CARPE DIEM

Road Rage!

2011-03-28T19:48:00.023-05:00

For as long as I can remember, I've been witness to the phenomenon we call road rage. Why call it a phenomenon, you ask? It's simple. The experience of driving has the ability to make even the most meek, soft-spoken, good-natured person scream heinous obscenities at some jerk as they mercilessly pound on the steering wheel. It doesn't really matter if you know the object of your ire can't hear a word you're saying, nor does it that you've just used words that would make a sailor blush. What matters is that, after the hissy fit you just threw... you feel better!

I came to learn road rage from my father. While generally a good-natured fella, his temper is prone to excitability, and the many trials and tribulations of the road only exacerbate it. Nary a day went by when I wasn't in the car with him, jamming out to classic rock and listening to him beseech the other fine users of the U.S. highway system to quit being idiots (although his preferred term was "c***sucker"). I am twenty-one years old now, and things haven't changed a bit. In all of my twenty-one years, however, I have only seen him extend his middle fingers once; both at the same time. I can't recall why or what it was about, but that isn't important. What is important is that the moral compass of my youth unwittingly demonstrated to me that even he was not above flipping the bird to the self-involved drivers on the road that dared to cross him, who did so at times quite literally. I remember being appalled and yet fascinated all at once by my dad's blatant display of anger and exasperation through the use of just two fingers which hold the power to say so much. If you can't be heard you can certainly be seen, right?

I'd like to be able to use the above preamble to illustrate how I have not inherited that particular personality trait from my illustrious father. I'd like to be able to tell the reader that I am a rock, that I am stoic in the face of deranged drivers who cut me off or don't let me into the left lane to get onto 635 when I so desperately need to. But... I can't say that. And if I did, not only would I be lying through my teeth, but you wouldn't have another Bridget blog to read in your boring downtime.

Those who live in the midwest, namely Kansas, namely Kansas City, understand - unless they are one of the myriad of awful drivers who ever sat behind a steering wheel. If that's the case then they're probably of the opinion that everyone else sucks anyway, because it's never their fault, right? The problem is that it's already a chore for the directionally-challenged to drive in Kansas City; it'd be a chore if every KC driver was the picture-perfect example of considerate and skillful driving. The scary truth, however, is that everyone within the greater Kansas City area probably has trouble leaving their driveways in an orderly fashion. I have no clue why so many people fail so epically at driving where I live, nor why I must deal with it. I mean, maybe I did something wrong in a past life and Karma has finally caught up to me. Perhaps I clubbed a baby seal, or cursed in the presence of a nun, or found a cuter nun and seduced her. Who knows?? But it definitely seems like I'm atoning, folks.

I have to say that one of my chief concerns is the Soccer Mom Phenomenon. This phenomenon occurs when you (the good, mostly law-abiding driver) are in the leftmost lane and going with the flow of traffic, maybe a wee bit faster. Maybe the speed limit is a posted sixty-five miles per hour and you are traveling at a solid seventy-one. Everything is going smoothly; you are singing along to the latest Britney Spears comeback song that you aren't quite willing to admit you actually like, no one has irked you since you set out on your journey, and all is well with the world... the planets seem to be aligned. But then, much to your dismay, something looms in your rear view. Ahh! It's a luxury SUV (insert Lexus/Acura/Cadillac/Infinity/BMW brand here) being driven by the most feared organism on the road - the storied Soccer Mom. She is on her cell phone screaming something to someone on the other end, holding some kind of overpriced, ice-blended coffee beverage in the other hand, and is steering with her knees. She has three children in the back seat all yelling and vying for her attention, probably demanding ice cream or a toy. She has to get her eight year-old to soccer practice, her daughter to piano lessons, and her infant son home to change his recently soiled diapers. She is going over ninety miles per hour, and she is out to get you. You glance into your rear view mirror in horror at how quickly she is gaining on your Focus. You attempt to suppress a terrified schoolgirl scream, looking frantically to the right for an opening to merge and be safely out of the way of this barreling, environmentally-detrimental, worth-more-than-your-house monstrosity... but no relief comes. Upon seeing your signal the douche to your right smiles and speeds up, thwarting your attempt to avert certain death. It is at this moment you conclude that not only are you probably going to die, but this d-bag is also almost certainly in cahoots with the deranged soccer mom behind you who is so close to your bumper you can feel her breathing down your neck. If you're a sissy, a tear might even come to your eye.

It is only after this debacle is over that you have time to gather your senses and realize that you managed to be out-driven by someone steering with their knees. You remember looking behind in wonderment, curious as to how in the world she was managing to pilot her ludicrously expensive vehicle with each hand being occupied with something other than the steering wheel. You slowly pull into the lot at your destination, put the car in park, and emit a string of obscenities that not even Robin Williams would utter. This is a prime example of PIRR, or Post-Incident Road Rage. It's a less common form, substantially fueled by the realization that only a miracle saved you from the presence of Saint Peter at the pearly gates and having to explain your sins. And it just makes you irate!

The most common form of road rage is what I like to call IRR, or Immediate Road Rage. This occurs when, for example, one is cut off on the highway when heading for an exit. The most common symptoms are uncontrollabe cursing, wild flailing of limbs, pounding/honking of the steering wheel, throwing up of the hands, or a combination of all. There might even be some stern lecturing or diatribes directed at the offending driver, who most often cannot hear these words. This lack of ability to hear the offended driver may be the top contributor to brain-dead or thoughtless driving. Then again, it may just be that the offending driver really is brain-dead (the most likely explanation). Either way, the manner in which one's anger is dealt with is often quite cleansing. I myself sometimes feel somewhat accomplished and self-satisfied upon the completion of an elaborate engineering of verbal vulgarities directed at a person who not only cannot hear what I'm saying, but whom I will most likely never meet or see ever again. Don't ask why; it's an enigma to us all.

Readers may be interested to know that road rage can also extend to the parking lot, growing pretty intense in such a place, in fact. Nothing is more infuriating than driving around the mall parking lot for twenty minutes in order to find any place to park, only to come across a newly vacated spot which some other lucky jerk has already taken advantage of. Or maybe you've been patiently waiting for someone to pull out of their space when some jackass quickly zips in and steals it from you, as if to say, "HA HA, sucker!" It's happened to me. I recall one particularly angering time when two parking spaces were available, one on my side of the row and one on the other side. They were arranged in such a way that I would have been able to pull through without having to back out when my shopping was finished. I'll be darned if some idiot jerk "meanie face" wasn't thinking the same on the other row. I know he saw me with my blinker on at least intending to get the spot on my side. So what does he do? He pulls all the way through to my side. The prognosis for this was going all the way around to the side he was originally on to get the parking space through which he had driven to steal mine. But by the time I arrived, the spot had already been taken! Needless to say, I was irked. I was furious. I was all of the synonyms for the opposite of happy you can think of off the top of your head or even look up in the thesaurus. I was all of them, and all at once. I threw up my hands and looked at him as if to say, "WTF?!" I even just might have mouthed the words which that acronym indicates. And then I might have loudly cursed as he smiled, shrugged his shoulders, stepped out of his Porsche SUV (Yes, his Porsche SUV) and clicked his remote to arm the alarm. I really am not sure I am able to actually do literary justice to the intensity with which I bellowed my atomic, weapons-grade version of the F-bomb upon seeing that man exit his vehicle with his smug grin headed for the mall entrance, no doubt with the intention of buying the most expensive clothing Nordstrom's had to offer and possibly attending a Homeowner's Association meeting at his gated community later that evening. I felt I was very close to doing something I might (not) regret later, such as keying his Porsche gas guzzler. Reserve your judgments, though - I refrained. And I'm almost positive I have the F-word to thank.

I thank my dad for showing me what it means to be a true road-rager, one who does not back down from any opportunity to yell vulgarities so loud they might hear me in Japan. You could say I've become a road rage poet, reciting eloquent and well put-together successions of curses and swear words that might be considered brilliant works of oratory art, were ninety-nine percent of the words used in said phrases not looked down upon in polite society. But when dealing with the interstate and the various and sundry highways and byways that make up a majority of our great road system, you have to remember that we are not, in fact, dealing with polite society... for those minutes or hours that anyone is on the road, they becom harbingers of inconsideration and stupidity, no longer the polite, loving family man or the attentive, warm multi-tasking mother. For just a fleeting time, we all get to be the tough, blunt, and aggressive people that we wish we could be everywhere else. For a great many of us, it's cathartic.

Last of all, the important lesson in of all is this, ladies and gentleman, is that I did not in fact flip the bird to any of the people in these stories. And that is something which I consider an accomplishment.

Bridget Harman: Gay Recruiter!

2010-11-28T12:44:00.000-06:00

As a child, I never planned to grow up to become a gay recruiter. Hell, I didn't even know it was an option; my high school guidance counselor never mentioned this career possibility. Despite my efforts earlier in the year, I was also unsuccessful in finding a Gay Recruitment 101 course at the local college I attend. Disappointed but unphased, I decided to embrace this profession anyhow... and soon it all seemed to make sense. This is precisely why I have recently become a proud member of the GRC - the Gay Recruiter Coalition.

After stumbling out of bed at approximately 6 am every morning, my day begins by humbly kneeling in front of a life-size photo of K.D. Lang, revelling that anyone could be that gay! If only I could aspire to that level of gayness... oftentimes, I think that this would make my mission much easier. Nevertheless, I am just your run-of-the-mill homo, nothing flashy or spectacular to behold. I bathe and then shower to rinse off the bathwater - everyone knows how particular we are about being clean, after all. After a few quick sips of tea it's essential to get myself all "butched up" for the day, sporting my wrist cuff, man wallet, black leather studded belt and, just to be clear about things - my rainbow-hued Make Your Yuletide Gay t-shirt. This is followed by the finishing touches of putting entirely too much product in my hair and tossing on whichever Birkenstocks match the cut-off camouflage shorts I have adorned.

Lastly, I find myself feeding the animals, hanging my huge rainbow flag from the porch, and grabbing an armload of literature to help my cause. Passing out literature to innocent bystanders has worked wonders for various religious groups; it's high time we implemented this strategy ourselves. Hopping into my pick-up truck covered in stickers decrying the perverse nature of heterosexuality, I unfold my map and target a new area. En route to the target I do usually stop for coffee as well (I mean, hey, even us gay folk like coffee now and then) and give my best effort at avoiding sickness when I see those straight people holding hands... hugging... kissing... do they not know how disturbing that is?!

After purging those horrid visions from my eyes, now declared safe to drive, I head out with Melissa Etheridge or Joan Jett blaring out of my windows and soon arrive at the target neighborhood. These neighborhoods usually tend to be more upscale in nature; obviously, we only want to recruit new gays with tons of disposable income. The reasoning for this lies in that these recruited gays can then hook up with slightly less financially well-off "pure" gays, thereby serving to balance everything out. Parked at whatever road I plan to start on, literature in hand, I step out of the truck and make my way up to the first house.

With the first little ring of the doorbell comes a little rush of excitement anticipating my first encounter of the day.

"Have you heard the good word? Gay is okay! We currently have many openings available, and we think you would be a great fit for at least one of them!" The men tend to be somewhat skeptical, perhaps confusing me with a Jehovah's Witness and running me off of their property. At least I'm pretty sure that's what's going on... I mean, why wouldn't someone want to receive the flattery of being invited into the world of the gays? Other times it works out that they will listen for a time, accept my literature, and resist setting the attack dogs on me (which, you know, is always pleasant).

When a woman answers the door, things invariably go a bit better. Honestly... there is a reason I don't start recruiting until 9 am. I find it unethical to physically recruit these women, but some would argue that it's only for the good of the movement; we always need more fresh bodies and votes so we can further our agenda of fuining family values and morality. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I get a kick out of knowing that I am the smile on a lonely housewife's face her husband will never understand.

After ruining a dozen or so marriages, I figure I can call it a day. Staying hydrated is always a problem, and you can only cure so many straight ills before your batteries must be recharged. Of course, the best way to recharge them is by hanging around in a busy public venue with fellow gay recruiters, shoving literature in the hands of people that don't want it and telling them they are sick. It is imperative that heterosexual people hear this and know that we are only saying it because we care. These mob recruiting tactics we employ seem to be popular; people are always staring at us, so it must work.

Finally, we often venture to a straight bar for its great money-saving qualities. Straight single men always seem to be easy targets to buy us drinks and dinners. All we have to do is kiss each other, smile, and the next thing you know... we're set for the night! Yeah, yeah, we pretend to make their fantasies come true, but we never do. We simply get them inebriated enough to slide into the backseat of a car with a gay drag queen so we can ease them into the homo lifestyle. Sure, they may complain the next day or deny it ever happened, but they keep coming back. It's just too easy.

I've learned a lot about grassroot efforts in the past few years. My hope is that with an increasing number of gay recruiters going door-to-door and working the clubs, we can turn this country gay one county at a time. Admittedly, it's somewhat of a thankless job, but to help so many confused people really makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Not all gay recruiters are as blessed, and officially the GRC does not condone resorting to "straight bashing"... but, you know. As long as the ends justify the means.

Trip to Store = Faith in Humanity

2010-09-30T19:45:00.002-05:00

We live in an age of crumbling faiths. Everywhere I look, beliefs are battered and belittled – belief in God, belief in human goodness, belief in public transportation. Even faith in our president is wavering – just today I received an email informing me that my beloved Barack Obama (and I quote), “IS a muslim and IS a racist and this is a fulfillment of the 911 threat that was just the beginning.” My God, why hast thou forsaken me (and my preferred politician)?

Amidst these trying times, I am happy to say that this evening, I experienced a restoration of faith in one of the most fundamental institutions of modern society: the grocery store. First of all, in an era when the echoes of far-off bombs and gunfire resonate through my withered conscience, I long for the sweet, serene sounds of simpler times. Tonight, while shopping for shallots, I find myself inexplicably drawn to the vegetable and fruit section. There, enraptured in an alternate universe, I nuzzle the organic carrots as a mechanized Mother Nature sprays a soft mist of hygienic H20 and serenades her vegetative wards with midi thunder sounds. That’s right – in today’s supermarkets, tumultuous audio storms are invoked for the benefit of the zucchini and beets. Oh ye, bard of broccoli, let thine sweet symphony seduce my singed senses!

After I satiate my tastes in fresh produce, I move on to the rest of my grocery list. Alas, there is no crème fraîche. But I eschew bitterness in lieu of tolerant understanding. Let the plebeians devour their Half and Half; I will not lose heart! (There is no lemon thyme, either, and no halibut. Even the “Ethnic Foods” aisle is a bust. Grocerial segregation? Nay – not at this grocery store, surely. But I digress.)

At long last, I clothe myself in pretenses of economic security and prepare to pay for my indulgences. Because of my deep-seated inability to relinquish control, I select the self check-out line. As it turns out, my choice is richly rewarded.

There is a brilliant feature on the “do it yourself” checkout lines involving an automated voice. If you have, say, neglected to weigh and catalog your fruits in the produce section, you are given a second chance at checkout. The automated voice extends an olive branch of mercy and understanding. First you must enter the product number, and then, as if by magic, the oracle speaks. Ever the stereotypical woman, she wants to communicate with you.

“Please place your muffins on the belt,” the voice chides in monotone, like a knowing lover. “Place your muffins on the belt.”

So I place my muffins on the belt. Then the mysterious voice gets even more familiar.

“How many melons you have?” Um, two. Two melons. “Please place your melons on the belt.”

Okay. As I nervously place my melons on the belt, I can’t help but eavesdrop on the chorus of neighboring commands.

“Please place your avocado on the belt.”

“Please place your banana on the belt.”

“How many kiwis do you have? Please place your kiwis on the belt.”

Suddenly, I am seized by an uncontrollable fit of laughter. I cannot contain myself – I am possessed by the thought of countless adjacent customers placing their bananas, muffins, melons, and God knows what else on the belt. It’s ridiculous. This virtual woman has no shame.

As I roll my cart out into the parking lot, I am still chuckling. I hardly notice the kiwi man’s truck as it pulls up beside me.

“Hey, muffin girl,” he calls. I look up mid-chortle. “Can I have your number?” he drawls out his window.

I think he’s drunk, but I’m in too good a mood to care. I cheerily explain that I'm presently involved, but thanks anyway.

He responds in a tangled mass of supplication, but I only catch the words “nicest,” “sex,” and “construction.” God only knows what that means.

I wave, and he drives away. I unload my groceries – now broadcast to the world – and keep giggling as I shift into first gear.

Thank you, grocery store, for renewing my faith in humanity. And if the offer still stands… my muffins are yours for the taking.

Horror Movie Lessons

2010-04-23T10:18:00.000-05:00

I've always assumed that if I were ever to be confronted with the dangerous and supernatural (ghosts, zombies, vampires hockey mask-wearing killers and the like) that my vast knowledge of horror films and an iota or two of common sense would save me. The fundamental lessons learned can invaluable in various deadly (albeit rather unlikely) circumstances.

Haunted house? If I were to walk into a new home and see the walls drip with blood while a voice whispered "Get OUT..." I would happily oblige the nefarious entity. Far be it from me to step on any ectoplasmic toes and bring down the furniture-flinging wrath of some pissed off spirit.

It's very simple... nice ghosts who don't wish you any ill will (think Casper) can be lived with peacefully, perhaps bring about a fond smile when they move around the coffee mugs or change the T.V. channels. Mean ghosts (i.e. anything that opens a portal to Hell in your basement and wants to drive you mad, kill your family, and cost you thousands in plumbing repairs with all that congealed blood running through the pipes) are better dealt with by taking a loss on the house and re-selling CHEAP and as quickly as possible. Just walk away. End of problem.

Zombies? A real scourge, but but with a little planning and a rifle equipped with a silencer, not completely catastrophic. All one might need would be a planned escape route and a place at least 200 miles away from any civilization in which to set up a small fortress with 15-foot walls, enough food for at least 10 years, medical supplies, a good generator, and an adequate arsenal. Unfortunately, that's where it gets a little tricky.

Sure, banks will give you loans for houses and cars. But walk in and tell them, "I need $700,000 to buy land, fly in supplies, and build my zombie-proof compound. I refuse to tell you where because in case of an invasion I don't want you and your family showing up and using all my rations. Just trust me and hand over the money." and you won't get so much as a complimentary pen as they hustle you toward the door.

I tell you, for lending institutions they sure are picky about what they'll lend money for. New boat? Sure. 1,500 grenades and a couple dozen elephant rifles? Not so much.

Vampires? There is an upside and a downside to everything in life, but never moreso than with vampires. Eternal youth, superhuman speed and strength, and a cellulite-free waif-thing physique are all definite perks. And let's not forget the Euro-aristocrat tone that the voice takes on (must be a side-effect to the neck trauma), and the power to make leather and velvet fashionable year-round!

However, with the sweet comes the sour. Food, other than blood, is pretty much out of the question. That means no more cheesy pizza or lasagna. No more cheesecake! If I'm not willing to forgo cheesecake for thinner calves now... I really doubt I'd be happy to give up my pulse for a cheese-free eternity. The most heinous thing of all would be the awful Goth-rock. According to all the newest vampire flicks, when not sleeping or hunting my languid black lipstick-wearing brethren and I would spend our time just hanging around loud clubs flashing fluorescent eyes at humans, looking bored while the DJ played Evanescence.

Sure, it might be fun for a few decades, but eventually it would wear pretty thin. I would soon lament my misbegotten years and crave a Coke and some Funions badly enough to take a last walk into the sunrise. It seems like a lot of bother when just carrying a bit of garlic spray and wearing a cross after dark would save me all that introspection and glam-rock.

Hockey mask-wearing killers? Two words... FRONT DOOR. I cannot stress that enough. How many times have foolish non-virgins run right past salvation, up a flight of stairs... and trapped themselves on the second floor. That leaves only two possibilites: 1) Be mercilessly hacked, stabbed, bludgeoned, etc. by the madman, or 2) Jump out the window and die on impact, or perhaps the good fortune of being skewered with a fence post or the pointy hat of a garden gnome.

And finally... the woods are wonderful, and camping is a great way to spend a weekend. But whenever you stop for gas and locals begin giving directions like "Dat der be an evil place. People who dare leave da highway never come back. No one knows what happens, but we's can hear der screamin' sometimes on a still night. So... first you take a left past Devil Mountain, den right after you cross Screaming Children Bridge. Go 2 or 3 miles don Mutilation Avenue... and you's be at Death Trap Pouring Blood Campground before you knows it."

Folks who can't take a hint shouldn't complain when Machete Bill and his inbred family of cannibalistic sadists steal their RV and leave parts of them hanging from the trees. Personal accountability must come into play here somewhere, people. No amount of horror film observation can make up for that much stupidity.

Having armed you with at least a cursory knowledge of the macabre things that go bump in the cinematic night, I shall bid you farewell. Take care, and remember to always wear your silver crucifix... and NEVER, EVER run through the woods in your underwear. It just looks silly.

The Invisible ZX4 Focus

2010-03-08T19:22:00.003-06:00

I own an invisible car.

I know. I understand your doubt. It was hard for me to believe, too. But it's the only thing left that makes any sense at all. This many drivers can't all be out to get me, and they can't all be out of their minds. Invisibility is the only remaining rational explanation.

It certainly makes more sense than trying to believe in some kind of coordinated, punitive pan-galactic anti-Bridget attack, or the sheer mathematical improbabilities required to support the existence of that many insane people.

Maybe it happens to you, too. You're driving along, going the speed limit, in your own lane. You're not eating, or texting, or applying makeup. You're not contorting into the backseat to discipline misbehaving short people. Then, suddenly, off to the right, a grandmother launches her dust-streaked rice rocket right past that confusing, apparently optional, octagon-shaped red road sign, completely oblivious to you and your optics-challenged car. You shriek and slam on the brakes, just prior to soul-kissing her "I Heart My Grandkids" bumper sticker.

On other occasions, drivers ahead of me (who obviously can't see me) will just stop in the middle of the road. Just stop. Just brake, hold, pop a window and strike up a conversation with somebody in the adjacent yard, or the oncoming lane.

And then there's Testosterone Boy and his gothic date, The Attack Of The Mascara Monster, abruptly discharging his multi-story, metal-bar-enclosed, monster truck out of the Smokes Plus parking lot, directly into the eyelashes of my headlights, causing me to emit extremely non-Sunday language.

Not that road rage helps. It does no good to yell. Remember - you're invisible. Now, you're wildly waving at passing clouds and birds, and the future parole candidate just keeps on weaving down the road, checking in on his text messages, and checking out his young coed co-pilot with the sweater-threatening upper body assets. Now, you're in need of blood pressure meds at 20, and Captain "Yes, In Fact I Do Own The Whole Darn Road" just keeps veering toward his mustard-stained destination at the nearby McDonald's, totally angst-agnostic.

I think that's part of the problem: in our current culture, I have a relatively small car. And it seems that I own one of the few remaining one-story motor vehicles on Earth. Trust me, I am a nowhere near a Luddite on any level; on the contrary, I am a humongous nerd with a deep affection for technology... It's the creation of gas-guzzling American monsters perpetuating our addiction to foreign oil while simultaneously destroying the environment that I despise. And in turn, I suspect, their intentional attempts to intimidate everyone on the highway with their pimped-out trucks and SUVs.

I'm still at sea about how the physics work out to support this potential invisibility phenomenon. There may some car-park-particle versus road-rage-wave battle going on. Maybe my car is participating in some parallel existence-based, self-serving quantum pinhole experiment, as performed by the ancient Titans, or the neo-Republicans. Maybe my car is only visible within certain time-space-pavement parameters, only evident at the far points of some cosmic cul-de-sac continuum.

I bet Einstein would know. After all, Albert operated on a whole different level than the rest of us... I mean, he was out there. The guy saw time as a yo-yo, and space as a foldable frisbee.

Here's how out there Einstein was. According to family accounts, Albert was slow to speak. He just didn't communicate as a small child – he simply spent his time walking around, looking around, and occasionally teasing his hair.

Legend has it that young Albert never spoke until he was three or four years old, and that his first words were "this soup is cold." Later in life, when asked why he hadn't spoken pre-soup, Albert stared quizzically at his questioner for a second, finally replying, "Because, until then, nothing was wrong."

As they might say in recent public education standardized tests, that's just way cool.

If ever there was a thinker who drew Heaven's appreciative eye, here was that thinker. On a slow day, an Angel Third Class (Way Cool Science division) might have reviewed Albert's next-level notes and picked up the phone. "Not bad, Albert. Not bad. Hey, come 'ere. Watch this. I'm gonna make Edison's new phonograph say 'I buried Paul.' Wait for it ... wait for it ..."

But meanwhile, back here on Earth, I need to figure out how to un-stealth my car before somebody gets hurt. One day, I'm going to leave home to drive somewhere, and just "plink" out of existence, or arrive before I leave, or side-slide into some alternate universe where, for all time, I have to watch John Wayne movies.

Actually, my little Road Reality arcade game often begins before I ever even leave home. Sometimes I might have a need to go to the grocery store, when I discover some panel truck in my apartment complex parking lot blocking my spot. Hell, maybe I'm invisible. Maybe I really have gone where no respectable woman has gone before, and no, I don't mean to a John Wayne movie.

The People of Facebook

2010-02-22T17:49:00.008-06:00

If my friends read this they are going to kill me, because I sometimes point this out to them. It's all in good fun! Everyone, including myself, is guilty of doing at least one of these... and if you're really talented you can pull off two or three at one time. What am I talking about?

The Facebook Status.

So I offer up another "list blog" as my formatting writer's block can only produce at the moment:

1. The Quote Dude: Everyone loves a killer lyric or memorable quote, especially if it has some sort of sentimental meaning to the poster, but reading long drabble of dead people and the chorus of a bad Lady Gaga song doesn’t make you look any cooler or smarter. And who am I kidding… all Lady Gaga songs are pretty horrible. Just my humble opinion.

2. The Popular One: Not so bad on Facebook, but sign onto the disappearing MySpace and this is all you see. Little girls (and guys) who just want attention. You want me to go comment on the picture of you in the skimpy cheerleading garb flashing hand signs with your tongue hanging out? Two things: You look like an idiot and you need to get a life.

3. The Model: This kind of ties in with #2. So you’re somewhat attractive and your mini digital camera loves your face. This doesn’t mean you should plaster 841,654 pictures of yourself in your album with puckered lips, hand signs, no shirt, and your new aviators you got off of eBay. You’re on Facebook. I know you. I see you way too much. If I start having nightmares about the shape of your nose I’m going to shoot myself... seriously.

4. The Jesus Lover: Don’t get me wrong, I’m sincerely happy that you have faith in something, but updating your status with exclusively biblical quotes and “I love Jesus” phrases makes you look like a mindless zombie. “Oh no, I broke a nail but it’s okay because Jesus has a plan for everything. Go Jesus!”

5. The Angry One: Damn it, your best friend hit on your boyfriend again so you decide to finally take action. Let your fingertips fly! Let everyone see how pissed you are with your CAPS, extensive curse words, and racial slurs until everyone sees just how much of a backstabber your ex friend is. Take that, you meanie you!

6. The Need You To Know Every Five Minutes One: I couldn’t think of a better title for this one. So you’re about to play some Modern Warfare 2 online. Sweet! Maybe I’ll join, but unless you’re actually in a movie where the action never ceases, I don’t want to know what you’re doing every five minutes. Walking the dog and taking a bathroom break are some events I relatively don’t care about. Now if the dog magically dons a cape and tells you ‘there’s nothing to fear’ or a blue alien leaps from the murky depths of the toilet then type away, my friend!

7. The Novelist: Just like #6 but longer. So you’re going to a huge MMA fight tomorrow. That’s awesome! But if that’s the only amazingly interesting thing happening, then why must you add everything else? “OMG going to the mall tomorrow to get a book I’ve never read signed by that Twilight chick! But now I’m sipping a latte, watching Oprah, and wishing that tomorrow would come faster. Txt me!”

....No, I will not text you.

8. The Cryptic One: "Going out with a certain guy tonight!’ Oh your mysteriousness baffles me… even though just an hour earlier you called me and told me everything you were doing tonight with Johnny boy down the street. Including how cute he is, what cologne he wears, and how expensive his shirt is. Have fun tonight with that certain someone at a certain place during a certain time. While you’re at it make sure you wear a certain pair of shoes because it’s cold.

9. The One Who Types Ghetto: Dis iz Mizz G’Money Fabulous ‘ere wid dis ‘portant message. I writ3 wid #s. If you’re normal you probably can’t decipher the intricate codes typed by these people. The only reason you might be able to read the first part of this is because I’m a little white Irish girl from the suburbs and I didn’t do it right. Everyone has at least one of these people, don’t lie. As a certified Grammar Nazi who once had her heart set on becoming an English teacher, that shit just makes my head spin.

10. The Depressed One: Everyone has bad days and everyone loves getting some sympathy from a caring friend, but most people don’t care THAT much. Especially if all of your updates are depressing. So your boyfriend canceled on you, your cable screwed up just seconds before the new episode of ‘I’m a Rich Bitch On Drugs Pt.1,’ and you have cramps. It happens. I’m sorry, but get over it.

11: The One Who Will Never Find Love: AKA the Emo Kid. This one is last because it is very possible that this is the one that irritates me the most. So your girlfriend dumped you after two weeks and now you’re truly convinced that you will never find love. You rant about how much life sucks, how you want to die, how much love you gave that special girl during those everlasting two weeks, how all girls MUST be the same, and how much you fail because you’re such a nice guy. I might have just puked (If I wanted the interesting version of this, I'd rent "100 days of Summer" again). Now because of your status I will officially become #10. “Tears bleed down my cheeks as my heart breaks...”

Agree or disagree about any of these things? Have more to add? Well then tell me what you think! Haha it's very possible that I should have added "The Sarcastic Bitch One" to describe myself ;-)

Life Lessons From Spongebob

2010-01-07T19:00:00.004-06:00

Spongebob Squarepants has been a favorite show of children for over ten years now. While many see it as pure animated silliness devoid of any educational value, I beg to differ. There are numerous lessons to be learned from SpongeBob, Patrick, Mr. Krabs, Squidward, and the gang, some of which could only be learned from them. The list below is just a sample.

Lesson 1: Even if you're a total moron, being especially talented in one particular area will keep you employed. Just look at SpongeBob himself. He's not the brightest of characters (though, I'll say, he's probably the smartest sponge I know of), but he sure does know how to make Krabby Patties. Mr. Krabs would have a hard time replacing him. Whenever he tries, it never really works out. SpongeBob has found his niche and manages to use what little skill he has to make enough of a living to have his own place and take care of himself.

Lesson 2: David Hasselhoff has superpowers. Witness the SpongeBob Movie. While the world has always suspected that Mr. Hasselhoff was something more than human, his powers were on full display there as he zips SpongeBob and Patrick across the ocean and launches them back to Bikini Bottom with his super-pectoral muscles.

Lesson 3: Crustaceans can father whales. Witness Mr. Krabs and his daughter Pearl. Who knew that such an unlikely event was possible before SpongeBob showed us?

Lesson 4: There are underwater beaches where sea creatures of all kinds gather. Really, I think this is a revolutionary find, about which you would think The Learning Channel or some other educationally-minded outlet would have some sort of special.

Lesson 5: Squirrels can live underwater if properly attired. Sandy actually seems to really like it there, in fact, as long as she keeps her helmet on. She even has her own air-filled home.

Lesson 6: You can avoid a Sea Bear attack by drawing an Anti-Sea Bear circle and standing within its perimeter. If you are attacked, however, be sure you are wearing Anti-Sea Rhinoceros Undergarments, as the Sea Rhinoceros is attracted to such attacks.

Lesson 7: Even if you cause grievous bodily harm to your friends, in the end you are still friends, and it will heal quickly. See the many fights between SpongeBob and Patrick as examples.

Lesson 8: Don't trust plankton. It is small and looks harmless, but only because it wants to get past your defenses.

Lesson 9: There is a rather sophisticated system of currency in use by undersea creatures, and various underwater, independently-owned fast food outlets battle to get as much of it as possible.

The Twilight Fanbase: Revealed

2009-03-29T12:24:00.003-05:00

Here I am on my lunch break, munching away on my salad and thinking about the trip to the store I need to make after work tonight. And somehow this ridiculously random brain of mine recalls the last time I was in the check-out line at Target, when I saw the DVD release of "Twilight"... which has brought forth the topic of my latest blog post.

So we've all heard of Trekkies and Comic-Con and of course the first images you get are of NWGs, or Nerds Without Girlfriends. Visions of pasty-faced tweens, teens and even adults dressed in homemade capes and alien masks come to mind... but just in case you need perspective on what I'm referring to, I list Augie Farks in the movie "Role Models" as a prime example - "The whispering eye!"

With all of the fantasy/sci-fi gamers role-playing their way to large conventions, I guess it's not all that surprising that a book about a teen and a vampire would gather a cult following.

Haha... and here I thought goth went out of fashion when Nine Inch Nails went techno. The Vampire Underground (or should I say "Vampyre Underground?") has been around since the 1970's and includes goths who may actually think they are vampires. They gather in the darkness, do rituals, drink blood, and hang around looking pale-faced and creepy.

Twilighters, fans of Stephenie Meyer's teen vampire series, are what I'd call Vampire Lite. They wear black clothes from Hot Topic and jewelry from Claires. They may wear scary black nail polish and fake Doc Martins. They stand in line waiting for the movie release, shivering with cups of Starbucks and chattering about how adorably sexy Edward Cullen is. Maybe they paint their faces white. Maybe they wear a leftover cape from Halloween. Maybe they even listen to music with explicit lyrics.

Twilighters are to the Vampyre Underground as Harry Potter fans are to The Lord Of The Rings (Don't get me wrong, I love Harry Potter and I think that JK Rowling is a brilliant writer). A Harry Potter Avada Kedavra curse and Lord Voldemort would pale in comparison to Sauron and Mount Doom. And a Twilighter would probably go screaming back to their Abercrombie and Fitch jeans if confronted by a real Vampyre.

I've dabbled in Sci-fi and Fantasy and I read Stephenie Meyer's Twilight books.... I thought they were "meh" at best. The story idea was respectable, yet marred by long drawn out beginnings and action only appearing in the last third of the book. Still, movie producers saw dollar signs in the new crop of Vampire Lite tweens needing something to tide them over until Harry Potter 6 comes out, and managed to crank out a decent movie after all. (The scenes were beautiful and the characters matched the book. But there was still a lot of staring and I wanted to yell out "Blink! Blink you obsessed idiots!" every so often.)

Perhaps I just don't get Vampire Lites, being that mentally I'm way past my teen prime and about over the twenty buzz. Besides, I think a mortal dating a vampire would be like me dating a donut... Many times I stare longingly at the donuts behind the glass, not daring to blink, and imagining what it would be like to sink my teeth in one.

A Very Random Reflection on Feminism

2009-03-11T17:05:00.001-05:00

Viva La Feminista! If anything women are more prominent and dominant in the workplace and on the political stage than ever before. Feminism is alive and well but has been redefined and revamped for a new generation of women bringing a different female awareness to their psyche. Being a "feminist", or aware of one's rights as a woman does not mean being dressed up like a nouveau hippy in socks and birkenstocks espousing the works of Ms. Greer and Simone De Bouviour any more. Today women who speak out against domestic violence, protect women's rights and value women's role in society like demanding equality in the work place, equal shares in property and land, equal pay and voice their objectives for help with child care and domestic chores are all following traditional feminist ideas but don't necessarily have to label themselves as "feminists" per se.

Indeed, the positive success of this movement as pioneered decades ago by Emily Pankhurst and the Suffragette movement is seen throughout the daily lives of women all over the United States and Western world in general. The progress that has been made is reflected throughout society at all levels from school girls being allowed to play soccer to women being licensed as truck drivers on the road, but as with all social movements, feminism still needs to reach the most vulnerable and the most needy. Feminism by its very nature is a highly controversial concept in new democracies or places where women have no access to freedoms in the most conventional sense.

Women still, however, need support in education, skills and training programs to ensure they remain within the work place and further, women still need to be treated on an equal footing with their male counterparts in traditionally male dominated professions. How often, for example, do we see a road construction builder who is female or a plumber or forklift driver?

Running parallel to this idea is that "real" feminism is steeped in the fundamental belief that women are not only equal but often superior to men, and this is easily expressed in contempoary lifestyles and the concept of "power females" similar to and analagous with "alpha males." For instance, Madonna as an iconic figure in female liberation has revolutionized the classic notion of feminism without losing her sass and style. In the earlier part of her career she used her overt sexuality to challenge barriers in the music world and then in the boardroom. Later on as her career progreseed she relaunched herself as a music diva and became the benchmark of the new female generation. These women were the ones who shopped hard, played hard and worked hard, brought up on a diet of "Sex and the City" fast living and feisty independence. These women didn't rely on men to buy their Cosmopolitans or their Harry Winston watches -- they did it all themselves. Que Destiny's child and their famous song which had all the women "proud to be independent", "Sisters doin' it for themselves " no longer meant ditch the lipstick and burn the bra, it meant celebrate and enjoy being a woman. The essence of feminism had radically altered as women realized that now they could have their cake and eat it too. They didn't have to adopt machoistic qualities to be respected; they could still wiggle around in their Christian Loubtins, have a "mani" and a "pedi" and still be treated with due deference.

But what of those women who enjoy using men as "meal tickets" and expect men to provide for them? Are these women betraying the cause or are they just espousing feminism in another context? Quid Pro quo on a very crass level the man with the "trophy wife" gets the "look" the "model" and "make" of woman he wants and in return, she gets all of her bills paid. Is this something that is acceptable to women or do all women feel they have to pay to belong? A Citi executive recently separated from his long-term girlfriend because she had no money and he did not want to support her financially... was he right, or was he wrong? On the flip side a hedge fund CEO supported her unemployed fiancee for 4 years until he eventually found work... why would it be any different in this scenario? Why is it that the woman is usually the one denounced as a "gold digger" when in similar circumstances the man is not?

Then there are those women who actually make a living out of preying on and some would argue even exploiting men: strippers, table dancers, adult entertainers, maybe even the waitress at your local Hooters -- the man gets to gawp, drool and stare for a while but who is the winner in this situation, the femme fatale or the hapless scumbag looking for his next dance? Should women like this be celebrated for their entrepenurial flair, or are they demeaning feminsim? On one level some would argue that these women are at the forefront of the feminist revolution -- they work, they get paid and they rank superior to men in these industries as more men use these industries than their female counterparts.

Feminism takes shape in many forms, but there is still an enormous gap between women living in the affluent West and women living in the developing world. In countries where women are not offered a voice and denied their basic and fundamental freedoms "feminism" does not truly exist. It is a redundant notion, and until all women everywhere have "equal rights", "equal pay" and an "equal say" in their lives the quest for change will continue.

A Closer Look at Christmas Tradition

2008-12-16T22:16:00.004-06:00

Every year at Christmas my family watches the same old traditional, beloved movies... you know the ones. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, The Little Drummer Boy, The Grinch (only the old one, at my mother's insistence). Well, this past year I got a little bored during Rudolph and decided to pick out a few of the outdated and odd traits the movie had.

When you think of Santa Claus and that charming movie "Rudolph the Red Nosed Raindeer" I'm betting the last things that come to mind are "stereotypical" and "Santa is a jerk". Well.... maybe they should be among the first things you think, because I just watched this movie with my family and was, quite frankly, appalled.

First of all, since when are Santa and "the Mrs." as she is referred to - since when are they Jewish? (They stereotype, I stereotype). Seriously, Mrs. Claus spends the entire movie encouraging Santa to "eat, eat!" Santa plays the shrewd business aspect of this particular stereotype, irritated at watching the elves' song because he has more important things to do.

In addition, the reindeer and elves are Communists, or something approaching that level of conforming weirdness. Rudolph's own father rejects him on the basis of his nose, and all of the reindeer band together and throw Rudolph out. The same happens to Hermie the elf/dentist. (There are theories floating around that Hermie may in fact be homosexual, but that's a different story entirely...) There is an entire island full of "misfits" - toys that no one wants - because they're different from the other cookie-cutter toys made by the elves. I'm not sure what sort of Stepfordian world the creators of this movie were living in, but I'm going to say it's bleak and terrifying.

Oh and let's not forget the blatant sexist remarks running rampant throughout the story. Get a load of these gems: Rudolph's mother wants to search for Rudolph along with her husband only to be told "No. This is man's work!"
And, once Yukon Cornelius, Hermie and Rudolph have rescued the latter's mother, father and love interest (Clarice), they realize that the best thing to do would be to get the women to shelter.

Indeed. And the whole Santa being a jerk thing? Totally true. Santa's first observation of Rudolph: A fine, sturdy little buck.

Santa's observation of Rudolph after he sees Rudolph's nose is that Rudolph's father should be ashamed of himself for creating this horrid abomination. I mean jesus christ suggestions of murder are brought up! Well ok, not really, but Santa makes it plain that Rudolph won't be pulling sleighs anytime soon. After Rudolph's nose is exposed to all (a "coming out" if you will), Santa reiterates that Rudolph sucks, even though he had the skill to pull the sleigh, and Rudolph's father should jump off a cliff. There might be some slight exaggeration there as well, but try telling that to a heartbroken Rudolph after that scene.

On Christmas Eve, Santa is still bashing the nose, even after the narrator proclaims that all is well with the world. Santa, with the brilliant light of the nose in his eyes, asks Rudolph to tone the thing down in a tone undeniably hostile. Then, the light (metaphorically speaking) comes on: Santa realizes that with this nose, he can see through the storm and deliver all the toys. Suddenly the nose is wonderful, magnificent, praise-worthy and Rudolph will lead the sleigh.

Well, stop me if I'm wrong here, Mr. Claus... did you not say that Rudolph's nose was a source of shame? Come on now, Mr. Conformity-encourager: this nose is an abomination. What's this, Mr. Communist: this nose offers you supply for your demand, and you suddenly want it? Mr. Capitalism, ladies and gentlemen: I present him to you (as well as the reason Communism fails - as Zappa said, people like to own things).

Indeed, once Rudolph's nose becomes a valuable asset, he is a hero: he goes down in history.

I am disgusted by this, let me tell you. Santa, Commie elves and reindeer, you should all be ashamed of yourselves for the performance set forth by you is of a vile, base and crude nature. I shudder on your behalf.

Merry Christmas.

The AT&T HTC Fuze: My Smartphone Soulmate

2008-12-10T15:13:00.001-06:00

Letter To My Lady Cycle

2008-11-28T15:05:00.002-06:00

Dear period,

Thanks a whole lot for coming to visit me today. No, I really mean that. I'm not being sarcastic at all. (Snort) My family just adores walking on eggshells and having to duck flying objects at a moment's notice when something is not particularly to my liking. I am all too happy to lay on my bed and wiggle into my jeans, sputtering a string of colorful expletives while trying to fasten the button over the bloat that wasn't there yesterday. And what woman doesn't love desperately hunting through drawers at 3 in the morning for a box of Midol while you wring out her uterus like a Brawny paper towel? Cramps are where happy goes to die. And the mood swings... are to die for. I mean that literally. Nothing brings out the homicidal maniac in me quite the way you do. Let me put it this way... you know something is amiss when someone asks you how your day was and you turn around and singe the hairs on their face with what comes out of your mouth. If you really must come around, I would appreciate it if you would do so without hijacking my hormones, depositing three gallons of water in my midriff, and twisting my girly bits until they cry uncle. That's all.

My period was so incensed by this letter that it decided to write me back. It said...

Dear Bridget,

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I have no control over what I do when I show up for my visit. It's actually your own damn uterus you should be mad at - it's as slow as molasses in November and seems to have a hard time getting a jump on the task at hand. Kind of like you. And it's not like I ever show up unannounced... you always know when I'm coming, and it's not my fault you are so scatterbrained that you forgot to go to the store and stock up on tampons and Midol. As for your moods, puhhhleeez... you are incorrigible the other 27 days out of the month that I'm not visiting you. Perhaps you wouldn't sear the eyeballs of your loved ones if you'd lay off the fatty foods that make your uterus so sluggish... which is why you wake up at 3 a.m. with cramps that rival labor pains. And lay off the soda pop... or those jeans are never gonna fit anyway. Face it... you are female and because of this, you must roll with the punches. I don't like visiting you anymore than you like seeing me, but it's time you make peace with the fact that we are stuck together for another 30 years, until it's hot flashes' turn to take my place. If you thought I was bad, just wait. Now stop being a whiny bitch and go eat some chocolate. See ya' next month.

Well then. That didn't work out quite the way I'd planned....

The Eve of the 2008 Presidential Election

2008-11-03T18:32:00.003-06:00

"The only way I can lose this election is if I'm caught in bed with either a dead girl or a live boy."

- Edwin Edwards, Democratic gubernatorial candidate in Louisiana, 1983 (he won).

Despite their shortcomings at certain points in the primaries, with less than 24 hours to go all national polls indicate that Barack Obama is enjoying a 5-week lead over John McCain. Not only that, but the democrat is leading in all of the battlegrounds and turning red states blue as Mr. Maverick is struggling to hold onto what Dubya easily won in 2000 and 2004. The idea that McCain can somehow overcome this with what time is left is, to be brutally frank, hopelessly naive. While Obama has pressed his message of change for nearly 2 years since announcing his presidential bid, the McCain campaign has obviously lacked anything consistent, clinging to insignificance of Bill Ayers, Reverend Wright, the grossly misleading suggestions made about his opponent on sex education... Barack Obama has been whacked by the kitchen sink and nothing has stuck.

The Republican Party does not enjoy an advantage in a single pressing issue of this election season. Most Americans wish to end the war in Iraq, but do so responsibly; the Obama/Biden ticket has plans for slow withdrawals, while McCain would see troops continue fighting in Iraq until some amorphous victory is reached, and the barometer for such a victory is ever-changing. When times are bad in Iraq, the Republicans argue that we cannot "cut and run" in the face of challenging times. When times are good in Iraq, it is taken by Republicans as a sign that our efforts are working, and so, once again, we cannot leave. Victory, then, appears to be an interminable maintaining of the status quo, something that is anathema to a solid majority of the American public.

On the economy, McCain's recent speeches have been dismally received, and amounted to simply stating "suck it up"...when McCain has tried to offer solutions to the economic crisis they are rash, political, and just don't make sense. Meanwhile, both Democratic candidates offer real alternatives to the growing crisis in the credit markets, the shipping of jobs overseas, and the utter corruption of a largely unregulated corporate world for which previous Republican administrations are almost wholly to blame.

There has been much debate that the hurt feelings left over from the primaries will cause a backlash among Hillary supporters, meaning lower turnout in November. But after a months-long contest between the Republican and the Democrat, such hard feelings will be ameliorated by the understanding that a Republican president means more wars, more lifelong appointments of conservative judges to the Supreme Court (and, given the court's already-conservative makeup, an end to privacy and reproductive rights), and a do-nothing attitude in regard to healthcare and the ongoing destruction of the middle class. Democrats will vote accordingly.

Indeed, the only way in which the Republican presidential candidate will be able to win is to hark back to the two themes that have proven to be winners for the GOP in previous races - terror and taxes, which could be seen in the recent exploitation of Joe the Plumber. But after more than seven years of the Bush administration, we have seen what happens when we vote based on fear and greed. When we vote in fear, more than 4,000 American soldiers die in a war that should never have happened. When we vote in greed, the economy collapses.

Having learned these hard lessons over the years of the previous administration, and given McCain's support for the continuation of Bush's foreign and economic policies, voters in November will no longer be as susceptible to the tactics that have proven successful for the GOP in the past. Awash in blood and broken dreams, voters this November will see these tactics for what they are and, in the words of the Democratic presidential candidate, will say, "Not this time."

And of course I have failed to mention my distaste for Sarah Palin, which was a tremendous exercise in self-restraint for me... I think the thought of Caribou Barbie being one melinoma or 72 year-old heartbeat from the presidency is scary enough. So, with that said I think I'll go prank call ol' Sarah Barricuda... who knows, maybe I could convince her she's speaking with another European president.

A Sickness Called Stupidity

2008-09-29T02:10:00.005-05:00

Alright guys, I first have to address that I recognize how long it has been since I have paid any attention at all to this little blog of mine - yes, Father, it has been approximately 120 days since my last post, forgive me of my sin. What can I say, call me crazy but I have something called a life and it got a wee bit busy. Whew. Glad I got that off my chest.

So anyway, here's a topic of discussion that's not at all gender specific (meaning that I'm not going to go off on a rant about feminism or gay rights haha.) Nope, this one seems to plague us all... that is if you're both human and alive. It's a simple sickness known to us as temporary stupidity. You can thank my mildly hickish family's comedic taste for this next one as I quote Bill Engvall: "I was drivin' down the road the other day and had a blowout. So I pulled over into a parking lot, and while I was there a man walked by and said, 'Didja' get a flat?' I looked over at the man and said, 'Nope, I was just drivin' down the road and the other three swelled up on me.' Without missing a beat the man said, 'Well, the heat'll do that to 'em.' " This is a classic example of Tempus Ignoramus.

Like I said, humans suffer from a sickness called temporary stupidity, or in more technical terms what I have deemed to be Tempus Ignoramus. No one really knows what triggers such episodes and there is no sure way of knowing how long-lasting the effects can be. However, one thing is for certain - it's sure to affect an idiot near you. This is not an issue that can be blamed on MTV, video games, or even weird cartoon characters, and it is not age specific either (the one possible exception being John McCain). Here are a few examples of questions asked during temporary stupidity episodes:

- "Do you want to be grounded?" (To my recollection there has never been a recorded response of any child answering to the affirmative in this question.)

- "Are you okay?" (Often asked when someone is coughing; often because they are CHOKING on something. Imagine that!)

- "So you're having a baby?" (This question has often followed the announcement of one being pregnant. To my recollection, no one has ever responded with anything other than a yes to having a baby, as opposed to giving birth to anything else. Yep, that's right folks I'm gonna get Orangutan in vitro.)

There are so many more than the above examples, but these are the ones I have heard on more than one occasion. And yet the question still remains, that question being why. Why does this happen? As best we can tell, this has been a phenomena that has occurred throughout history spanning throughout the ages. Even the great Julius Caesar is known to have asked when stabbed by Brutus, "Et tu Brute?" Now come on it couldn't be more obvious who stabbed the man, but even in his last few moments of life he suffered from a tragic onset of temporary stupidity. Did he not know that Brutus stabbed him? Of course he did. Yet again, the mystery of this sickness eludes us.

While the underlying causes for the onsets of this sickness are unknown, there are ways of managing its symptoms. I'll offer a few here and you can try them out to see which works best for you. As a disclaimer remember that though these suggestions may help slow the progression of Tempus Ignoramus, they in no way are a cure. So, with that being said, here are a few suggestions:

1) The Shaming Method - though more of a negative reinforcer, this method has been known to help curb the amount of incidents in the afflicted. In this method, you are simply to make this person feel demeaned for asking such a question. It must be said that this is not the recommended method, but has nevertheless worked wonders for some.

2) The Pavlov Method - In this method you basically employ the psychological strategy that Pavlov used in training a dog to respond in a certain way to a certain stimulus. In this case, you are going to need to find something that the afflicted likes whether it is food, beer, or whatever effective incentive at your disposal. This is how it works: you give the afflicted the stimulus and allow them to develop a liking for it, and when there is an onset of temporary stupidity, you immediately take the stimulus away. This process must be repeated several times for it to have a lasting effect, therefore this method is not recommended to those who do not have the time to invest in such a thing.

3) The "Deaf Ear" Method - though this is a rather experimental method which has not produced reproducible results in lab testings thus far, it is one worth making note of. In this method, what you are to do is simply to ignore the afflicted's questions that are asked while in an onset of Tempus Ignoramus. In other words: act as if you have a deaf ear and cannot hear them to begin with. This can be extremely effective if employed properly, but be warned, for in some cases this has caused increased frustration and even episodes of anger in the afflicted. Furthermore, this requires one to be resolute and persistent it to produce any positive results.

4) The Nurture Method - This is by far the most widely used and popular, and yet has been found to have the least effect when dealing with Tempus Ignoramus. The scientific community, as a whole, is still confounded as to why this method is still employed by so many. Perhaps it is because the masses are generally non-confrontational, and even passive-aggressive in their dealings with one another. In any case, in this particular method what you are to do is simply to coddle the person and have pity for them because they are suffering from such a tragic sickness. (It is worth noting that although this often reinforces the onsets, there have been some occurrences where this has perhaps caused a remission of the onsets.)

So, as you can see, my friends (another John McCain reference?!) though this sickness is known to be a plague to all of mankind, it is not without a remedy or two. Or four. But always remember that Tempus Ignoramus, though without any known cures, is manageable with the proper treatment. You should consult your priest, psychologist, doctor, and telephone operator before determining which treatment is right for you. Also, remember to use only as directed.

We are always working on developing more effective ways of dealing with Tempus Ignoramus, and though we have not found a cure yet, we are confident that we won't sometime in the next few millenia.

You Have Now Been Educated on Gayness

2008-06-02T00:04:00.000-05:00

The Anti-Discrimination Bill

2008-06-02T00:01:00.001-05:00

Fight for equal rights for lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgenders (LGBTs) by pushing for the passage of the Anti-Discrimination Bill (HB 956) authored by Rep. Risa Hontiveros-Baraquel.

Here's what the bill is all about:

Equal rights, not special rights. The bill does not grant additional or special rights to LGBTs. What it does is criminalize violations to the human rights and freedoms on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity. The bill affirms and promotes human rights and freedoms that are enshrined in the Constitution.

Equality in schools. The bill prohibits discrimination against LGBT students, which usually takes place through unfair admission policies, unjust expulsion, and unreasonable disciplinary actions.

Equal opportunities in employment. By criminalizing unfair labor practices and policies on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity, the bill promotes decent jobs for LGBT workers.

Removing stigma in healthcare. The bill bans hospitals, clinics, and medical personnel like doctors and nurses from discriminating against or abusing LGBT patients.

Fighting police abuse. Stiffer penalties are imposed on law enforcers who abuse the law from the anti-trafficking law to harassing, torturing, or extorting money from LGBTs.

Organizing for LGBT pride. The bill affirms the freedom of assembly and association by disallowing discrimination in the establishment of LGBT groups in schools, workplace, communities and in politics.

Equal access to establishments. The bill ensures that establishments that are open to the public like malls, restaurants, and bars, among others, are open to all, regardless of sexual orientation and gender identity.

Gays and lesbians in the police and military. The police and military are barred from screening out competent LGBTs who want to join the force. Under the bill, they are also not allowed to remove LGBT policeman or woman and soldiers due to their sexual orientation and gender identity.

Penalizing discrimination. Under the bill, a person found guilty of discriminating against LGBTs can be fined up to $500,000 and/or imprisoned for a maximum of six years. S/he may also be required to undergo human rights education.

About non-discrimination, not same-sex marriage. Homophobic groups wrongfully claim that the bill is about same-sex marriage. But here's the truth: 1.) the legal recognition of same-sex marriage requires a separate bill, and 2.) there is absolutely nothing wrong about consensual same-sex relationships.

Disappointing Descent

2008-05-28T23:39:00.002-05:00

I would first like to begin this post by recognizing the fact that it's been quite a while since I last posted... well, for me at least. I've simply been swamped with the nannying, maiding, and waitressing responsibilities that are going to be paying for my college tuition, London trip, and a whole heap of bills that the real adult world has seen fit to hit me with all at once. And I wish had another one of my funny little stories to share with you... but instead I'll talk about something on my mind that's a little more serious.

Alright. So last night I came home, utterly exhausted, from a long day's work and felt like doing nothing but laying in bed with my dogs and watching a movie - it ended up being Descent, starring Rosario Dawson and Chad Faust. It’s about a college-aged woman (Dawson) who orchestrates the rape of the man (Faust) that date-raped her. Got all that? I’m really not giving anything away; all of this is pretty much declared on the back cover.

Half of the movie was fine; nothing new, but definitely worthwhile. I was completely committed to the story line as we saw Dawson’s character deal with the aftermath of being assaulted. But when things suddenly stopped being explained and her entire demeanor changed altogether, I cried foul. She went from being withdrawn, confused, depressed and frightened to cold, calculating, manipulative, seductive and borderline misanthropic. Now such a transition isn’t impossible, but if you’re going to put the main character on such an arc the audience deserves an explanation.

In the interest of full disclosure, I can’t be impartial when it comes to storylines involving rape. The issue affects me greatly to this day, and it is just not possible for me to separate the topic from my personal feelings and prior experiences. However, I don’t think my past should prevent me from having valid opinions about the way rape is portrayed in the entertainment industry.

What angered me about this movie was that Dawson’s character’s actions made no sense. Out of nowhere she had the power, control and composure to lure her rapist into a secluded area. She effortlessly convinced him to let her blindfold, handcuff and tie him spread eagle to a bed. I don’t understand how Faust’s character could not know that some awful fate was awaiting him... I don’t buy that he was just so cocky that he really thought she had changed her mind about him and really wanted to fuck his brains out mere months after he brutally attacked her. (Just as a side note, there was no grey area in the initial rape scene between Dawson and Faust. She’s screaming and fighting and he tells her that she’s a dirty cunt etc. etc. etc.)

In the end, a big black man appears and rapes the rapist. The skinny white boy screams and thrashes against the bed for several minutes while the black rapist tells him to take it all etc. etc. etc. To be fair, the man is introduced as a shady character earlier in the film, but it is never even hinted that he would be up for such an act.

I don’t understand what I’m supposed to take away from this film. Obviously no real revenge can ever soothe the pain of being raped. Did I really need to see the parting shot of Dawson crying in the dark corner? I don’t think that any new questions were raised. I don’t think that any new aspects of the issue were explored.

Out of sheer curiosity I listened to a bonus feature question and answer session with Dawson and the writer/director, and was physically sick listening to them justify this movie as a champion of victims’ rights. I was flabbergasted as they explained that they screened the film for Eve Ensler, the mastermind behind The Vagina Monologues, and the entire V-day staff went nuts in support of it. What kind of message does it send when authorities in sexual assualt prevention support a movie that depicts male rape as the answer?

Maybe it’s just too late for me to be thinking about all of this, or maybe I need a clearer head in the morning for actual intelligent reflection, but I challenge whoever may be reading this to watch this film and decide for yourself if it is worth anything. I would love to hear someone else’s impartial thoughts and opinions.

Dead Poets Society Mini-Essay

2008-04-12T00:14:00.003-05:00

Carpe Diem -- seize the day. This is the message we try to instill in the minds of our youth from generation to generation, knowing all too well that the transition from adolescence to adulthood happens in the blink of an eye, the way life itself moves at a hyperspeed pace. Yet at the very same time, we contradict ourselves in taking away those things that define this strange period between child and grown-up. What we must realize is that reality is waiting just around the corner, and preparing those who will carry us into the future may mean taking a departure from stiff tradition.

Our teenage years are, or at least should be, about preparing us for the real world when we have to face it on our own. Beyond academics -- all of the factual memorization and Calculus exams -- when the safety net is cut down and the realities of life come into play, who is going to prepare us for that test? A parent's job obviously includes steering their child in the right direction, teaching them right from wrong, and correcting them when they themselves are unable to see the error of their ways. Everyone reaches a point, however, when they need to be left alone to fend for themselves. They need to learn how to make tough decisions and live with the consequences that accompany their choices, because in the real world there is no mommy or daddy to make the right one for you. We are effectively asking our kids to ace the "life exam" after having done all of their assignments for them. It puts our young adults at a disadvantage to instead anticipate if and when they may stumble... it is when we fall the hardest that we learn how to pick ourselves up and continue through life as braver, smarter human beings more resolved in achieving our dreams.

Dreams are an interesting thing to think about. They are the one thing that is unique to each one of us, the one thing we have that is ours alone, the one thing that no one can take away from us. Despite this, it seems that many parents attempt to snatch away every aspiration their child may have, only for it to undergo a screening process fitted to their own wants and desires. These are the parents that hide behind the excuse of wanting their child to take advantage of the opportunities they weren't given, but in reality are living out their own life goals through their offspring. Apparently by the age of seventeen or eighteen, we're still not mature enough to think for ourselves or ascertain what career we should pursue. But listen closely, moms and dads: your time has come and passed. Maybe you are resentful because you weren't able to live the life you wanted, but this is exactly why allowing your children to be who they want to be is so important. Odds are instead of opening their eyes years later and discovering you were right, they'll live in regret wondering what might have been. So have confidence in the job you've done in raising them. You yourself have to learn that what is best for your child is allowing them to be and do what makes them happy.

In "Dead Poets Society" John Keating was the perfect model of a positive adult influence in the lives of the teenagers he taught. He made the boys in the film realize that certain rules are there for a reason and the ability to follow them is a part of adult life. There are times, however, when unwarranted restrictions must be opposed, times where you have to depart from the traditional mindset in order to find your own identity and fight for what you believe is right. Some might say that Keating did not encourage them to think for themselves, but encouraged them to take foolish risks without thinking of the consequences. The thing is, making the right decision isn't always easy and it isn't always accepted and life isn't as cut-and-dry as someone like J. Evans Pritchard, Ph. D. might think. To have the courage to defy authority in the name of free thought is to think of the consequences. Would anyone dare call the risks Martin Luther King, Jr. took in exercising civil disobedience foolish? Of course not, because if he did not break the law odds are blacks would still suffer from oppression in America today. Mr. Keating's approach was important because it is an important thing to have individuals in society that stand up for who they are and what they believe in, especially because those in power don't always have it right; the society in which we live is not stagnant, but progressive.

So parents, cherish the time you have to hold your kid's hand as you lead them along the path to adulthood, remembering that before long you have to let go. And kids, make the time you have before you reach that fork in the road where the difficult decisions start meaningful. Carpe Diem -- seize the day.

My 50 Things Bucket List

2008-04-02T00:43:00.003-05:00

"Don't be afraid of death so much as an inadequate life."
-- Bertolt Brecht

Before I die, in no particular order I want to...

1. Get deployed to an African country through the Peace Corps and make an impact on the lives of the sick and poor.

2. Live in a chic modern-style apartment in downtown Chicago and enjoy all of the entertainment the city has to offer with my best friend Jennifer for six months.

3. See my ancestral history in Ireland; this includes exploring the scenic countryside, celebrating the nightlife of Dublin, and taking home a hot Irish chick with an accent (just kidding).

4. Be serenaded on a Venetician gondola ride with my sweetheart in Italy after having the best gelatto of my life.

5. Exchange wedding vows at sunset on a rocky cliff in Greece with a spectacular view of the ocean.

6. Dance in front of the Louvre late at night on my honeymoon in Paris.

7. Put chunky highlights of some funky and unnatural color in my hair -- like blue!

8. Have my nosed pierced with a teensy-weensy sparkly pink stud in it.

9. Get a tattoo of "Carpe Diem" in Celtic lettering with a symbol of the Trinity on either side.

10. Conquer my fear of heights by skydiving over Seville, Spain, while on vacation there.

11. Purchase an old Victorian-style house, restore it to its former grandeur, and make it a home.

12. Have two children that are biologically mine and name them Gracie & Hayden.

13. Adopt a little girl from China and name her Isabelle.

14. Learn to play the acoustic guitar, piano, and saxophone -- and well, so I can perform in front of a live audience (even if it's in my living room).

15. Buy an eco-friendly car powered by electric or hydroelectric technology (presently this is the Honda Civic hybrid).

16. Attend and graduate from Saint Xavier University, majoring and minoring in History and English (I haven't decided which is which yet) along with a teaching license and certification to teach Debate.

17. Enlist in the AmeriCorps NCCC program ("Teach for America") and provide a good education to inner-city children... without having to take the Michelle Pfeiffer leather jacket approach.

18. Have a side career as a professional photographer with a focus on black and white photography.

19. Go back to law school at KU and become a Civil Rights attorney.

20. Become a master chef of French cuisine.

21. Spend six months in New York City bartending.

22. Have the most awesome new martini ever named after me & actually appear on a menu.

23. Have a Siberian Husky with a black and white coat and blue eyes as a pet.

24. Participate in a program that focuses on caring for and restoring chimps into the wild.

26. Become an experienced swing and ballroom dancer.

27. Spend an entire summer touring the most haunted places in the United States -- and see a ghost!

28. Manage to get and stay tan year-round safely by buying an insanely expensive professional spray-tanning machine.

29. Travel to India and meditate in an ashram to learn to appreciate silence and the power of prayer.

30. Go cruisin' in my black 1956 Jag Roadster with the top down.

31. Attend a weekly yoga class and eventually become an instructor.

32. Adhere to a strict diet, er, lifestyle change, and get down to a size 4, around 110 lbs.

33. Coach softball and basketball from the little league to middle school levels.

34. Publish a memoir detailing all of my life experiences for my children and grandchildren.

35. Appear on an episode of "Trading Spaces" with Hildi as our design coach so we can transform our neighbor's room into a very, uh, unique space.

36. Become a certified scuba diver in Bermuda without getting stung by a stingray or eaten alive by a shark.

37. Explore the Galapagos Islands and reflect upon Charles Darwin's own experiences there in an attempt to become scientifically and evolutionarily enlightened.

38. Gallop a horse in a race across a beach in Los Cabos, Mexico.

39. Buy a log cabin in rural Colorado to stay in on skiing trips.

40. Build an elaborate sand castle off the shores of Maine's coast.

41. Enroll in language classes with a goal of becoming fluent in Spanish, French, and Italian.

42. Jog along the Great Wall of China at sunrise.

43. Prove to myself that out-of-body experiences are real by having one.

44. Form an expedition to climb the Korakoram Range in Pakistan.

45. Enjoy a conversation over a cup of coffee with Tina Fey (I know, you thought I was going to say Barack Obama...).

46. Witness the Northern Lights on the Kanai Peninsula in Alaska.

47. Bungee jump by way of the "Bungee Bullet" off of the Sunshine Coast of Queensland, Australia.

48. Obtain a private pilot certificate and fly to each of the 50 states.

49. Run for some sort of public office; governor would be nice (however improbable).

50. Bowl a perfect game by exclusive means of the "granny bowling" strategy.

Crazed Color Obsession

2008-03-26T23:07:00.000-05:00

Colors are overrated. You've seen one sunset and you've seen them all, especially when viewed from the same angle from the same balcony in the same place almost every time. But humans are obsessed with colors, attaching them to everything from "Blue Mondays" to "Orange Wednesdays", and now, due to color overuse, we've run out.

There are more colors in existence than the non-enlightened mind can imagine, but most of them don’t have names yet. The average person can’t even name the 120 Crayola colors, yet alone the 4x10⁹ colors available on the average monitor. As such, as soon as we get beyond "Pale Peach" and "Midnight blue", we have to resort to "A little bit lighter than 'Fuzzy-Wuzzy Brown'"and the whole thing becomes ridiculous. The only other option is to use Hexadecimal, but, somehow, telling your sweetheart "their eyes are of the deepest #DEA681" isn't quite the same.

To solve this, we assigned colors "themes." For example, black came to signify death, green, nature, and yellow, vomit.

Red, being a hot color, is used for things that make us passionately hot under the collar, such as love, anger or a third-degree sunburn. It reminds us both of danger and of romance, and easily encompasses both love and anger as varying expressions of passion.

It may interest you to know that red stands for far more than just kisses and slaps. It is the color of power, war, warnings, fire, sin, guilt, sex, dwarves, communism, and of course, the wiggly line under spelling mistakes in Microsoft Word. For the latter reason, if nothing else, the color red has made the world a much better place; I dread to think where the blogosphere would be without it.

...No, You Really Don't Want Nirvana

2008-03-20T01:57:00.004-05:00

Buddha believed in ultimate happiness. He believed that to find Nirvana you must free yourself from desire. This, of course, is complete bull. To quote the great philosopher Will Young, losing desire means you "lose the highs to be spared the lows." As such, all that can truly be experienced is an ultimate state of "meh." Besides, based on his depictions, Buddha was a fat, jolly man and a thin, serious one, making him a schizophrenic and about as trustworthy as Fox News.

We ourselves are proof that ultimate happiness is impossible. Our smiles last for only a moment, normally a reaction to something good, such as a funny joke or even a brilliant Bridget blog. However, this state of "good" lasts only a small amount of time. If it didn’t, each subsequent thing would have to be better than the last in order for us to feel as good about it, until the world became one happy, bouncy ball of bunnies and page three models, at which point there would be nothing to strive for. Everything would be good. And we would all be bored out of our freakin' minds. With nothing to make us feel bad we would have no reason to feel good at all. And as a loud noise eventually fades into the background, so too our good feelings would become dull and invisible. Plus, everyone smiling all the time would be just plain disturbing.

Finally, it is impossible to define the "ultimate" anything; one man’s trash is another man’s Holy Grail (Sorry for the poor analogy, what can I say I've been watching Monty Python!) Ultimate happiness means different things to everyone; one person becoming happy would mean another could not. At the very most only 50% of the world could be happy at any one time, at which point we'd have to take it in turns and be happy every other week. And this would be far from anyone's idea of ultimate happiness... unless, of course, they were a little bit Buddha.

An Indispensable Influence

2008-03-09T15:52:00.004-05:00

It seems as though my writing classes have kept me increasingly busy these days. My latest assignment required me to write an informal "Teacher of the Year" nomination within our high school.

Teachers are indispensable. Without them, America, us, our children -- we have no future. It is teachers that get up every morning and spend every day training our minds and inspiring our hearts. There is one in particular that has gone far beyond the requirements of her job description to teach me what I need to know.

I’ve known Katie Montgomery for around three and a half years now. I’ve also taken pretty much every course she offers: English, Debate, Forensics, ACT Prep, Theatre Production, and Technical Theatre, plus various plays she directs at our high school. I was even part of a group that she and her brother took on a trip to London this past summer. And at some point throughout all of this, I’ve ceased to call her "Ms. Montgomery" and now address her as "Monty."

You see, Monty isn’t your average high school instructor. She doesn’t stand at the front of the room with a solemn expression and proceed to give a monotone lecture that falls upon deaf ears. Though a strict follower of the rules, she has a fresh sense of humor, intelligence, enthusiasm, and a style that reaches out to students in a way that is both engaging and understandable. You can bet that when she speaks, not only will you benefit from the content of her message, but you'll also want to hear it.

As a senior, I am shocked by how fast high school has flown by (wasn’t Freshman orientation just yesterday?) and have been reflecting on what I've learned. I could go on and on about the history of the theatre, and I could explain underlying themes of English literature, and I could teach you the art of formal argument, and I certainly could reveal a Grammar Nazi side to my readers. With all of this information, academic tests are a breeze. What sets Monty apart from the rest, however, is that she doesn’t stop there. High school is, or at least should be, about preparing us for the real world when we have to face it on our own. When the safety net is cut down and the realities of life come into play, who is going to prepare us for that test? I am immeasurably grateful that someone was there to also teach me about that. I’m grateful that my confidence in my speaking ability has soared, that I know how to operate power tools and even a sewing machine, that amongst chaos I can problem-solve, that I can bite my tongue when I want to run my mouth, that I know how to include essentials in my travel bag instead of technological goodies should there be airport delays. I am grateful.

Monty has been there for us through kidney stones, nasty rumors, family deaths, and any other imaginable teenage crisis. Even when knucklehead students vandalize her driveway with ketchup male genitalia because they think it’s funny or cuss her out and attempt to punch her because their grammar was corrected, her level of sacrifice is astounding. Monday through Friday she gives her all from 7:40 in the morning to 2:40 in the afternoon, offers coaching after school, spends her Saturdays taking Debate and Forensics squads to tournaments, and directs the Fall and Spring plays, which require late-night practices and extensive set-building. I know for a fact there were some nights when she didn’t head home until after 11:00 p.m. – a 15-hour day. I have to say that this really means a lot. This woman is a real human being with her own fiancé, friends, and life outside of school, and that makes the things she’s done for us mean even more.

Ms. Montgomery – Monty – has been an extremely influential figure throughout high school. As I look ahead to the future, going it alone in college seems a bit intimidating. Yet I feel more prepared than I ever have for the challenges that lie ahead of me, and I have her to thank for that. Upon my next graduation, when it’s time for me to start a career of my own, I’ll be thinking about Monty and how she has affected the lives of so many people like me. The thing is, I’m going to be a teacher. And if I’m half the educator she is, I’ll be damn proud of myself.

Reflections On An Old Photo

2008-03-01T19:36:00.001-06:00

Recently in one of my writing classes everyone wrote a photo reflective mini-essay on their childhood. Mine was nothing special, but it certainly made me think.

I am staring down at the photograph of a vibrant young first grade girl, complete with a nifty new dress and curled blonde bangs. The child in the photograph is me. It seems like elementary school picture day was just yesterday, and I was standing in my mother's bathroom complaining about her uncanny ability to burn the side of my head with the curling iron. That morning I finished watching "The Lion King" put in my VCR the night before, and skipped off to school with a very "Hakuna Matata" outlook on life. After all, I was only seven and a half, and my biggest dilemma involved me beating the boys at recess basketball later that afternoon. And messing up those stupid bangs.

I'm really not one for clichés, and I realize I'm going to sound like a grandma when I say this, but the past eleven years have gone by in the blink of an eye. Where have I been? How did time manage to sneak up on me at 10:38 a.m. in my high school library with its very unpleasant reminder that the world goes on with every passing minute, regardless of whether or not you want to freeze yourself in a particular period of your life or savor that sweet moment just a little longer? I feel the presence of time's friend, nostalgia, and have a strange desire to go back to that old playground and engage in another game of elementary school streetball with "the guys." This thought begins to unfold a bit in my mind. What if I actually could do that right now? I remember their hesitancy of letting a girl on the team before I had proven myself... and then this image of me lecturing first grade boys on gender roles and the limitations society places on females arises in my mind, which causes reality to sink in and me to realize that so much has changed since then - people, situations, me - that this simply isn't possible.

I take another glance at that photo, this time taking notice of my bright appearance - of how wide my smile was and how my eyes seemed to have all of the joy and optimism in the world bundled up inside of them. The computer monitor goes to a blank screensaver, and the change that has taken place throughout my life is evident in the reflection staring back at me. My eyes are now heavy from lack of sleep, and little is done for the upkeep of my image. Somewhere along the line I seemed to have sold out, trading fun and my "no worries" policy for adult responsibilities and privileges. I work two jobs to cover expenses such as cell phone bills and car payments. Catch me on a weekday evening and more likely than not I'm cooking dinner rather than playing outside. My Saturdays no longer consist of girly sleepovers with bedtime at 10 p.m., but of unsupervised nights out wherever and for however long and with whomever I choose. I operate in my daily life ever mindful of the consequences of my every action.

And I think I've put my finger on why being a kid is so great. When we're young, although it may seem as though we are confined by our parents' rules and regulations, there will never be a time in our lives when we are more free. We are allowed to believe that any dream is attainable and chase it to our heart's desire. The sky is the limit? Then I'm reaching for the stars. The grand illusion of adulthood turns out to be something that attempts to set limitations for what we can or can't do, and too often do we let it.

Now, it may seem as though this paper has taken a sort of somber or regretful tone to it, but know that is not my intention. I lead a wonderful life with people I love dearly in it, one that I am grateful for with every single breath I take. In fact, one of my favorite exercises is sharing countless laughs with a few close buddies. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I have some amazing things ahead of me. But now, after listening to Randy Pausch's story (read about it here) and reflecting back on my own I've resolved to try to reclaim that youthful zest I seemed to have lost every day when I stumble out of bed at roughly 5:00 in the morning. And, who knows? I might even decide to pick up a curling iron.

A Drinker I Am Not

2008-02-21T21:19:00.004-06:00

I am increasingly perplexed by the fact that my family seems not to require a normal intake of fluids. On a daily basis, I’d say we each consume less than two glasses of liquid, sometimes less. This is far below the “eight glasses a day” average. Are we living in a perpetual state of dehydration? Or have we adapted, boasting some evolutionary advantage that will benefit future generations should the KC Metro take on certain desert-like attributes?

The dearth of fluids in our lives is not a recent development. My childhood was peppered with extremely small glasses and cups, so small that one of my mother’s former boyfriends actually went out and bought a set of large glasses so that he could get more than two sips of a drink without having to refill. A good thirty percent of our kitchen glassware is actually composed of tiny shot glasses collected from a variety of places... none of which have ever contained alcohol. Instead it’s, “Here, have a shot of milk with that sandwich” or “Throw that limeade back like you mean it.” Needless to say, the top half of our dishwasher is increasingly aggravated over the difficulty of keeping multiple small shot glasses upright during the cleansing process.

At some meals we forgo beverages all together. It’s not so much that we forget; we’re just not thirsty. Nobody feels the need to pour a cup of water or orange juice. Why dirty more glassware?

This could explain a lot of things, like how mealtimes often degenerate into spirited rounds of choking on chicken. (Don’t ask why it’s always chicken, but somehow, it always is.) My mother hardly ever eats chicken without choking on it. It’s become an expected part of the chicken-eating routine. Mom cooks chicken, we sit down to eat chicken, and mom chokes on chicken. Once she has dislodged the unruly chicken parts, business continues as usual. Thus our typical dinner conversations are punctuated by the sounds of violent hacking, a sweet serenade indeed.

Maybe if we imbibed more fluids—or if we at least featured them at the dinner table as a pleasant side-option—incidences of chicken-choking could be averted or eliminated entirely. Are there other health risks we’ve yet to face? Will our skin reflect poorly on our strange liquid denial? Should we attempt to cultivate a dependence on fluids that we have hitherto ignored?

Then again, maybe there are hidden advantages. I remember attending a summer Bible camp a few years ago where the instructors insisted we consume a minimum of four Nalgenes of water each day. I usually managed to down about ¾ of one—after that, my body repudiated my efforts at hydration. Did my lack of fluids impinge upon my ability to withstand the physical demands of camp activities? Au contraire: when we weren't praying to Jesus, Allelulah! I was whooping the boys at basketball and finished first in a race from the tether ball to the tree stump. Other kids fell to the ground in droves, succumbing to scorching Kansas heat, sunburns, and one very fake case of asthma. Coincidence? Or did mysterious powers lie in the water I was not drinking?

There are other pleasing advantages to requiring less fluid: we rarely have to go to the bathroom. Our car trips are never beset by children whining “I have to go to the baaathrooom.” In fact, we have more trouble pushing it out than keeping it in.

Of course, this can presents an interesting problem, too, primarily in one setting: the doctor’s office. As a child, I could never never NEVER pee on command. Looking back, I recognize this as a necessary consequence of the fact that I didn’t have any liquids inside me that I could pee out. But at the time, it was devastating. My failing would come to light in great embarrassment as I sat in the doctor’s bathroom, focusing intently on the job at hand. As I clenched the small cup provided, I’d parade all sorts of images through my mind—pools, fountains, trickling streams, gushing waterfalls—all to no avail. “Just pee in the cup, Bridget,” I’d say to myself through clenched teeth. “Just pee in the cup.” Sometimes I’d be in the bathroom for half an hour or more before I’d reemerge, empty cup clasped in my sad little hand, cheeks stained from frustrated tears at my lack of success.

When the powers of positive thinking didn’t work, I tried other tactics, downing multiple cone cups of water from the Ozarka cooler in rapid succession. But my bladder, peeved by this unusual deluge of water, would stubbornly refuse to concede. Only hours after I’d left the doctor’s office would the water come out in torrents, long after I had a cup to pee into.

These days it’s a rare occasion in which I’m demanded to pee in a cup. Only serious firms and companies demand that prospective employees submit to drug tests, and as I am currently not yet a member of the “real adult” world, I’m exempt from compulsory liquid output. Until then, maybe I’ll try to drink more water.

But only from a shot glass.

Sudden Realization: I Now Hate Malls

2008-02-13T01:31:00.002-06:00

I would rather pay all the online shipping charges in the world than shop at the mall, and here’s why:

1.) The people. This, of course, is the biggest reason. If I had the money, I’d create a mall where all of its shoppers were aesthetically perfect. No one would smell, and everyone would have to walk at a decent pace - none of that “I’m gonna barricade the isle with my gigantic ass and then go the speed of dial-up” bullshit. There would also be an age restriction - must be older than 10 and younger than 60. Quite possibly the worst sound in the world comes from the mouth of a screaming child. In my mall, screaming children would have their mouths clamped shut with metal prongs and be forced to recite the alphabet backwards. Anyone who didn’t meet this criteria would have to work in the food court, cleaning up messes with their tongue. By the way, I'm for child labor all the way. Oh yeah. The younger the better.

2.) In my mall, all of the employees would be robots (with the exception of maybe a few children here and there). I can’t stand how you walk into a store and it’s like the Spanish Inquisition:

“Can I help you find something? Are you shopping for yourself today? What the fuck are you doing here? Have you come to steal? Should I call security? Did you know everything in the store is 50% off?”

“No, but I’m seriously getting a tat on my forehead this weekend - it’s gonna say ‘piss off’”

What’s worse is when they follow you around like you’re God damn Winona Rider. Robots would do no such thing. They’d be there to check you out, and that’s it. If you stole, they’d kill. Simple as that.

3.) The restrooms. There’s walking into a bathroom, and there’s walking into the bog of eternal stench - at the mall, your chances are 50/50. If there were some kind of nuclear ass potion whose side effects could offend even a frat house, the food court is serving it. Anyone who took an ass-potion shit in the restrooms at my mall would be sucked down with it after they flush.

This list could keep going, but the more I think about it, the more pissed off I get and I am absolutely shocked at the level of pissiness and profanity that this post has already produced. So, basically, I really hate the mall.

I Have Problems... No, With "Cloverfield"

2008-02-11T01:09:00.000-06:00

* Problem: Fat guy videotaping everything. Very unrealistic. In real life, people would’ve been too busy shitting their pants.

Solution: Let Godzilla do the recording. Strap a camcorder around its neck Blair Witch style, and we’re good to go.

* Problem: A group of friends risk their lives for some ugly chick. Also not realistic.

Solution: A group of friends risk their lives for Kate Beckinsale. Or me. Much better.

* Problem: Stupid punks in the back of the theater won’t shut the fuck up.

Solution: Stupid punks in the back of the theater get eaten alive by giant spiders.

* Problem: No explanation as to what the monster was.

Solution: Monster revealed as spawn of Oprah Winfrey.

* Problem: Couldn’t figure out whether I was watching a love story or a horror flick.

Solution: Combine the two genres by having the monster fall in love with the leading lady. Oops, nevermind. Apparently, that’s been done. Then again, so has everything else.

* Problem: A lot of people think "Cloverfield" sucks. Some even say it’s the worst movie of ‘08.

Solution: Those people should see "Meet the Spartans."

15 Minutes of Fame

2008-02-06T22:34:00.001-06:00

This was from the Kansas Caucus on Tuesday, where I was asked to comment on the event. I warn you: the winter wind has my hair completely ruined by this time...

I will also have an actual written post VERY soon.

Yes, We Can!

2008-01-27T20:26:00.000-06:00

"Eat, Pray, Love"

2008-01-19T00:33:00.000-06:00

I am thinking that I would really like this book written by Elizabeth Gilbert. I've decided to buy it. (The first 11 minutes or so of the first video is an excerpt from the book itself, but I'd encourage listening to the whole thing) Apparently Paramount has acquired the rights and Julia Roberts will star in the book's film.

You can go here for more videos of Liz discussing her book.

The Art of Protesting

2008-01-16T22:43:00.000-06:00

Protesting is a ancient art. Even in the time of the Egyptian Pharaohs people protested. They were, of course, unceremoniously beaten to death and fed to cats, but civil action was alive and well, even if the protesters weren’t. As time has gone on, methods have evolved, changing with the demands of society. Now, more than ever, it is difficult to get anyone’s attention. Our lives have a running sound track, courtesy of our consumerist yearnings, and there is no escape. So, like an attention hungry step-child that you never wanted and could care less about if he/she died in a tragic household blender accident, protesting has had to kick it up a notch to get us to acknowledge its existence.

The results of this were on display during a demonstration in San Francisco, where protesters staged a “die-in.” Thousands of men and women simultaneously fell to the pavement, feigning death. The goal was to represent the many dead Iraqis and American soldiers in Iraq. Did the point get across? If the objective was to make passersby think that the protesters were lazy/dirty hippies that couldn’t even bother getting home to take a nap, then yes, mission accomplished. In the long run, this “creative” approach will likely yield the same results as conventional protests; pretty much nothing.

Organizers would like to change that. Developing new tactics, civilians are hoping to be heard and see real change. I've taken the time to look into some of the latest in protest innovation spurred by the Iraq war, so that you don’t have to.

Washington, D.C.

Protesters in front of the White House simultaneously pulled out dollar bills and wiped their rears with them, symbolizing the money wasted during the Iraq war. Not since the days of 60’s Free Love had D.C. seen so much public nudity, nor had a wide range of rectal diseases spread so quickly. Protesters, hoping to get their message heard, were later written off due to the subsequent increase in sickness among the homeless. Many suspect the distribution of contaminated money to panhandlers as the prime culprit. Protesters contend that their generosity had nothing to do with the outbreak of “itchy crack,” as it’s known on the streets. Needless to say, the whole ordeal went over as well as a Klan Grand Wizard at the Source Awards.

Los Angeles, California

Signs have always been a part of protesting, however a group in LA took it to another level. Some of them displayed a large cardboard cutout of the United States using the state of Florida to violate a cutout of Iraq. It was a fairly graphic puppet show that left many onlookers horrified. Even fellow protesters were disheartened by the crass delivery of their message. One protester commented, “I understand the anger, but, I mean, come on! Iraq barely looks bigger than Florida! It was like John Holmes on a midget!”

Second Life, The Internet
In an effort to integrate technology and being a dork into protesting, individuals organized themselves on the virtual world of Second Life. Organizers hoped that since most people are much too lazy and apathetic to actually protest in Real Life ®, being able to participate from the comfort of their home would attract a wide range of people from around the country and even the world. Unfortunately, it turns out that people are too lazy and apathetic to even protest online. The turnout for the event was ten people, nine of whom were organizers. The tenth was one of the organizer’s Second Life sex slaves.

Why such a low turnout? Apparently, the protest’s schedule conflicted with a Second Life avatar orgy. No matter where one may lurk on the Internet, sex always wins, even if that means a bunch of misshapen polygons awkwardly bumping into each other. The avatar sextivities rendered the protest completely ineffectual and eventually devolved into an avatar breakdance contest. A naked breakdance contest.

Over the years protesting has become more and more ineffective. I hope that someone is able to take the art of protesting to another level, so that the voices of citizens can once again be heard. The people of this country want to be heard and they are willing to do what it takes... as long as it doesn’t happen at the same time as Grey’s Anatomy.

Change Pulverizes the Status Quo

2008-01-03T23:38:00.000-06:00

Chrismukkah

2007-12-21T00:03:00.000-06:00

Continuing the current trend of large-scale mergers and acquisitions, it was announced today at a press conference that Christmas and Hanukkah will merge. An industry source said that the deal had been in the works for about 1300 years.

While details were not available at press time, it is believed that the overhead cost of having twelve days of Christmas and eight days of Hanukkah was becoming prohibitive for both sides. By combining forces, we're told, the world will be able to enjoy consistently high-quality service during the Fifteen Days of Chrismukkah, as the new holiday is being called.

Massive layoffs are expected, with lords a-leaping and maids a-milking being the hardest hit. As part of the conditions of the agreement, the letters on the dreydl, currently in Hebrew, will be replaced by Latin, thus becoming unintelligible to a wider audience.

Also, instead of translating to "A great miracle happened there," the message on the dreydl will be the more generic "Miraculous stuff happens." In exchange, it is believed that Jews will be allowed to use Santa Claus and his vast merchandising resources for buying and delivering their gifts.

One of the sticking points holding up the agreement for at least three hundred years was the question of whether Jewish children could leave milk and cookies for Santa even after having eaten meat for dinner. A breakthrough came last year, when Oreos were finally declared to be Kosher. All sides appeared happy about this.

A spokesman for Christmas, Inc., declined to say whether a takeover of Kwanzaa might not be in the works as well. He merely pointed out that, were it not for the independent existence of Kwanzaa, the merger between Christmas and Hanukkah might indeed be seen as an unfair cornering of the holiday market. Fortunately for all concerned, he said, Kwanzaa will help to maintain the competitive balance. He then closed the press conference by leading all present in a rousing rendition of "Oy Vey, All Ye Faithful."

Silence

2007-12-17T06:13:00.000-06:00

Last night I was up late reading this beautiful piece of fiction in which the protagonist was called Silence, and eventually ended up pondering silence itself - about how scared we are of it, about how deafening it can be if we don't know how to recognize its true value.

We are so used to noise that silence has started to mean that you don't have anything valuable to say. People feel the need to fill the gap, and if someone becomes quiet while talking to us we become nervous and start filling the blanks with jargon. I've noticed, especially in a group, that if everyone suddenly becomes silent someone will always begin talking, even if it has nothing to do with the conversation. In fact, in our hurry to fill the silence we start thinking of topics beforehand in our head so that we'll have a fallback plan if the situation comes to that.

We feel that until we call attention to ourselves through our words, we won't have a chance to be noticed or a chance to contribute. This happens the most in interpersonal relationships, with your boyfriend or friend or family member. If they unburden themselves to you and tell you of some problem they might be having, you immediately start thinking of the solution you need to offer and imparting your advice - when maybe sometimes all they really want you to do is listen. To be able to have something 'insightful' to say, sometimes we forget to even listen.

This extends to inner silence as well; we are afraid that if we let our mind achieve stillness, we'll be forced to look into issues that we don't want to deal with. So we fill our head with a million thoughts that continually chase each other resulting in a cacophony of sound... but we forget that a symphony needs rest, patches of silence to accentuate the notes in between to elevate them, to let them shine.

The simple fact is that silence troubles us and we simply don't know how to deal with it (me being one such person).

Strangely enough, it is actually the testament to the strongest of relationships. If you can share silence with someone, it means you are so close that you don't need words to bridge the distance.

A Vote for Change

2007-12-12T01:49:00.000-06:00

Video Game Violence

2007-12-08T10:33:00.001-06:00

At a certain time in the development of any new entertainment industry, Puritanical reactionaries can be counted on to come out of the woodwork and wag the finger of blame, transforming the next evolution in performing art into the latest pre-packaged excuse for the decline of Western Civilization. In Shakespeare's time, actors were barely tolerated, and before that were considered no better than prostitutes. When Elvis Presley began to appear on late night television, "concerned" citizens assumed that wantonness and debauchery would follow thanks to The King's reckless pelvic thrusting. Among the first initiatives of the Nazis, as they began to seize power in 1920s Germany, was to stamp out a thriving and energetic stage culture, ostensibly because of its bizarre jazz sounds.

Now that rock music and movies have become acceptable mainstays of popular culture, the self-appointed guardians of morality step into the breach once again to take aim at the latest easy answer for all society's ills: video games. Figures such as Florida lawyer Jack Thompson, who has led several widely unsuccessful anti-video game campaigns, are the screeching, spitting, fist-pounding demagogues who demand that society compensate them for their lack of modern understanding by indulging them in their petty contests against video games and the creative, talented individuals who produce and play them.

Thompson and his irrational posse conflate video games and violence with the same shallow ignorance that once caused people to connect masturbation and blindness. Any art historian will tell you that the images created by any society are a reflection of that society's values and norms, and do not come into being in a vacuum. Clearly, unexamined social forces are in play; the nature of video games is merely a reflection, not a causal agent.

Now, if we were to take a glance at video game history, you'd notice a distinct lack of major protests against video gaming's influence before the production of Mortal Kombat (1992) or The House of the Dead (1996). No one ever led a crusade to prevent Super Mario from jumping on turtles, or Link from slaying a dragon. It's wrong to assert that before this time, video games did not depict violence between human characters: this has been going on since at least the mid-1980s, with titles like Bad Street Brawler or Urban Champion, (both released for the Nintendo Entertainment System in 1986).

Knowing these two things, we can reduce the major assumptions of video gaming's foes to two possibilities: Either a) video games do not reflect the norms of society and are unreasonably violent, gruesome, and so on or b) semi-realistic visual depictions of totally unrealistic acts cause people to completely lose their ability to tell fantasy from reality.

It is intellectually untenable for anyone to state that the video games of today do not reflect western cultural norms. Foundational literature shows countless depictions of gratuitous violence against humans across every gradiation of the moral spectrum: Beowulf. The Odyssey. The Bible. Even today, war is a continuous social fact that claims thousands of lives every year.

Despite this, organized violence is still accepted by the majority as both heroic and necessary; at the very least inevitable. War is considered an essential method of problem solving.The U.S. Army has recently released a computer video game aimed at recruiting youth into the military, and not the providence of any feature of gaming itself. Anyone who claims that you can learn to fire a rifle by pressing a button has obviously done neither.

So this means that the average game player can't be trusted to distinguish reality from falsehood, right? Absolutely not. We trust people at 18 - my own age, perhaps the age of your children - to fight in wars, to consume poisonous substances at will, to operate dangerous equipment and vehicles. The assumption, therefore, is generally made that their psyche is in good enough shape to not be irreparably damaged by an encounter with fiction, no matter what form it may take. Clearly, these aren't the people for whom most of those who would see video games abolished cry so loudly... though I suspect some of them would take video games (among other things) out of the hands of grown adults if they could.

This leaves children as the benefactors of Jack Thompson's righteous outrage, and to that idea I direct a simple question: who is buying games for these children? Who's letting them spend time in front of a TV when they should be developing skills to cope with life as a human being? Only mature, involved, caring adults can impress essential facts of co-existence upon the young mind, and among the first is this: what goes on in your head is not the same as what goes on in the world around you. In times of regular anger or distress, there should be no question of violence. In cases where young minds are disturbed, it is the responsibility of elders to notice the signs.

Video games are rated for content in a manner very similar to movies, allowing parents to take a proactive role. To claim that a well-adjusted, well-rounded and well-balanced young person can be incited to violence by a video game is utterly incredible. Such a superficial argument is tempting only because it shifts the blame away from countless complex social and psychological factors. These produce changes in a person's behavior any reasonably involved parent should be expected to notice. Even in the worst case scenario, when violence does occur, blaming a video game is not any more sensible than blaming a book, a fortune cookie, or the victim. The core skills of understanding what fiction is and what our relationship to it should be are the responsibility of the parent to provide, not that of teachers or any government agency.

The idea that video games cause violence is as hollow and dogmatic as a fire and brimstone sermon, couched in illogical beliefs and promoted as the centerpiece of a retrogressive agenda. Those who decry video games as the next great evil should focus their feverish energies on addressing the attitudes and afflictions that contribute to violence of every kind, especially among the young: the aggrandizement of the physically strong and attractive, issues of inequality based on race, wealth, and social class, and much, much more. Mature, responsible people do not recourse to violence in the real world, and when violence occurs, placing the blame on an inanimate object is an injustice to all concerned. Don't let the Jack Thompsons of the world convince you otherwise.

Strange Satellite Movies

2007-12-01T01:45:00.000-06:00

Ever bother to press the 'info' button on your remote to check out the program descriptions? We did at my friend Rachel's last night... and the experience was somewhere in between kind of funny and slightly creepy.

Here's a sample of what I'm talking about:

An enraged one-legged Scottish janitor shoots his wealthy employer in the leg and kidnaps his grandmother at gunpoint.

A samurai who can turn into a shape-shifting creature enters a town that holds a strange and deadly secret.

A gay waterfowl and his longtime companion split up due to an unexpected love interest. Animated.

A teenager undergoes a personality change while trying to free himself of the need to suck his thumb.

Valley girls cruise Southern California with Mac, Wiploc and Zebo from the planet Jhazzala.

Gangsters, dissatisfied customers and the FBI pursue two Los Angeles punks selling cellular phones from their van.

Super Mario Bros. Flute-a-tized

2007-11-20T20:21:00.000-06:00

I thought this was a cool take on the theme of one of my favorite video games:

Criminals of the Writing World Unleashed

2007-11-11T01:23:00.000-06:00

Every student unleashes the writer in their own writing that sucks from time to time. It's that writer that we've spent years tying up and gagging and locking away in a forgotten corner of our mind. Often more than one must be captured. They try to corrupt us with their mediocrity and platitudes, yet we resist and round them back into their cells.

As time passes our guard goes down, or perhaps was never on duty to begin with, and the prisoners run amuck and infect our poetry or our prose. In an effort to subdue them, we have to be vigilant and know what they look like.

I give you, the ten writers that suck:

1. The Egoist: This writer's motto is: I write for myself. This lexical masturbator never realizes that writing is communication, a method of conveyance. Without an audience, there is no point, and writing becomes a complete waste of time.The Egoist never gets that his time would be better spent doing something else. Grammar is oppressive and rules don't apply to me. He never learns to first communicate, but instead is only interested in emptying his own thoughts on paper regardless if anyone else can understand them.Rules are often avoided to such an extreme that he needs to create new rules to make sure he avoids the establishment's. Reading the Egoist's work is like listening to a speech given by someone without any lips.

2. The Grammar Nazi: She believes in a perfect grammar, and will go out of her way to destroy those she feels are imperfect. Or she may only believe in one grammar and may not even realize that many exist. Her bigotry is ruthless and often makes her work rigid and stoic. Her words are cold, distant, and sterile; and she will eventually have to resort to writing instruction manuals to supplement her income.

3. The Transcendentalist: He can be identified by his lifetime commitment to his masterpiece, even though a good year's honest hard work would have produced better results. For him, writing is art (said with an ethereal voice). But he never goes on to define art. The Transcendentalist can never exactly tell you where words come from, because he is a conduit, an empty vessel. At least his head is. The Transcendentalist waits around for something to happen and invented the superstition of writer's block.

4. The Artist: She's more interested in being a writer than actually doing any writing. She talks a good talk, but put a pencil in her hand and all she can do is break the lead.The Artist is more fun at parties than a real writer because she frequents them so much she never gets anything done. The only downside of her writing career is that she cannot tolerate those hours where she must be alone with herself and write.

5. The Expositionist: He starts, interludes, and ends by describing every minute detail in his work. Most of what he writes has little to no relevance to the story or the theme, but he judges quality by detail. He's the guy at the party nobody wants to talk to because he has a talent for saying so little with a great many words.

6. The Diarrhetic Writer: Sister to the Expositionist, she is a mindless spout of diarrhetic verbosity. While the Expositionist is compelled by detail, the Diarrhetic Writer is compelled only by words. Her parents call her prolific, but her writing is inane and nonsensical and delivered in mass quantity. She's the author of the never-ending story.

7. The Premature Ejaculator: This over-eager author finishes too quick. Perhaps the polar opposite of the Expositionist, he lacks any setup whatsoever. The audience gets a finish, but no satisfaction. If his problem stems from ignorance, then his conclusion lacks motive. If his problem stems from delusion, then his conclusion is a gimmick. In either case the reader feels cheated.

8. The Moralist: She has lots of time to write because nobody invites her to parties. She writes with a mission and only tells one side of the story. She makes the improbable probable in order to support her sermon. She's often the most important character in her stories.

9. What's-His-Name: He loves pronouns and hates antecedents. He calls his abstractness post-modern rather than admit it's lazy, vague, and tedious. His reader must often invent the parts he leaves out.

10. The Writer with Tourette's: If she's lucky, then her words are plagued with profanity. Overly indulgent fuck's, pussy's, and cocksucker's can sometimes pass off as in vogue. The most damning are the banal really's, so's, and there's; the words that don't even insult.

Getting High on Life

2007-11-08T00:27:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking a lot about Kierkegaard and Kafka these last few weeks (think philosophy)and that, among other more troublesome things, has gotten me distracted from typing away on this blog. You'll find that I'm like that sometimes. A thing crawls into my brain, not something tangible, but the intangible, and it plants a seed and starts to grow. It takes hold of me, screwing with me a while before becoming a part of me... or is it that I become a part of it?

Most of us out here in Americaland are Platonic, with the obvious exception of me of course (when am I ever normal?). So you all believe in something big. You think that there are right answers and there are wrong answers. This might not apply to all of you, but it does to most of you. And that's what separates you from people in other cool places like Europe. They tend to be Kierkegaardian in nature - Existential is the word. They, like I, like B-ridget Harman, wake up each morning and discover we have become big giant bugs.

While all you Platonists are "finding yourselves", discovering what you already know, all the rest of us are discovering we are something new each day, something different... which is kind of where I've been lately. I've become a bigger bug than usual and have been getting to know me again. It's like waking up and trying to figure out where you are, only you know exactly where you are, you just have to figure out who you are.

But oddly enough, there's a liking part that comes with it - you actually kind of like being the bug. You realize that you are something new. You are different than you were yesterday, than last year, than you were as a child. There's a high that come with this sort of feeling, a freedom, a power. So I've been riding that high. And it just so happens that this is keeping me just intrigued enough, even if only momentarily, to keep my mind from falling victim to insanity.

The Wrath of the Indian Monkeys

2007-10-31T01:13:00.000-05:00

Tonight (since my insomnia has taken over yet again) I would like to talk about something that threatens, well, none of us... unless you are reading this blog in Delhi.

Apparently, there is a massive monkey menace in Delhi, India, where they are being overrun with evil monkeys. Sure, you might read that and think, “What, are they throwing crap and doing things that crazy little monkeys do?”

Nope. They threw the deputy mayor of Delhi from his terrace, giving him a serious head injury that led to his death. I shit you not, this is totally real. In India it is forbidden to kill monkeys for religious purposes. This. coupled with the fact that people have been feeding monkeys in order to obtain divine rewards, has led to a rise of unruly monkeys. How out of control have these monkeys been?

"Monkeys have invaded government ministries in New Delhi, ridden elevators andclimbed along windowsills. Monkeys slapped students inside a girls school in asouth Bengal suburb. A gang of monkeys in the city of Chandigarh ripped uplawns, broke flowerpots and yanked sheets off beds. Some monkeys, mostly loners, have bitten people, injuring and even killing small children."

Wait. Read that over - they went into a school and slapped the students around? Is that not the funniest thing you've ever read??

Teacher: Jane, why were you late for class?
Jane: A monkey just kicked the shit out of me.
Teacher: Sure Jane, sure...

So what do you do with unruly monkeys that you can't kill? Send them to monkey jail, of course! But none of this has really worked and Delhi is losing its battle against the rouge monkeys. You know what, I don't even have a solution to offer up. I was going to say that I could create a band of freedom fighters that would come and take care of the monkey problem. Maybe I could even wear a cool eye patch and have the latest in military technology to fight the monkeys. But, after thinking about it, why the hell would I want to do that? I am waiting for the inevitable monkey car theft or perhaps even plane theft. Or the story about how someone went to buy an ice cream and the only people working were monkeys, which of course would only dish out banana ice cream.

So India, I beg you: continue your no killing of monkey policies. You can learn to co-exist with them, and and they can continue to be productive members of society. Woo-hoo.

Procrastination & Satisfaction

2007-10-19T16:33:00.000-05:00

I catch myself frequently assigning a date other than the present for whenever I’ll feel satisfied with my daily life. Some of it’s procrastination; I tend to put off today what (I convince myself) can be done tomorrow. I dread the hours a 20-page research paper will require so I put it off hoping that in another day I actually want to sit at my computer for hours on end. My quality of life, I tell myself, will improve exponentially when it’s done. I’ll be able to get up in the early morning and sip coffee by the window while reading the news, workout and run before noon, taking the rest of the day to do any number of unproductive tasks I see fit… whenever the paper’s done.

I can’t mentally dismiss assigned academic work, as some apparently can, and blissfully watch movies or hang out. Whether it’s a lengthy paper or impending exam, it sticks in the back of my mind and follows me around constantly announcing its presence like the kid-sister that insisted upon torturing you throughout your childhood. Required work and tasks that must be done occupy my mind, at least on some subterranean level, and lead me to assume that I would be much happier if those things weren’t there.

Life generally strikes me in a similar way. I barely make enough to sustain my frugal lifestyle and wish that I had more leisure time to pursue my interests independent of work and school. I’ve been pegging October as the period when these dreams would be actualized but now with the unrelenting business of my schedule it may not be until December. There’s so much which has to be done which gets in the way of the friends with whom I’d like to hang out, the books I’d like to read, and the time when I’d like to relax, etc., that I long for the day when those obligations and necessities aren’t there. I’m beginning to suspect that this will be how life always falls, unless I turn to monasticism, which would probably eliminate a lot of those extracurricular activities I miss.

Hopefully the future involves financial stability without requiring all of those painstaking hours of weekly slave labor as a teenage maid. However, I wonder if I'm naively concluding that satisfaction is contingent upon situational factors rather than a personal choice to make the most of what one has. What if there are always things which we wish weren't part of our lives... does this necessitate discontentment? I'm leaning towards no.

Self-Improvement

2007-10-10T18:47:00.000-05:00

"I think, therefore I am," Descartes claimed, summarizing in one simple, five-word sentence the very essence of Rationalism. But Descartes didn't realize how close he was to penning an equally insightful quip, one that is the beginning point of all self-improvement programs: "I am, therefore I stink." The wise Proverbs claim that fear is the beginning of wisdom, but I say that it is rather a well-working nose that is not afraid to report the truth that its owner is foul.

It isn't as if I am on to something new. Indeed, Freud likened psychoanalysis to catharsis. Have you ever looked up the word catharsis? It means to have a bowel movement. In that case, we might modify our self-improvement quip to be "I am in therapy; therefore I stink," in which case "stink" changes from being an adjective (a quality that is descriptive of our being) to a verb (an action that we impel upon others). To clarify this ambiguity, I propose adding "up," so that our proverb reads "I am; therefore I stink up."

So, we agree then that the process of self-improvement not only begins with our stinking, but in our producing stench. This is a good starting point because a person who believes him or herself to be of good essence must also believe he or she has a good essence, when in reality any "good" essence is only a veneer, a bait and switch as it were. And there is nothing worse than being one of those people who stinks though everyone around that person is afraid to say something because, as if the person is freely whiffing the "essence" of self, he or she has the nose stuck straight up in the air. I believe this is why the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous came up with the Twelve Steps and agreed to get together in meetings where members state, "I am Frank and I'm an Alcoholic." When we begin the process of admitting our lack of control over our addiction, affliction, or stench, it isn't far down the road that we recognize our need for a higher power. Indeed, "I am Frank, and I stink. God help me."

When the ancients equated the soul of man to his breath, they were close to finding the truths we are discovering ourselves. A woman who has eaten garlic takes aims to cover her sin with a mint before talking with others, because one's breath is in one's soul, and if your breath stinks, you stink. It is curious to me that the ancients dismissed the relevance of flatulence, another wind (pneuma) that proceeds from within. But flatulence always stinks and there is nothing you can do to cover it. Unlike breath, which can be freshened, flatulence is suppressed until you are in private, thus continuing the facade that you do not stink, when in fact you do - profusely. In that sense, we ought to equate the soul with flatulence because, like flatulence, everybody has a soul that stinks and we try to hide its reality from others. I am, I have a soul, and therefore I stink. "Can you smell that?" A certain infamous family member from my childhood would ask after emitting flatulance. He, I declare, was an honest man. He was not afraid to bear his soul, and he lived a long and happy life, never married, knew his limitations, and left a legacy of health and joy.

I am, therefore I stink. Stench is the beginning of wisdom. Remember this acumen and you are on the path to health, of knowing that it all begins with an honest appraisal and a bold step forward to confidently go where most humans will not admit they have been.

The Attack on Classic Literature

2007-10-05T13:01:00.000-05:00

As someone who aspires to become an English teacher, I sometimes find myself debating inwardly on what exactly I would have my students read. Scores of educational theorists and our good friend common sense tell us that the best way to get kids to learn is to present them with something interesting, something relevant to their daily lives.

Unfortunately, many students are turned off by the classic examples of Western Literature. They deride Dickens, hate Homer, and shun Shakespeare. And honestly, I can't blame them. Even though I devour that sort of thing, I freely admit that I am obviously in the minority; I know of no other classmate who toted an unabridged version of The Iliad to middle school.

The problem is actually a relatively easy one to diagnose. A lot of it, not surprisingly, stems from the language used in such titles. Although everything on an American high school reading list is in English (either originally or via translation), not all of it is what students today recognize as modern English. That seemingly small barrier quickly leads to disapproval, as many students, even those in honors and AP classes, find it difficult to identify with the characters and care about the story. Reading literature, after all, should never be work!

I've found that this is the idea behind the current trend in secondary education, the movement to find and employ literature that meets students halfway - well-written prose that still manages to be relevant to the average teenager's life and culture. Many of these works are written in the past few decades, and most deal with some easily-recognizable issue with which students can identify.

Does this mean that we should ignore the classics? Hardly! For one, those stories are called "classic" for a reason; that means they've withstood the scrutiny of countless generations. They also give us a window to the past, a chance to see what life was like in older societies.

The trick, then, is to find the link. There are certain universal issues and concerns that pervade every society, and it is the teacher's job to help students establish those themes. Hamlet, for instance, deals greatly with the themes of betrayal and depression, motifs that are certainly relevant to the average high-school student. I would know - I am one!

To me, teaching is an art. It may not always be easy, but it has certainly got to be rewarding, particularly when you accomplish something with your students that they never realized was possible. So don't shy away from those classics simply because the connections aren't always immediately obvious. After all, everyone benefits more when the teacher puts more effort into the lesson.

Ninja Strategery

2007-10-03T00:32:00.000-05:00

I just had a stunning revelation. At first I thought myself stupid for not thinking of this earlier. But then I realized that I must be the first person to have thought of this, because obviously if someone else had it would already have happened.

The thought I had was this: Why isn't the Army using more ninjas? Just think about it: the Army is presently involved in a war that was scheduled to end several years ago, one that wasn't even originally billed as a war. They are apparently struggling with an insurgency and a nation in danger of destabilization. You see, Iraqis have a different definition of "greeting as liberators" than Americans do. In their culture this term means fire-bombing, flag burning, and rocket launching. This is merely a cultural difference, and one that our traditional Army may not be trained or equipped to handle.

But the problem does not lie with the U.S. soldiers in Iraq; in fact, they are very talented men and women who perform their jobs very well. I have watched quite a few documentaries on the Marines and the Navy SEALS (The Rock, The Marine, G.I. Jane) and they share many similar traits with ninjas. The one quality that our Marines and SEALS possess that a ninja does not, however, is sympathy. As the Iraqi insurgents place bombs under our soldiers' trucks, our men are taken aback by their sweet gestures. They think "Oh look, how thoughtful. He is greeting me as a liberator by killing my friends." And then instead of stopping the bomber by putting one swift bullet into his head, he merely takes him captive and tortures him. If ninjas were in Iraq, that son of bitch would have been dead before he woke up that morning.

Which then brings up another issue that would be cleared up if the Army relied soley on ninjas: torture. Ninjas don't torture. Perhaps they might if they had time, but unfortunately their victim was dead after the very first blow. In fact, by ninja standards, "torture" is when it takes two shots to kill a man instead of one.

Another benefit to adding ninjas to the U.S. Army is that the Draft would no longer be necessary. For a war like the one we are having in Iraq, you'd need like 5, maybe 6 ninjas at most. This would allow Cindy Sheehan to cool her jets and enjoy some much needed family time (at home).

Having ninjas as our only soldiers would also make the President's job significantly easier and less stressful. If the American people demanded to know what the troops were doing, the President could hold a press conference and the only reply he'd have to offer would be, "I don't have a clue as to what they're doing. They're ninjas, you know? They're very secretive. Hard to keep track of. They're strategery is beyond me!" And everyone would be like, "Oh, yeah... that's a good point."

In addition, ninjas are extremely effective nation builders. One night the people of Iraq would go to sleep, and the next morning they'd wake up, look out their windows (or bomb holes) and... DEMOCRACY!

Admittedly, I'm not exactly sure what it's going to take to round up the ninjas we are looking for. Maybe Chuck Norris has some sort of special Ninja whistle that only ninjas can hear. I don't know. All I'm saying is let's stop wasting our time looking for alternative fuels, and see if we can't find an alternative soldier.

Semi-Homemade Stupidity

2007-09-29T09:22:00.000-05:00

Yesterday whilst channel surfing, I stopped on a cooking show on the Food Network called "Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee." The woman, through the act of enunciating of her words, indicated she was suffering from a major bout of Fucking Retardosis that made Rachel Ray look like the president of MENSA, but that wasn't really the point. She was making oven-baked hot dogs wrapped in bacon.

Now, I know that some of you are going "Holy sodium nitrites, Batman!" or "Holy Mother of Mohammed, where can I get some of that??" (For the record, I was thinking both.) As a gluttonous American, I love hot dogs and I love bacon, but I make no notions at all that either thing is actually healthy. Putting the two together just sounds, well, awesome. In that ass-fattening kind of way.

But leave it to our creative hostess, Sandra Lee, to actually spin the bacon-wrapped hot dog entree as something worth eating for NUTRITIONAL reasons! "Oh, the kids are gonna just eat this up! And it's a GREAT way to get some protein into them!" Wow. You know, if I was concerned about a kid's protein intake, I could think of about a dozen healthier alternatives to bacon-wrapped hot dogs. Listen, Sandra: the average hot dog has about 20 grams of fat. Wrapping a piece of bacon adds about four or five more, and we won't even discuss the sodium content, which is nothing short of egregious.

There is no need to sell these gorgeous meaty concoctions as something with any kind of redeeming nutritional value. When we encounter these foods that are good for nothing more than soothing the demons in our souls, we call them "treats." Now stop being an idiot before you burn yourself.

p.s. I turned 18 today and am going to get a tattoo soon. Yay me!

The Problem With Mother Nature

2007-09-27T00:14:00.000-05:00

While scientists continue to pour on irrefutable evidence that Global Warming is indeed a reality and something that we as a society need to fix, politicians and religious leaders just don't want to give in. For every logical and rational argument that science puts out there, politics lashes back with a crazy and unfounded counter-point. But the facts are adding up and the politicians are running out of crappy excuses for the sudden rise in temperature. So I came up with a new one that just might work.

Consider this: perhaps Mother Earth is simply having hot flashes. Put into the perspective of the timeline of the entire Universe, Mother Earth is at about that age where she should be experiencing Menopause. Her bodies of water are going through some changes, but this is totally normal; lots of women go through this natural change everyday. And Nature is prepared for this shift. In fact, this isn't the first time Mother Earth has experienced this sort of thing. Think back to when the ice ages ended and the polar caps all melted and flooded the Earth. That was Mother Earth getting her first period!

This excuse will work like a charm. Anytime a guy hears that a girl is going through her "lady times," he shuts up right away, no questions asked. In fact, most guys have no idea what "lady times" really entail, and are willing to assume anything that happens during those times is perfectly normal.

The problem with the politicians' current tactic is that they are using arguments that the scientists are comfortable talking about. Nothing, however, makes a nerd more uncomfortable than a hot girl... and that's exactly what Mother Earth is right now.

Looking Back, Moving Forward

2007-09-24T22:34:00.000-05:00

Often in our lives we reach a state of emptiness. We become weary and discontent with our life, with our world. It's as if we're in a lazy state of boredom, needing something, yet not motivated to identify it, let alone acquire it. This is when the dark nostalgia kicks in, the longing for things past. The devaluing of what you have now compared to what was once yours.

In many blogs I've lurked in the past few months, I recognized that dark nostalgia—the ennui, enough where any one blogger shouldn't feel I'm talking about him or her. There are a bunch of you out there, and I recognize that torture we put ourselves through, whether it's searching for someone to love, moving someplace new, or just not knowing what to do next.

All of us have gotten or will get into that state of immersive reclusion, the feeling that we are surrounded and alone. I remember those times personally, but they themselves are nostalgia for me. My life is often difficult and challenging, probably much like your own, yet I've come to own it and savor it and am fascinated by it. My life has times of happiness and sadness, and I relish them both.

I haven't had those moments of dark nostalgia for a while now. Writing, especially blogging, is one of the few times I actually spend thinking about the past. And I think I understand why. Our past, especially a fond memory, is defined by two specifics: the people involved and the novelty of the moment.

The first item, "the people," I didn't understand for a very long time. I spent much of my life trying to get away from people, away from crowds. Yet when I think about any fond memory I have, it is the people that made it special. I don't think I've ever started a story with, "There was this one time when I sat around my house all day by myself and ..." But we talk about situations like they have a life of their own. Metaphors are nice, but they can obscure reality; the life isn't in the event, it's in the people, and more specifically, the people that were special to you in that moment.

Just try to recall any significant event in your life and think about what was special about it; you'll find that in each case it was the people with you or around you that made it special. All of our "favorites" in life will most likely have people associated with them - your favorite food. Your favorite game. Your favorite movie. People define life and give it meaning, and our memories are special because of them.

The second item, "novelty," is easily forgotten. While not as strong as the people factor, novelty is still powerful in affecting our memories. Simply put, something new is memorable. We remember that date with the person that was different, that lunch at the new restaurant, and how wonderful that new movie was.

We often forget how special much of our daily lives are simply because it isn't new. We've seen the movie over a dozen times so it has lost some of its original appeal. But does it stop being great just because we are intimate with the film? With our boyfriend? With our food? We over-sensualize the things in our daily lives to the point where they bore us and we then find ourselves craving the novelty.

So what have I learned? For one, we need each other to give our lives meaning. I still like to go off into my own little world, but now I can stare at you in the eyes without blinking. I've learned not to eat Asian seven nights a week, to keep my sensuality fresh, to look at different pictures, to listen to different music, to taste different food. It is this variety that brings a freshness and comfort to the mundane.

You can return to that town you used to live in but the people are different and the novelty is gone. It wasn't the town, the movie theater, or the high school, it was the right people and the freshness that made it special. Fulfillment isn't found looking back and longing, it is in accepting new people and new situations. We grow old and die because otherwise, life would be a dull sensation that drives us all mad.

If Star-crossed Lovers Lived

2007-09-20T00:59:00.000-05:00

Do you think Romeo and Juliet would have been as immortal in life as they were in death? I mean, had they lived and had little Romeo Jr. (technically they were already married) would they be as famous and as oft-quoted as they are now? Would their love story still be deemed the greatest love story of all time - a perfect ode to love?

Yeah right! Romeo never had to see Juliet first thing in the morning, and Juliet never heard Romeo snoring. Tragedy is what lends so much allure to love stories, what allows them to play out, reach their natural life cycle and, like everything else, eventually reach the maturity stage. At this point dying for one another might appear to be slightly foolish, if not downright ridiculous.

Love changes over time. It grows deeper, and the thumping heart and jelly knees turn into a different kind of emotion; it becomes real, and like everything real, it stops being a perfect little fairy tale.

It becomes more meaningful because it is accepted with all of its flaws and imperfections; it turns into acceptance and respect and the desire to make things work even when the going gets a bit rough.

It's a strange kind of friendship, a paradox of sorts - someone capable of hurting you worse than anyone ever could, but at the same time someone who can make you the happiest you've ever been.

It is being accepted even after you've made a complete ass of yourself at times. It is making room for another in your precious space, allowing the heart to open up a little more every day to accommodate each others' insecurities and ego, unspoken fears and vanities.

It's doing little things for one another. It is unconsciously turning in the night and feeling thankful for the person next to you, feeling content at knowing there is someone out there who knows you better than you think they know you; someone who you may fight with and exchange cruel words with, but someone who will still be there in the morning.

Someone you may walk away mentally from once in a while... but someone you return to each time. Someone tied to you with the most fragile of bonds, yet often the one most difficult to break.

Recipe For Disaster, Er, Democracy

2007-09-16T06:59:00.000-05:00

After arriving home last night I made it a point to watch General Patraeus's speech to Congress and President Bush's address to the nation (had to Tivo both). Hmmm. I feel this is an appropriate response.

From the Less With More Global Politics Cookbook:

Ingredients:

1 pre-emptive military strike…

1 prolonged occupation…

Mix together with de-stabilizing forces such as sectarian extremist groups…

Let bake ____ years

Instructions:

Don’t ask any questions about the recipe. Once you have begun this recipe, don’t try other recipes. When it looks like the recipe isn’t going to turn out, add another ingredient (surge).

Here is an insider perspective on the situation in Baghdad. I wonder if we can hear the truth in the voice of this 24 year-old dentist (Iraqi) who speaks of the current state of affairs and the effectiveness of the American military/political strategy.

Customer Service (or lack thereof)

2007-09-15T14:55:00.000-05:00

Customer Service? What the hell is that? The rules have changed. Customer service is out - "we don't give a bleep!" is in. Nice people are shooting strangers, polite people are becoming rude. As feelings of frustration intensify from indifference from those providing products and services, tempers flare and normally docile people are being reduced to raging maniacs.

Customer service assistance used to be the answer when you had a problem. If a problem could not be resolved, a supervisor could often make things right. Many businesses had local offices where customer service problems could be resolved in person. Deregulation, voicemail, the Internet, outsourcing of employment, and devaluation of customers not only took away authority from those able to rectify problems, but it also removed places you could go to file a complaint in person.

Just try resolving a problem or dispute with any large corporation these days. Today, dialing a customer service number starts a predictable chain of events:

First comes the procrastination; I dread making the call because I can already predict the end result pretty darn accurately. But being one who dislikes continually being taken advantage of by corporations, I just have to make an effort, hoping that maybe customer service is coming back into vogue.

When dialing the telephone number, my defenses begin raising up like concrete walls to protect me from them, and them from me. As the phone rings my heart rate increases as I am already anticipating the confusing voicemail options and the game of trying to guess which number will get a real person to answer. And then it starts. "That number is not an option", or even better, "We are experiencing a high volume of calls so please call back later", and then... click! The friggin' phone is dead.

When someone finally does answer with the standard "How can I provide you with excellent customer service?" I am distracted from the paperwork I worked on while waiting on hold for an hour. With my neck now in a kink, I would just love to reply with "It would be the first time", but I'm still in "Bridget, be nice" mode, so I proceed to again repeat my problem.

Somehow, all of my previous calls that I thought were documented in the computer have now disappeared. Asked to repeat all the same information yet again, I begin to feel the ugly rage monster roaming around inside my chest. My voice starts getting louder as it becomes increasingly difficult to keep my sarcasm out of the conversation.

I again hear the clicking of a keyboard while I am talking to the customer service person, while I envision all those previously lost keystrokes floating around somewhere in outer space. I'm beginning to believe my conversations are being deleted upon completion just to test my endurance. How many times can we lose her before we force her to call the crisis clinic to deflate her frazzled emotional state?

If you really want to amuse yourself, try to convince a company they owe you money for lost time, wages, and therapy appointments. Most of us have spent too many long hours waiting for something to be delivered that arrived late, defective, or not at all. Then there is the time spent calling repeatedly about a problem. I have yet to be compensated other than a small credit on my bill for my lost time and nothing for my insanity issues.

What finally unleashes the rage monster is when I have done nothing wrong and I have to pay the price for a company's incompetence. Unfortunately, the only one available to take the wrath is some poor soul who needs a job and ends up working for a company that doesn't give two shits about their customers.

To add insult to injury and due to outsourcing of jobs to other countries, often the customer service clerks do not have the English speaking skills to be understood. Although difficult on those of us who have good hearing, broken accents are even more difficult on someone who has hearing problems.

So, after running through the maze, being left on hold (haven't even mentioned that horrible elevator music) and being told there is nothing that can be done, I once again give up any hope of resolving the problem and the company once again wins. Damn. I guess I'll just have to take comfort in something a very wise woman once said: "Karma's a bitch." They'll get theirs.

***Blog topic compliments of Cingular Wireless, HP, & DishNetwork (in case you were wondering).

Dependence Day

2007-09-06T21:35:00.000-05:00

The curse of youth is believing that we thirst for independence; in reality, however, our dependence on others is often what we value the most. As my 18th birthday is fast approaching, I am just now realizing how guilty I've been of this over the past few years. In two weeks I will have every right in the world to pack up my stuff, leave my father's house, move into an apartment with some roomies, and even buy a box of cigars to celebrate. And I always thought that the only flaw in this age-old teenage fantasy had to do with the financial aspects of it. This is shocking, I know, but guess what? I was wrong. Not only that, but I was so wrong that I am admitting it to you now.

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am fiercely independent - or at least I try to be. I've always preferred to deal with situations personally, to not let others know what troubles I am burdened with, to do all that I can to avoid asking for help with a problem that is mine to solve. So maybe I've always felt that doing everything on my own will one day reap me the reward of getting to do everything that I want to as well. It is now that I've just had the EUREKA! moment I needed to realize that no matter how old we get, freedom is never really the answer. (Though it is nice. And very convenient.)

Think about it: when we are young, we are restrained; our parents control virtually every aspect of our lives, and many times are the final authority on decisions that are actually ours to make. Naturally, we rebel. We go through years of teenage resentment and upon graduation day can think of no better idea than to get as far away from our parents and their judgments as is possible. Although this "being your own boss" thing and getting to live for yourself may come with a few perks, it's definitely not what it's cracked up to be. Furthermore, it doesn't last; there will inevitably come a day when we choose to live our lives with and for someone else, when suddenly the idea of not getting our way all of the time will be reintroduced into our lives. I am finding that the more prepared I am for such a thing, the less and less my inner-self struggles for independence.

The thing is, it's so easy to feel being that way is okay when the people surrounding you would still be there if you weren't that way. Translation: if I one day fall flat on my ass because I never asked you for help, you will still be willing to give it to me. People like that are a very rare gift in our lives; God blesses us with one set of those at birth, and we even find a few ourselves before leaving the nest. But what happens when we reach a point when we have to say goodbye to both of them in search of a new life with new people? How do we make the transition from being able to count on those familiar faces we have come to know and love to having no choice but to survive without their help?

There is a Brad Pitt movie quote that goes "I guess in the end you start thinking about the beginning." Reflecting on this statement, I can't help but think about the beginnings of so many things that will soon come to an end... and perhaps things that already have. As a result, I've decided that I'm still going to pack up my stuff. I'm still going to move out of my father's house. I'm still going to buy that box of cigars. Only now, I do these things not from a motivation of freedom or stubborn independence, but with the knowledge that relying on those you care for when you really need to is something to embrace, something to offer in return, something to feel good about. Something that lets you know when life's a bitch (as it frequently can be) you'll pull through a little less scarred because there were people by your side willing to fight the fight with you.

For those of you who have fit that description in my life, I thank you from the depths of my very heart and soul; I love you with every ounce of my being. I would be lost without you.

Rocket Science

2007-09-05T00:19:00.000-05:00

I recently heard about this movie from my friend Chris, and I've decided that it is an absolute must-see. What can I say? It appeals to my inner-nerd.

100 Things

2007-09-02T00:49:00.000-05:00

I've seen these lists on a lot of other sites and, seeing as how they're becoming quite common, thought it was time for me to make one as well. So here it is - 100 completely random things you may or may not know about me. (I'm still trying to figure out how my attention span of about zero allowed me to get this done!)

1. I believe in fate/divine intervention/whatever you want to call it. All I know is I am where I am because it is exactly where I am supposed to be right now.

2. Because of that faith, I can get through just about anything.

3. I was brought up as a Roman Catholic.

4. I left the church at 15. My mother has never forgiven me.

5. I've made it a point to go to other houses of worship and to study other faiths. I even went through a brief agnostic phase.

6. Speaking of faith, I am more spiritual than secular. Therein lies my problem with the Catholic church. Oh, that and original sin. And purgatory.

7. I know we are not alone. There is no possible way that humans are the most intelligent life form. If so, we have wasted a golden opportunity by being so egoistic.

8. I frequently think about the tenuousness of life, of how random and delicate the balance is. And it frightens me, sometimes to the point of panic. We are surviving because a star is burning at the perfect temperature the perfect distance away from this perfectly chemically balanced blue marble… yet we continue to pump chemicals into our atmosphere and our water and destroy rainforests and obliterate whole species. Who’s to say we aren’t next?

9. If we were next, I don’t think it would bother me very much. Except for that whole dying thing, I would say we deserve what we get.

10. I think too much.

11. I don’t tell people what I’m thinking very often.

12. I get the feeling I’ve done this before quite a lot. Yup, déjà vu. A LOT.

13. I am allergic to idiots.

14. I am a clean freak because I have to be, but there is actually nothing I hate more.

15. If I could afford it, I would have a housekeeper. Like that's ever going to happen!

16. I hate going to the doctor.

17. I hate going to the dentist even more.

18. If I make more than one dentist appointment in a six-month span, someone has held a gun to my head.

19. Because of the above, I’m pretty good at self-diagnosis.

20. I’m happily involved in a wonderful relationship. It’s not perfect (the distance sucks right now) but it’s better than I ever thought I deserved. Yup, I'm in lurve.

21. I am, by nature, a jealous person. This comes from being cheated on and blindsided with it. Trust is tough for me... I'm working on it.

22. I am also, by nature, a loyal person. I have a select bunch of close friends and only one love. Just the way I am.

23. My family tree is full of alcoholics. Don't worry, I'm nothing like them.

24. I don’t lose my temper very often. I tend to simmer. When I do lose it, however, watch out.

25. I am passive-aggressive. I don’t always tell you when something is bothering me but you will know.

26. I don’t like conflict, but will always stand up for myself or others if necessary.

27. I love to sing along with loud music… loudly.

28. I even sing in the shower.

29. I hate Hate HATE being late.

30. I don’t like fast food much… unless you call hole-in-the-wall Chinese fast food.

31. I love daisies. They have a fresh, clean grass smell, unlike other stinkier flowers like lilies (funeral) and lilacs (old ladies). Not yellow ones (though I wouldn’t object to a thousand yellow daisies someday).

32. I love to move. Not just dancing, but looking in someone’s eyes and just moving together, as if there is no one else watching.

33. Hoping to get a tattoo next month. They don't hurt as much as people say they do.

34. I have three sisters.

35. I love to hold hands.

36. I love to be held, too.

37. I don’t like wearing makeup. Oddly, this doesn't stop me from doing so.

38. I love getting manicures and pedicures, but don't regularly. Not good at caring for my nails.

39. I hate glitter… and sequins… and ribbons and lace and other embellishments.

40. I’m not high maintenance.

41. I wish I was taller. It's a disappointment to stop growing at 5'3".

42. I hate my hair. It's thin and loves to fall flat.

43. I have hazel eyes.

44. My eyes are my worst feature… they show every flicker of emotion, every flinch, every wince. Damn them.

45. I don’t like to try clothes on before I buy them. Dressing rooms are evil black holes of destroyed self-esteem.

46. I don’t wear perfume very often. Too many of them smell like "old lady."

47. I do use body wash and body spray from Bath & Body works. It’s one indulgence I enjoy.

48. Coffee… nectar of the gods.

49. I love to read.

50. I hate romance novels. These people wouldn’t know romance if it hit them on the head.

51. I hate stereotypes, bigotry, ignorance and small-mindedness.

52. I also don’t see how people can put so much stock in the color of someone’s skin. It’s just SKIN, people. A bag that keeps your insides in. People of different colors don’t act differently… I do think people of different cultures act differently, but colors? I don’t see it. I don’t think it should be so emphasized with kids, either. You are raising a generation of bigots by living as if its all Us vs. Them.

53. I like Spring. Rebirth, a new chance. Watching buds unfold and eggs hatch gives me hope.

54. I like Fall better. Perfect temperature outside, the leaves are beautiful, and there's just something about Autumn air that smells good.

55. I don’t feel 18.

56. I live with my father; it's just us.

57. Sometimes I feel like I'm the parent. I just don't pay the bills he does.

58. I have an I.Q. of 139. Not the best, but not too shabby either.

59. Everything having to do with computers interest me. My laptop is my baby.

60. I love to travel. London this past summer was amazing.

61. Camping trips are the best with the right people by your side.

62. The only way to shut me up short of duct-taping my mouth is to take me fishing.

63. Once upon a time I was very athletic, as in "best on the team" status. I still miss softball and basketball very much.

64. Debate & Forensics have replaced those two things. Last year, my debate partner and I took 8th at the state championship.

65. I am the proud owner of an Olympus E-510 digital SLR camera. Photography intrigues me.

66. I recently quit smoking. I miss it.

67. More exercise is being forced on me as a result, which I hated to begin with. But I need to.

68. Politically speaking, I am slightly left-of-center. Barack Obama is currently my candidate for President in 2008.

69. Someday I hope to become an English/Debate/Amer. History/Amer. Gov. high school teacher.

70. Getting married and having 2-3 kids is the thing I want most in life.

71. My astrological sign is Libra, and it describes me to a T. This doesn't mean I read those day-to-day horoscope things like a crazy person, though.

72. I am a grammar nazi.

73. I have 2 boxers (Frazier & Sasha) and two cats (Mango & Baby Kitty).

74. If I had to choose, I would be a dog person.

75. In the Star Wars movies, the Jedi way of life always bothered me a bit (this especially pertains to Anakin Skywalker in Episode III). Minus the whole being evil thing, the Sith dudes are pretty cool.

76. Sometimes I have a hard time accepting things (and people) for what they really are.

77. I love to laugh.

78. My favorite show is Grey's Anatomy. I don't get to watch much TV these days, though.

79. My favorite color is green.

80. I would do almost anything to own a Mini-Cooper, Z3 Coupe Bimmer, and/or a Nissan Xterra.

81. I will never, I repeat NEVER, drive a mini-van.

82. I love the city of Chicago.

83. Procrastination is one of my worst habits.

84. My favorite snack as of late has been sunflower seeds. That'll probably change pretty soon.

85. If it were even remotely possible, I'd have a chimp as a pet. But it definitely isn't.

86. I have freckles.

87. I am very white.

88. I tend to be slightly shy when meeting someone for the first time.

89. Though I've doubted it in the past, I am a strong believer in Karma.

90. I act differently around fellow high school students for some reason than I do with other people. It's like I feel the need to "immaturize" myself in order to fit in sometimes. I feel most like myself when I'm in the company of my close friends outside school.

91. This, by no means, is to say that I'm the most mature person out there. In fact, that's laughable. I'm laughing right now just thinking about it.

92. After a highly stressful event I usually have a migraine the next day. They're REALLY bad.

93. I would love to someday renovate a colonial-style home to my liking. One with a big front porch.

94. Three things that I always seem to lose are my keys, glasses, and cell phone.

95. My favorite holiday is Christmas. I love the Christmas season.

96. Heritage-wise, I am almost entirely Irish. I love Irish accents, too.

97. The one thing I can draw well is a caricature.

98. I go to the movies more than any person has any business to.

99. Though nowhere near "Feminazi" status, I am a strong believer in equality.

100. I’ve never finished one of these before. *gasp!*

Writer's Block

2007-08-26T01:27:00.000-05:00

As you may have noticed, I have not published a blog post in nearly a month now. For most people this is not out of the ordinary in the least... then again, I am not exactly "most people." Thinking about why I have been unable to write these past few weeks has had a peculiar effect on my writing.

I have begun to pay too much attention to my form, to my ability not just to write my thoughts but to write them down well, and I've stopped just writing and am beginning to feel this self-induced pressure to produce polished pieces to my readers which, let's face it, are a select bunch. The day I felt overwhelmed by that pressure was the day I lost my freedom to just write. Knowing I have a limited emotional wellspring from which to draw has made me stingy with my words. While writing was my emancipation months ago, expecting myself to be good at it has slapped on a new type of fetter, one whose key I have not yet found... I can't even tell you how many times I've clicked the "new post" button only to discard it minutes later. It's like I've transformed from Emma Thompson's character in "Nanny McPhee" to the author she plays in "Stranger Than Fiction." Sweet Jesus.

This is where I blame my OCD tendencies coupled with an insistence on perfection (my all-purpose excuse) but I do feel that I have transferred them to my writing, where each word must be the perfect choice for the moment. Each word must be precise, not be repetitive, mundane, or, God forbid, average. If I'm not careful, I'll begin counting my words, sorting them into neat little piles of nouns, verbs and dangling participles and storing them in jars in my closet.

Beyond this increasingly disturbing resemblance to Melvin Udall (I relate to many characters in movies) I've also found that the harder I strive to make my thoughts clear, to try to explain my thought process to others that don't know me, the harder it has become for me to actually make a point. Because I am so afraid that I will face scrutiny and be found lacking, I am not able to write anything indisputable enough.

Are these just old insecurities rearing their ugly heads (my personal emotional Chimera) or have I, accustomed to being argued with and constantly frustrated by my own inadequacies, grown an entirely new, all-purpose one? Am I over-analyzing again, or is this a necessary thought process? Is it just the mechanical efficiency expert in me wishing I could parse my thought process down to a concrete algorithm, one that could be applied to anything I am trying to say? If only I could use it as a litmus test before even trying so that I don't feel like I have to try so damn hard explaining.

As usual, I end up with more questions than I began with, compliments of the complicated brain of Bridget Harman. All I really was trying to do was to explain myself and instead ended up creating a little job security for my inner shrink.

The Gap

2007-08-01T08:24:00.000-05:00

I've wanted to bitch about the Gap for a long time now. I just never thought that this company would get to me so much.

See, this whole 21st century thing - it’s about identity and individuality, right? Or at least on the surface. At first glance, we all try to be different by identifying ourselves with certain groups, music, and, yes, brands - not blend in. And companies try to stand out too, spending millions of dollars to craft unique images through their branding ad agencies. What the hell is Gap though? I have never seen a company without any definite identity, and sort of “me” in it. One month I can walk into the Gap and think that I’m at an Urban Outfitters store. The next month, I feel like I’m at H&M, yet the next time I pop into that store, I feel like Abercrombie & Fitch just moved in and the sign was not yet replaced.

Last time I visited the place I walked in and honestly, I thought I was at an Old Navy liquidation sale. Bland clothing lying all over the floor, with customers not giving two shits that they were standing on clothes that they had the intention of buying. It was the epitome of what Gap is all about (if that can be said about a company that lacks definition). I'm getting the feeling they just don’t seem to care about themselves. It’s not even really about customer care; they're pretty much on par with other stores. What it's about is caring for who they are, for their brand, for their employees. Why can’t they take a cue from their other sister companies Banana Republic and Old Navy? Those stores seem to know how things should be run. But Gap is like a boring mixture of Eddie Bauer, grits, and an empty canvas.

Why is it that when I buy something at the Gap and I like it, I can never know for sure that I can come back there in a few months and find that item again? It seems like the company’s management is on an acid-induced menopause and every time they get an uncontrollable hot flash, they change their stores. No wonder their CEO got canned. No wonder their profits are tanking. No wonder that budget designers don’t want to offer their stuff at the Gap and instead go to Target and H&M.

Hell, even their much touted Product (Red) line sucks. If you are going to overcharge for a t-shirt made in Lesotho, at least make sure that it’s stitched together by something more than a piece of pubic hair and gum. Make it look like something I would actually want to wear. The message is good, the idea is great (though it can’t be credited to the Gap - thanks Bono!), but the implementation is horrible. Or what about the Product (Red) bracelets? They cost $10. TEN DOLLARS. That would be called highway robbery, ladies and gentleman. Speaking of which, why is it that the Gap is charging $50 for a shirt that has been pre-worn, pre-crumbled and pre-destroyed for me when I can just go to Brooks Brothers or even an Armani outlet and get a better shirt for the same price?

Case in point: I wanted jeans, and was hoping that Gap miraculously got with the program and cared enough to finally make their store “shoppable.” Oh, how wrong I was. They had this jeans sale going on, where for $60 I could pick up a pair and then save something like 50% off of a shirt. I found some jeans that I liked and decided to look for a shirt, but after spending close to 30 minutes, I gave up, returned the jeans and left. Their designs were boring, their pricing model outrageous, and the cluttered shelves unpleasant to look at while struggling with the tremendous difficulty of trying to find something that I liked.

I am not a person who cares deeply about shopping. I usually just want to get in, find what I like, pay a fair price (or score a deal) and leave. I don’t take joy in window shopping. Gap, seemingly, could easily fit the bill but they don’t because they try to be something that they aren't and it just doesn't work. From Madonna to Audrey Hepburn to Common, I don’t even know who to identify the brand with and it just gets old and annoying. And I'm annoyed.

Asked Too Many Times

2007-07-23T09:34:00.000-05:00

The other day I decided to take the little munchkins up to the Legends shopping center for lunch, ice cream, and the apparently highly amusing giant fountain in front of the movie theater. We did this in the reverse order that we probably should have, and so our last stop before home was to be Chipotle.

If you've ever been in this particular Chipotle, you'd know that the dining area where you enter in line is a pretty confined space (walk around the corner and you can breathe a bit). On this day it was even more packed than usual - a wonderful thing for the embarassing fate I would soon face.

All seemed to be going well. The kids had that satisfied look on their faces that seemed to say "Haha silly girl, we've milked ya' for all that you're worth - ice cream and something other than McDonald's fast food for lunch!" (Little do they know the same folks own/operate both.) I myself was enjoying my very tasty burrito when I smelled the faint stench of soiled undies. Immediately I rushed to 3 year-old Abbey's side to check her, but she was perfectly clean. Then it hit me that Jake hadn't gone potty all day long.

So I asked him. He said no. But the stench of the soiled undies did not disappear, and I was beginning to worry that this smell would pervade the surrounding area and attract a bit of negative attention. I thought to myself: "Sweet Jesus, the child pooped his pants..." Continuing to dread that this was actually what had occured, I asked again; his reply was the same as before. "He just had to have, it's getting worse!" So, with my best effort of a stern expression on a less-than-serious topic, I asked one more time.

This time, he jumped up, yanked down his pants, bent over, spread his cheeks and yelled, "See Bridget, IT'S JUST FARTS!" While a dozen people nearly choked on their tacos, Jacob calmly pulled up his pants and sat down to eat his food as though nothing happened. I was so mortified I was left utterly speechless, unable to react to the public devastation I had just suffered in any way.

On the way out some elderly people tried to make me feel better when they thanked me for the best laugh they had ever had... and oh, what could I say? Putting laughter back into the world through my personal humiliation is what I do best.

Nanny McBridgee

2007-07-17T07:00:00.000-05:00

Last night as I tossed and turned and realized just how much of an insomniac I am, I did what anyone would do in this predicament; turned on the TV in hopes that the lullaby of infommercials might put me back to sleep again. Only instead of infommercials, I watched "Nanny McPhee." And it startled my half-conscious self by the end of this particular movie that I saw much of me in Nanny Mcphee herself. Yes, I know, a wart-faced, nappy-haired Emma Thompson in a frumpy housedress is just the spitting image of Bridget Harman, right? Yet with all seriousness, it made me think about the differentiation between a "babysitter" and a "nanny," and the unique role I play in the lives of the children I look after on a daily basis.

Granted, I don't exactly live with my 30 year-old cousin and her children; by the same tolken, however, I've noticed that I have the opportunity to do more for these kids than simply make sure they don't burn the house down. In everyday situations in which multiple conflicts tend to arise, I suddenly feel an obligation not only to end each dispute on an individual basis, but to resolve them entirely through understandable versions of life lessons. Nanny McPhee has five of them:

1) They will learn how to say "please" and "thank you."
2) They will do as they are told.
3) They will learn to dress on their own.
4) They will learn to listen.
5) They will be prepared to face the consequences of one's actions.

By pointing out what they did wrong, explaining why it is not acceptable, identifying with how they feel to let them know you understand, showing them how to handle it correctly the next time around, and providing firm consequences that will be enforced if they fail to do so, steady progress can be seen. Trust me, there are some days that will make you wonder, but once you witness them actually learn from past mistakes and show you they are capable of even the tiniest thing on their own, pride swells inside you so much you think your ego's going to burst - because you taught them something that will play a part, however small, in making them a better person. And the thank-you that kids give is worth all the words in the world... because it's the kind that you can see in their smile. (Though I must admit that the victory dances and piggy-back ride rewards are pretty fun too.)

Just like that, the little goobers aren't the enemy anymore; our immaturity was. By realizing that, I've been able to turn a pathetic rivalry for power into a relationship governed by respect and maintained by affection and laughter. It is now that we have finally reached this point that the days before my job is done seem to draw closer at an increasingly alarming rate. Like Nanny McPhee would say: "I come when I am needed but not wanted, and leave when I am wanted but no longer needed." Take that, Dr. Phil!

I might just make a good mother yet... someday. Lord knows a blog entry reflection isn't enough to make that any time soon.

As We Grow Older

2007-07-15T00:45:00.000-05:00

What happens to us as we grow older? Ask my kid sister this and she'd probably offer a response along the lines of "Stuff stops being cool." If that is what is meant by learning life's lessons the hard way, however, I suppose Kathryn is much wiser than I give her credit for.

But I think that's really what it's all about: how we deal with the lessons we learn in our ever-increasingly confusing lives. I mean, let's face it - life's one long journey, and we don't know where the hell we're going, or how we're going to get there for that matter. We can map out our destination and make all the detailed plans we want, but there's no insurance plan for those detours and bumps in the road that we all inevitably face. What we eventually end up with is never what we expected in the first place; sometimes for the better, many times for the worse. Realizing what reality truly is and learning how to adapt to it is a dire necessity in surviving adulthood. It is now that I see the truth in the words of my mildly hickish Kansas family: "Shit happens."

Those same words now echoing in my mind, I reflect upon the meaning of adaptation. We learn how to make mistakes, how to learn from those mistakes, and how to avoid them as best we can. We learn to pick ourselves up after what has seemed like our world crashing into pieces before our very eyes. We learn that, yes, it's okay to shed some tears over the loss of something we trusted, cherished, and held close to our hearts; yet every ending brings with it a new beginning, a second chance, a new opportunity to give your life the meaning you've always envisioned for it. We learn how to stand on our own two feet, let go of blame, embrace forgiveness, and rediscover happiness. We learn how to show our appreciation and dedication for those we love, because without them you wouldn't be who you are today.

It is now that you glance in the mirror, realizing the person you are today isn't the person you were yesterday. Something has changed... if only you could put your finger on just what that was. I wish I could.

Upside Down Internet

2007-07-10T07:03:00.000-05:00

Wireless internet hacking. You may be tempted to laugh this off, but rest assured that it is alive and well in a suburban community near you. Why not just solve the problem by encryption, you say? Well, because letting the thieves off that easy teaches them nothing. And it's kind of lame. So, alternatively, why not have fun with the situation and play a practical joke? That's what I did for my bud Rachel, and it turned out quite well if I do say so myself; looking through her kitchen window and seeing her neighbor's befuddled expression as he sat in his living room was priceless. And pretty darn funny.

Find out how here.

The Stupid iPhone Lady

2007-07-03T11:52:00.000-05:00

$16,000 worth of iPhones to sell on eBay: $16,000

First place spot in line: $800

Lesson on greed: priceless

The Seven Deadly Sins: One Removed

2007-07-02T13:42:00.000-05:00

Whew... it's been a long day. Somehow (miraculously and only by the grace of God) I have managed to avoid most all that I discussed in my last post. Nope, today those handful of little goobers did not drench me with giant "Super Soaker" waterguns; they just held me at gunpoint until I finally agreed to armwrestle all of them. At first I thought to myself, Ya' know, Bridge, you should probably take it easy on them. After all, they're only kids... Seeing the maliciously onry glint that only little boys are truly adept at using, however, soon snapped me back to reality. And it is because of that glorious judgment call that they quietly marched up to Jake's room to play Xbox, realizing their shameful defeat to a girl. It is also the reason why I could successfully put Abbey down for a nap, get all housecleaning done early, and manage to have some computer time. Ah, sweet silence.

So here I am, and I've just read one of my friend's blog posts. She posed this simple question to her readers: if you were a god, which of the seven deadly sins would you remove? After much deliberation over what my choice would be (a whole two minutes worth!) I decided that if I were God (which I might actually be, after all if I were an all-powerful being I might choose to live a normal life as a human being and deny myself the ability to realize it, in essence giving my all-powerfulness an original take on things) the deadly sin I would remove from the list would be lust. My reason for removing lust would simply be because I feel lust recognized can be used for one's positive progression through life. Sure, lust in the negative can have damning ramifications, but lust in a positive, open forum can help add zest to life.

For instance, if my boyfriend were to come home from work and share with me how some big-boobed leggy ho-bag really got his lusty juices flowing, as long as I could keep my ego in check that lust gets directed at me. And since I know that he will truly only ever be in love with me, it sounds like a "win-win" situation; I see nothing wrong with taking motivation from an outside source and applying it to help strengthen my bonds. Lust gets messy only when ego and jealousy are not in check. Let's face it - lust is an ancient sin, devised to help lesser evolved beings protect themselves from their own egos. Now that the human race is reaching a state of higher elevation and thinking we can now embrace lust and use it as a tool. Yay.

But you know, one deadly sin removed would mean that a substitute would have to take its place; such things are necessary to maintain a sense of balance in the world. And since we have established that I am quite possibly a divine being, I hereby name the new seventh deadly sin... BRATTINESS! That's right - and don't think I don't reserve the right to define what that entails!

Teenage Day-Care Service Provider

2007-06-29T07:11:00.000-05:00

Every morning I stumble out of bed at roughly 5:00 am, allowing just enough time to go for a morning jog, get ready, feed the animals, watch the news, and grab the daily cup of coffee so essential to being awake (or as far away from zombie as is possible), perceptive, responsive, and prepared for whatever my job will throw at me. I mean that quite literally.

You see, I'm a teenage day-care service provider; I refuse to use the word "babysitter" because 1) I don't sit on babies, and 2) If my duties were limited to changing diapers and feeding a precious little newborn milk while rocking it to sleep, I wouldn't be nearly as excited to escape from kiddie Hell to my second job at Applebees.

The reality of the situation is that a 3 year-old girl plus a handful of kindergarten-aged boys are placed under my watchful eye Monday through Friday, 6:30 am to 4:30 pm and the latter drive me absolutely nuts. There's just something that must occur post-preschool to bring about the whiny, selfish, defiant, demanding, stubborn, "I think I know it all at five and if I don't get my way I'm going to tell my mommy and it'll be the end of you, lady" behavior. All cuteness or sweetness that was once theirs disappears, lost in what has now become a child overtaken with brattiness. They've turned to the dark side. Probably for the cookies.

As a "teenage day-care service provider" this is an especially difficult role for one to play. You must demand respect and authority, but the tools with which to enforce these things are at times extremely limited; at the end of the day, I'm still not the kid's parent (oh I can't even tell you how lucky they are). Consequently, each day this ridiculous battle must be waged as the punks bombard me with their infinite arsenal of terror - chasing after me with cheap cologne, setting "trip traps," placing bugs on my back, drenching my face with a "Super Soaker" watergun and laughing as a river of mascara runs down my face... the torment never ends. And yet, calling their mom is completely out of the question. Because to do that would be to admit defeat, which would only diminish the adult cred I've already established in dealing with the monsters all on my own. So I'll pick myself up and carry on with this character-building experience with a smile on my face, but inside I'm sticking my tongue out at you too you little asswipes!

p.s. Would it be too much to ask for Oprah to show the same appreciation for people like me that she does for stay-at-home moms? Supposedly they have the hardest job in the world.

Nazi-Ho Dora

2007-06-21T08:13:00.000-05:00

At this very moment I am watching two young children watching Dora the Explorer. As I sit here I notice eerily zombie-like behavior; their eyes are glued to the television screen, and they recite every word that Dora instructs without question. It is now that I come to the realization that not only are shows like these a complete waste of time (come on, you didn't really think your kid was going to learn Spanish from Nick Jr. did you?) but they stand a good chance of misleading our youngsters. It's Nazi Dora.

For example, what's this "Swiper no swiping" business? Our children are being taught that telling someone to do what you want them to is 100% foolproof! Sooner or later life's going to give them one harsh dose of reality. Not only that, but these kids are also being led into believing that monkeys, maps, backpacks, and all sorts of inanimate objects can talk to them. People, do you want your children to grow up and get thrown in the looney bin with a schizophrenic diagnosis? Geez.

This is still not Dora's most agregious offense; I honestly believe she is a two-bit hussy whose videos are chock full of poorly veiled references to bestiality, exhibitionism and other extremely questionable sexual perversions. Throughout this particular episode, Dora and her little traveling band of perverts – which includes HER COUSIN – are traveling toward something called THE GOOEY GEYSER. Geysers are many things, but they are definitely not gooey. I assume that you’re a smart bunch of readers, so I genuinely don’t think I need to spell out for you what I think the gooey geyser is an analogy for.

On their trip to the gooey geyser, Dora and her friends must take an inflatable raft over a body of water. While instructing them to inflate the raft, Dora says this: "Take a deep breath and blow, blow, blow, BLOW!" No explanation needed.

In the second episode on the DVD, Dora’s arch nemesis, Swiper The Fox, is wearing what can only be described as a pimp hat: a fedora with a yellow feather sticking out of it. The only thing that would make him look more like a pimp is a Cadillac, although I don’t believe foxes can drive. The M.O. of Swiper The Fox is to take things from Dora (e.g., her virginity) that she must then spend the remainder of the episode recovering. If Dora and her traveling gang of pervs spot Swiper before he strikes, they say this: “Swiper, no swiping!” In the episode where he’s dressed as a pimp, they say, “Yo, Swiper. What’s crack-a-lackin’? Keep your paws off my shit, yo.”

In the Super Babies video, Swiper steals the banana baby food from Dora’s baby brother and sister. Something about the color and consistency of banana baby food strikes me as perverse. I'm no conspiracy theorist, but I may be onto something here... just listen to her theme song backwards below (I did not make it & are therefore not responsible for the grammatical mistakes, by the way).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGoeHsK8lUg

The Ten Commandments of Driving

2007-06-20T07:07:00.000-05:00

I grew up Catholic, and it has never ceased to amaze me how this particular religion just loves to make up new rules whenever it wants to. As you have probably heard by now, the Vatican has issued its own "Ten Commandments" of driving. Driving! Are they seriously going to try to convince us that God admitted holes in the original Ten and came to the Pope in a vision with this instruction because he feared we didn't realize his law applies to automobiles too?! Well, in any case, they didn't seem too bad to me:

1. You shall not kill.
2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.
3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.
4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.
5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.
6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.
7. Support the families of accident victims.
8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.
9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.
10. Feel responsible toward others.

That was until I read further into the matter, however. The following is an excerpt from a Reuters article:

A 36-page document called "Guidelines for the Pastoral Care of the Road" contains 10 Commandments covering everything from road rage, respecting pedestrians, keeping a car in good shape and avoiding rude gestures while behind the wheel.

"Cars tend to bring out the 'primitive' side of human beings, thereby producing rather unpleasant results," the document said.

It appealed to what it called the "noble tendencies" of the human spirit, urging responsibility and self-control to prevent the "psychological regression" often associated with driving.

The document's Fifth Commandment reads: "Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin."

Asked at a news conference when a car became an occasion of sin, Cardinal Renato Martino said "when a car is used as a place for sin."

One part of the document, under the section "Vanity and personal glorification," will not go down well with owners of Ferraris in motor-mad Italy.

"Cars particularly lend themselves to being used by their owners to show off, and as a means for outshining other people and arousing a feeling of envy," it said.

Listen people, I'm going to be deprived of the showing off privilege for long enough - I own a Ford FOCUS for crying out loud. So if I one day become the proud owner of my dream Bimmer or a souped up Mini-Coop, you're damn right I want to "arouse a feeling of envy"!

My 1986 BMW M3 (E30)

2007-06-19T07:47:00.000-05:00

I have kind of fallen in love with the BMW E30 series, particularly when one of its members is accompanied with a shiny jet black coat of new paint. I'm no BMW fanatic, but it would make me just about the happiest woman in the world to be the owner of a few of these and that Mini-cooper I never shut up about... yes people, that was a hint. I know you know my birthday's coming up, so chop-chop; the parts I'm going to be wanting for Christmas are kind of expensive. Realistically, though, I could see myself purchasing a 1986 BMW M3 in a couple of years. (Despite the similarity I don't like the '87 as well.)

Four Crimes That Should Be Legalized

2007-06-18T07:33:00.000-05:00

We have a lot of arbitrary rules in the United States. It’s bound to happen when you’ve been a country for 200-some years, but there are some rules and bans I think we can do without. Here are four such things.

Marijuana

I tried it one time and probably wouldn't be a user, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think other people should be able to. The United States is already legally doped up on TV, caffeine, sugar, nicotine, fast food, and alcohol. Marijuana would not be the worst drug in that list by far.

Some people who go on and on about the pitfalls of marijuana probably don’t tell you about their 5-soda-a-day (diet) Coke habit, or the fact that smoking a carton of cigarettes a week is about one of the worst habits you can have.

A drug as common as caffeine would be considered just as controversial as marijuana if we weren’t socially conditioned to think otherwise. Caffeine has health benefits and pitfalls, just like marijuana - and none of the benefits or pitfalls are overwhelmingly dangerous. Definitely not as dangerous as nicotine.

Another argument is that smoking marijuana can lead to harder drug use. That’s a constructed argument. You don’t think alcohol or nicotine leads to those same places?

But that’s fine. In America, Diet Coke, Cigarettes, McDonald’s, Ho-Ho’s, and Starbucks are all legal. As they should be. Why draw an arbitrary line before marijuana? There are more worthwhile people to arrest than potheads.

Upsides: Legalizing marijuana would theoretically give our law enforcement the resources to better spend their time elsewhere. Another relatively undangerous opiate would be supplied to the masses. Some college students will start becoming less motivated to do something with their lives, leaving less competition for the rest of us.

Downsides: Marijuana’s downsides would be the same as any of the legal drugs. Marijuana can lead to bad behavior that people otherwise wouldn’t do (again, so would alcohol). Mostly I think it’s harmless on the rest of us.

Gambling and Online Poker

This might be the most enraging ban of them all, and even if I was old enough to I probably wouldn't. But what kind of “greatest nation of all time” doesn’t let citizens spend their own earned money the way they please? If I want to waste it, I’ll waste it. It’s my responsibility, not yours, Uncle Sam.

Las Vegas is a hub of culture, entertainment, and tourism mainly because of gambling. Have you seen the place lately? It’s becoming more than a tourist attraction - people are actually moving there to live there.

Gambling might be worse than the ‘legal drugs’ I wrote about above, however. Go to any relatively large casino and you’ll see approximately eleven billion old, unhealthy smokers playing bingo or tugging at the slot machines like a zombie. It can be a brutal habit.

Do I have a problem with people making money from gambling? Of course not. Despite the zombie-ness of their behavior, any person is perfectly able to ride their wheelchair home and never gamble again, even if it’s a tough habit to kick.

Online, poker can be a fun way to win a little cash, and for some, maybe even earn an income. The fact that the government says you can’t do this should enrage you. What’s the point of earning money if you can’t blow it on trivial games? Even just having the OPTION to do it makes having money that much cooler.

Upsides: Gambling would become an insane industry, and, properly handled, could pump lots of money into the economy.

Downsides: Its legalization will cause a 5000% increase in bums. Las Vegas will lose its edge, and the World Series of Poker might last year-round on ESPN.

Cuban Products

I’m getting more enraged as I write this, even though I knew what I’d write about ahead of time. Cuban products? Are you kidding me? Fidel Castro has been around since ancient Rome, and it’s clear our Cold War-relic embargo against Cuba isn’t helping anyone anymore. Let’s get out of the 20th Century.

If anything, lifting the embargo might encourage democracy there. A nice influx of American money for Cuban goods could help them see what they’ve been missing out on.

You’ll also drive down prices for their goods once they're available. Cuban cigars won’t cost you $300 for a box anymore (or whatever they cost - I’ve never bought them. In fact, I don’t do a lot of what I’ve written about in this article). Instead you can get them at a convenience store in a little bag that says “Smokin’ Stogeys Cuban Cigars” for $8.99.

Upsides: Decrease in what you have to pay for Cuban products. Money will help Cubans see the light of Democracy.

Downsides: Cuban cigars won’t be nearly as cool.

Speed Limits

Okay, this one I’ve actually done (40 in a 30, thank you very much!). I’m not really for the abolishment of all speed limit laws, except the arbitrary “65″ limit on highways.

We need to establish the American Autobahn, an artery going across the country where you can show off your coolest car’s abilities as you zoom toward Spring Break at 110 miles an hour. Every lane will be the fast lane. The only dangerous drivers will be the slow ones.

When I got my speeding ticket, I had lost all sense of speed because the road was empty and I was listening to music in my car. Was I a danger to others? Maybe, if you count the people who weren’t anywhere near me. Did I really need to pay as much as I did? Probably not.

Traffic laws are difficult to enforce because about 99% of people are bad drivers. I know because they piss me off every day, and I feel like I know the laws better than most.

Keep speed limits and most of your traffic laws - they can protect us. But let us stretch our legs on the Ameribahn.

Upsides: If you own a fast car, you can show it off. You’ll get places faster, and we’ll burn away our fossil fuels faster. That’s an upside because we’ll burn them away anyway, so we’d better get started on the future.

Downsides: There are no downsides. This one is ironclad.

When I Must Leave You

2007-06-17T21:47:00.000-05:00

This is a poem on the card my father gave me from my Gramps' funeral; his obituary is printed on the other side. It really means a lot to me... this last year especially I've faced some pretty tough times. They're not over yet, but I think I'm finally coming to a point where I feel like everything is going to work itself out. I have amazing people in my life, more going for me than I've realized, and much to look forward to.

When I must leave you

for a little while

Please do not grieve

and shed wild tears

And hug your sorrow to you

through the years.

But start out bravely

with a gallant smile;

And for my sake

and in my name,

Live on and do all things

the same,

Feed not your loneliness

on empty days,

But fill each waking hour

in useful ways,

Reach out your hand

in comfort and in cheer

And I in turn

will comfort you,

And I will hold you near.

No MySpace For Troops in Iraq

2007-06-16T06:32:00.000-05:00

Napoleon once said that an army marches on its stomach, but they didn’t have YouTube back then. The U.S. army is blocking a bunch of sites (11, to be specific) from soldiers, including MySpace and YouTube.

Why, you may ask? Well, apparently all the time soldiers are spending on the internet at those sites slows down network time. Also, the army is trying to protect “information.”

In recent months, the Army and Iraqi insurgents have both been posting videos onto YouTube as mini-propaganda films that show their side winning out. For example, troops have posted videos of victories and Iraqi friendships, while insurgents post explosions.

This new rule will put a stop to this, from our side. Still, why on earth would you ban MySpace? If we can’t have personality quizzes and spam, then what are we fighting for??

P.S. Speaking of someone who "opposed this war from the start," I've just stumbled upon the E-book edition of "The Best Speeches of Barack Obama." I obviously don't have enough room in this post to list my favorites (let alone the entire 514 pages) but here's a direct link in case you're interested. They have a print copy available for $29.99 + $5.00 shipping and handling at http://www.cafepress.com/obamaspeechbook. And yes, I am just that much of a nerd.

E-book location: http://www.freeobamabook.com/Best-Speeches-Of-Barack-Obama.pdf

Advice on Housekeeping

2007-06-01T08:32:00.000-05:00

Hello, my name is Bridget and I'm an out-of-control clean freak. Alright, so maybe it's not necessarily to the point where a 12-step program is needed (we'll talk about my coffee addiction some other time) but I could definitely afford to be less anal when it comes to cleaning my home- ask anyone who knows me. So, I've devised the following excuses as part of a little strategy for anyone struggling with the same problem. Trust me, it works.

1) "Vacuuming too often weakens the carpet fibers." Say this with a serious face, and shudder delicately whenever anyone mentions Carpet Fresh.

2) "Dust bunnies cannot evolve into dust rhinos when disturbed." Rename the area under the couch "The Galapagos Islands" and claim an ecological exemption.

3) "Layers of dirty film on windows and screens provides a helpful filter against harmful and aging rays from the sun." Call it an SPF factor of 5 and leave it alone.

4) Cobwebs artfully draped over lampshades reduces glares from the sun, thereby creating a romantic atmosphere. If your boyfriend points out that the light fixtures need dusting, simply look affronted and exclaim, "What? And spoil the mood?"

5) In a pinch, you can always claim that the haphazard tower of unread magazines and newspapers next to your chair provides the valuable Feng Shui aspect of a tiger, thereby reducing your vulnerability. Roll your eyes when you say this.

6) Explain the mound of pet hair brushed up against the doorway by claiming you are collecting it there to use for hand-sewn play animals for under-privileged children.

7) If unexpected company is coming, pile everything unsightly into one room and close the door. As you show your guests through your tidy home, rattle the door knob vigorously, fake a growl and say, "I'd love you to see our den, but Fluffy hates to be disturbed and the shots are so expensive."

8) If dusting is REALLY out of control, simply place a showy urn on the coffee table and insist that "THIS is where Grandma wanted us to scatter her ashes."

9) Don't bother repainting. Simply scribble lightly over a dirty wall with an assortment of crayons, and try to muster a glint of tears as you say, "Little Timmy did this the week before that unspeakable accident. I haven't had the heart to clean it."

10) Mix one quarter cup pine-scented household cleaner with four cups of water in a spray bottle. Mist the air lightly. Leave dampened rags in conspicuous locations. Develop an exhausted look, throw yourself onto the couch, and sigh, "I clean and I clean and I still don't get anywhere!"

Preserve the English Language

2007-05-31T18:46:00.000-05:00

I have issues. Issues with people who can't seem to bring themselves to pronounce their words correctly. Believe me, I am far from the worst grammar nazi you will ever meet (basic subject-verb agreement will do just fine thank you) but what I am about to show you are blatant attacks on the English language, the victim of these instances of utter stupidity.

It's...

"CHEVY" not "CHIVY"

"IHOP" not "ODDHOP"

"MISSOURI" not "MISSOURA"

"CHESS" not "CHEST"

"VALENTINES" not "VALENTIMES"

"WASH" not "WARSH"

"WINDOW" not "WINDA"

"WREATH" not "REEF"

"LIBRARY" not "LIBARY"

"ASKED" not "AXED"

"ESPECIALLY" not "ECSPECIALLY" (Similarly, "ESCAPED" not "ECSCAPED")

And lastly, just say the damn word without all of the "LOL I just LMAO and OMG you're like my BFF forever... TTYL!"

I've heard many other sad examples like these lately, but being as uberly ADD and absent-minded as I am can't think of them right now. So now I'm off to do the laundry and clean the dishes I was supposed to have taken care of yesterday, but forgot. Procrastination... it's an addictive habit. Don't start.

Knocked Up

2007-05-20T21:45:00.000-05:00

This is a new romantic comedy that's going to be coming out soon. I think it looks funny.

HD-DVD anti-DRM T-Shirt

2007-05-19T11:37:00.000-05:00

Recently, the hex code used as a key in the DRM of most if not all HD-DVDs to date has been found by the technological community. In light of this, websites across the web have been posting, copying, and showing off this sequence of characters in base 16. Many of them are receiving DMCA notices, forcing them to take down the "offending content." I ordered this shirt to show support for DRM-free and restriction-free content & you should too.

Shrek the Third

2007-05-18T11:51:00.000-05:00

I love Shrek! Go see Shrek the Third.

Overheard at the Grocery Store

2007-05-17T19:36:00.000-05:00

I had to make another trip to the store today, this time to get some film developed. If you've read my previous posts (namely the one two days ago) you'd probably gather that very odd things seem to happen to me when I decide to go shopping. They do.

Two young girls, probably in their early twenties, were standing in the check-out line when one of them turned to the other and said in a tone she might use to talk about her nail polish, “I haven’t heard from Christine today. I guess she overdosed.”

Do you think one of the reasons Christine might have overdosed is that the friends in her life, when struck with the possibility that she might be DEAD, do not check to make sure she is fine and instead hit the grocery store to buy some Gatorade?!

I think this might quite possibly be God's way of telling me to limit my store visits.

My Simple Pledge

2007-05-16T18:12:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed how fast time seems to fly by you? In youth we seek comfort in living in the moment, in knowing that there will always be a tomorrow should something go wrong today. We take for granted everything we have so much that we fail to realize the possibility that it might not be there forever. We fail to realize that it's in those plain, mundane moments that we make the memories we'll carry with us for the rest of our lives.

I suppose I'm having this reflection because I'm in one of them right now; my humongous goofball of a little sister has me almost rolling over on the floor laughing. I was just taking a few minutes to check my e-mail and happened to be listening to "Come Away With Me" on my laptop. It was in the middle of this song that I happen to like very much that I suddenly hear Kathryn blurt from the kitchen: "Run away from me, in the ni-iiight, run away from me...." Needless to say, I was highly amused.

I realize that as time progresses some regret is inevitable; I do not, however, want that to define my life or let it decide my level of happiness. With that said, I will hereby make this simple pledge: to appreciate everything precious to me; to make sure everyone I love knows that I do every single day; to make time for the truly important; to bite my tongue when I want to run my mouth; to hold my head high when I feel like breaking down; to take chances; to laugh as loud as I want; to smell the roses along the way; to enjoy dancing to the music, even with the knowledge that the song eventually has to end.

Blame, Misperception, & Balance

2007-05-15T21:17:00.000-05:00

Today I was standing in a store, and two old ladies passed me in the narrow aisle. As they passed, I smelled ... yes, fart. And then they kept right on moving.

Damn, those old ladies farted in my aisle! I was still looking at hot sauces, but the smell was strong enough to make me give up and leave. And just as I was leaving, a teenage boy walks by, sniffs and turning around, gives me "the look."

"No, wait, it wasn't me, it was old women!"

But I didn't think he'd believe me, so the rebuttal went unyelled. I gave the hot sauces a cursory glance as I left the aisle, cursing my unluckiness to be standing in an old woman fart zone and get branded with the misdeed.

I was almost free of the aisle when the boy returned with a friend; they looked at me and laughed. Man, was I pissed. My friend Rachel (with whom I was shopping) came back and I pulled her to the side, eager to set the record straight. "Hey, listen. These two old women walked by and farted and this guy walked by after they were gone and thought it was me and then he told his friend and they both walked by again and blamed me for a fart that wasn't even my fault." She could still smell it, so we left the zone.

We continued shopping and turned into another aisle. There they were: the old fart ladies. I gestured in an incredibly obvious way that those were the women who passed off their fart guilt on me. Rachel nodded, understanding, and we passed. I didn't say anything, although I definitely had a few comments in my brain, yet nothing I thought might make the situation better. I mean, it wasn't exactly their fault...

We finished shopping and entered a checkout line. There they were: the guys who blamed me for the fart! I gestured in a very subtle way that those were the guys who blamed me for the fart. Rachel nodded, understanding, and they left. I didn't say anything. Again, I definitely had a few comments in my brain, but nothing I thought might make the situation better. I couldn't exactly blame them...

We put our items in her car and waited for our companions, who were a few minutes behind us. Unwilling to drop the subject, I continued to bemoan my fate: not only did I have to deal with an unpleasant fart odor in a public place, but I was blamed for it, though truly blameless.

Our companions came out, and we drove off. As we left the parking lot, one (who shall remain nameless) started telling this funny story about how he was in the aisle next to the hot sauces and let out this raunchy fart, and the other people in the aisle blamed his girlfriend instead of him.

What?! It was him all along! I'd incorrectly blamed two old women, two teenage boys had incorrectly blamed me, two other customers had incorrectly blamed his girlfriend, and he just thought it was so frigging funny he had to tell us all about it. It is for this exact reason (that the universe has an uncanny ability of making bad things happen to good people) why I have such issues with Karma, which I would otherwise be perfectly content in incorporating into my belief system. I mean, I am most certainly not one to claim complete innocence, but..... grrrrr!

p.s. Travis Gray is hereby prohibited from leaving comments or giving me a lecture on how Karma is so evident in our everyday lives.

2008 Republican Candidates Info.

2007-05-14T23:58:00.000-05:00

I don't know if any of you have payed any attention to the 2008 Republican presidential candidates (I've already backed Democratic candidate Sen. Barack Obama) but here's a quick rundown of what the three frontrunners political beliefs are as opposed to what church they attend; Rudy Giuliani, John McCain, & Mitt Romney are included. And yes, it might appear as though Giuliani's about as much of a Republican as Joe Lieberman is a Democrat, but I do respect the man for standing up for what he believes in rather than kissing his party's ass.

Abortion

RG - favors allowing
JM - against
MR - against

Amnesty for Illegal Aliens

RG - favors
JM - favors
MR - against

Death Penalty

RG - favors
JM - favors
MR - favors

Gay rights (marriage, etc.)

RG - favors
JM - against
MR - against

Gun control

RG - favors
JM - against
MR - favors

Iraq

RG - stay there
JM - stay there
MR - stay there

Patriot Act

RG - favors
JM - favors
MR - favors

High military spending

RG - favors
JM - favors
MR - favors

School prayer

RG - against
JM - favors
MR - favors

Tax cuts

RG - favors
JM - favors
MR - favors

My Mild Hick State: A Ponderance on Evolution

2007-05-13T19:03:00.000-05:00

Alright, so I live in Kansas. Yeah, ok, go ahead and laugh it up; I readily admit that in and of itself is hilarious. Having said that, this mild hick state that I reside in isn't particularly known for its support of the teaching of evolution in public schools (otherwise known as the teaching of SCIENCE). Nope - instead of teaching that, we'd rather give our students an extra dose of Sunday school lessons during the week to boost extra moral fiber. A little while back, however, we evolutionists finally got our way. Thank God. (Did'ja catch the pun?) Still, I find the message inside our educational textbooks increasingly interesting:

"This textbook contains material on evolution. Evolution is a theory, not a fact, regarding the origin of living things. This material should be approached with an open mind, studied carefully, and critically considered."

I can just hear the school board meeting:

"Dear, sweet God in Heaven (who strategically placed dinosaur skeletons to weed out unbelievers!) we're practically admitting that we encourage students to carefully consider the material that other districts expect them to brainlessly absorb. No college is going to accept a student who thinks about things: imagine how much extra work it would be! This is a disaster!"

Whatever your take on the issue, you have to admit that's pretty damned F.U.B.A.R.ED.

(It should be duly noted, however, that the author of this blog entry, a crazy lady named Bridget, does believe in an "intelligent design" of sorts - but that is what she attends church on Sundays for, and bringing such things into a school environment would expose more of a nice human being than she could handle. This would bring about disastrous consequences - it is better that you continue to appreciate her for the sarcastic bitch that you know her as.)

Graduation Party & London Dilemma

2007-05-12T23:49:00.000-05:00

So I went to James Farmer's graduation party Friday night. At first it was somewhat odd, because while a few of us had already arrived James hadn't come home from a job interview yet. His mother was very hospitable and welcoming - the spitting image of her daughter Jessica, in fact, whom I knew through a high school play I did a couple years back. It turned out to be a pretty enjoyable night; since most of us knew each other relatively well conversation was low key & pleasant, with that bit of strange humor that we all seem to always bring to the table.

One talk I remember having with my friend Andrew was about the London trip that we'll be embarking on June 4th. On the trip, two optional excursions are being offered: 1)Stratford & Oxford, and 2)Stonehenge & Bath. The latter I had just HAD to purchase because I would NEVER pass up an opportunity to visit Shakespeare's house. But the former? I mean, granted, I know I should be historically appreciative and everything, but when it really comes down to it... they're just stones sticking out of the ground! What's more, you aren't allowed any closer than nearly a football field away, and there's a gift shop over the hill that sucks up any magic of a site potentially capable of communicating with aliens built by an ancient people.

Having said that, I was then told of the alternative that would be offered me while the others had fun looking at the stones in the ground, something that I hadn't previously thought about... if I didn't go, I would be spending an entire day with Ms. Montgomery (Monty) - alone! From then on I realized that God in fact does exist, and he must hate me. It's not like any of us students don't know her very well or that we're uncomfortable with her in any way. What makes my choice difficult for me to make is twofold: for one, me being alone with one of my teachers is slightly strange, even if it is Monty. Second, some of my friends going on the trip & also associated with her in school sometimes tease me (either because it gets on my nerves so much or, GOD FORBID, it's true) through calling me "Mini-Monty" and claiming that she & I share certain similar characteristics. Nothing, by the way, makes my blood boil more than comparing so much of myself to someone else and thereby robbing me of my individuality - it's mine! Being similar to another person is one thing, but I am NOT and NEVER WILL BE a clone of my teacher! So that's my dilemma. I just don't want to have to give up valuable spending money for something that I'm not particularly excited about... would it instead even be remotely possible to just enjoy a day shopping in London & forget who it's with?

Karaoke

2007-05-09T00:57:00.000-05:00

“I’m thinking I want to sing ‘Faith’ by George Michaels.”

“George Michaels?”

“Yes. George Michaels.”

“There’s no S on Michael, Maggie. His name is George Michael.”

“When did he change his name?”

“He didn’t. It’s always been George Michael. It would only be George Michaels if there were two of him.”

“And there is only one.”

“Just one.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if there were two of him? Because then we could have had WHAM! without the lame guy.”

The 20 Laws of Golfing

2007-05-01T18:24:00.000-05:00

LAW 1: No matter how bad your last shot was, the worst is yet to come. This law does not expire on the 18th hole, since it has the supernatural tendency to extend over the course of a tournament, a summer and, eventually, a lifetime.

LAW 2: Your best round of golf will be followed almost immediately by your worst round ever. The probability of the latter increases with the number of people you tell about the former.

LAW 3: Brand new golf balls are water-magnetic. Though this cannot be proven in the lab, it is a known fact that the more expensive the golf ball, the greater its attraction to water.

LAW 4: Golf balls never bounce off of trees back into play. If one does, the tree is breaking a law of the universe and should be cut down.

LAW 5: No matter what causes a golfer to muff a shot, all her playing partners must solemnly chant "You looked up," or invoke the wrath of the universe.

LAW 6: The higher a golfer's handicap, the more qualified she deems herself as an instructor.

LAW 7: Every par-three hole in the world has a secret desire to humiliate golfers. The shorter the hole, the greater its desire.

LAW 8: Topping a 3-iron is the most painful torture known to man.

LAW 9: Palm trees eat golf balls.

LAW 10: Sand is alive. If it isn't, how do you explain the way it works against you?

LAW 11: Golf carts always run out of juice at the farthest point from the clubhouse.

LAW 12: A golfer hitting into your group will always be bigger than anyone in your group. Likewise, a group you accidentally hit into will consist of a football player, a professional wrestler, a convicted murderer and an IRS agent -- or some similar combination.

LAW 13: All 3-woods are demon-possessed.

LAW 14: Golf balls from the same "sleeve" tend to follow one another, particularly out of bounds or into the water (see Law three)

LAW 15: A severe slice is a thing of awesome power and beauty.

LAW 16: "Nice lag" can usually be translated to "lousy putt." Similarly, "tough break" can usually be translated "way to miss an easy one, sucker."

LAW 17: The person you would most hate to lose to will always be the one who beats you.

LAW 18: The last three holes of a round will automatically adjust your score to what it really should be.

LAW 19: Golf should be given up at least twice per month.

LAW 20: All vows taken on a golf course shall be valid only until the sunset of the same day.

The Celebrity Impressionist

2007-04-30T06:12:00.000-05:00

I know this is a slightly long video but it's HILARIOUS..... you've got to watch it!

People Say the Strangest Things...

2007-04-29T22:25:00.000-05:00

Receptionist: I have great news!

Nurse: What?

Receptionist: I got accepted into grad school! But I'm scared.

Nurse: Why?

Receptionist: I haven't been in school in a long time.

Nurse: You'll be fine -- it's like falling off a duck's back.

_____________________________________________

Female flight attendant: In response to the many requests about what in-flight movies will be playing I have decided to make a public announcement: we are playing Gone with the Wind, and you are all free to sit on the wing to watch it. There is one oxygen mask per seat, and two in the bathroom. Why there are two in the bathroom -- your guess is as good as mine. Thank you, and have a pleasant flight.

__________________________________________________

Little boy: I know three things about aliens. One, they don't have hair. Two, they don't have mouths. Three, they don't have privates.

20-something: Then how do you know if it's a boy or a girl alien?

Little boy: Um, they're not boys or girls. They're "its"... Or she-males.

20-something: Where did you learn "she-males" from?!

Little boy: Third Avenue.

___________________________________________________

St. Patty's drunk: So, wait... I was told that we aren't allowed to drink in Penn Station today, but all the vendors are selling beer. What's the deal?

Cop: Well, they shouldn't be selling it. If you are caught, you will be ticketed and--

Interrupting cop: --Dude, just put it in a paper cup! Go right there, buy that beer, and ask for that red paper Coke cup. That's all.

___________________________________________________

EVERYONE ON THE PLANET: I make Jessica Simpson look like a rock scientist.

Woo-hoo the ATHF Movie

2007-04-29T06:00:00.000-05:00

My last blog about french fries, beverages & hamburgers reminded me of Aqua Teen Hunger Force - Frylock, Master Shake & Meatwad - and that the ATHF movie is coming out soon!! If you've seen the show you'll appreciate the weird humor; if not, then I guess you'll just have to think of me as just a wee bit crazy.

Ultimate Fast Food Compilation

2007-04-28T02:53:00.000-05:00

Alright, this is a completely random thought... but have you ever wondered what the ultimate fast food restaurant would be like? As in getting to choose different parts of your meal from different places, without having to drive all over the place & wait in line for what seems like forever? Hmmm..... well here's my list.

1. Wendy's salads
2. Micky D's french fries
3. Hardy's hamburgers, cheeseburgers, & onion rings
4. Sonic's beverages (especially the slushes) cheesecake bites, mozzarella sticks & coney dogs
5. Pizza Hut's breadsticks/cheesesticks/cinnamon sticks - and I guess the pizza too
6. Taco Bell's steak quesadillas, mexican pizzas & nachos
7. Dairy Queen's desserts

Blabberings such as this only come from the sleep deprived. Then again, I did just start an insanely strict diet - maybe that's to blame.... well now I'm feeling tired enough to go to sleep so it's off to bed I go. Wish I had something cool to say like "Good night, and good luck." But I don't. So g'night. ; )

- B

ODD FACTS ABOUT ME

2007-04-27T15:03:00.000-05:00

Odd Facts about Me... a survey.

DO YOU SNORE?:: No.

LOVER OR A FIGHTER?:: I fight for what I love.

WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?:: Fear itself.

AS A KID, WERE YOU A LEGO BUILDER?:: Yeah, but then I quit when I found out I sucked.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF "REALITY TV"?:: It's getting OLD....

DO YOU CHEW ON YOUR STRAWS?:: Depends on how bored I am.

WERE YOU A CUTE BABY?:: Yes, as a matter of fact I was.

HOW IS THE SINGLE LIFE FOR YOU?:: I wouldn't know about that :)

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR KEYBOARD?:: black

DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?:: hell yeah

HAVE YOU EVER BUNGEE JUMPED?:: The Ripcord, which went over real well considering I'm deathly afraid of heights.

ANY SECRET TALENTS?:: Yeah. But I'm not going to tell you, or they wouldn't be secret anymore, now would they?

WHAT'S YOUR IDEAL VACATION SPOT?:: Paris or Hawaii. London's going to be pretty cool this summer though, too.

HAVE YOU EATEN SUSHI?:: Love it.

HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE "DONNIE DARKO"?:: Yep

DO YOU GIVE A DARN ABOUT THE OZONE?:: Yes, but there are other issues to consider as well.

HOW MANY LICKS DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO THE CENTER OF A TOOTSIE POP?:: The world will never know!

CAN YOU SING THE ALPHABET BACKWARDS?:: Not one of my talents.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON AN AIRPLANE?:: Yep

ARE SPEEDO'S HOT?:: No, because you only see them on "Fat Bastards" and not "Brad Pitts"

WHAT'S YOUR STANCE ON HUNTING?:: I don't really care. Those Barbie's who oppose it forget about animal testing for the make-up they cake on their face.

IS MARRIAGE IN YOUR FUTURE?:: I certainly hope a successful one is.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?:: It's getting better.

WHAT ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO?:: Idiots.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAID, "I LOVE YOU":: A few minutes ago...I just got off the phone with Tim.

IS TUPAC STILL ALIVE?:: Where have you been? I'm little miss white from Suburbia and I knew the dude was dead!

DO YOU CRY AT WEDDINGS?:: No. It takes a lot for me to do that.

HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?:: I don't.

ARE BLONDES DUMB?:: You know, I've found that only seems to apply to fake blondes.... but seriously? You can't seriously ask me to believe that hair color determines intellect.

WHERE DOES THE OTHER SOCK END UP?:: Lost.

WHAT TIME IS IT?:: Time for the next question.

DO YOU HAVE A NICKNAME?:: Umm..Bridge, B, B-ridge, Bridgee, USED to be B-dog like 6 years ago....

IS MCDONALD'S DISGUSTING?:: Here it is. But I've heard they use real grease and real meat over in Europe.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WERE IN A CAR?:: Driving home last night from dinner with some friends.

DO YOU PREFER BATHS OR SHOWERS?:: Showers, most of the time.

IS SANTA CLAUSE REAL?:: You know it...

ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?:: (Blushes) Yes...

WHAT ARE YOU ADDICTED TO?:: Coffee, chocolate, love and laughter

CRUNCHY OR CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER?:: Creamy.

HAVE YOU EVER RIDDEN IN AN AMBULANCE?:: No. I hope I never have to.

HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BRUSHED YOUR TEETH TODAY?:: Twice.

IS DRUG FREE THE WAY TO BE?:: Depends on which one...just kidding. Yes.

ARE YOU WEARING SOCKS?:: Uh-huh...fuzzy comfy ones.

HAVE YOU EVER HITCH HIKED?:: Yup.

WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES?:: Hazel.

WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:: A few nights ago. My grandpa passed away not too long ago, & I was very attached to him.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR LIFE?:: Despite the ups and downs, I feel truly blessed.

WHOSE LIFE IS BETTER?:: I don't like to look at it that way; everyone's lives are different.

ARE YOU PSYCHIC?:: Isn't it scary to think I could be inside your mind right now?

HAVE YOU READ "CATCHER IN THE RYE"?:: Yes.

DO YOU PLAY ANY INSTRUMENTS?:: My friend Will's teaching me a little piano...

CAN YOU SKATEBOARD?:: Oh, you're a funny one.

DO YOU LIKE CAMPING?:: Yeah, it can be really fun with the right people.

DO U SNORT WHEN U LAUGH?:: No, I can't say that I do.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?:: As much as Christ was an Atheist.

IS A DOG A MAN'S BEST FRIEND?:: No. A dog is a woman's best friend.

YOU BELIEVE IN DIVORCE?:: I believe in perseverance, being held accountable for your promises, and taking your vows seriously. I also believe that people change and grow and develop into different people than they were from the start, and there's no way of predicting that. I also believe that to cheat is to destroy every promise of a wedding vow.

CAN YOU DO THE MOONWALK?:: Who do you think I am, Michael Jackson?

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?:: The best Chinese food ever

DO YOU WEAR NAILPOLISH?:: Not usually...I'll get a manicure if I'm going out for a fancy dinner.

DO YOU LIKE SOMEONE RIGHT NOW?:: Very much

WHAT'S THE MOST ANNOYING TV COMMERCIAL?:: That stupid HEAD ON one! They say that freakin' line like ten times!

DO YOU SHOP AT AMERICAN EAGLE?:: I have to admit I have some stuff from the place...

FAVORITE BAND AT THE MOMENT?:: I know so much good music I couldn't possibly decide.... check out my MySpace playlist. That's a glimpse of what I'm into right now.

The glass: HALF FULL or HALF EMPTY??

2007-04-26T18:10:00.000-05:00

I WOULD JUST LIKE TO ADDRESS WHAT SEEMS TO BE ONE OF THE DIRE CONTROVERSIES OF OUR GENERATION: whether the glass is "half full" or "half empty." Hey, guess what, guys? It's HALF! Wow... it's amazing some of you need a 17 year-old to tell you that means to be a greater portion of neither. And no, drinking what's inside wouldn't solve anything, because it wouldn't change the status of the glass beforehand. Whelp, I guess there are 4 kinds of people in the world:

1. Optomists (half full) 2. Pessimists (half empty) 3. Those lacking problem-solving skills (drink the liquid) 4. Realists (ME! And hopefully the rest of you pretty soon.)

Later guys.

- B

VERY brief thought on separation of church & state

2007-04-23T06:36:00.000-05:00

The following is my response to something one of my friends wrote.

"I was just reading in my e-mail that I got from Krystle. She sent me a forward message. In it somone said that for the first time ever there has been a new $1 coin printed not saying 'In god we trust' on it. She said it was scary to her. I think that is just sad. The God who created us all is being shunned. They are basically saying god no longer lives or that we can not trust him any more. It is almost like the lord baked us a cake of life that we did not even deserve and we took it and through it bake in his face. There are even more ways that this world had shunned the lord but i will not get into that today. The list is too long."

-- Anonymous Pal

I don't think it's fair to say that God is being "shunned" in America, necessarily. I mean, the God, the Lord, the religion that many of us follow isn't necessarily the one that some of our fellow citizens do. Because we are not a theocracy, we have to allow people with other religious beliefs to coexist with us in our country - if someone else did not "trust" in Him, that does not mean that they are any less of an American. Many people, in fact, gave these same sentiments when evolution was first introduced to classrooms.... and as a result of letting one religion rule even the tiniest aspect of our government students were robbed of the wealth of knowledge from the proper scientific curriculum that should have been in place.

Everyone is going to have to face judgment day when the time comes, but they're going to have to own up to GOD - not me, not you, not even America itself. Why would God give us something as precious as free will for no reason at all??

- B

In the Land of Women

2007-04-20T00:45:00.000-05:00

So I went to see this movie tonight thinking it was going to be just another dumb teen flick, but I was pleasantly surprised. It was like the OC Adam Brody grew up all of a sudden, & I found myself actually being able to relate to his situation... I also really connected w/ Meg Ryan's character & even her daughter a little bit - I think right now I may be torn between the two extremes. One thing that I wasn't expecting: it wasn't really a love story at all, yet the characters' relationships still had as much emotional charge. "In the Land of Women" may not be winning an oscar any time soon, but it's definitely worth checking out.

Strawberry Nesquik & ILLEGAL Immigration

2007-04-18T17:56:00.000-05:00

There are many issues that are raising concerns in the United States, and immigration is one that I feel very strongly about. When I saw a strawberry Nesquik bottle w/ the Spanish lettering larger than the English, I guess that sent me over the edge, lol...

(Not sure why I'm apologizing, but I do hope this doesn't offend anyone. I would like to say that I'm anything but a raving conservative - more of a moderate Democrat - but if anyone has any inquiries, I'd be happy to explain my political philosophy. Thankfully, though, you probably don't. Lol.)

So many people have based their arguments on how this land is made up of immigrants. Some people suggest we should tear down the Statue of Liberty because the people now in question aren't being treated the same as those who passed through Ellis Island and other ports of entry. Maybe we should turn to our history books and point out to people like this why today's American is not willing to accept this new kind of immigrant any longer. Back in 1900 when there was a rush from all areas of Europe to come to the United States, people had to get off a ship and stand in a long line in New York and be documented; some would even get down on their hands and knees and kiss the ground. They made a pledge to uphold the laws and support their new country through good times and bad. They made learning English a primary rule in their new American households, sometimes even changing their names to blend in with their new home. They had waved goodbye to their birthplace to give their children a new life and did everything in their power to help their children assimilate into one culture. Nothing was handed to them - no free lunches, no welfare, no labor laws to protect them. All they had were the skills and craftsmanship they had brought with them to trade for a future of prosperity. Most of their children came of age when World War II broke out. Some fought alongside men whose parents had come straight over from Germany, Italy, France, and Japan. None of these 1st generation Americans ever gave any thought about what country their parents had come from, because together they were all Americans fighting Hitler, Mussolini and the Emperor of Japan . They were defending the UNITED States of America as one people. When we liberated France, no one in those villages were looking for the French-American or the German-American or the Irish-American. The people of France saw only Americans. And we carried one flag that represented our one country. Not one of those immigrant sons would have even conceived of picking up another country's flag and waving it to represent who they were; it would have been a disgrace to their parents who had sacrificed so much to give them a home in the land of the free. These immigrants truly knew what it meant to be an American, stirring the melting pot into one red, white and blue bowl. But here we are in 2007 with a new kind of immigrant who wants the same rights and privileges...only they want to achieve it by playing a different set of rules, one that includes the entitlement card and a guarantee of being faithful to their mother country. I'm sorry, that's not what being an American is all about. I believe that the immigrants who landed on Ellis Island in the early 1900's deserve better than that for all the toil, hard work and sacrifice in raising future generations to create a land that has become a beacon for those legally searching for a better life. I think they would be appalled that they are being used as an example by those waving foreign country flags. And as for suggestions about taking down the Statue of Liberty, it happens to mean a lot to the citizens who are voting on the immigration bill...I wouldn't start talking about dismantling the United States just yet!

- B

Lower the Drinking Age to 18 Now!

2007-04-16T15:45:00.000-05:00

Recently the essays we wrote in English for the Kansas State Writing Assessment were handed back to us. I chose the topic "How to Celebrate Graduation Parties in a Safe Manner" but used it as an excuse to get up on my soap box about lowering the drinking age.

For many people, turning eighteen is a huge milestone in the long journey to "growing up," largely in part to the many privileges granted at this age. At eighteen, one is allowed to vote as a legal citizen. At eighteen, one is allowed to make the life-altering commitment of marriage. At eighteen, one is allowed to purchase, consume, and become addicted to tobacco products that will slowly poison the body to death throughout a lifetime. Perhaps the privilege of the most consequence, however, is the right to serve in the Armed Forces - the choice to fight and potentially die for one's country. With all of these responsibilities in mind, then, we must ask ourselves: why does the legal drinking age remain at twenty-one years of age? The response to this question has always been that "highschoolers simply aren't mature enough to handle it yet." The fact that juvenile alcohol abuse among highschoolers and the parties that they host, especially graduation parties, may seem to support this statement. However, to fully understand the problem of the status quo we must analyze the facts, deduce the true causes of the situation at hand, and take whatever steps necessary to solve it. It will soon become evident that the drinking age itself is the barrier to safe graduation parties.

First of all, we must discuss why the drinking age is such a problem with the teenage age group in America. The fascination with this beverage is centered on one thing: the fact that they cannot have it. Alcohol then provides another avenue for rebellion; it is "the forbidden elixir of coolness." In addition, it is even mistakenly perceived as a symbol of adulthood; because all of the "grown-ups" are doing it, kids wish to imitate adults in order to gain the same "grown-up" image. In sum, there is an obvious lack of familiarization with alcohol among American families in our society. We instead choose to instill in our children's minds that alcohol is a dirty, dangerous thing to avoid at all costs, and as a result they do not receive the proper education on it. Our problem did not start at a high school drinking party; it is a product of a misinformed childhood.

In other cultures - namely in Britain, France, Germany, Spain, and Canada - society does not view alcohol as a "big deal" whatsoever. It is introduced in the home to its members at an early age, and as time passes never becomes something to pay much attention to. These countries, of course, have no "epidemic of teenage lushes," even though teens can legally consume alcoholic beverages there. In contrast, American society has seemed to put extreme overemphasis on alcohol, and it should be of no surprise that American teenagers are continually attracted to it like magnets. Drinking may not be legal for our youngsters, yet they seem to successfully obtain it time and time again anyway. In fact, 90 percent of U.S. teenagers consume alcohol on a regular basis. The scary thing is that when juveniles do come into possession of potentially harmful substance they have not had the proper education on, it is in a completely unsupervised environment in which the users are open to reckless and irresponsible behavior. Clearly, not only is the twenty-one age restriction ineffective, but it is also adding fuel to the fire of alcohol abuse.

We now come to the most important part of our analysis: what can be done to end juvenile alcohol abuse and ensure the safety of American graduation parties? U.S. driving policies may give a good explanation for this. Most would agree that it would be a ridiculous idea to tell our children to "just say no" to driving, fail to teach them how to drive through experience, and then hand them a set of keys on their twenty-first birthday, expecting them to be safe drivers. No - instead, we issue permits at certain ages to steadily prepare our young ones to be responsible. Therefore, I offer the following suggestion: a "learner's permit" system for juvenile alcohol consumption. Under such a system, drinking licenses would be issued starting at sixteen years of age, which would allow the holders to consume a limited amount of alcohol while under the supervision of a parent or legal guardian. As the "student" progressed through high school, new educational programs would be implemented with a specific focus on the importance of moderation, as opposed to the prohibitionist strategy of the status quo. Upon completion of their senior year of high school, students would be eligible to receive a drinking license for the individual and unsupervised consumption of alcohol. By this time, juveniles will have obtained the proper knowledge of the substance and how to demonstrate responsible use of it.

A problem has clearly been identified with the lack of safety in high school graduation drinking parties. Year after year, we sit by and witness the damaging effects these celebrations have on our teenagers, communities, and society as a whole. However, now is the time to take a stand and fight for more than the same old policies and prohibitionist attitude that has failed us time and time again. Now is the time for us all to realize the true cause of why alcohol abuse is so prevalent among American juveniles. Now is the time to spread the word and fight for the implementation of a learner's permit system for safe juvenile alcohol consumption. If we do, then we will see graduating teenagers celebrate as reliable and responsible adults - even in the presence of alcohol.