveals that they don't have an ipod/Facebook/lap-top/you name it? I mean, the little white ear-buds do seem to be everywhere, but I had one of those epiphany type moments today as I breezed past a homeless man offering me a flower for some sort of charity with my five dollar coffee in hand and entered into a loud, overly-fragrant orgy of purchasing (otherwise know as a department store).
In reality, no, everyone does not have an ipod. Everyone does not have a home. Everyone does not have food. Everyone does not have water. It's really sad when we get to the point where we live in this little bubble in which everything's ok... so long as we refuse to acknowledge any problems, or justify our cold fronts. For example, immediately after my epiphany I thought to myself "Well, I volunteer" and the rational part of my brain went "Yes, ___, helping white, middle class young girls feel comfortable with themselves because their minds have been poisoned by the media that they're over-exposed to as a result of having five TVs in their over-large house, is a worthy cause". I do believe that helping these young kids is a good thing to do, I think that low self-esteem and all its problems among young girls is a social problem, and I'm obviously exagerrating over the characteristics of these girls. It's just that one can't justify something like denying that there are people who need help, on our streets, that we breeze by every day.
The media does a great job at helping us to "turn the other cheek" portraying the homeless as drug-ridden or crazy or criminals. But not everyone on the street is like this, and even if they were does that mean that they don't deserve the essentials? That they aren't human enough? I have a theory that if everyone above the poverty line (who wasn't one of those "shell" families) gave five-dollars to various organizations working to help these people, or donated one hour of their lives every week to working with the homeless the problem would be remedied. But that will never happen, and homelessness will always be an issue, even in societies of Communism. It is a fact of life, and, in some sociological views, a necessary part of society. Without the poor we could not have the rich and without the rich we could not have a successful economoy. But without a heart we would not be human and without humanity there would be no service.
It's very sad to see people sitting out in the cold, begging, people who once upon a time could have shopped on that very street. People who no one really thinks of as "people" anymore. We just walk by them, and they blend a little further in to the background. I know that there will never be a solution to people's disregard of the poor, but I do believe that everyone has the power to make a difference in at least one person's life. I was not that person today, and I am ashamed of that. The man walking ahead of me who put the apple in a homelessman's hat as he held a sign - "Food?" - was, and that makes me a little more optimistic.