Only two weeks after the first installation, here is the second part of my rant.
Gratuitous Fine Print: I am not a teacher, and I have not taken a single course on education. These rants are just that, ranting, based solely on my experience as a student, a friend of a student, and a friend of teachers.
My next Mostly Opinion-Based idea: Eliminate homework. Or at least change it's purpose, and the weight with which it's grade.
First, there's an important question to ask: What is the point of homework? Is it to help students review what they've gone over? Is it meant to introduce new concepts that will soon be covered in class? Is it showing how much a student is learning--or at least memorizing?
Ideally, I think, it should be a combination--help embed the information in child's mind (review), suggest how else the information could be used (introduction), and see how well the child is grasping the information (measurements). It should be used as a tool and nothing more.
Sadly, what it's currently used for is another thing to grade, another project for a kid to worry about, waste time on, or forget to do. I can name literally a dozen kids in high school whose marks went down the toilet based solely on their homework grade--and those are just the kids I knew.
My current boyfriend had to take a math class over again because he didn't do any of the homework the first time he took it. When he walked back in the second time, the math teacher looked at him and said "What are you doing here?" He spent that semester helping other kids learn the material, because he knew it forwards, backwards, and upside down. Read that again: he knew the material, but he was flunked because of homework.
You might ask "Why didn't he just do the homework and get a passing grade?" I ask back "Why should the homework matter so goddamned much that you can flunk a class based on it even as you ace every test?" (For the record, he has off-the-charts ADHD. This is merely an explanation, not an excuse, because he shouldn't need a bloody excuse.)
To repeat myself: homework should be a tool, and nothing else. If the kid doesn't want to do it--because they don't have the time, the attention span, the will, the need, whatever--it should not affect their overall grade. What they should be graded on is participation and projects/tests/papers--things that show that they thoroughly understand the material, and aren't just memorizing it long enough to get through the class and move on.
Currently, a lot of schools work as an assembly line. Send the kid through the grades, plugging in the required passing grades in all the required subjects: math, history, social studies, sciences, language, English, etc. Grades are what matter, not how well the student grasps the concepts; the importance is placed in the wrong area.
What this leads to is quite obvious if you take a look at our country. Abysmal rates in literacy, education levels, and basic knowledge.
To sum up: Take the emphasis off of tokens like homework, and put it back on understanding and comprehension.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Achtung!
Again with the freaky horoscope.
This is what Free Will Astrology gave to Geminis for this week:
During this phase of your cycle, you'll generate good fortune if you brainstorm and meditate about your relationship with work. I urge you to empty your mind of everything you think you know about the subject. Adopt a fresh and innocent perspective. Here are some questions to prime your investigations. 1. What's the quality of the experience you want to have as you earn a living? 2. What gifts do you want to give to life as you toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to you? 3. What capacities do you want to develop in yourself while doing your work? (P.S. For your Halloween costume, why not pretend you're doing your dream job?)
...BUH.
The biggest Identity Crisis I've been dealing with lately is figuring out What The Furk I Want To Do. Just today I was thinking about it. For a friend's Halloween party this past weekend, I was tempted to dress up as a Marketing Executive, so that last line is especially Buh-Worthy. I read that and pointed a finger at the screen, all "Oh, I see what you're doing there, and it is NOT COOL."
The thing is, I love Marketing. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was an Accounting major when I took a Principles of Marketing class, and just fell head over heels for it. True, I was already falling out of love with Accounting, and, yeah, maybe I was looking for a way out, keeping my eyes open, and yeah, maybe I could have been clearer about what I wanted out of the relationship from the beginning, but that's not what this is about, so let's not get into the past, okay?
The point is, from my first day of Marketing, I was hooked. The analysis, the creativity, the strategy, my GOD it was exhilarating. Principles of Management was also a favorite class, for basically the same reason: all the reasoning behind all the decisions. The psychology, the emotional intelligence, the behavior analysis, etc etc. Finally, Advertising, which was analyzing existing commercials and campaigns and making up our own. Those homework assignments were some of my favorites in my entire school career, from kindergarten till now, and I could that from now till I was 500 years old.
(Doesn't hurt that all three classes were taught by the same teacher, who could make Tax Accounting interesting, I'm quite sure.)
But all my other business classes made me twitch. The classes on economics, the legal sides of things (torts, libel, etc), business basics, etc. And Sales may have been the worst class experience of my life, if only because the idea of being a sales person makes me nauseous with terror.
I am not a salesperson. I am not a leader. I am not a manager. What I love about Marketing is not the sales, the manipulation, the idea of being better than the other team. I love the analysis, the strategy, the psychology behind it all--I love the creativity. If I could just analyze commercials or campaigns for the rest of my life and be paid for it, that would be hunky fucking dory. Seriously.
But being a team member in an agency where it's Pressure and Crunch Time and Stress and Throwing Together A Campaign Fix At The Eleventh Hour? Count me out. Please. I'll ruin your carpet.
So there's that.
As I had mentioned in another previous post, I'm a writer. Except I hate to say that. Because I don't write...not nearly as much as I want to, need to. When the feeling hits me, when I get in the groove, when the celestial beings get together in a conga line, I can write for hours, and well.
When the juice isn't flowing, when the celestial beings have had too much to drink and couldn't stand up let alone conga, nothing comes out. And then it's work. Hard, horrible, frustrating, debilitating work that I just can't force myself to do. I'll gaze at the page, I'll pull my hair, I'll stare into space, waiting for SOMETHING. ANYTHING. PLEASE.
I would love to be a writer, the way I see it in my mind. Working at home, tapping away for hours in an office. No, not the Perfect Life, a mansion earned with my best sellers, only working eight hours a week and doing cross-country book tours. Just a small room, messy but well-lit, with a computer, being able to sit or sprawl or whatever and work out the stories in my head. Maybe go down to the local coffee place for a change of scenery. Not rich from it, by any means, but Doing Well Enough, thank you very much.
Except I hit these blocks, and they stop my in my tracks, and it takes me months to recover. And I can't discipline myself to save my own life, can't say "Okay, x time on x day every week, I go to this spot, and I write, and I don't care what comes out, but by god, something will be written." I suck at it.
I don't have the flow, and I don't have the will power.
So there's that.
As I have mentioned in no previous posts, I love to edit. This stems from the same sapling as my love for writing, but was realized because of my boyfriend, Ryan. He finished up his Bachelors in Psychology in December 2008, and let me tell you, he's brilliant at Psychology. He is both articulate and passionate when it comes to this subject.
However, he's not the greatest when it comes to English. His grammar and spelling can leave something to be desired, and that's where I stepped in for the last year of his degree. After he slammed out another research paper--and, in case you didn't know, Psychology students write A LOT OF FUCKING RESEARCH PAPERS--I would lovingly attack it with a red pen, marking up the errors and inconsistencies. I ate it up, I would hand him back the first draft and eagerly await the second draft, or the next paper that was due.
That Halloween party I went to? I ended up going as a Grammar Nazi. Suit, red arm band with a "G" on it, ruler, red pens, copy of Strunk & White in my pocket. There you go.
This past spring, I got a little more serious about this fairly-newfound love for editing, and looked into what might happen so I could earn a living doing it. From what I found, it seemed there are two avenues for such a thing: find a job at a publishing house, or freelance. The second option brought to mind the same image as being a writer--namely, that of being able to work from home, doing what I loved from the place I love.
Except there's one thing freelancers lack: structure. There is no office, there is no time clock, there is no payroll department, there is no manager to give you work to do. There is just you, and your talent, and your willingness to promote yourself up the wazoo. If Real Estate is about location, location, location, then freelancing is about promotion, promotion, promotion.
Here's the part where you scroll back up and read about what I am not: a salesperson. I couldn't sell someone else's products, how am I supposed to sell my own? When it's not even tangible and all anyone has is my word that I don't suck?
So there's that.
Marketing. Writing. Editing. Three areas that make me happy, that I could do for days on end and be quite content. Three areas that have a list of cons just as long, if not longer, than the pros.
Reading that horoscope was like receiving a slap in the face. I know that all I've just written doesn't exactly address the horoscope. What all these many paragraphs are is background to what's going on in my head before I even start thinking about those three questions:
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
I'll get back to you.
This is what Free Will Astrology gave to Geminis for this week:
During this phase of your cycle, you'll generate good fortune if you brainstorm and meditate about your relationship with work. I urge you to empty your mind of everything you think you know about the subject. Adopt a fresh and innocent perspective. Here are some questions to prime your investigations. 1. What's the quality of the experience you want to have as you earn a living? 2. What gifts do you want to give to life as you toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to you? 3. What capacities do you want to develop in yourself while doing your work? (P.S. For your Halloween costume, why not pretend you're doing your dream job?)
...BUH.
The biggest Identity Crisis I've been dealing with lately is figuring out What The Furk I Want To Do. Just today I was thinking about it. For a friend's Halloween party this past weekend, I was tempted to dress up as a Marketing Executive, so that last line is especially Buh-Worthy. I read that and pointed a finger at the screen, all "Oh, I see what you're doing there, and it is NOT COOL."
The thing is, I love Marketing. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was an Accounting major when I took a Principles of Marketing class, and just fell head over heels for it. True, I was already falling out of love with Accounting, and, yeah, maybe I was looking for a way out, keeping my eyes open, and yeah, maybe I could have been clearer about what I wanted out of the relationship from the beginning, but that's not what this is about, so let's not get into the past, okay?
The point is, from my first day of Marketing, I was hooked. The analysis, the creativity, the strategy, my GOD it was exhilarating. Principles of Management was also a favorite class, for basically the same reason: all the reasoning behind all the decisions. The psychology, the emotional intelligence, the behavior analysis, etc etc. Finally, Advertising, which was analyzing existing commercials and campaigns and making up our own. Those homework assignments were some of my favorites in my entire school career, from kindergarten till now, and I could that from now till I was 500 years old.
(Doesn't hurt that all three classes were taught by the same teacher, who could make Tax Accounting interesting, I'm quite sure.)
But all my other business classes made me twitch. The classes on economics, the legal sides of things (torts, libel, etc), business basics, etc. And Sales may have been the worst class experience of my life, if only because the idea of being a sales person makes me nauseous with terror.
I am not a salesperson. I am not a leader. I am not a manager. What I love about Marketing is not the sales, the manipulation, the idea of being better than the other team. I love the analysis, the strategy, the psychology behind it all--I love the creativity. If I could just analyze commercials or campaigns for the rest of my life and be paid for it, that would be hunky fucking dory. Seriously.
But being a team member in an agency where it's Pressure and Crunch Time and Stress and Throwing Together A Campaign Fix At The Eleventh Hour? Count me out. Please. I'll ruin your carpet.
So there's that.
As I had mentioned in another previous post, I'm a writer. Except I hate to say that. Because I don't write...not nearly as much as I want to, need to. When the feeling hits me, when I get in the groove, when the celestial beings get together in a conga line, I can write for hours, and well.
When the juice isn't flowing, when the celestial beings have had too much to drink and couldn't stand up let alone conga, nothing comes out. And then it's work. Hard, horrible, frustrating, debilitating work that I just can't force myself to do. I'll gaze at the page, I'll pull my hair, I'll stare into space, waiting for SOMETHING. ANYTHING. PLEASE.
I would love to be a writer, the way I see it in my mind. Working at home, tapping away for hours in an office. No, not the Perfect Life, a mansion earned with my best sellers, only working eight hours a week and doing cross-country book tours. Just a small room, messy but well-lit, with a computer, being able to sit or sprawl or whatever and work out the stories in my head. Maybe go down to the local coffee place for a change of scenery. Not rich from it, by any means, but Doing Well Enough, thank you very much.
Except I hit these blocks, and they stop my in my tracks, and it takes me months to recover. And I can't discipline myself to save my own life, can't say "Okay, x time on x day every week, I go to this spot, and I write, and I don't care what comes out, but by god, something will be written." I suck at it.
I don't have the flow, and I don't have the will power.
So there's that.
As I have mentioned in no previous posts, I love to edit. This stems from the same sapling as my love for writing, but was realized because of my boyfriend, Ryan. He finished up his Bachelors in Psychology in December 2008, and let me tell you, he's brilliant at Psychology. He is both articulate and passionate when it comes to this subject.
However, he's not the greatest when it comes to English. His grammar and spelling can leave something to be desired, and that's where I stepped in for the last year of his degree. After he slammed out another research paper--and, in case you didn't know, Psychology students write A LOT OF FUCKING RESEARCH PAPERS--I would lovingly attack it with a red pen, marking up the errors and inconsistencies. I ate it up, I would hand him back the first draft and eagerly await the second draft, or the next paper that was due.
That Halloween party I went to? I ended up going as a Grammar Nazi. Suit, red arm band with a "G" on it, ruler, red pens, copy of Strunk & White in my pocket. There you go.
This past spring, I got a little more serious about this fairly-newfound love for editing, and looked into what might happen so I could earn a living doing it. From what I found, it seemed there are two avenues for such a thing: find a job at a publishing house, or freelance. The second option brought to mind the same image as being a writer--namely, that of being able to work from home, doing what I loved from the place I love.
Except there's one thing freelancers lack: structure. There is no office, there is no time clock, there is no payroll department, there is no manager to give you work to do. There is just you, and your talent, and your willingness to promote yourself up the wazoo. If Real Estate is about location, location, location, then freelancing is about promotion, promotion, promotion.
Here's the part where you scroll back up and read about what I am not: a salesperson. I couldn't sell someone else's products, how am I supposed to sell my own? When it's not even tangible and all anyone has is my word that I don't suck?
So there's that.
Marketing. Writing. Editing. Three areas that make me happy, that I could do for days on end and be quite content. Three areas that have a list of cons just as long, if not longer, than the pros.
Reading that horoscope was like receiving a slap in the face. I know that all I've just written doesn't exactly address the horoscope. What all these many paragraphs are is background to what's going on in my head before I even start thinking about those three questions:
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
I'll get back to you.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Don't you think we oughta know by now? Don't you think we should've learn somehow...
Lately, I've been obsessed with two John Mayer songs. The first is Slow Dancing In A Burning Room, which is slow and lovely. (Here's a live performance of it, found on YouTube)
Lyrics:
It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dying breath of
This love that we've been working on
Can't seem to hold you like I want to
So I can feel you in my arms
Nobody's gonna come to save us
We've pulled too many false alarms
We're going down
And you can see it, too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
I was the one you always dreamed of
You were the one I tried to draw
How dare you say it's nothing to me
Baby you're the only light I ever saw
I make the best of all the sadness
You be a bitch because you can
You try to hit me just to hurt me so you leave me feeling dirty
Cause you can't understand
We're going down
And you can see it, too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
Go cry about it, why don't you
Go cry about it, why don't you
Go cry about it, why don't you
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we should've learned somehow?
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we should've learned somehow...
I know, not the happiest song in the world, by far. But it's just...slow and lovely, and beautiful in its sadness. Mayer's gorgeous guitar-playing and singing don't hurt, either.
I'm not even going to dissect the entire song, because it doesn't really need dissection. But what gets me about this song, though, is that one line. The title line, the most repeated line, the line that breaks my heart every time: slow dancing in a burning room...
If that doesn't hit the nail on the head, I don't know what does. I'm not going to pretend I'm some relationship expert, that I'm experience in all kinds of break ups and such--of my grand total of 10, only two have been outside of high school. However, one or two of those have ended as this song describes: going down in flames, unable to let it go just yet, unable to admit that it's over because the emotions are still real and true.
The visual it brings to mind is pretty clear: a couple, oblivious to anything but each other, holding one another close but not meeting eyes, turning around and around in a waltz in the middle of the dance floor, while the dance hall burns to cinders and ashes around them. It's poignant, it's heart breaking...it's perfect.
I've posted the lyrics to the other song I've been obsessed with, Heart of Life, at my LiveJournal, since I'm not really talking about them, just sharing.
Lyrics:
It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dying breath of
This love that we've been working on
Can't seem to hold you like I want to
So I can feel you in my arms
Nobody's gonna come to save us
We've pulled too many false alarms
We're going down
And you can see it, too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
I was the one you always dreamed of
You were the one I tried to draw
How dare you say it's nothing to me
Baby you're the only light I ever saw
I make the best of all the sadness
You be a bitch because you can
You try to hit me just to hurt me so you leave me feeling dirty
Cause you can't understand
We're going down
And you can see it, too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
Go cry about it, why don't you
Go cry about it, why don't you
Go cry about it, why don't you
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we should've learned somehow?
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we should've learned somehow...
I know, not the happiest song in the world, by far. But it's just...slow and lovely, and beautiful in its sadness. Mayer's gorgeous guitar-playing and singing don't hurt, either.
I'm not even going to dissect the entire song, because it doesn't really need dissection. But what gets me about this song, though, is that one line. The title line, the most repeated line, the line that breaks my heart every time: slow dancing in a burning room...
If that doesn't hit the nail on the head, I don't know what does. I'm not going to pretend I'm some relationship expert, that I'm experience in all kinds of break ups and such--of my grand total of 10, only two have been outside of high school. However, one or two of those have ended as this song describes: going down in flames, unable to let it go just yet, unable to admit that it's over because the emotions are still real and true.
The visual it brings to mind is pretty clear: a couple, oblivious to anything but each other, holding one another close but not meeting eyes, turning around and around in a waltz in the middle of the dance floor, while the dance hall burns to cinders and ashes around them. It's poignant, it's heart breaking...it's perfect.
I've posted the lyrics to the other song I've been obsessed with, Heart of Life, at my LiveJournal, since I'm not really talking about them, just sharing.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Can we at least watch All The President's Men?
This started out, in my head, as a post about what's going on in my life. I started with school, then starting writing about this one class, and found myself on a tangent. I love it when this happens.
Reporting & Writing News Stories...*shrug* I'm learning how to write differently--I won't say better, because it's not better, it's just different--and I've been introduced to that wonderful jewel, my new bible, the AP Stylebook. The class itself, though, is usually the reason that the drive in to Manchester just feels like a waste of time and gas and energy.
I wish the teacher was more energetic. She seems to be just taking it as a given that because we are in this class, we care about journalism and will find the excitement on our own. Enter me, and a few others, only taking this class because it's required for some non-journalism degree or certificate. Those of us who are only showing up for the grade could use a shot in the arm--hell, so could those who want to be journalists. Who couldn't use some fucking ENTHUSIASM once in a while, even if it's for a subject they're already crazy about?
Back when I was an Accounting major, I had to take a business elective, and I chose Principles of Marketing. From the very first class, Ms. Waldron came in and woke us all right the hell up. From that very first class, I knew I was in the wrong major. Almost every class had enthusiasm, excitement, ENERGY. The students who were already into marketing ate it up, and those of us who weren't ate it up even more. Every class was "This is how you combine psychology, design, and business to show people how much they NEED YOUR PRODUCT!"
Journalism is an exciting topic, or at least it should be. Reporting the hard facts! Unveiling conspiracies! Digging up the truth! COME ON PEOPLE! Every class should be "This is how you slap people in the face with THE TRUTH!"
Instead, it's "Okay, this is how we write a lead. This is how the second paragraph should look. This is how the newsroom works." All things we need to learn, introduced in the most docile of ways.
We do have to practice what we're taught, which is good. As much as I hate it, I will have to turn in not just one, but TWO articles for the student newspaper this semester, and finish off the class by presenting a story idea for next year's class to work on. I don't want to be a journalist, it's not for me, I don't like having to interview people and all that, but I'm glad we have these assignments. This is how we learn how to be journalists--by acting like one.
Except, again, it's docile. At the beginning of yesterday's class, the teacher invited those of us without story ideas to come to her afterward for some ideas. I managed to pick up an assignment: the Wednesday after next, I get to attend the Meet Your Presidents & Deans meeting, and chronicle what goes on there--the remarks each person makes, and what goes on in the Question & Answer period.
....WOW! NOW we're getting to the SEXY stuff! HOPE I DON'T GET ARRESTED AT THE ENSUING RIOT!
I know, I'm being harsh. But this is the most humdrum introduction to journalism I could ever imagine. I know not every reporter gets to run around interviewing celebrities or politicians, go undercover into a major company's skeevy underbelly, or investigate crime...but this is just...*snore*
I know this subject, this path, is not for me. But there might be someone at MCC who it is right for, and all they need is a wake up call to realize it. If they take this class, they will not receive that wake up call. And that makes me sad.
Reporting & Writing News Stories...*shrug* I'm learning how to write differently--I won't say better, because it's not better, it's just different--and I've been introduced to that wonderful jewel, my new bible, the AP Stylebook. The class itself, though, is usually the reason that the drive in to Manchester just feels like a waste of time and gas and energy.
I wish the teacher was more energetic. She seems to be just taking it as a given that because we are in this class, we care about journalism and will find the excitement on our own. Enter me, and a few others, only taking this class because it's required for some non-journalism degree or certificate. Those of us who are only showing up for the grade could use a shot in the arm--hell, so could those who want to be journalists. Who couldn't use some fucking ENTHUSIASM once in a while, even if it's for a subject they're already crazy about?
Back when I was an Accounting major, I had to take a business elective, and I chose Principles of Marketing. From the very first class, Ms. Waldron came in and woke us all right the hell up. From that very first class, I knew I was in the wrong major. Almost every class had enthusiasm, excitement, ENERGY. The students who were already into marketing ate it up, and those of us who weren't ate it up even more. Every class was "This is how you combine psychology, design, and business to show people how much they NEED YOUR PRODUCT!"
Journalism is an exciting topic, or at least it should be. Reporting the hard facts! Unveiling conspiracies! Digging up the truth! COME ON PEOPLE! Every class should be "This is how you slap people in the face with THE TRUTH!"
Instead, it's "Okay, this is how we write a lead. This is how the second paragraph should look. This is how the newsroom works." All things we need to learn, introduced in the most docile of ways.
We do have to practice what we're taught, which is good. As much as I hate it, I will have to turn in not just one, but TWO articles for the student newspaper this semester, and finish off the class by presenting a story idea for next year's class to work on. I don't want to be a journalist, it's not for me, I don't like having to interview people and all that, but I'm glad we have these assignments. This is how we learn how to be journalists--by acting like one.
Except, again, it's docile. At the beginning of yesterday's class, the teacher invited those of us without story ideas to come to her afterward for some ideas. I managed to pick up an assignment: the Wednesday after next, I get to attend the Meet Your Presidents & Deans meeting, and chronicle what goes on there--the remarks each person makes, and what goes on in the Question & Answer period.
....WOW! NOW we're getting to the SEXY stuff! HOPE I DON'T GET ARRESTED AT THE ENSUING RIOT!
I know, I'm being harsh. But this is the most humdrum introduction to journalism I could ever imagine. I know not every reporter gets to run around interviewing celebrities or politicians, go undercover into a major company's skeevy underbelly, or investigate crime...but this is just...*snore*
I know this subject, this path, is not for me. But there might be someone at MCC who it is right for, and all they need is a wake up call to realize it. If they take this class, they will not receive that wake up call. And that makes me sad.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Good ol' Seth.
As a response to this post about emotions and refusing to hide the mega-crush I have on my boyfriend, my father sent me this quote (underlines original, bolding mine):
Dogmas or systems of thought that tell you to rise above your emotions can be misleading -- even, in your terms, somewhat dangerous. Such theories are based upon the concept that there is something innately disruptive, base, or wrong in man’s emotional nature, while the soul is always depicted as being calm, perfect, passive and unfeeling. Only the most lofty, blissful awareness is allowed. Yet the soul is above all a fountain of energy, creativity, and action that shows its characteristics in life precisely through the ever-changing emotions. Trusted, your feelings will lead you to psychological and spiritual states of mystic understanding, calm, and peacefulness. Followed, your emotions will lead you to deep understandings...
(Quote from one of the Conversations with Seth books. Dad's a big fan.)
[UPDATE: Thursday, October 22, ~7 PM.]
Another response, another e-mail from my Dad. This is a horoscope for this week.
"He who loves 50 people has 50 woes," said Buddha. "He who loves no one has no woes." Even if you agree with this sour observation, I urge you to override the warning it implies. Now, more than ever, you can and should attract rich benefits into your life by expanding the frontiers of your empathy -- even if it means you will feel the hurts of others more deeply. And what exactly are those rich benefits? Here's one: Getting close-up views of the ways people suffer will help you avoid suffering like that yourself in the future.
(Link.)
Dad sends me this site's horoscopes from time to time, and they're always as FREAKILY RELEVANT as this one. Maybe I should start subscribing, so I'll know what I'll be thinking ahead of time...
Dogmas or systems of thought that tell you to rise above your emotions can be misleading -- even, in your terms, somewhat dangerous. Such theories are based upon the concept that there is something innately disruptive, base, or wrong in man’s emotional nature, while the soul is always depicted as being calm, perfect, passive and unfeeling. Only the most lofty, blissful awareness is allowed. Yet the soul is above all a fountain of energy, creativity, and action that shows its characteristics in life precisely through the ever-changing emotions. Trusted, your feelings will lead you to psychological and spiritual states of mystic understanding, calm, and peacefulness. Followed, your emotions will lead you to deep understandings...
(Quote from one of the Conversations with Seth books. Dad's a big fan.)
[UPDATE: Thursday, October 22, ~7 PM.]
Another response, another e-mail from my Dad. This is a horoscope for this week.
"He who loves 50 people has 50 woes," said Buddha. "He who loves no one has no woes." Even if you agree with this sour observation, I urge you to override the warning it implies. Now, more than ever, you can and should attract rich benefits into your life by expanding the frontiers of your empathy -- even if it means you will feel the hurts of others more deeply. And what exactly are those rich benefits? Here's one: Getting close-up views of the ways people suffer will help you avoid suffering like that yourself in the future.
(Link.)
Dad sends me this site's horoscopes from time to time, and they're always as FREAKILY RELEVANT as this one. Maybe I should start subscribing, so I'll know what I'll be thinking ahead of time...
Friday, October 16, 2009
How This Week Went (And Will Continue To Go):
MONDAY
[x] work at 11
[x] update Ru Stitchery
[x] work out
[x] dinner with Dad, give back CDs
TUESDAY
[x] class at 12:30 (freaking library session which will be my sixth identical session since attending MCC but I can't skip because there's an assignment given out at the end GRAW)
[x] start learning Illustrator in Computer Graphics!
[x] sushi for dinner! \^.^/
WEDNESDAY
[x] Stephanie at 11
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday/or else do Thursday)
[x] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate) (if not done Tuesday)
[x] gas up the car
[x] work at 1
[x] work out
THURSDAY
[x] pick up prescription
[x] no Reporting class today!
[x] class at 3
FRIDAY
[x] NO WORK!
[x] play WoW all day with Ryan, leveling my Paladin and his Druid
Plans for the rest of the weekend:
SATURDAY*
[o] NO WORK!
[o] set the alarm for 6 AM anyway JUST SO I CAN SHUT IT OFF AND GO BACK TO SLEEP OH WHAT BLISS
[o] see Where The Wild Things Are with Mom and Ryan
[o] spend some time at the Ren Faire with David, possibly with Ryan as well!
[o] dinner with David, Gay, and Heidi
* Everything after the alarm is dependent on weather. The word "Nor'easter" keeps bouncing around, and Weather.com's radar map shows a blob of blue and pink, and the prediction for tomorrow says "PM showers." Yesterday's "PM showers" turned into rain and snow (in freaking OCTOBER, THANK YOU NEW ENGLAND), so at this point there is no weather tomorrow that would surprise me beyond sunny.
Sunday
[o] Breakfast with Mom
[o] Laundry at "home"/Mom's house
[o] Watch No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency with Mom
[o] Home/Ryan's by 4 PM
[o] Dungeons & Dragons
[o] Finish homework
Next week is back to normal, which is both a plus and a minus. Nice to shake it up a bit, and I had a few more money-earning hours than usual, and a couple of days off that I almost never get...but sometimes the same old routine is comfortable for a reason.
[x] work at 11
[x] update Ru Stitchery
[x] work out
[x] dinner with Dad, give back CDs
TUESDAY
[x] class at 12:30 (freaking library session which will be my sixth identical session since attending MCC but I can't skip because there's an assignment given out at the end GRAW)
[x] start learning Illustrator in Computer Graphics!
[x] sushi for dinner! \^.^/
WEDNESDAY
[x] Stephanie at 11
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday/or else do Thursday)
[x] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate) (if not done Tuesday)
[x] gas up the car
[x] work at 1
[x] work out
THURSDAY
[x] pick up prescription
[x] no Reporting class today!
[x] class at 3
FRIDAY
[x] NO WORK!
[x] play WoW all day with Ryan, leveling my Paladin and his Druid
Plans for the rest of the weekend:
SATURDAY*
[o] NO WORK!
[o] set the alarm for 6 AM anyway JUST SO I CAN SHUT IT OFF AND GO BACK TO SLEEP OH WHAT BLISS
[o] see Where The Wild Things Are with Mom and Ryan
[o] spend some time at the Ren Faire with David, possibly with Ryan as well!
[o] dinner with David, Gay, and Heidi
* Everything after the alarm is dependent on weather. The word "Nor'easter" keeps bouncing around, and Weather.com's radar map shows a blob of blue and pink, and the prediction for tomorrow says "PM showers." Yesterday's "PM showers" turned into rain and snow (in freaking OCTOBER, THANK YOU NEW ENGLAND), so at this point there is no weather tomorrow that would surprise me beyond sunny.
Sunday
[o] Breakfast with Mom
[o] Laundry at "home"/Mom's house
[o] Watch No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency with Mom
[o] Home/Ryan's by 4 PM
[o] Dungeons & Dragons
[o] Finish homework
Next week is back to normal, which is both a plus and a minus. Nice to shake it up a bit, and I had a few more money-earning hours than usual, and a couple of days off that I almost never get...but sometimes the same old routine is comfortable for a reason.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
My Random Opinion on Education That No One Asked For, Part One
Let me start by saying this: I am not a teacher. I could never be a teacher, for the simple fact that I can't teach for beans. I have never taken a single course in education.
Let me also get the obvious Three Things That Need To Change In America's Education System out of the way:
[1] BETTER FUNDING
[2] BETTER FUNDING
[3] BETTER FUNDING
It is nothing less than disgusting that we as a nation will go on and on about how Children Are Our Future, Children Are Our Nation's Resource, Teaching Is The Most Noble Profession, then pay our teachers, the ones in charge of building up this resource, jack diddly. We spend around $60 billion on Education, and over $500 billion on Defense--and that's BEFORE the befricked War On Terror (source)(yes, it's Wikipedia, but it's backed up here).
Can we all agree that this is outrageous? Disgusting? Stupid?
Okay then. Moving on.
My first issue with the education system is Time.
I'm about to piss off about half the teachers I know and talk to when I say this: Summer vacation can go away now.
*ducks*
Am I saying that all vacation needs to go away? No. I'm saying that we don't need so much of it in a row.
Summer vacation came about because the extra help was needed on farms during planting and harvesting seasons. Farming communities had breaks in the spring and fall, while urban schools were almost non-stop. This was averaged out in the 1840's, with the summer months being a natural compromise--students weren't crammed into buildings in the hottest months of the year, and they were able to help out back at home. Plus, no student got more or less education than any other student.
Today, there are more workers and better technology that lessen the needs of child labor on farms; there's central heating and air conditioning systems that keep schools comfortable; finally, there are about a zillion more activities vying for a kid's time, attention, and energy.
An average day for someone in middle or high school can mean getting up before sunrise, maybe practice for a sports team before school starts, classes from early morning to mid afternoon (possibly with some extracurricular activity taking up time at lunch), practice or rehearsal until dinner time (or later), then homework and studying for the next day. Squeeze in there spending time with friends and family, chores and errands, any extra projects or papers that require even more study time, maybe a part-time job to earn money for college or car expenses, maybe volunteering to pad the college application, and on and on. There are barely enough hours to get everything done, let alone to get the amount of sleep that the average adolescent needs--which anyone who has ever been, raised, or even known an adolescent knows is A DAMNED LOT.
I'll get back to sleep in just a second. I want to stick to my current point: time requirements.
The school year is 180 days, give or take. The school day is about seven hours. That's a grand total of 1,260 hours in the entire school year. 180 days also hold 4,320 hours, meaning school takes up "only" 3% of the time. Doesn't seem like a whole lot does it? Especially considering the amount of material teachers have to squeeze into every hour.
So, seven hours a day on school. If you're out of luck and don't have a car, you're on the bus up to two hours just to get to school; if you have a car, you might luck out with a half-hour commute. Add to that an hour to wake up and get ready in the morning.
Practice, rehearsal, or club meetings take anywhere from one hour to four, before or after school; let's average it to 2.5 hours. Getting home can take anywhere from half an hour to two hours (the morning reversed). Then another 2-3 hours for homework.
Prep/Commute: ~2 hours
School: 7 hours
Extracurriculars: 2.5 hours
Commute: ~1 hour
Homework: 2.5 hours
Total Active Time Per School Day: 18 hours
Over 180 Days: 3,240 hours--75% of the total hours
And again, I'm leaving out social time, extra study time, part-time jobs, volunteer hours, chores and errands, etc. Not to mention the point I will now return to: SLEEP
The average teenager needs around 10 hours of sleep, and their natural tendency is to sleep from early morning (1 or 2 a.m.) to late morning or early afternoon. Take one look at the average teenager's schedule, however, and you'll see that this just doesn't happen. It is impossible. After an 18+ hour day, you've only got six hours for sleeping. I had many classmates who bragged about their ability to "function" on less than four hours. This is not healthy, and it's not conducive to retaining information on anything more than a "regurgitation" basis (learn it long enough to spit it back out on a test).
Make the school year longer, you get more hours and more opportunity to learn what you need to learn. There's less stress to get through a unit by such and such a date so you can move on to the next unit, then the next, then the next. School days can be shorter, leaving more time for extracurricular activities, studying, and sleeping.
Everyone gets more of the time they desperately need, plus the added bonus of teachers getting more paid hours. It's a win-win situation.
The biggest problem: finding the times in the year for shorter vacations that work around major holidays. I'm working on this as a side project. Because I'm weird like that.
Let me also get the obvious Three Things That Need To Change In America's Education System out of the way:
[1] BETTER FUNDING
[2] BETTER FUNDING
[3] BETTER FUNDING
It is nothing less than disgusting that we as a nation will go on and on about how Children Are Our Future, Children Are Our Nation's Resource, Teaching Is The Most Noble Profession, then pay our teachers, the ones in charge of building up this resource, jack diddly. We spend around $60 billion on Education, and over $500 billion on Defense--and that's BEFORE the befricked War On Terror (source)(yes, it's Wikipedia, but it's backed up here).
Can we all agree that this is outrageous? Disgusting? Stupid?
Okay then. Moving on.
My first issue with the education system is Time.
I'm about to piss off about half the teachers I know and talk to when I say this: Summer vacation can go away now.
*ducks*
Am I saying that all vacation needs to go away? No. I'm saying that we don't need so much of it in a row.
Summer vacation came about because the extra help was needed on farms during planting and harvesting seasons. Farming communities had breaks in the spring and fall, while urban schools were almost non-stop. This was averaged out in the 1840's, with the summer months being a natural compromise--students weren't crammed into buildings in the hottest months of the year, and they were able to help out back at home. Plus, no student got more or less education than any other student.
Today, there are more workers and better technology that lessen the needs of child labor on farms; there's central heating and air conditioning systems that keep schools comfortable; finally, there are about a zillion more activities vying for a kid's time, attention, and energy.
An average day for someone in middle or high school can mean getting up before sunrise, maybe practice for a sports team before school starts, classes from early morning to mid afternoon (possibly with some extracurricular activity taking up time at lunch), practice or rehearsal until dinner time (or later), then homework and studying for the next day. Squeeze in there spending time with friends and family, chores and errands, any extra projects or papers that require even more study time, maybe a part-time job to earn money for college or car expenses, maybe volunteering to pad the college application, and on and on. There are barely enough hours to get everything done, let alone to get the amount of sleep that the average adolescent needs--which anyone who has ever been, raised, or even known an adolescent knows is A DAMNED LOT.
I'll get back to sleep in just a second. I want to stick to my current point: time requirements.
The school year is 180 days, give or take. The school day is about seven hours. That's a grand total of 1,260 hours in the entire school year. 180 days also hold 4,320 hours, meaning school takes up "only" 3% of the time. Doesn't seem like a whole lot does it? Especially considering the amount of material teachers have to squeeze into every hour.
So, seven hours a day on school. If you're out of luck and don't have a car, you're on the bus up to two hours just to get to school; if you have a car, you might luck out with a half-hour commute. Add to that an hour to wake up and get ready in the morning.
Practice, rehearsal, or club meetings take anywhere from one hour to four, before or after school; let's average it to 2.5 hours. Getting home can take anywhere from half an hour to two hours (the morning reversed). Then another 2-3 hours for homework.
Prep/Commute: ~2 hours
School: 7 hours
Extracurriculars: 2.5 hours
Commute: ~1 hour
Homework: 2.5 hours
Total Active Time Per School Day: 18 hours
Over 180 Days: 3,240 hours--75% of the total hours
And again, I'm leaving out social time, extra study time, part-time jobs, volunteer hours, chores and errands, etc. Not to mention the point I will now return to: SLEEP
The average teenager needs around 10 hours of sleep, and their natural tendency is to sleep from early morning (1 or 2 a.m.) to late morning or early afternoon. Take one look at the average teenager's schedule, however, and you'll see that this just doesn't happen. It is impossible. After an 18+ hour day, you've only got six hours for sleeping. I had many classmates who bragged about their ability to "function" on less than four hours. This is not healthy, and it's not conducive to retaining information on anything more than a "regurgitation" basis (learn it long enough to spit it back out on a test).
Make the school year longer, you get more hours and more opportunity to learn what you need to learn. There's less stress to get through a unit by such and such a date so you can move on to the next unit, then the next, then the next. School days can be shorter, leaving more time for extracurricular activities, studying, and sleeping.
Everyone gets more of the time they desperately need, plus the added bonus of teachers getting more paid hours. It's a win-win situation.
The biggest problem: finding the times in the year for shorter vacations that work around major holidays. I'm working on this as a side project. Because I'm weird like that.
Monday, October 12, 2009
I don't look good in aprons, anyway.
I want to announce something to the world:
I love my boyfriend. I do. I love him. I adore him, I treasure him, I cherish him. I want to marry him and have his babies. I think he's wonderful, fantastic, lovely, neat-o, extraordinary, cool, awesome. I am smitten with him, crazy about him, gaga over him, mad for him. He is my heart, my world, my universe, and I can't imagine a life without him where the sun wouldn't shine just that much less.
And you know what? There's not a damned thing wrong with any of that.
I realized several months ago that I was censoring myself when it came to talking about Ryan. I sat down and analyzed this, wondered what it was I feared would happen if I mentioned just how awesome he is and how much he means to me. And I struck on it: I was afraid of being frowned upon.
In modern society, there is an undercurrent of disapproval if you talk about your mate in a positive manner. It could be argued that it's seen as gloating, bragging about something you have that others don't, but I think there's something more. Something that is especially true with women.
It's a sign of weakness. If you show any sign that your happiness is related to another person--especially if you are a woman and that other person is a Man--then you might as well put on an apron, get in the kitchen, and make up some supper. You've just set Women's Rights back 50 years.
Somewhere along the line, affection for got mixed up with dependence on, and now calling someone your world is the equivalent of vowing to never have a mind of your own.
Oh, but if you want to complain? HAVE AT! Go on! Enjoy yourself! Have a ball! Bitching about the one you love shows you are not a drone, you are self-aware enough to realize that this person is not perfect.
I want to clear the air right now. I know my boyfriend isn't perfect. He makes mistakes, forgets things, puts his foot in his mouth. He almost always forgets to put up away messages online, he won't throw away his snack wrapper for days and days and days, he'll throw paper into the trash can and NOT the recycling bin half the time, and if he walks by without paying attention and unplugs my computer one more time I'll chop his foot off. Ryan isn't perfect, but I wouldn't want a perfect version of him, because I'm not a perfect version of me, and then we'd drive each other crazy in a slightly different way than we do now.
I know that, if we broke up, I would not shrivel up and die, I would not be guaranteed to spend the rest of my life along, the sun would not stop shining or the birds stop singing. I could live without him, I could possibly even be happy without him. I just don't want to.
I don't think he's the only good person in the world, the only attractive person, the only smart person. I don't think he's better than anyone else. He's just better for me.
Ryan makes me happy. He understands me, my craziness, my obsessions, my weaknesses, my faults, and at the end of the day, he'll always be there to hold me when I cry, he'll sit on the couch with minimal eye rolling as I coo over Say Yes To The Dress, he'll insist that I have some form of protein with my macaroni and cheese dinner. He takes care of me, he helps me, and he lets me help him without the first though that it damages his status as a man.
We can have conversations that range from what's for dinner to our future kids' names to how the Trial of Champions raid works to that weird house on the corner to the ethics of highway driving. We tease each other, make fun of each other, poke and tickle and push buttons. We understand each other.
I want to marry him, buy a house with him and make it a home, have his kids, build a life, fight and make up, do big exciting things with him, do the little everyday things with him, work with him, play with him, retire with him, grow old and die with him.
And yet, I do not feel that my education, my career, or the ability to have an opinion of my very own is in jeopardy. How very interesting.
I love my boyfriend. I do. I love him. I adore him, I treasure him, I cherish him. I want to marry him and have his babies. I think he's wonderful, fantastic, lovely, neat-o, extraordinary, cool, awesome. I am smitten with him, crazy about him, gaga over him, mad for him. He is my heart, my world, my universe, and I can't imagine a life without him where the sun wouldn't shine just that much less.
And you know what? There's not a damned thing wrong with any of that.
I realized several months ago that I was censoring myself when it came to talking about Ryan. I sat down and analyzed this, wondered what it was I feared would happen if I mentioned just how awesome he is and how much he means to me. And I struck on it: I was afraid of being frowned upon.
In modern society, there is an undercurrent of disapproval if you talk about your mate in a positive manner. It could be argued that it's seen as gloating, bragging about something you have that others don't, but I think there's something more. Something that is especially true with women.
It's a sign of weakness. If you show any sign that your happiness is related to another person--especially if you are a woman and that other person is a Man--then you might as well put on an apron, get in the kitchen, and make up some supper. You've just set Women's Rights back 50 years.
Somewhere along the line, affection for got mixed up with dependence on, and now calling someone your world is the equivalent of vowing to never have a mind of your own.
Oh, but if you want to complain? HAVE AT! Go on! Enjoy yourself! Have a ball! Bitching about the one you love shows you are not a drone, you are self-aware enough to realize that this person is not perfect.
I want to clear the air right now. I know my boyfriend isn't perfect. He makes mistakes, forgets things, puts his foot in his mouth. He almost always forgets to put up away messages online, he won't throw away his snack wrapper for days and days and days, he'll throw paper into the trash can and NOT the recycling bin half the time, and if he walks by without paying attention and unplugs my computer one more time I'll chop his foot off. Ryan isn't perfect, but I wouldn't want a perfect version of him, because I'm not a perfect version of me, and then we'd drive each other crazy in a slightly different way than we do now.
I know that, if we broke up, I would not shrivel up and die, I would not be guaranteed to spend the rest of my life along, the sun would not stop shining or the birds stop singing. I could live without him, I could possibly even be happy without him. I just don't want to.
I don't think he's the only good person in the world, the only attractive person, the only smart person. I don't think he's better than anyone else. He's just better for me.
Ryan makes me happy. He understands me, my craziness, my obsessions, my weaknesses, my faults, and at the end of the day, he'll always be there to hold me when I cry, he'll sit on the couch with minimal eye rolling as I coo over Say Yes To The Dress, he'll insist that I have some form of protein with my macaroni and cheese dinner. He takes care of me, he helps me, and he lets me help him without the first though that it damages his status as a man.
We can have conversations that range from what's for dinner to our future kids' names to how the Trial of Champions raid works to that weird house on the corner to the ethics of highway driving. We tease each other, make fun of each other, poke and tickle and push buttons. We understand each other.
I want to marry him, buy a house with him and make it a home, have his kids, build a life, fight and make up, do big exciting things with him, do the little everyday things with him, work with him, play with him, retire with him, grow old and die with him.
And yet, I do not feel that my education, my career, or the ability to have an opinion of my very own is in jeopardy. How very interesting.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
My To Do List: Week of 10/12/09
I like to make up To Do lists and Going To Do lists and Need To Do lists...I like making lists. Yeah. I'm one of those.
MONDAY
[x] work at 11
[o] read through Sunday's New York Times
[x] update Ru Stitchery
[o] finish first installation of my education rant for Ru Blog
[o] update laptop to Snow Leopard (postponed until tonight because I never did back up last night. bad me.)
[o] change letter scene in Liam & Jer (and/or do on Wednesday)
[o] work on playlists (and/or do Wednesday)
[x] work out
[x] dinner with Dad, give back CDs,
TUESDAY
[o] pick up prescription (or else do Thursday)
[o] deposit paycheck (or else do Wednesday)
[x] class at 12:30 (freaking library session which will be my sixth identical session since attending MCC but I can't skip because there's an assignment given out at the end GRAW)
[x] start learning Illustrator in Computer Graphics!
[o] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate (or else do Wednesday)
[o] Woman's Group at 7 (Didn't go to group, which means didn't go to Willimantic)
[x] sushi for dinner! \^.^/
WEDNESDAY
[x] Stephanie at 11
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday/or else do Thursday)
[x] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate) (if not done Tuesday)
[x] gas up the car
[o] mail hair (if there's time, or else do Friday)
[x] work at 1
[o] finish second installation of education rant for Ru Blog
[o] change letter scene in L&J (if not done Monday)
[o] work on playlists (if not done Monday)
[o] work out
[o] sushi for dinner??
[o] watch Robin Hood: Men In Tights with Ryan?
THURSDAY
[o] breakfast with Mom
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday or Wednesday) (done Wednesday)
[x] pick up prescription (if not done Tuesday)
[x] no Reporting class today!
[x] class at 3
[o] NACHOS DAMMIT (bad weather + bad attendance = no Nachos this week, dammit)
FRIDAY
[o] NO WORK!
[o] may go in and work out anyway
[o] laundry?
[o] mail hair (if not Wednesday)
[o] play WoW? Vittie needs work... (This is all I did ALL DAY and it was GREAT!)
[o] do some apartment cleaning?
[o] grocery or household item shopping?
[o] be social? maybe? for once on a Friday?
[o] sushi for dinner? can you tell I have a craving?
[o] watch movie with Ryan?
[o] THE POSSIBILITIES! THEY ARE ENDLESS!
([o] can you tell it's been a while since I've had a weekend off without plans?)
SATURDAY
[o] NO WORK!
[o] set the alarm for 6 AM anyway JUST SO I CAN SHUT IT OFF AND GO BACK TO SLEEP OH WHAT BLISS
[o] watch No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency with Mom?
[o] play Wow? cleaning? laundry? most of the same options as yesterday until 3 PM or so
[o] spend some time at the Ren Faire with David, possibly with Ryan as well!
[o] dinner with David (and possibly others)
I'll be coming back during the week and crossing things off as needed. Which, really, is the best part of the whole List thing.
MONDAY
[x] work at 11
[o] read through Sunday's New York Times
[x] update Ru Stitchery
[o] finish first installation of my education rant for Ru Blog
[o] update laptop to Snow Leopard (postponed until tonight because I never did back up last night. bad me.)
[o] change letter scene in Liam & Jer (and/or do on Wednesday)
[o] work on playlists (and/or do Wednesday)
[x] work out
[x] dinner with Dad, give back CDs,
TUESDAY
[o] pick up prescription (or else do Thursday)
[o] deposit paycheck (or else do Wednesday)
[x] class at 12:30 (freaking library session which will be my sixth identical session since attending MCC but I can't skip because there's an assignment given out at the end GRAW)
[x] start learning Illustrator in Computer Graphics!
[o] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate (or else do Wednesday)
[o] Woman's Group at 7 (Didn't go to group, which means didn't go to Willimantic)
[x] sushi for dinner! \^.^/
WEDNESDAY
[x] Stephanie at 11
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday/or else do Thursday)
[x] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate) (if not done Tuesday)
[x] gas up the car
[o] mail hair (if there's time, or else do Friday)
[x] work at 1
[o] finish second installation of education rant for Ru Blog
[o] change letter scene in L&J (if not done Monday)
[o] work on playlists (if not done Monday)
[o] work out
[o] sushi for dinner??
[o] watch Robin Hood: Men In Tights with Ryan?
THURSDAY
[o] breakfast with Mom
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday or Wednesday) (done Wednesday)
[x] pick up prescription (if not done Tuesday)
[x] no Reporting class today!
[x] class at 3
[o] NACHOS DAMMIT (bad weather + bad attendance = no Nachos this week, dammit)
FRIDAY
[o] NO WORK!
[o] may go in and work out anyway
[o] laundry?
[o] mail hair (if not Wednesday)
[o] play WoW? Vittie needs work... (This is all I did ALL DAY and it was GREAT!)
[o] do some apartment cleaning?
[o] grocery or household item shopping?
[o] be social? maybe? for once on a Friday?
[o] sushi for dinner? can you tell I have a craving?
[o] watch movie with Ryan?
[o] THE POSSIBILITIES! THEY ARE ENDLESS!
([o] can you tell it's been a while since I've had a weekend off without plans?)
SATURDAY
[o] NO WORK!
[o] set the alarm for 6 AM anyway JUST SO I CAN SHUT IT OFF AND GO BACK TO SLEEP OH WHAT BLISS
[o] watch No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency with Mom?
[o] play Wow? cleaning? laundry? most of the same options as yesterday until 3 PM or so
[o] spend some time at the Ren Faire with David, possibly with Ryan as well!
[o] dinner with David (and possibly others)
I'll be coming back during the week and crossing things off as needed. Which, really, is the best part of the whole List thing.
I don't wear panties.
I refuse to wear panties. Before you ask, I don't walk around commando. I just hate the word "panties." It makes me twitch. It just sounds so...so dainty.
Not just dainty. Daaaaiiiinnnty. As if women, by the very act of being women, are only able to wear something that ends with the suffix "ies". We don't wear pants. We wear panties.
Of course, the other female-biased words describing those articles of clothing we wear over our bum aren't much better. Lingerie. Intimates. Dainties. Did you hear me gag on that last one?
What's wrong with "underwear?" Not "undies", that's for small children, but "underwear." There's no gender inferences, not even the vaguest description of what the clothing looks like. It's just clothing that you wear...under your clothes.
It's a pet peeve, and it's silly...but oh how I hate that word.
Not just dainty. Daaaaiiiinnnty. As if women, by the very act of being women, are only able to wear something that ends with the suffix "ies". We don't wear pants. We wear panties.
Of course, the other female-biased words describing those articles of clothing we wear over our bum aren't much better. Lingerie. Intimates. Dainties. Did you hear me gag on that last one?
What's wrong with "underwear?" Not "undies", that's for small children, but "underwear." There's no gender inferences, not even the vaguest description of what the clothing looks like. It's just clothing that you wear...under your clothes.
It's a pet peeve, and it's silly...but oh how I hate that word.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Would you always? Maybe sometimes? Make it easy...
I found this video through Fazed, a collection of submitted online oddities. It's a fan video for a song called "Two Weeks" by the band Grizzly Bear. Let me emphasize something: this is a fan video. Not professional. Made in spare time by someone who loved the song just that much. Hot damn.
It was posted a couple of months ago, so it isn't exactly a new find. It's just that I wanted to use this blog to share things I love as well as rants and navel gazing, so why not start with a video that might just be one of my Favorite Things Ever?
Something else I've wanted to do with this blog is talk about something I think about more than I let on: lyrics.
While I'm not one for making music, I do love it. I almost always have a song in my head whether I like it or not, I can recite entire songs on command, and I blast music in my car whenever I go somewhere, singing along as loud as I possibly can--when I'm alone.
You can "blame" my father for this: he plays several different instruments with a degree of capability that range from well to wow, he has literally THOUSANDS of CDs (along with plenty of tapes and vinyl records), and he will spend hours upon hours playing with a single sound using his plethora of computer synthesizers that he can--and will--talk about for as long as anyone will listen. Despite all his best efforts, the best I can do when pointed at a musical instrument and told to have at is twitch in a controlled manner.
I recently realized that not everyone listens to music the same way. Shocking, right? I just never thought about it until I was talking with Ryan. Unable to remember the name of a song that I knew he knew, I tried to remind him by reciting some of the lyrics. He just gave me a blank stare. Upon further discussion, I discovered that Ryan listens to songs in layers--first, how each instrument sound individually, then how they all sound together.
The first and last thing I hear are lyrics. To me, music is about poetry set to music. And poetry is about the language. Which is why I'm not partial to most classical music--as beautiful as it is, it just doesn't stick to my brain as it does to Ryan's. This is also why I'm more partial to musicals--I'm a story addict, have a very hard time reading anything that doesn't have a plot, so stories? Set to music? GIMME!
I listen to lyrics, and, if it isn't already clear what the song is about, I do my best to figure it out, put a story behind it. For all I know, I'm completely off target, but I like to think that I'm at least a little close. Especially when the subject is something I'm intimate with, such as love or depression. When you're in something, it's easier to recognize language that relates to it, you know?
Now with that long and lengthy explanation, here is my view on this song: Two Weeks by Grizzly Bear.
First, the lyrics.
Save up all the days
A routine malaise
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Think of all the ways
Momentary phase
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Every time you try
Quarter half the mile
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Would you always...
Maybe sometimes...
Make it easy...
Take your time...
Always
Sometimes
Easy
Time
My first thought with this song was: a plea. The singer is pleading to the subject to be happy. This isn't just a case of reading the lyrics--you can hear it in the singer's voice. They love this person, and they just want them to be happy.
There's also the repetition of the line just like yesterday, along with phrases like the routine malaise and every time you try. This makes me think that the person in question is stuck in a cycle (the routine malaise) that is making them unhappy. Not only that, but the cycle isn't solely self-imposed: Every time you try/quarter half the mile hints at an outside force making things harder whenever an attempt is made to break out of it, shortening the distance they've already traveled.
Think of all the ways/Momentary phase makes me think that the subject has given up on the idea of breaking out. They'll think about another way of life, then pass it off as just a phase, a moment's weakness.
The singer understands that all they can do is urge the subject to break out of the cycle, and be there to support them (the repeated phrase I told you I would stay), even if they don't. They understand that it's not an overnight decision/process (take your time). There's no message of "you're a bad person to still be in this cycle" or "I'm leaving unless you do this."
I don't just love this song because of the tune, or the voice, or even because the beautiful fan video plays in my head every time I hear it. I love this song because of the emotion behind it. If I'm right, there is nothing selfish in this song. It's pure love, pure hope for the one they care about to do what's needed to just be happy.
Pure, patient, unselfish, unconditional love.
Does it get any better than that?
It was posted a couple of months ago, so it isn't exactly a new find. It's just that I wanted to use this blog to share things I love as well as rants and navel gazing, so why not start with a video that might just be one of my Favorite Things Ever?
Two Weeks - Grizzly Bear from Gabe Askew on Vimeo.
Something else I've wanted to do with this blog is talk about something I think about more than I let on: lyrics.
While I'm not one for making music, I do love it. I almost always have a song in my head whether I like it or not, I can recite entire songs on command, and I blast music in my car whenever I go somewhere, singing along as loud as I possibly can--when I'm alone.
You can "blame" my father for this: he plays several different instruments with a degree of capability that range from well to wow, he has literally THOUSANDS of CDs (along with plenty of tapes and vinyl records), and he will spend hours upon hours playing with a single sound using his plethora of computer synthesizers that he can--and will--talk about for as long as anyone will listen. Despite all his best efforts, the best I can do when pointed at a musical instrument and told to have at is twitch in a controlled manner.
I recently realized that not everyone listens to music the same way. Shocking, right? I just never thought about it until I was talking with Ryan. Unable to remember the name of a song that I knew he knew, I tried to remind him by reciting some of the lyrics. He just gave me a blank stare. Upon further discussion, I discovered that Ryan listens to songs in layers--first, how each instrument sound individually, then how they all sound together.
The first and last thing I hear are lyrics. To me, music is about poetry set to music. And poetry is about the language. Which is why I'm not partial to most classical music--as beautiful as it is, it just doesn't stick to my brain as it does to Ryan's. This is also why I'm more partial to musicals--I'm a story addict, have a very hard time reading anything that doesn't have a plot, so stories? Set to music? GIMME!
I listen to lyrics, and, if it isn't already clear what the song is about, I do my best to figure it out, put a story behind it. For all I know, I'm completely off target, but I like to think that I'm at least a little close. Especially when the subject is something I'm intimate with, such as love or depression. When you're in something, it's easier to recognize language that relates to it, you know?
Now with that long and lengthy explanation, here is my view on this song: Two Weeks by Grizzly Bear.
First, the lyrics.
Save up all the days
A routine malaise
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Think of all the ways
Momentary phase
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Every time you try
Quarter half the mile
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Would you always...
Maybe sometimes...
Make it easy...
Take your time...
Always
Sometimes
Easy
Time
My first thought with this song was: a plea. The singer is pleading to the subject to be happy. This isn't just a case of reading the lyrics--you can hear it in the singer's voice. They love this person, and they just want them to be happy.
There's also the repetition of the line just like yesterday, along with phrases like the routine malaise and every time you try. This makes me think that the person in question is stuck in a cycle (the routine malaise) that is making them unhappy. Not only that, but the cycle isn't solely self-imposed: Every time you try/quarter half the mile hints at an outside force making things harder whenever an attempt is made to break out of it, shortening the distance they've already traveled.
Think of all the ways/Momentary phase makes me think that the subject has given up on the idea of breaking out. They'll think about another way of life, then pass it off as just a phase, a moment's weakness.
The singer understands that all they can do is urge the subject to break out of the cycle, and be there to support them (the repeated phrase I told you I would stay), even if they don't. They understand that it's not an overnight decision/process (take your time). There's no message of "you're a bad person to still be in this cycle" or "I'm leaving unless you do this."
I don't just love this song because of the tune, or the voice, or even because the beautiful fan video plays in my head every time I hear it. I love this song because of the emotion behind it. If I'm right, there is nothing selfish in this song. It's pure love, pure hope for the one they care about to do what's needed to just be happy.
Pure, patient, unselfish, unconditional love.
Does it get any better than that?
Do you remember that bad scene from The Green Mile?...
In a previous post I mentioned my awesome fly swatter. It is essentially an electrified tennis racket. Two D batteries sit in the handle (gives it some nice heft, let me tell you), and the "web" is made of a wire grid between two plastic grids, complete with a lightning bolt design in the middle. There's a small yellow button in the handle which you press to turn on the "juice". It's bad ass, yo.
The only problem is...it doesn't work. Oh, it zaps. If you hit the fly just after starting the juice, there's a loud pop, a blue spark, and the fly usually sticks to the grid, only dislodged by knocking the swatter against the trash can's side. Sadly, this is a rare occurrence. Most of the time, the flies don't die.
Most of the time, the fly gets a jolt, falls to the ground, and spins around like a helicopter with a broken rotor. If I hit it hard enough and give it some momentum, it ends up on the patterned rug or behind a piece of furniture, only to reappear five minutes later--a little slower, perhaps, but still flying.
That is if it doesn't get stuck to the grid and buzz madly, giving out a little more smoke each time I hit the button to try and zap it out of existence. Usually there's a little smoke and a bad, burnt smell in the air by the time the fly stops moving.
I'm not sure how to feel about this. The hippie side of me wants to cry for the pain and suffering and agony the fly is going through--that I'm making it go through. The cynical side of me wants the damned thing to die already and quit making such a smelly, smokey racket. The part of me raised by David, my stepfather, wants to see if the fly will eventually explode or burst into flame if I hold the button down long enough.
Yeah, that last part disturbs me, too.
The best part of all this?
There are dozens of flies living in the mud room just outside the apartment door. We're not sure where they came from, but they're there, and they're multiplying. And they keep finding ways into our apartment.
This is going to get nasty.
The only problem is...it doesn't work. Oh, it zaps. If you hit the fly just after starting the juice, there's a loud pop, a blue spark, and the fly usually sticks to the grid, only dislodged by knocking the swatter against the trash can's side. Sadly, this is a rare occurrence. Most of the time, the flies don't die.
Most of the time, the fly gets a jolt, falls to the ground, and spins around like a helicopter with a broken rotor. If I hit it hard enough and give it some momentum, it ends up on the patterned rug or behind a piece of furniture, only to reappear five minutes later--a little slower, perhaps, but still flying.
That is if it doesn't get stuck to the grid and buzz madly, giving out a little more smoke each time I hit the button to try and zap it out of existence. Usually there's a little smoke and a bad, burnt smell in the air by the time the fly stops moving.
I'm not sure how to feel about this. The hippie side of me wants to cry for the pain and suffering and agony the fly is going through--that I'm making it go through. The cynical side of me wants the damned thing to die already and quit making such a smelly, smokey racket. The part of me raised by David, my stepfather, wants to see if the fly will eventually explode or burst into flame if I hold the button down long enough.
Yeah, that last part disturbs me, too.
The best part of all this?
There are dozens of flies living in the mud room just outside the apartment door. We're not sure where they came from, but they're there, and they're multiplying. And they keep finding ways into our apartment.
This is going to get nasty.
Dear People At My School,
You are not hot shit enough to text while driving. I'm sorry. You're just not. Please stop now before you run me over instead of ALMOST running me over.
Also, I don't want to hear your music. The fact that I can hear it so clearly while you're wearing headphones just makes me worry for your hearing. But I don't worry too much, because I no longer give a shit about you because GOD DAMN YOU'RE ANNOYING.
I also don't want to hear your phone conversations. No. Really. I don't. No one does. And that stupid freaking Push-To-Talk function? Is not meant for inane conversation about cats and babies. No. Really. It's not.
Lastly, to that chick from last week: The place to take a cell phone picture of a rainbow in the sky is NOT AT THE ON-RAMP TO 1-84 WHERE CARS HAVE TO MERGE TWICE WITHIN A 100 FOOT SPAN. NO. REALLY. IT'S NOT.
NO LOVE WHATSOEVER,
RuLaReJo
(Can we find an island somewhere and put all these drive-texting, music-blasting, self-important morons on it and leave them there? Please? PLEASE?)
Edit at 2:41 PM
Dear Lab Monitor in Mac Lab
It wasn't bad enough that you were 20 minutes late opening the lab for the ONE open hour it has all day (and, I think, only showing up at all because I happened to notify my mother, who happens to be the boss of the computer labs, who happened to text back minutes later with a note ending with "Grr"), but do you now have to entertain the people in here with your cell phone conversation? How are you even getting reception in here when I can't send a freaking text message?
I do not wish to be "entertained" with the antics at last night's "hot-ass party". Not even if I have the imagined hyphen wrong and it was, instead, a "hot ass-party." Not even then.
Signed
Lowly Student Who Just Wants to Work On Her Photoshop Project Before Class
Also, I don't want to hear your music. The fact that I can hear it so clearly while you're wearing headphones just makes me worry for your hearing. But I don't worry too much, because I no longer give a shit about you because GOD DAMN YOU'RE ANNOYING.
I also don't want to hear your phone conversations. No. Really. I don't. No one does. And that stupid freaking Push-To-Talk function? Is not meant for inane conversation about cats and babies. No. Really. It's not.
Lastly, to that chick from last week: The place to take a cell phone picture of a rainbow in the sky is NOT AT THE ON-RAMP TO 1-84 WHERE CARS HAVE TO MERGE TWICE WITHIN A 100 FOOT SPAN. NO. REALLY. IT'S NOT.
NO LOVE WHATSOEVER,
RuLaReJo
(Can we find an island somewhere and put all these drive-texting, music-blasting, self-important morons on it and leave them there? Please? PLEASE?)
Edit at 2:41 PM
Dear Lab Monitor in Mac Lab
It wasn't bad enough that you were 20 minutes late opening the lab for the ONE open hour it has all day (and, I think, only showing up at all because I happened to notify my mother, who happens to be the boss of the computer labs, who happened to text back minutes later with a note ending with "Grr"), but do you now have to entertain the people in here with your cell phone conversation? How are you even getting reception in here when I can't send a freaking text message?
I do not wish to be "entertained" with the antics at last night's "hot-ass party". Not even if I have the imagined hyphen wrong and it was, instead, a "hot ass-party." Not even then.
Signed
Lowly Student Who Just Wants to Work On Her Photoshop Project Before Class
Monday, October 5, 2009
Writing is writing...except when it's not.
Last night was Session 1 of Glory of the World, a 2nd Edition (aka AD&D) campaign I'm in with a few friends. It was chaotic, with lots of disconnect between events as people tried to develop their characters and connect with each other. It was also a lot of fun. Part of it was the playing, part of it was the camaraderie going on between friends. Of the seven from last night, four of us were in a campaign together back in high school. The commentary felt like old times.
The campaign started coming together almost a month ago. When it first came up, I thought up a rough idea for a character, then decided I was going to wait until the in-person character-making session to flesh it out. Ryan kept pestering me, and I started thinking about it more, and ended up with a pretty good picture. I had the physical picture and the attitude...but not really anything else. Nothing behind her.
Michael (the Dungeon Master, aka DM, aka God in the campaign) sent out lots of background information for the world we would be playing in, along with how 2nd Edition works in comparison to 3rd Edition (what our old campaign had been in). One thing that he wrote stuck out and stayed in my head: in 2E, under the right circumstances, just about ANYBODY could end up in an adventure.
This brought to mind an image, a housewife in this civil war-torn world, on the edge of panic from not knowing what's going to happen or when, overhearing plans of an adventure and throwing herself into it, desperate to do anything that would make her feel like she's fighting back against uncertainty and hopelessness.
The character I'm playing now is a slight spin-off of that first image: Ona Amaethwr, a farmer's wife who has spent her whole life tilling fields and milking cows, now stealing to stay alive after her entire family is stolen from her as they try to escape the fighting taking over their home.
I've spent the past two or three weeks whittling Ona down. I know when she, her husband, and her children were born, when two of her children died, which gods of Michael's pantheon she worships, the jewelry she wears and what it means, her personality and attitude and beliefs. It's been..exhilarating, really.
Roleplaying as her will be a different kind of rush, I think. Crafting her down to the final detail was wonderful, but will be very different from talking in her voice, moving in her body. I'm looking forward to it, to using all those details and finding out which ones matter and which don't, not to mention making some up on the spot.
The whole thing has also been frustrating. Making this character has been SO MUCH FUN. Meanwhile, I have a story (Liam & Jer) sitting on my laptop that needs attention, but hasn't seen so much as a read-through in over a month. I even had a small epiphany lately that will help shape the ending, which has been very sticky to deal with...nothing written from it so far.
The details of the person are fun and games, enough to suck me and take all my attention. Writing the story, the dialogue, the individual scenes...that feels more like work. I'll spend hours on Ona, then turn to Liam & Jer and just stare at the blank page. I can't figure out where the disconnect is, and it's driving me mad.
I almost think I need to look at Liam & Jer as a D&D campaign...except that I really don't think that would work. Maybe I'm just afraid that I'll need to start over. Maybe I just need to let the story go, scrap it as one of those Never Got Off The Drawing Table ideas that I'm sure every writer has.
It's just hard to let it go.
The campaign started coming together almost a month ago. When it first came up, I thought up a rough idea for a character, then decided I was going to wait until the in-person character-making session to flesh it out. Ryan kept pestering me, and I started thinking about it more, and ended up with a pretty good picture. I had the physical picture and the attitude...but not really anything else. Nothing behind her.
Michael (the Dungeon Master, aka DM, aka God in the campaign) sent out lots of background information for the world we would be playing in, along with how 2nd Edition works in comparison to 3rd Edition (what our old campaign had been in). One thing that he wrote stuck out and stayed in my head: in 2E, under the right circumstances, just about ANYBODY could end up in an adventure.
This brought to mind an image, a housewife in this civil war-torn world, on the edge of panic from not knowing what's going to happen or when, overhearing plans of an adventure and throwing herself into it, desperate to do anything that would make her feel like she's fighting back against uncertainty and hopelessness.
The character I'm playing now is a slight spin-off of that first image: Ona Amaethwr, a farmer's wife who has spent her whole life tilling fields and milking cows, now stealing to stay alive after her entire family is stolen from her as they try to escape the fighting taking over their home.
I've spent the past two or three weeks whittling Ona down. I know when she, her husband, and her children were born, when two of her children died, which gods of Michael's pantheon she worships, the jewelry she wears and what it means, her personality and attitude and beliefs. It's been..exhilarating, really.
Roleplaying as her will be a different kind of rush, I think. Crafting her down to the final detail was wonderful, but will be very different from talking in her voice, moving in her body. I'm looking forward to it, to using all those details and finding out which ones matter and which don't, not to mention making some up on the spot.
The whole thing has also been frustrating. Making this character has been SO MUCH FUN. Meanwhile, I have a story (Liam & Jer) sitting on my laptop that needs attention, but hasn't seen so much as a read-through in over a month. I even had a small epiphany lately that will help shape the ending, which has been very sticky to deal with...nothing written from it so far.
The details of the person are fun and games, enough to suck me and take all my attention. Writing the story, the dialogue, the individual scenes...that feels more like work. I'll spend hours on Ona, then turn to Liam & Jer and just stare at the blank page. I can't figure out where the disconnect is, and it's driving me mad.
I almost think I need to look at Liam & Jer as a D&D campaign...except that I really don't think that would work. Maybe I'm just afraid that I'll need to start over. Maybe I just need to let the story go, scrap it as one of those Never Got Off The Drawing Table ideas that I'm sure every writer has.
It's just hard to let it go.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
And Marie Claire can go fuck herself.
I informed Ryan this past week that if there is only one thing that will be outlawed in our house when we have kids, that one thing will be fashion magazines. Alcohol, cocaine, rat poison, AK-47, fine. Cosmo, HELL NO.
Any magazine that even subtly insinuates that you must have a certain weight, height, size, shape, hair color, eye color, skin color, sexual preference, diet, wardrobe, exercise routine, pet, car, job, personal life, etc or else suffer the social consequences of being Weird is just not allowed in a 1/2-mile radius of my impressionable child, especially if that child is a girl. I refuse to allow any literature that portrays "weird" as anything other than "not mainstream". Weird is not bad, it's just different, and different isn't bad either, dammit.
Watch almost any TV show or advertisement, any movie, open up almost any magazine, and you'll see Beautiful People doing Cool Things. I'm in my twenties, and I still want to be that Beautiful Person playing with that Cool Toy; young children have no chance. Everywhere you look, you're being shown that if you don't look like This, you're just plain Doing It Wrong.
Just yesterday, I saw a Benefiber commercial on TV featuring a Beautiful Person. She was tall, blonde, slender, with big boobs and a teeny waist, with perfect skin and teeth. She was dressed in a white outfit that only covered her breasts and legs, and that just barely. For a FIBER SUPPLEMENT. If you need sex to sell your fiber supplement, then YOU'RE just plain Doing It Wrong.
Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Elle, Seventeen, even "health/fitness" magazines like Shape are all about one thing: selling a product, which means selling an image, which means selling the idea that you're ugly and stupid unless you fit that image. If you go to Cosmo right now, one of the first things you'll see is a big box with "Want a Guy To Follow You Anywhere?", "Fierce Footwear", and "Why Stop at One Orgasm?", plus boxes with "Guess the Sex Position!" and "Sex Position of the Day!" and a man with his shirt off. Even with the aforementioned Shape, a relatively safe magazine focusing on fitness, health and exercise, the first thing you'll see is an advertisement for an appetite suppressant--because healthy women don't have appetites, right?
And every single magazine has tons of pictures of women--in the articles, in the ads, on the covers--that fit into the mold: big breasts, teeny waist, perfect skin and teeth, toned everything. Nowhere do you see a stretch mark, a pimple, a split end, a mis-matched pair of breasts, a gray hair (unless it's an ad marketed to the Mature demographic), a broken fingernail, or anyone above a size 6. And that's just unrealistic, dammit.
Real People have boobs ranging Honkin' to Non-Existent, and that's fine. Real People have skin that's smooth as satin or pocked with scars and blemishes, and that's fine. Real People have blonde hair, brown hair, black hair, red hair, silver hair, white hair, pink hair, blue hair, no hair, soft hair, kinky hair, hair with split ends, and that's fine. Real People are shaped like hourglasses, pears, upside-down pears, triangles, upside-down triangles, sticks, squares, and circles, and THAT'S fine.
You want to see a perfect body? A perfect person? Look in the mirror. You are who you are, you are WHAT you are. Some people just aren't born to have six-pack abs, or smooth hair, or porcelain skin, or an hourglass figure. And there is absofuckinglutely NOTHING wrong with that, there is nothing wrong with YOU if that's how you are. Walk down the street, and you won't see supermodels--you'll see real fucking people, with real fucking bodies.
These magazines insist that the only things that matter in life are (a) fashionable clothes, (b) hot guys, (c) sex, and (d) obtaining all of the above by looking "hot". I'm not apologizing for refusing to let that shit in the same house as impressionable children, and let's face it, we're impressionable children right up until we're 30. Then we become insecure adults, and that's a whole new set of problems.
If my daughter whines and complains and wants to read fashion magazines, fine. She can buy them herself when she's 18. The only way she's allowed to before then is if she shows that she knows herself well enough, and is confident enough, to not be influenced by them (plus saves up her allowance to pay for it herself). I want my child to figure herself out in her own time, through her own experiences, using her own powers of deduction and reasoning and no one else's, not even mine.
I know: I say that now, but just wait until the time comes and little Lucy is being SUCH a whiney little bitch about how all my friends get to read Cosmo, MOTHER, why can't I, you suck SO MUCH, I hate you FOREVER, and then we'll see how well I can stand my ground against the raw power of Teenage Girl Angst.
Bring it.
Any magazine that even subtly insinuates that you must have a certain weight, height, size, shape, hair color, eye color, skin color, sexual preference, diet, wardrobe, exercise routine, pet, car, job, personal life, etc or else suffer the social consequences of being Weird is just not allowed in a 1/2-mile radius of my impressionable child, especially if that child is a girl. I refuse to allow any literature that portrays "weird" as anything other than "not mainstream". Weird is not bad, it's just different, and different isn't bad either, dammit.
Watch almost any TV show or advertisement, any movie, open up almost any magazine, and you'll see Beautiful People doing Cool Things. I'm in my twenties, and I still want to be that Beautiful Person playing with that Cool Toy; young children have no chance. Everywhere you look, you're being shown that if you don't look like This, you're just plain Doing It Wrong.
Just yesterday, I saw a Benefiber commercial on TV featuring a Beautiful Person. She was tall, blonde, slender, with big boobs and a teeny waist, with perfect skin and teeth. She was dressed in a white outfit that only covered her breasts and legs, and that just barely. For a FIBER SUPPLEMENT. If you need sex to sell your fiber supplement, then YOU'RE just plain Doing It Wrong.
Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Elle, Seventeen, even "health/fitness" magazines like Shape are all about one thing: selling a product, which means selling an image, which means selling the idea that you're ugly and stupid unless you fit that image. If you go to Cosmo right now, one of the first things you'll see is a big box with "Want a Guy To Follow You Anywhere?", "Fierce Footwear", and "Why Stop at One Orgasm?", plus boxes with "Guess the Sex Position!" and "Sex Position of the Day!" and a man with his shirt off. Even with the aforementioned Shape, a relatively safe magazine focusing on fitness, health and exercise, the first thing you'll see is an advertisement for an appetite suppressant--because healthy women don't have appetites, right?
And every single magazine has tons of pictures of women--in the articles, in the ads, on the covers--that fit into the mold: big breasts, teeny waist, perfect skin and teeth, toned everything. Nowhere do you see a stretch mark, a pimple, a split end, a mis-matched pair of breasts, a gray hair (unless it's an ad marketed to the Mature demographic), a broken fingernail, or anyone above a size 6. And that's just unrealistic, dammit.
Real People have boobs ranging Honkin' to Non-Existent, and that's fine. Real People have skin that's smooth as satin or pocked with scars and blemishes, and that's fine. Real People have blonde hair, brown hair, black hair, red hair, silver hair, white hair, pink hair, blue hair, no hair, soft hair, kinky hair, hair with split ends, and that's fine. Real People are shaped like hourglasses, pears, upside-down pears, triangles, upside-down triangles, sticks, squares, and circles, and THAT'S fine.
You want to see a perfect body? A perfect person? Look in the mirror. You are who you are, you are WHAT you are. Some people just aren't born to have six-pack abs, or smooth hair, or porcelain skin, or an hourglass figure. And there is absofuckinglutely NOTHING wrong with that, there is nothing wrong with YOU if that's how you are. Walk down the street, and you won't see supermodels--you'll see real fucking people, with real fucking bodies.
These magazines insist that the only things that matter in life are (a) fashionable clothes, (b) hot guys, (c) sex, and (d) obtaining all of the above by looking "hot". I'm not apologizing for refusing to let that shit in the same house as impressionable children, and let's face it, we're impressionable children right up until we're 30. Then we become insecure adults, and that's a whole new set of problems.
If my daughter whines and complains and wants to read fashion magazines, fine. She can buy them herself when she's 18. The only way she's allowed to before then is if she shows that she knows herself well enough, and is confident enough, to not be influenced by them (plus saves up her allowance to pay for it herself). I want my child to figure herself out in her own time, through her own experiences, using her own powers of deduction and reasoning and no one else's, not even mine.
I know: I say that now, but just wait until the time comes and little Lucy is being SUCH a whiney little bitch about how all my friends get to read Cosmo, MOTHER, why can't I, you suck SO MUCH, I hate you FOREVER, and then we'll see how well I can stand my ground against the raw power of Teenage Girl Angst.
Bring it.
And I wonder why I'm always tired.
On Saturdays, I open up work at 7 AM. This means I have to get up at 6 AM. If I want a full 8 hours of sleep, I need to be slumbering by 10 PM Friday night.
This is how my Friday night usually goes:
9:30 PM
I should probably head to bed soon. I may not get a full 8 hours (and hell, would I know what to do with them?), but I should try to get as much as possible.
10 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:15 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:30 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
11 PM
Ryan: Dear, it's 11 PM.
Me: And?
Ryan: I just wanted to let you know. It's 11.
Me: Okay...
Ryan: In case you were unaware. It's 11. Pee-Emm.
Me: Ryan.
Ryan: Ruth.
Me: ...
Ryan: It's 11 PM.
11:10 PM
Ryan: It is now 10 after 11.
11:15 PM
Ryan: It is now quarter after 11.
11:20 PM
Ryan: It is now--
Me: OKAY! SHUT UP!
11:25 PM
Turn off computer, start bed prep: brushing teeth, taking pills, moving morning-prep things to living room so the chances to wake Ryan are minimized, putting bag together so I can leave on time, etc.
11:30 - 11:50 PM
Listen to Ryan talk about something WoW-related that he decided to mention as I was getting ready for bed. Listen with half my brain, remember the conversation at 11 with other half.
11:50 PM - 12:05 AM
Chase fly around room with awesome new fly swatter while cursing like a sailor.
12:05 AM - 12:25 AM
Climb into bed, I talk at Ryan, who is too nice to just leave the bedroom while I'm yakking at him even though I should be asleep.
12:30 AM
Ryan leaves the room. I read a magazine or book to try and quiet my mind for sleeping.
12:30 - 12:40 AM
Fly reappears on bedside lamp. Try to ignore it. Try to read. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it.
12:45 AM
Do you watch Family Guy? Have you ever seen one of the episodes where the giant chicken comes in and there's a drawn-out, over-the-top fight scene between him and Peter? Yeah that. But with replace Peter Griffin with me and the chicken with a fly.
1:00 AM
After one final swat, decide that the fly is dead even though I can't find the body. Turn off the light. Ryan asks if I want the door closed so the music won't keep me awake, I say no, I like it, it helps me fall asleep.
1:00 - 1:30 AM
Each song change wakes me up a little. Each squeak of the office chair wakes me up a little. Random words in the songs will wake me up a little. The cat moving around upstairs will wake me up a little. Every time I wake up, it feels like I've been asleep for 3 hours, when in reality it's been less than five minutes.
1:30 AM
Ryan finally comes to bed. I use his arm as a pillow and make a happy little "mmm" sound. When he tries to take his arm back, I inform him that "mmm" is part of the English dialect known as Girlese and translates into "Your arm is mine now, ha ha."
1:45 AM
Finally fall asleep.
All I can say is: thank God for energy drinks.
This is how my Friday night usually goes:
9:30 PM
I should probably head to bed soon. I may not get a full 8 hours (and hell, would I know what to do with them?), but I should try to get as much as possible.
10 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:15 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:30 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
11 PM
Ryan: Dear, it's 11 PM.
Me: And?
Ryan: I just wanted to let you know. It's 11.
Me: Okay...
Ryan: In case you were unaware. It's 11. Pee-Emm.
Me: Ryan.
Ryan: Ruth.
Me: ...
Ryan: It's 11 PM.
11:10 PM
Ryan: It is now 10 after 11.
11:15 PM
Ryan: It is now quarter after 11.
11:20 PM
Ryan: It is now--
Me: OKAY! SHUT UP!
11:25 PM
Turn off computer, start bed prep: brushing teeth, taking pills, moving morning-prep things to living room so the chances to wake Ryan are minimized, putting bag together so I can leave on time, etc.
11:30 - 11:50 PM
Listen to Ryan talk about something WoW-related that he decided to mention as I was getting ready for bed. Listen with half my brain, remember the conversation at 11 with other half.
11:50 PM - 12:05 AM
Chase fly around room with awesome new fly swatter while cursing like a sailor.
12:05 AM - 12:25 AM
Climb into bed, I talk at Ryan, who is too nice to just leave the bedroom while I'm yakking at him even though I should be asleep.
12:30 AM
Ryan leaves the room. I read a magazine or book to try and quiet my mind for sleeping.
12:30 - 12:40 AM
Fly reappears on bedside lamp. Try to ignore it. Try to read. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it.
12:45 AM
Do you watch Family Guy? Have you ever seen one of the episodes where the giant chicken comes in and there's a drawn-out, over-the-top fight scene between him and Peter? Yeah that. But with replace Peter Griffin with me and the chicken with a fly.
1:00 AM
After one final swat, decide that the fly is dead even though I can't find the body. Turn off the light. Ryan asks if I want the door closed so the music won't keep me awake, I say no, I like it, it helps me fall asleep.
1:00 - 1:30 AM
Each song change wakes me up a little. Each squeak of the office chair wakes me up a little. Random words in the songs will wake me up a little. The cat moving around upstairs will wake me up a little. Every time I wake up, it feels like I've been asleep for 3 hours, when in reality it's been less than five minutes.
1:30 AM
Ryan finally comes to bed. I use his arm as a pillow and make a happy little "mmm" sound. When he tries to take his arm back, I inform him that "mmm" is part of the English dialect known as Girlese and translates into "Your arm is mine now, ha ha."
1:45 AM
Finally fall asleep.
All I can say is: thank God for energy drinks.
Friday, October 2, 2009
My name is Ruth Johnson, and I'm addicted to HGTV.
That's right, I'm addicted. House Hunters, My First Place, Property Virgins, Dear Genevieve, Color Splash, all of it! Even Divine Design, even though Candice Olson makes my skin crawl. You know what she does? She tries to be Ellen DeGeneres. She wants to be cute and quirky and adorable, and she is trying ever so hard to nail it. But you can tell that every action is exquisitely planned, and that just ruins it.
Now Genevieve...I love Genevieve. I've loved her ever since Trading Spaces. Now, on Dear Genevieve, she gets letters from people about rooms that are ruining their lives, and comes in and pulls the perfect design out of their hearts. She doesn't just ask what they want for a floor plan, what their favorite colors are, blah blah blah. She asks about their lives, their values, their interests, what they do in that room, what they want that room to be about beyond just "place to cook" or "place to sleep". Then she takes these things, runs around barefoot, scares the shit out of the homeowners with color swatches, and makes them cry.
Genevieve is also one of the only designers I know of that can't draw for shit. Each episode, she takes out a huge piece of paper to sketch out the room, and there is just no finesse to it. Lines are not straight, angles are not square, scale is not in proportion. But none of it matters, because it gets the idea across.
She's also gorgeous and sweet and compassionate and friendly and I WANT TO HUG HER SO BAD.
Oh, and then there's Color Splash. With David Bromstad. David. Bromstad. Looking past the fact that he's gorgeous, ripped, has a fantastic smile, great eyes, looks like he'd give the BEST hugs...
What was I saying?
Oh yes. *wipes off drool* Besides the physical aspect, David Bromstad is RIDICULOUSLY talented. Illegally talented. He put together a living room with the direction of "Modern Rustic". COME ON. And his art is to die for. Literally, I would die for a custom-made piece of art from this man. Or pay thousands of dollars. Whatever.
As I type this, I'm watching The Antonio Project, an hour-long show where the winner of Design Star completely finishes a trashed-out house be bought at auction. After watching this past season of Design Star, it's fun to watch what Antonio does now that he's off the leash.
Honestly, I thought some of his projects were a little lackluster, especially the White Room Challenge, especially since he's this big, burly, tattooed, rough-talkin', 40-year-old Italian set designer who wants everyone to know how edgy and creative and risk-taking he is. That said, he is edgy and creative and he takes risks. So I'm glad they picked him over Dan, who, while very talented, fits the mold of the clean-shaven, polo-wearing, probably-gay, stream-lined designer that's already on HGTV. Antonio has those plastic nerd glasses and a scruffy beard, he's got tattoos all over his arms and chest and neck, owns a bull dog names Chewie, and wears random t-shirts and Converse and camo cargo shorts and a leather jacket. Mold = Obliterated.
I wish I could be an Interior Designer. Watching these shows, the creative process, trying to take a person's life and passions and routine and trying to fit it into x dimensions with y budget? Brrr! That sounds like SO MUCH FUN to me! That said, it also sounds like it's just begging for a micro-managing, indecisive, finicky homeowner to ruin EVERYTHING. Or a procrastinating, incommunicado supplier. Not to mention that my self-confidence issues would make it difficult to present a design plan with enough conviction to persuade the homeowner to go for it. It was also pointed out to me how much education most designers bring to the table--design, art, architecture, even engineering. I completely understand why you'd want all that, but at the same time I don't think I could stay awake through all those classes!
If I ever get the super power of 80's Movie Montage--zipping through long periods of time in less than an hour with a peppy, inspirational song playing along--I'll go for it. Until then, I'll just watch HGTV and sigh. And wish. And drool.
Now Genevieve...I love Genevieve. I've loved her ever since Trading Spaces. Now, on Dear Genevieve, she gets letters from people about rooms that are ruining their lives, and comes in and pulls the perfect design out of their hearts. She doesn't just ask what they want for a floor plan, what their favorite colors are, blah blah blah. She asks about their lives, their values, their interests, what they do in that room, what they want that room to be about beyond just "place to cook" or "place to sleep". Then she takes these things, runs around barefoot, scares the shit out of the homeowners with color swatches, and makes them cry.
Genevieve is also one of the only designers I know of that can't draw for shit. Each episode, she takes out a huge piece of paper to sketch out the room, and there is just no finesse to it. Lines are not straight, angles are not square, scale is not in proportion. But none of it matters, because it gets the idea across.
She's also gorgeous and sweet and compassionate and friendly and I WANT TO HUG HER SO BAD.
Oh, and then there's Color Splash. With David Bromstad. David. Bromstad. Looking past the fact that he's gorgeous, ripped, has a fantastic smile, great eyes, looks like he'd give the BEST hugs...
What was I saying?
Oh yes. *wipes off drool* Besides the physical aspect, David Bromstad is RIDICULOUSLY talented. Illegally talented. He put together a living room with the direction of "Modern Rustic". COME ON. And his art is to die for. Literally, I would die for a custom-made piece of art from this man. Or pay thousands of dollars. Whatever.
As I type this, I'm watching The Antonio Project, an hour-long show where the winner of Design Star completely finishes a trashed-out house be bought at auction. After watching this past season of Design Star, it's fun to watch what Antonio does now that he's off the leash.
Honestly, I thought some of his projects were a little lackluster, especially the White Room Challenge, especially since he's this big, burly, tattooed, rough-talkin', 40-year-old Italian set designer who wants everyone to know how edgy and creative and risk-taking he is. That said, he is edgy and creative and he takes risks. So I'm glad they picked him over Dan, who, while very talented, fits the mold of the clean-shaven, polo-wearing, probably-gay, stream-lined designer that's already on HGTV. Antonio has those plastic nerd glasses and a scruffy beard, he's got tattoos all over his arms and chest and neck, owns a bull dog names Chewie, and wears random t-shirts and Converse and camo cargo shorts and a leather jacket. Mold = Obliterated.
I wish I could be an Interior Designer. Watching these shows, the creative process, trying to take a person's life and passions and routine and trying to fit it into x dimensions with y budget? Brrr! That sounds like SO MUCH FUN to me! That said, it also sounds like it's just begging for a micro-managing, indecisive, finicky homeowner to ruin EVERYTHING. Or a procrastinating, incommunicado supplier. Not to mention that my self-confidence issues would make it difficult to present a design plan with enough conviction to persuade the homeowner to go for it. It was also pointed out to me how much education most designers bring to the table--design, art, architecture, even engineering. I completely understand why you'd want all that, but at the same time I don't think I could stay awake through all those classes!
If I ever get the super power of 80's Movie Montage--zipping through long periods of time in less than an hour with a peppy, inspirational song playing along--I'll go for it. Until then, I'll just watch HGTV and sigh. And wish. And drool.
Hellooooooo!
There are many people I could blame with the creation of this blog: my parents, for encouraging me and insisting my opinion was worth something; my fourth grade teacher, for telling me "You are never done writing,"; the many subsequent teachers who read my writing and told me that I had a way with words (my parents can also be accused of voicing these sentiments); and, finally, all the bloggers I follow, for making it look so easy and fun.
However, as much as I've been told that I have every right to say what I want, and that I can say it well, the bullies in my head still insist that blogging at every urge would just annoy the people who follow my current blog.
So, here's my answer: a blog that people can just check when they want to, instead of having their friends page flooded with inanity. Because, let's face it, I may be able to write well, and I may be insightful and even clever on occasion, but the truth is that I'm a dork, a spaz, a silly, and my blogging ain't winning Pulitzers any time soon.
The other reason for this move is that I feel I've "outgrown" LiveJournal. I made my first entry on November 3, 2001, when I was sixteen. That first entry was about being torn between two boys, which was a MAJOR, LIFE-CHANGING PROBLEM, DAMMIT. Since then, it has been locked and unlocked, the templates and colors have changed many times, and many other LIFE-CHANGING DRAMATIC INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT OMG EVENTS have occurred and passed into the annals of history. Eight years have passed. I've changed from an introverted and confused teenager to an introverted and confused adult (you may say "young adult", and that's your right, but I consider that category to cover 18 to 22, personally)(also, this is my blog, and I can call myself anything I want, so step off).
Looking at my LiveJournal now, I feel like I'm leaning on my friends list. If no one comments, I fear that I'm stupid or boring; if I make an entry more than once a day (something that has not happened in a LONG time), I fear that I'm annoying people. Meanwhile, all my friends have gotten these new-fangled things called "lives", and don't update much anymore--and more power to them for having so much to do that they don't have the chance to sit down and entertain me, or comment on my rantings about work. Lazy bums.
The point is, at the top of the list of reasons for Why I Use LiveJournal is the Community/Friends, which is a big part of what it's about. I feel like I need to grow and move on from that. Eventually, this could mean having my own website (something with a .com instead of a .blogspot.com), but that feels bigger than what I'm ready for. This does feel like a step in the right direction.
I feel like my writing/journaling/blogging/public navel-gazing should be made because I want to say something, not because I want someone to read it; I want to blog with no other person to make happy but myself, even if the potential judgment is only in my head.
I want any blog I have to stand on its own, with no built-in audience that only reads it (or skims past it) because it's on their friends page; I want an audience that seeks me out, not one that is force-fed my writing.
Finally, I want my blog to be honest. For some time now, I feel like I'm leaving out a large chunk of my life when I make LJ entries. This is partly due to that insecurity I mentioned earlier, partly due to the usual reactions this part of my life brings about, and partly because this large chunk feels different than the life I've had while on LiveJournal, and it feels like it doesn't belong there. I want to be able to post about anything and everything (within reason)(mostly), and again, this feels like a step in that direction.
I'll be looking for ways to continue updating LiveJournal, whether it's just posting a link that says "New entry over here!" or C&Ping certain posts, or parts of posts. I will also continue to read my friends' page, of course.
I can't promise many things for this blog. I won't say "I'll try to" either, because, as some people might put it, that's setting myself up for failure, giving me an out. I'm just going to do what I'm going to do.
I HOPE to:
[o] post often, even multiple times a day (gasp!)
[o] post whatever is on mind, whatever I have to say, whatever I want to share, whatever I think is cool or interesting or outrageous or shiny
[o] post on a regular basis, possibly making it a "mandatory" part of my routine, to make it a habit
[o] post pictures and art (or at least links to my arts over on other sites)
[o] share as much as possible
That's all for now. More updates coming soon!
However, as much as I've been told that I have every right to say what I want, and that I can say it well, the bullies in my head still insist that blogging at every urge would just annoy the people who follow my current blog.
So, here's my answer: a blog that people can just check when they want to, instead of having their friends page flooded with inanity. Because, let's face it, I may be able to write well, and I may be insightful and even clever on occasion, but the truth is that I'm a dork, a spaz, a silly, and my blogging ain't winning Pulitzers any time soon.
The other reason for this move is that I feel I've "outgrown" LiveJournal. I made my first entry on November 3, 2001, when I was sixteen. That first entry was about being torn between two boys, which was a MAJOR, LIFE-CHANGING PROBLEM, DAMMIT. Since then, it has been locked and unlocked, the templates and colors have changed many times, and many other LIFE-CHANGING DRAMATIC INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT OMG EVENTS have occurred and passed into the annals of history. Eight years have passed. I've changed from an introverted and confused teenager to an introverted and confused adult (you may say "young adult", and that's your right, but I consider that category to cover 18 to 22, personally)(also, this is my blog, and I can call myself anything I want, so step off).
Looking at my LiveJournal now, I feel like I'm leaning on my friends list. If no one comments, I fear that I'm stupid or boring; if I make an entry more than once a day (something that has not happened in a LONG time), I fear that I'm annoying people. Meanwhile, all my friends have gotten these new-fangled things called "lives", and don't update much anymore--and more power to them for having so much to do that they don't have the chance to sit down and entertain me, or comment on my rantings about work. Lazy bums.
The point is, at the top of the list of reasons for Why I Use LiveJournal is the Community/Friends, which is a big part of what it's about. I feel like I need to grow and move on from that. Eventually, this could mean having my own website (something with a .com instead of a .blogspot.com), but that feels bigger than what I'm ready for. This does feel like a step in the right direction.
I feel like my writing/journaling/blogging/public navel-gazing should be made because I want to say something, not because I want someone to read it; I want to blog with no other person to make happy but myself, even if the potential judgment is only in my head.
I want any blog I have to stand on its own, with no built-in audience that only reads it (or skims past it) because it's on their friends page; I want an audience that seeks me out, not one that is force-fed my writing.
Finally, I want my blog to be honest. For some time now, I feel like I'm leaving out a large chunk of my life when I make LJ entries. This is partly due to that insecurity I mentioned earlier, partly due to the usual reactions this part of my life brings about, and partly because this large chunk feels different than the life I've had while on LiveJournal, and it feels like it doesn't belong there. I want to be able to post about anything and everything (within reason)(mostly), and again, this feels like a step in that direction.
I'll be looking for ways to continue updating LiveJournal, whether it's just posting a link that says "New entry over here!" or C&Ping certain posts, or parts of posts. I will also continue to read my friends' page, of course.
I can't promise many things for this blog. I won't say "I'll try to" either, because, as some people might put it, that's setting myself up for failure, giving me an out. I'm just going to do what I'm going to do.
I HOPE to:
[o] post often, even multiple times a day (gasp!)
[o] post whatever is on mind, whatever I have to say, whatever I want to share, whatever I think is cool or interesting or outrageous or shiny
[o] post on a regular basis, possibly making it a "mandatory" part of my routine, to make it a habit
[o] post pictures and art (or at least links to my arts over on other sites)
[o] share as much as possible
That's all for now. More updates coming soon!
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