I have this horribly hard time saying goodbye to people. It's just not something I like to do. I grew up with Lorelai and Rory. I spent seven years of my life growing close to them, so when I watched the debut of the final episode of Gilmore Girls, I cried. Hard. And I haven't been able to fully let go. I proudly own all seven seasons on DVD and I watch them over and over to keep my love for these wonderful women alive. Weird? Maybe a little. But most people just don't understand a love like ours. It transcends any silly social norms. I have seen every episode like a thousand times (I've watched all seven seasons twice through just this summer!) but I always get stuck on the very last episode... I skip it every time and just start watching the seasons over again because I absolutely hate endings. Especially sad endings, which this one most definitely was. But today, I overcame my dread and finally finished that last episode again. I cried just as hard as I did the first time and I'm not ashamed to say it. So here is a tribute to a show whose final ending was worth crying over... These are some of my favorite quotes from the show that made me laugh and cry.
"This is the last time I buy anything just because it's furry!"
"I don't leave messages. If I wanted to talk to a machine, I'd talk to my VCR."
"I'm smiling because you're crazy and that's what you do to crazy people to keep them calm."
"Mmm. Tasty. And flame retardant!"
"Are the lids tight on the paint remover, because you're sounding a little loopy to me."
"So, Beth, huh? I hate the name Beth. It's so...Beth."
"You're not gonna kill the bag boy." "Why not?" "Cuz it's double coupon day. You'll bring down the town."
"Oh, wow. It's expensive to slowly rot your insides, isn't it?"
"Stop saying 'mother' like that." "Like what?" "Like there's supposed to be another word after it."
"Wait, he kissed you again?! What, is he just out of prison or something??"
"There's no use for a lava lamp unless you're on drugs!"
"You know, it's like dogs and high pitched noises. I think it's only something you can smell."
"You traded my lovely gift for a semi-pornographic, leering monkey lamp? How could you!?"
"Our before Mary is about to become an after. Who else in town is knocked up?"
"I have to know where you are at all times, especially when you have my shoes on!"
"I must now sublimate all my impure thoughts by going into the kitchen and making an endless string of perfect casseroles."
"Look in somebody's sock drawer. Rich people have hilarious sock drawers."
"What are you doing?" "I'm admiring your pickles."
"Who uses the word 'hobo' anymore?"
"No, no. Not malls. I hate malls. They underpay employees and over price merchandise. They contribute to urban sprawl. They encourage materialism and the parking's a horror. You drive in, ya pay a buck, and even if you're only there for 5 minutes..."
"Look, I've made my peace with the fact that everyone who calls here is a notch above brain dead and that the pennies I am thrown each week are in exchange for me dealing with these people in a non-violent manner. And usually, that is fine, but today, I'm sorry lady. I have Ennui."
"I can't hang out or kick back. I need to find a retarded kid and teach him how to play softball!"
"Did you hear? I used existentialism in a sentence. I've always wanted to do that!"
"I have no patience for jam hands!"
"Gosh! You're like a pop-up book from hell!"
"That was an evil 'yes'." "Not an evil 'yes', it's a 'yes I'm pretty, but hello I'm smart!' kind of a 'yes'."
"What's she honking for? She hates honking. She calls it a mechanical bodily function."
"Oh look, they have cucumber slices in the water!" "Oh wow. Now if they have ranch dressing in the soap dispensers, this place is great!"
"You're a vicious trollop. You're a vicious trollop!"
"People don't realize it, but it takes years of training to be able to eat like we do."
"Hey, I know you! You're that long-haired freak that wanted to be town troubadour even though that weird, brown corduroy jacket wearing freak was already it." "That's right! Good memory!"
"Well FYI, Van Halen hair, I"m very busy."
"For every good woman, there's a dirty little wolf just ready to lead her astray. You can't help it. He's got the eyes, the chin, chest hair you could carpet your dining room with, I mean, what's a woman to do?? We're not made of steel for god-sakes!"
"I hope so, cuz I'm so damn lonely not even animal planet does it for me anymore."
"Now, after all that has happened, after all the chaos and havoc you have wreaked, you're seriously standing there wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a butt with hands that are flipping me off, telling me you want to come back?!"
"I just want you to remember three things while you're sitting up there. I love you. You're the greatest kid in the world, and...you're in a skirt. Keep your knees closed."
"Oh, sorry. My excitement must be clouding my ability to judge comedic hyperbole."
"Well. Here's hoping your cat exposes itself to you soon."
"I created you. It's biologically predetermined that I watch you."
"How do they like Orlando?" "Well it's all Mickey Mouse this, and Micky Mouse that, you know, they want to die!"
"Wait, what's that?! It's a bird. It's a plane. It's super Jackson and his atomic pea tendrils!"
"I don't watch that much television. I don't find forensic work as fascinating as the rest of the world."
(After singing the first line in A Mighty Fortress is our God) "Dude. What's a bulwark?" "What?" "It says, 'a bulwark never failing'." "I think it's a wall?" "Then why don't they just say that? Bulwark sounds totally gay." "I don't think you're supposed to call a hymn gay. It's like a sin or something." Whatever man! I'm not saying bulwark!"
"Make your point, bagel boy!"
"All those e-mails? I'm sorry, but you write less than the people offering to enlarge a piece of anatomy I do not possess!"
"You're not even using verbs. That's not a relationship. Relationships need verbs!"
"Oh look. It's Bilbo bologna-puss just in from the shire!"
"We've already tried it over there." "It's no problem." "No problem for you, but this is giving me cuticle damage! Do you know who long cuticle damage takes to heal?!"
"I'm not standing funny. This is how you stand in these pants."
"I mean, they were extremely common until recently. Historically, recently. Not recently, like 'metrosexual is a word now' recently, but recently." "Are we still talking about anvils?" "Yes! Where did all the anvils go?" "You're talking about those big, heavy, metal things?" "...That blacksmith hammered horse shoes and stuff on. Everyone had them. They were featured prominently in every movie western. So where did they all go?" "I don't know that they were that common." "Wiley Coyote used them. That's how common they were." "Who?" "The cartoon. He was always trying to drop an anvil on the Road Runner's head or shoot it at him out of a giant sling shot, or fire it at him out of a cannon. Inevitably, the cannon tilted up, shot it in the air, it fell down and made an anvil shaped impression on Wiley Coyote's head." "This is a cartoon?!" "Oh, no, this just happened to me the other day. I was just walking down the street at this giant anvil, yes mother, it's a cartoon." "I know she sounds crazy, but it's a very common cartoon." "But that doesn't prove that anvils were so common." "It does. It proves that anvils were so ubiquitous at one point, was that the word? ubiquitous?" "Depends on where you're going." "...That they knew that children would know what they were and delight in them. That's how common they were! Children watching cartoons!" "That was the word." "I've forgotten your point..." "Where are all the anvils? I mean is there some sort of secret anvil storage facility the government is keeping from us?" "Or they fell into disuse with the advent of other technologies and so they melted them down and they're gone." "But they're not supposed to melt! They were made to withstand the red, hot hammer of the town blacksmith." "This is easily the most pointless conversation we've ever had."
"Her car looks just like Barbie's!"
"Kirk, I just had a spat with my sour ball distributor and I'm not in the mood."
"I find your hair very believable!"
"I don't call that a may pole, I call that a maybe NOT pole!"
"Hey, I should bring steak sauce, right?" "For what?" "Pizza." "I just got back from Italy." "So?" "So, they'd shoot you in Italy for that." "Uh, but this is America. Where we unapologetically bastardize other country's cultures in a gross quest for moral and military supremacy." "Oh, I forgot. Bring on the imperialistic condiments."
"See, he called me hot plates. He SO likes me!"
"No, Rory. This great man was not brought down by my vagina, OK?"
"I'm late for class and you put a printing press on my book bag?!" "Well sorry! It's from my dead boyfriend OK? I apologize if my grief is inconveniencing you!"
"Wow. Sleeping with you is getting me nothing."
"But Mrs. Kim says fries are the devil's starchy fingers..."
"Ramadan is about a lot more than just not eating. It calls for a total abstinence from food particles passing through a mouth or nose. Your Bazooka's passing through my nose!"
"Children should shoot us for what we make them do."
"Special? Like stop eating the paste, special?!"
"Wheat chex is sort of the pumpernickel bread of the cereal world."
"You're feeling particularly sassy today." "I know! It must be my new glasses prescription!"
"How does she do that? Compartmentalize like that? It's weird. She's the serial killer who goes to work and talks about a funny Seinfeld he saw and then goes home and cooks himself a man flesh sandwich."
"Well, I suppose sometime when I'm not working or out of town, if my boyfriend's busy and my laundry's done, and I'm not sick and there's nothing on TV, we could maybe meet up for a couple of minutes."
"Cropogs? Did someone say cropogs?"
"Rory, the penal system is not something we enjoy. It's something with a name that makes us giggle."
"Oh great. Now I'm not even the town whore!"
"What are the odds of me finding a cake topper with exactly your butt?!"
"Who are you fooling? You're wearing tube socks."
"That's because I'm not orthodox. I'm liberal with a touch of reform and a smidgen of zipidee pow!"
"Yeah, man. You're way deep in my bogus bag, and it's zip locked shut."
"You can't come alone. An unmarried woman of a certain age, unescorted, wearing the clothes you tend to wear. People will think things, bad things." "Like what?" "Like you're a tramp and possibly for sale."
"Yeah, that's me. I'm fast. I'm the perfect storm of caffeine and genetics!"
"You are such a pity laugher."
"I guess the combination of salt water and sea weed and discount Mexican condoms and terrible, terrible sex leads to a baby." "A baby...." "A baby. Sex sucks so bad. Sex sucks worse than I thought." "You only did it one time! And wow, a baby!" "That's what you get folks, for making woopie!"
"I don't think we're having a communal massive heart attack."
"Yes, but it looks ridiculous. Like glorified ping pong. If I wanted to play ping pong I would... Well, if I wanted to play ping pong, I would kill myself!"
"Let's say your kid falls out of a tree and like majorly gashes his head. Do you run to him right away or just let him kinda shake it off? I mean, I don't want to be a wussy dad."
"I'm gonna go. Logan and I have this romantic afternoon planned." "Oh, really?" "We're spackling." "Oh, well, uh, spackle well, or whatever one says to encourage a successful spackle." "Have a good spackle?" "Spakle on." "Break a spackle?" "Knock on spackle, things work out."
Monday, August 23, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
You dirty little fun haver! (Myspace re-post 6 of 6)
So here it is... My final myspace re-post. This one should really hit home just how big of a nerd I am, and how crazy I used to be. It gave me a big laugh at least. Happy reading.
March 11, 2006
zipidee do da zippiddee a!! haha just kidding but for real! i just felt the urge to write a little memo of my day. first i woke up. then i showered. then i picked up my laundry, threw it around my room and decided to clothe myself. when driving to work, i noticed snow on the not so far off moutains. i squeeled. then i called my roomate lettie and squeeled some more. stuff like this just isn't supposed to be around my home sweet st. george. then i said to myself, savannah its ok man. you'll do fine in life. so i went to class. eric is a very funny teacher and we had some good laughs, but then we saw the snow, and the laughter turned to tears. (at least for me). sloshing outside after the bell rang (oh wait, its college there are no bells...) i called my dad and cursed him for bringing the snow. blah blah blah. things like this just arent' supposed to happen here! anyway then the rest of my day was super sweet awesome wow, and i had a blast in mesquite with my dad and g'pa eating yummmy yummmy crab legs, then the movie i saw with my super sweet roomies was dig- tastic! now im sitting here wondering why im not packing my bags to go to france... i mean home. shit. haha peace out.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
This summer I made mad love to 3 Germans (at the same time....!) -Myspace Repost 5 of 6-
I love this old post because it reminds me of the best summer of my life! This summer has been pretty spectacular too, so maybe when I'm done with the myspace re-posts, I can tell you about all the fun stuff we have done this year!
August 06, 2006
This summer I made mad love to 3 Germans (at the same time....!)
Just kidding! But no really, I have had a wild crazy summer! About everything I've wanted to do in my life has been accomplished as of July 29. Well, not everything... I still haven't fulfilled my lifetime goal of finding a punk band to play harmonica for.... In good time though, in good time.... But so far this summer I have:
-Been to France (and without my bags for a few days, at that)
-Climbed L'arc de Triumpe, Notre Dame and seen the view from the top of the Eiffel tower.
-I got my first real "french" kiss.
-Got the best tan I've ever had in my life! (I'm used to being a pasty white girl, man!)
-Swam in the French Riviera.
-Hung out at the International Cannes Film Festival.
-Conquered the metro system in Paris.
-Partied with a British Formula 1 driver who raced in the Grand Prix at Monaco.
-Spent a day in Italy (Let me tell you, there is NOTHING like true, real, authentic Italian ice cream... It's amazing!! And I freakin hate ice cream!)
-Worked 3 freaking jobs (sometimes all three on the same day)
-Had my birthday at Warped Tour which was the best present ever!(Besides all the sweet free stuff I got from bands because of my awesome shirt...)
-Last but not least, I freaking jumped out of an airplane at 13000 feet for the most bamf first skydiving experience a girl could ask for!
WOOOOO! Don't you wish you were me right now? Yeah yeah, what can I say? I'm pretty kick ass.. Hopefully their will be a sequel next summer. We'll see what happens.
P.S. I totally forgot to mention I went to the French Open!! It was pretty bad ass (even though I'm not a huge tennis fan) despite the freezing cold rain that day too.
August 06, 2006
This summer I made mad love to 3 Germans (at the same time....!)
Just kidding! But no really, I have had a wild crazy summer! About everything I've wanted to do in my life has been accomplished as of July 29. Well, not everything... I still haven't fulfilled my lifetime goal of finding a punk band to play harmonica for.... In good time though, in good time.... But so far this summer I have:
-Been to France (and without my bags for a few days, at that)
-Climbed L'arc de Triumpe, Notre Dame and seen the view from the top of the Eiffel tower.
-I got my first real "french" kiss.
-Got the best tan I've ever had in my life! (I'm used to being a pasty white girl, man!)
-Swam in the French Riviera.
-Hung out at the International Cannes Film Festival.
-Conquered the metro system in Paris.
-Partied with a British Formula 1 driver who raced in the Grand Prix at Monaco.
-Spent a day in Italy (Let me tell you, there is NOTHING like true, real, authentic Italian ice cream... It's amazing!! And I freakin hate ice cream!)
-Worked 3 freaking jobs (sometimes all three on the same day)
-Had my birthday at Warped Tour which was the best present ever!(Besides all the sweet free stuff I got from bands because of my awesome shirt...)
-Last but not least, I freaking jumped out of an airplane at 13000 feet for the most bamf first skydiving experience a girl could ask for!
WOOOOO! Don't you wish you were me right now? Yeah yeah, what can I say? I'm pretty kick ass.. Hopefully their will be a sequel next summer. We'll see what happens.
P.S. I totally forgot to mention I went to the French Open!! It was pretty bad ass (even though I'm not a huge tennis fan) despite the freezing cold rain that day too.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Embrace your inner emo. (Myspace re-post 4 of 6)
Here is a poem/free write from back in the day.
September 21, 2006
gloom has filled her spirit
its expressed in the lack of smile on her face
the look of distaste
the eyes echo the lonliness
of no one in her arms
the legs run out as quickly as they came
she won't give you
three seconds for you to notice her
trust replaced with lust
and sick of the need for somethin more
put up your dukes in anticipation
of the battle you will never win with
her stubborness
her life is a constant mosh pit
a throw down of the greatest sort
the musically inclined ringing through her mind
taunting her with what she will never have
September 21, 2006
gloom has filled her spirit
its expressed in the lack of smile on her face
the look of distaste
the eyes echo the lonliness
of no one in her arms
the legs run out as quickly as they came
she won't give you
three seconds for you to notice her
trust replaced with lust
and sick of the need for somethin more
put up your dukes in anticipation
of the battle you will never win with
her stubborness
her life is a constant mosh pit
a throw down of the greatest sort
the musically inclined ringing through her mind
taunting her with what she will never have
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Myspace re-post (3 of 6)
I was so silly back then....
February 16, 2007
So I'm sitting here at about 12:30am, and thinking to myself, that it's really not that late but it sure feels like it. All is dark in my room except the glow of my computer screen and the spongebob lamp right next to it. For some reason I feel kinda like Harriet the Spy when she types up everything on her type writer. That in turn, reminds me of the good ol' days when me and my younger sister and one of her friends thought Harriet was the bomb diggety, and we bought notebooks and took binoculars to the church field where we proceed to "spy" on all the neighboors as they walked or drove by. We'd also make tomato sandwiches like she did... Chalked full of mayo and of course big, juicy, squishy tomatoes. Yum, yum, it's amazing what a child's stomache can handle. Now with that door swinging shut, you'd think I'm full grown now, and lost that and all my other childhood tendencies. Yet as I'm sitting here typing I'm chewing on a teething ring for babies. Why, you might ask? Because I've done hundreds of dollars worth of dental work the last couple months, and the only thing that soothes me is to bite long and hard into anything and everything I can get my hands on. Usually it's Brett's arm, but I feel bad for the many marks I've left and I've decided to transfer my dog-like tendencies to something else. (And though this teething toy isn't as satisfing as an arm, it gets the job done!) :-) Oh geez, and now I'm drooling. Did I mention I'm wearing my jellyfishing glasses? Just like spongebob's! It sure puts me in the mood... For jellyfishing of course! Sicko...What were you thinking? Get your mind out of that gutter. Well, je suis un peu fatigue maintenant, donc je pense que je vais dormir. Bon journee ou bon soir mes amis! Jusque' a une autre temps....
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
We interrupt the week of myspace re-posts for some "behind the scenes: savannah the sequel"
I have discovered, after looking to the past, that I have this hovering black cloud belief that "change is impossible." In thinking about how I am going to contest this belief in order to find a greater sense of optimism and happiness in my life, I have realized that I am a person who is afraid of change. I don't just believe it is impossible, but I try and avoid it at all costs. It is a concept that I haven't quite learned to embrace.
This belief that change is impossible goes against all that I have been working for these past several years. I have to believe in the hope of change to some degree if I plan on making a difference to people, right? After all, "a difference" is "a change." I am reminded about a girl I worked with a couple years ago who also had a hard time with change. When she was in the process of transitioning to another treatment facility, she struggled a lot. She kept reminding me how much she hated change, yet I remember saying to her, "You say you hate change so much, but on the other hand, you tell me that I changed your life. Not all change is a bad thing." So how can I hold so tightly to a belief that is not only untrue, but opposed to the very principles on which therapy (my future career) exists? That is a good question, and one I am trying to figure out right now.
I think I believe that change is impossible, because I have had people in my life who haven't changed one bit. They are still the bitter, angry people they always have been and always will be. I know there is something not quite right about predicting the future for people, but one thing I have heard a lot in my job is that "the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior." So, what else am I to do? I'm not going to deny that I have a very pessimistic view of the world and people and this is also probably at work when it comes to this belief, but we are and we do what we know... right?
To get a little more personal, I think that one of the reasons I believe change is impossible for me, is not just because I am afraid of changes, but I am afraid of trying to change. I'm afraid of what it will mean if I try and it doesn't work. I am afraid of failing, so I think in some ways I inadvertently sabotage any attempts to BE any different that I already am. I'm a perfectionist and it is easier to be the angry, confused, indecisive, pessimistic me that I worry I will always be. The times that I have tried to be different, I have always come back to what I am used to. I think that in some ways that is human nature, but I also worry that is also a testament to just how screwed up I really am.
I mean, I have hope that other people can change, at least to a point. I have worked with some pretty difficult kids at work, and although these individuals have suffered through a difficult past and have a long way to go to begin living a remotely good and happy life, I have believed in each of them and their ability to change. So what's my problem with myself? Could this issue possibly go deeper? Could it be that my lack of faith in my own change is related to my lack of esteem and sense of self-worth? I thought that my self-hatred was buried in the past, but perhaps my pervasive depreciating beliefs are surfacing in more subtle, self-sabotaging ways. I shudder at the thought.
I think over the years, I have learned to accept my flaws and forgive myself. I used to be very rigid in my perfectionism. I remember struggling during my first few years in college with the concept of repentance and forgiveness. I have always been extremely hard on myself about everything. During this particular time, I would do my best to apologize to God for my many mistakes, I would start making better choices and to move on, yet I would constantly become frustrated and discouraged when I kept returning to the same habits and behaviors I was trying to repent of in the first place. I don't think I ever really had faith in the process, and as a result, to fail just made me feel worse about myself and the gospel. This just reinforced my underlying belief that it is impossible to change.
A few years down the road, I learned a very valuable lesson while working with an extremely difficult girl at work. I learned that despite this girl's many imperfections, despite the hell she put me and other staff through, despite the abuse she had suffered and the poor relationships she had with her family members, she still had incredible worth as a person and I loved seeing her make some incredible changes over the course of her treatment. Working with her made me a better, stronger person and afterwards I found it easier to love people around me and to have a greater sense of empathy. At one point during the time I was working with her, I was reading in Moroni and found some very inspirational verses.
Moroni 7:45-47
"And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail--But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him."
After working with her for a long time, I realized I had begun to feel this incredible love for her, and for others. Though I'm sure I felt love for people before that, I never had a experienced a love quite so great. I began to realize that if I could feel this kind of love for someone else, than imagine what kind of love the Savior felt for me, despite all of my many mistakes and imperfections. I think it was then that I finally accepted that someone could love me like that, and that he did, and that I didn't need to be perfect to feel that love. I finally found some kind of faith in love and in repentance and in change. I think I began to realize that change and betterment is an ongoing process. It's not a "one time and then you are done" kind of thing. It's ok if we repeat our mistakes a million times over. We just need to remember to pick ourselves back up and remember that despite all, at the end of the day we are still loved PERFECTLY by the person who matters most. He knows we can't change all at once and that it's a process, not an outcome.
The hard part is, I don't seem to remember this on an everyday basis. My mind is so hardwired in its pessimistic outlook that I struggle to remember this very powerful lesson I learned the long and the hard way. I guess I already know how to contest this belief I have that "change is impossible." The battle now is to remember, to practice and to keep believing. So this week, I think my mantra will be, "Change is difficult. It is an ongoing process, laden with mistakes and let downs. It is not perfect, but it is real and it is attainable."
Whew, well how's that for insight and catharsis? I feel exhausted.
This belief that change is impossible goes against all that I have been working for these past several years. I have to believe in the hope of change to some degree if I plan on making a difference to people, right? After all, "a difference" is "a change." I am reminded about a girl I worked with a couple years ago who also had a hard time with change. When she was in the process of transitioning to another treatment facility, she struggled a lot. She kept reminding me how much she hated change, yet I remember saying to her, "You say you hate change so much, but on the other hand, you tell me that I changed your life. Not all change is a bad thing." So how can I hold so tightly to a belief that is not only untrue, but opposed to the very principles on which therapy (my future career) exists? That is a good question, and one I am trying to figure out right now.
I think I believe that change is impossible, because I have had people in my life who haven't changed one bit. They are still the bitter, angry people they always have been and always will be. I know there is something not quite right about predicting the future for people, but one thing I have heard a lot in my job is that "the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior." So, what else am I to do? I'm not going to deny that I have a very pessimistic view of the world and people and this is also probably at work when it comes to this belief, but we are and we do what we know... right?
To get a little more personal, I think that one of the reasons I believe change is impossible for me, is not just because I am afraid of changes, but I am afraid of trying to change. I'm afraid of what it will mean if I try and it doesn't work. I am afraid of failing, so I think in some ways I inadvertently sabotage any attempts to BE any different that I already am. I'm a perfectionist and it is easier to be the angry, confused, indecisive, pessimistic me that I worry I will always be. The times that I have tried to be different, I have always come back to what I am used to. I think that in some ways that is human nature, but I also worry that is also a testament to just how screwed up I really am.
I mean, I have hope that other people can change, at least to a point. I have worked with some pretty difficult kids at work, and although these individuals have suffered through a difficult past and have a long way to go to begin living a remotely good and happy life, I have believed in each of them and their ability to change. So what's my problem with myself? Could this issue possibly go deeper? Could it be that my lack of faith in my own change is related to my lack of esteem and sense of self-worth? I thought that my self-hatred was buried in the past, but perhaps my pervasive depreciating beliefs are surfacing in more subtle, self-sabotaging ways. I shudder at the thought.
I think over the years, I have learned to accept my flaws and forgive myself. I used to be very rigid in my perfectionism. I remember struggling during my first few years in college with the concept of repentance and forgiveness. I have always been extremely hard on myself about everything. During this particular time, I would do my best to apologize to God for my many mistakes, I would start making better choices and to move on, yet I would constantly become frustrated and discouraged when I kept returning to the same habits and behaviors I was trying to repent of in the first place. I don't think I ever really had faith in the process, and as a result, to fail just made me feel worse about myself and the gospel. This just reinforced my underlying belief that it is impossible to change.
A few years down the road, I learned a very valuable lesson while working with an extremely difficult girl at work. I learned that despite this girl's many imperfections, despite the hell she put me and other staff through, despite the abuse she had suffered and the poor relationships she had with her family members, she still had incredible worth as a person and I loved seeing her make some incredible changes over the course of her treatment. Working with her made me a better, stronger person and afterwards I found it easier to love people around me and to have a greater sense of empathy. At one point during the time I was working with her, I was reading in Moroni and found some very inspirational verses.
Moroni 7:45-47
"And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail--But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him."
After working with her for a long time, I realized I had begun to feel this incredible love for her, and for others. Though I'm sure I felt love for people before that, I never had a experienced a love quite so great. I began to realize that if I could feel this kind of love for someone else, than imagine what kind of love the Savior felt for me, despite all of my many mistakes and imperfections. I think it was then that I finally accepted that someone could love me like that, and that he did, and that I didn't need to be perfect to feel that love. I finally found some kind of faith in love and in repentance and in change. I think I began to realize that change and betterment is an ongoing process. It's not a "one time and then you are done" kind of thing. It's ok if we repeat our mistakes a million times over. We just need to remember to pick ourselves back up and remember that despite all, at the end of the day we are still loved PERFECTLY by the person who matters most. He knows we can't change all at once and that it's a process, not an outcome.
The hard part is, I don't seem to remember this on an everyday basis. My mind is so hardwired in its pessimistic outlook that I struggle to remember this very powerful lesson I learned the long and the hard way. I guess I already know how to contest this belief I have that "change is impossible." The battle now is to remember, to practice and to keep believing. So this week, I think my mantra will be, "Change is difficult. It is an ongoing process, laden with mistakes and let downs. It is not perfect, but it is real and it is attainable."
Whew, well how's that for insight and catharsis? I feel exhausted.
Monday, August 9, 2010
I will never be a "scene kid"!
So, I think I have decided that this week is myspace week. I will be re-posting a mini blog each day from ones I wrote years ago on myspace so as not to lose them forever when I delete my page. Silly? Yes, but also kinda fun! Cheers to part 2 of 6 (which is one of my favorites!)
March 30, 2008
So, after attending multiple shows where I’ve been annoyed to death about the annoying kids standing around me as I’ve waited in line to get into the venue, I decided to come up with the rules I would have if I were to ever open up my own venue... They are as follows:
If you’re not old enough to legally hold a drivers license.... YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you wear girl pants and you are not a girl.... YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you arrive at the show with all of your little girlfriends and you all are primped and curled and
wearing slutty little mini skirts...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing shorts over your pajama bottoms...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing anything that has: Hollister, American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch, etc. written on it...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing any kind of boots over your pants (especially ugg boots)...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your parents have to drop you off at the show (aka "daddy dropoff")...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you came to the show just to stand up against the wall and makeout with your girlfriend/boyfriend...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are sporting a shirt (or any other clothing) with the name of any of the bands playing at the show...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you came to the show just because all of your friends are doing it and you want to look cool...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you go home to curl your hair while your boyfriend waits in line...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing short plaid shorts and short ugg boots...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing ballet slippers (excuse me, "flats" i guess they are called)...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your face is unnaturally orange becuase you fake and bake or slather yourself in self tanning cream...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your pants are so small they can’t even fit over your butt, not only is it pointless to wear pants at all, but...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your ears hang low and they wobble to and fro.... YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your mom and dad have to come pick you up and drag you home...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are a little preppy boy decked out in your white polo shirt, keds and navy blue shorts...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you came to the show just because you thought anyone in the band is "Sooo hot you want to bone him/her"... YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing a cowboy hat...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are trying to climb up a brick wall while waiting in line to show off for the rest of your friends that are there, and you are being more obnoxiously than is almost humanly possible...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing a belt that doesn’t even come near the loops in your pants that it was made to go through...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing sweatbands or bandanas on your head, arms, legs, toes, nose, or anywhere else...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are a girl and you are dressed like you are asking for it...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are going to yell and scream like a freakin little girl groupie when the band walks on the stage to set up their instruments and do sound checks...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your mom actually comes into the venue and has to push through the crowd saying "mommy coming through! and "sorry I’m not here for the show, I’m just looking for someone..."...YOU
ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing any type of high heels (especially when you are sporting two lovely pigtails in your hair and a short and skanky goth skirt)...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are covered in gangly jewelry that would cause you to lose your head in a mosh pit because it gets pulled and yanked around and you have more accessories from head to foot than Marie Antoinette, not only do you need to know that you are NOT at a freakin fashion show, but...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your hair is dyed darker than the locks you were born with and it is nowhere near natural for your head to look like that...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are or are dressed like an emo kid...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are going to stand behind me and say things like: "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I like, totally know!" and "You look SO totally fab!"...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you haven’t showered in the last week and you haven’t even put on deoderant to keep you from smelling even worse when you sweat from jumping around...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN.
If I can smell your Tommy Hilfiger perfume from across the street before you even make it in the venue because you decided to bathe yourself in your preppiness....YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are gonna hold up your camera phone during the whole show to try and video the band so you can show it off on your myspace page...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
Ok, so I know that with rules like these, it eliminates half the people that go to shows anyway, but in my perfect world, this would be how it works! I dare you to challenge me. If you really feel the need to, I’d advise you to make sure not to stand next to me at a show or you might get a broken nose in the mosh pit.
March 30, 2008
So, after attending multiple shows where I’ve been annoyed to death about the annoying kids standing around me as I’ve waited in line to get into the venue, I decided to come up with the rules I would have if I were to ever open up my own venue... They are as follows:
If you’re not old enough to legally hold a drivers license.... YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you wear girl pants and you are not a girl.... YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you arrive at the show with all of your little girlfriends and you all are primped and curled and
wearing slutty little mini skirts...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing shorts over your pajama bottoms...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing anything that has: Hollister, American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch, etc. written on it...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing any kind of boots over your pants (especially ugg boots)...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your parents have to drop you off at the show (aka "daddy dropoff")...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you came to the show just to stand up against the wall and makeout with your girlfriend/boyfriend...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are sporting a shirt (or any other clothing) with the name of any of the bands playing at the show...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you came to the show just because all of your friends are doing it and you want to look cool...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you go home to curl your hair while your boyfriend waits in line...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing short plaid shorts and short ugg boots...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing ballet slippers (excuse me, "flats" i guess they are called)...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your face is unnaturally orange becuase you fake and bake or slather yourself in self tanning cream...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your pants are so small they can’t even fit over your butt, not only is it pointless to wear pants at all, but...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your ears hang low and they wobble to and fro.... YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your mom and dad have to come pick you up and drag you home...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are a little preppy boy decked out in your white polo shirt, keds and navy blue shorts...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you came to the show just because you thought anyone in the band is "Sooo hot you want to bone him/her"... YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing a cowboy hat...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are trying to climb up a brick wall while waiting in line to show off for the rest of your friends that are there, and you are being more obnoxiously than is almost humanly possible...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing a belt that doesn’t even come near the loops in your pants that it was made to go through...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing sweatbands or bandanas on your head, arms, legs, toes, nose, or anywhere else...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are a girl and you are dressed like you are asking for it...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are going to yell and scream like a freakin little girl groupie when the band walks on the stage to set up their instruments and do sound checks...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your mom actually comes into the venue and has to push through the crowd saying "mommy coming through! and "sorry I’m not here for the show, I’m just looking for someone..."...YOU
ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are wearing any type of high heels (especially when you are sporting two lovely pigtails in your hair and a short and skanky goth skirt)...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are covered in gangly jewelry that would cause you to lose your head in a mosh pit because it gets pulled and yanked around and you have more accessories from head to foot than Marie Antoinette, not only do you need to know that you are NOT at a freakin fashion show, but...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If your hair is dyed darker than the locks you were born with and it is nowhere near natural for your head to look like that...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are or are dressed like an emo kid...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are going to stand behind me and say things like: "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I like, totally know!" and "You look SO totally fab!"...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you haven’t showered in the last week and you haven’t even put on deoderant to keep you from smelling even worse when you sweat from jumping around...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN.
If I can smell your Tommy Hilfiger perfume from across the street before you even make it in the venue because you decided to bathe yourself in your preppiness....YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
If you are gonna hold up your camera phone during the whole show to try and video the band so you can show it off on your myspace page...YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!
Ok, so I know that with rules like these, it eliminates half the people that go to shows anyway, but in my perfect world, this would be how it works! I dare you to challenge me. If you really feel the need to, I’d advise you to make sure not to stand next to me at a show or you might get a broken nose in the mosh pit.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
This should be read by every person in America!!!!
Because having a myspace account is like so 2004, I have decided to delete my page. While I was looking through my account though, I realized that I had some pretty great stuff. So I am reposting a blog I posted back in the day. It cracked me up, and I decided that I couldn't let it be deleted forever... Here you go!
August 5, 2008
August 5, 2008
Here is an article that I found on msn as I was perusing my inbox today. Read it. Believe it. Live it. Please, people!!! You can also read the comment I posted in response to it, after the end of the article. Happy reading!
FASHION
Make. It. Stop.
The case for ending our long national nightmare.
Aug 1, 2008 | Updated: 12:42 p.m. ET Aug 1, 2008
I like to play a game with my son, Joseph. We sit on a bench in touristy Old Town, Alexandria, Va., and we're not allowed to get up until we see a dozen pairs of Crocs. It usually doesn't take long. But the other day we were stuck at eight after a few minutes, and I was getting a little concerned. Just then my boy leaned over and said, "Don't worry, Dad. A family of dorks will come along any minute." To paraphrase Hank Hill, if he wasn't my son, I would have hugged him right then, I was so proud.
I know what you're thinking: what kind of sick father lets his impressionable young son call people dorks because of the shoes they wear? Well, who else will teach him that wearing sweaty bright purple clown shoes in public is not OK? He certainly won't learn that lesson at school. Teachers seem to be some of the biggest abusers of this horrid fad.
I know what else you're thinking: "I like Crocs … they're so comfortable. I'll tell you who the dork is … the guy writing this story, that's who! And who died and made him the fashion authority anyway?" Well, no one. I own pitted-out T shirts that are more than a quarter of a century old, and I've been known to strut around town in some pleated khaki Dockers. I own one belt. A female colleague even told me once I'd be a "perfect candidate for 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'." I think she was trying to be helpful. My complete lack of fashion sense actually supports my theory, because even I know these things are an abomination.
I've been following the good work of Web sites like I Hate Crocs Dot Com for some time, even going so far as to submit a photograph of a stuffed skunk spraying a pair of pink Crocs. The fantastic Best Page In The Universe posted a hilarious rant a while back joking that people who bought Crocs on Amazon.com also bought frozen corn dogs, Pabst Blue Ribbon Light and trucker balls, as well as the CD single "Hey There, Delilah" by the Plain White T's. The rant's author, Maddox, writes: "People who wear Crocs go on and on about how comfortable they are, and how it's supposedly odor resistant because it's made out of some kind of anti-bacterial foam … You know what else it's resistant to? You getting laid."
A popular YouTube video called "Dorcs" parodies the trend: "Wow, but they're so ugly," says an office worker to her friend. "That's how you know they're comfortable," he says. By the end, she's a convert: "I've given fashion the finger, and joined the Dorcs revolution!" The Crocs Empire is acutely aware of us haters. Even their own commercials make fun of the irrational and over-the-top rage their shoes instill in people like me. In one, an unshaven lunatic holds a neon blue Croc in front of his face and screams, "Why are you wearing these!" for 30 seconds. I only wish I'd known about the tryouts for this commercial.
Crocs's stock price has cratered of late, so there is hope. According to the Rocky Mountain News, the shoes, "which were once so popular that the company couldn't keep pace with demand, are now piling up in warehouses." Maybe the company's just a victim of its own success. If practically every person in the U.S. already has a pair and they're indestructible, how many more can you sell? The same thing happened to Wham-O back in the 1950s with the Hula Hoop.
But the company isn't giving up. They've been diversifying, sponsoring Olympic teams and veering off into sandals and other designs, trying to fool us. They've even gone so far as to create a high-heeled Croc. OMG, as the kids say. These have to be seen to be believed. I recommend only the strong of heart should attempt to Google "high-heeled Croc." The company Web site has this ominous warning for us: "Today, Crocs™ Shoes are available all over the world and on the internet as we continue to significantly expand all aspects of our business" (italics added). That sounds like a threat to me. They're even suing other companies like Skechers for allegedly stealing their great idea. Skechers says the lawsuit is "baseless," "outlandish," and "ridiculous." I'll tell you what's outlandish and ridiculous: that these things sell so much that another company would feel compelled to copy them, allegedly. Don't we have enough eye pollution with just the originals still out there? Don't be fooled, America! Soylent Green is CROCS!!!
If you think about it, the Crocs company should really be admired. P. T. Barnum would be proud. They've managed to separate money from the wallets of millions and millions of seemingly sane people who wake up, look in the closet, and actually decide: "Today I'll leave the house wearing these neon-green Dutch bubble shoes with Swiss-cheese holes in them. Maybe I'll even buy some little plastic strawberries or bananas and jam them in the sweat holes, just to jazz things up and make the bacteria incubate faster." That's fine. I say do whatever you want in the privacy of your own home. Let your Crocs freak flag fly. But don't make the rest of us watch.
I realize this article might not go down too well even in my own editorial office and certainly not in our ad sales department. My boss in Washington read an early draft and said it was funny, but that I had a "somewhat demented obsessiveness." At least he threw me a "somewhat." Another editor wondered aloud if I had perhaps been trampled by Crocs at some point in my life. I also worry about writing this because some of my best friends—and their sweet, innocent children—wear them. One of my dearest—the sister I never had—introduced me to the shoes years ago when she waltzed into a garden party in a pair of bright hot-pink Crocs. I couldn't stop staring at them. "What are those things?!" I whimpered nervously, hoping maybe she was rehabbing from some sort of strange Achilles mishap. "Oh, they're called Crocs … I got them for gardening," she said, so innocently.
Oh, if only we'd known what a tsunami of fashion idiocy was about to be unleashed, maybe we could have stopped it somehow, and they would have stayed in the garden where they belong, covered with manure, a trendy item to be featured on www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com. If only. Then they wouldn't be out there in the American mainstream, that big, vast, sweaty mainstream traipsing through our airports and over our beaches and around our great shopping malls. Plop, plop, plop, they go, stuffing their Crocs faces with ice cream and Doritos and giant sodas. Plop, plop, plop. Stuff, stuff, stuff. Yuck, yuck, yuck. And the rest of us have to watch. I spent eight hours waiting on a flight at Dulles over the 4th of July week and I was just minutes from tackling the next group of Crocs ploppers I saw. Luckily for me—and the ploppers—my flight finally arrived and I wasn't arrested for assault. Knowing my luck, I'd have shown up in court to find 12 pairs of Crocs sitting in the jury box.
It would have probably been better for my career if I just posted this as an anonymous Craigslist rant as CrocsHatah35 or something. Plenty of others have spouted off about Crocs there. And sure, I would have had a lot more readers. But Craigslist doesn't write my paychecks, and this is just too important to ignore another day. Some times you just have to make a stand, even if it's a few years late. Do we really think we're going to stop global warming if we can't even end this fashion Chernobyl once and for all? I think the U.S. government should institute a Crocs buyback policy, like they do in the inner city for guns. It would do more to beautify this great land than Lady Bird's highway beautification program ever did.
So I'm begging you, America. Just stop. When you wake up tomorrow and look at your options, choose flip-flops. Go barefoot. Wear boots. Anything but Crocs. By next summer—if we all work together—we can have this plague of bad taste virtually eliminated. Yes! We! Can!
© 2008
http://www.newsweek.com/id/150240/page/1
Good huh??? Well, here is part of my opinion on the matter:
I know what you're thinking: what kind of sick father lets his impressionable young son call people dorks because of the shoes they wear? Well, who else will teach him that wearing sweaty bright purple clown shoes in public is not OK? He certainly won't learn that lesson at school. Teachers seem to be some of the biggest abusers of this horrid fad.
I know what else you're thinking: "I like Crocs … they're so comfortable. I'll tell you who the dork is … the guy writing this story, that's who! And who died and made him the fashion authority anyway?" Well, no one. I own pitted-out T shirts that are more than a quarter of a century old, and I've been known to strut around town in some pleated khaki Dockers. I own one belt. A female colleague even told me once I'd be a "perfect candidate for 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'." I think she was trying to be helpful. My complete lack of fashion sense actually supports my theory, because even I know these things are an abomination.
Yes, I'm really, really late to the Crocs-bashing party. Really late. Plenty of fashionistas have written screeds over the years. But the damn things are still here, so this is no time to stop fighting. To quote the great John Belushi: "Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell, no!"
A popular YouTube video called "Dorcs" parodies the trend: "Wow, but they're so ugly," says an office worker to her friend. "That's how you know they're comfortable," he says. By the end, she's a convert: "I've given fashion the finger, and joined the Dorcs revolution!" The Crocs Empire is acutely aware of us haters. Even their own commercials make fun of the irrational and over-the-top rage their shoes instill in people like me. In one, an unshaven lunatic holds a neon blue Croc in front of his face and screams, "Why are you wearing these!" for 30 seconds. I only wish I'd known about the tryouts for this commercial.
Crocs's stock price has cratered of late, so there is hope. According to the Rocky Mountain News, the shoes, "which were once so popular that the company couldn't keep pace with demand, are now piling up in warehouses." Maybe the company's just a victim of its own success. If practically every person in the U.S. already has a pair and they're indestructible, how many more can you sell? The same thing happened to Wham-O back in the 1950s with the Hula Hoop.
But the company isn't giving up. They've been diversifying, sponsoring Olympic teams and veering off into sandals and other designs, trying to fool us. They've even gone so far as to create a high-heeled Croc. OMG, as the kids say. These have to be seen to be believed. I recommend only the strong of heart should attempt to Google "high-heeled Croc." The company Web site has this ominous warning for us: "Today, Crocs™ Shoes are available all over the world and on the internet as we continue to significantly expand all aspects of our business" (italics added). That sounds like a threat to me. They're even suing other companies like Skechers for allegedly stealing their great idea. Skechers says the lawsuit is "baseless," "outlandish," and "ridiculous." I'll tell you what's outlandish and ridiculous: that these things sell so much that another company would feel compelled to copy them, allegedly. Don't we have enough eye pollution with just the originals still out there? Don't be fooled, America! Soylent Green is CROCS!!!
If you think about it, the Crocs company should really be admired. P. T. Barnum would be proud. They've managed to separate money from the wallets of millions and millions of seemingly sane people who wake up, look in the closet, and actually decide: "Today I'll leave the house wearing these neon-green Dutch bubble shoes with Swiss-cheese holes in them. Maybe I'll even buy some little plastic strawberries or bananas and jam them in the sweat holes, just to jazz things up and make the bacteria incubate faster." That's fine. I say do whatever you want in the privacy of your own home. Let your Crocs freak flag fly. But don't make the rest of us watch.
I realize this article might not go down too well even in my own editorial office and certainly not in our ad sales department. My boss in Washington read an early draft and said it was funny, but that I had a "somewhat demented obsessiveness." At least he threw me a "somewhat." Another editor wondered aloud if I had perhaps been trampled by Crocs at some point in my life. I also worry about writing this because some of my best friends—and their sweet, innocent children—wear them. One of my dearest—the sister I never had—introduced me to the shoes years ago when she waltzed into a garden party in a pair of bright hot-pink Crocs. I couldn't stop staring at them. "What are those things?!" I whimpered nervously, hoping maybe she was rehabbing from some sort of strange Achilles mishap. "Oh, they're called Crocs … I got them for gardening," she said, so innocently.
Oh, if only we'd known what a tsunami of fashion idiocy was about to be unleashed, maybe we could have stopped it somehow, and they would have stayed in the garden where they belong, covered with manure, a trendy item to be featured on www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com. If only. Then they wouldn't be out there in the American mainstream, that big, vast, sweaty mainstream traipsing through our airports and over our beaches and around our great shopping malls. Plop, plop, plop, they go, stuffing their Crocs faces with ice cream and Doritos and giant sodas. Plop, plop, plop. Stuff, stuff, stuff. Yuck, yuck, yuck. And the rest of us have to watch. I spent eight hours waiting on a flight at Dulles over the 4th of July week and I was just minutes from tackling the next group of Crocs ploppers I saw. Luckily for me—and the ploppers—my flight finally arrived and I wasn't arrested for assault. Knowing my luck, I'd have shown up in court to find 12 pairs of Crocs sitting in the jury box.
It would have probably been better for my career if I just posted this as an anonymous Craigslist rant as CrocsHatah35 or something. Plenty of others have spouted off about Crocs there. And sure, I would have had a lot more readers. But Craigslist doesn't write my paychecks, and this is just too important to ignore another day. Some times you just have to make a stand, even if it's a few years late. Do we really think we're going to stop global warming if we can't even end this fashion Chernobyl once and for all? I think the U.S. government should institute a Crocs buyback policy, like they do in the inner city for guns. It would do more to beautify this great land than Lady Bird's highway beautification program ever did.
So I'm begging you, America. Just stop. When you wake up tomorrow and look at your options, choose flip-flops. Go barefoot. Wear boots. Anything but Crocs. By next summer—if we all work together—we can have this plague of bad taste virtually eliminated. Yes! We! Can!
© 2008
http://www.newsweek.com/id/150240/page/1
Good huh??? Well, here is part of my opinion on the matter:
I have to say this was the most brilliant piece of writing I have read in a very long time!! Finally, someone put all of my delicious hatred for crocs into words. I honestly couldn't have said it any better myself! I don't have the time to skim through every single comment that has been posted thus far, but I have to say that reading through all the bitter croc lovers rants just made today that much better for me. What a freaking laugh.
Despite the author's opinion (which every individual is entitled to an OPINION, by the way), numerous people just had to stick in their two cents about how "comfortable" the crocs really are, and how they "save your joints," and "you have no right to knock them until you have tried them!" Wow. Didn't the author even predict that he would get such a response? Way to be predictable, people! Just skimming through the remarks like these has been hysterical to me! One of my very favorites out of the bunch so far has got to be: "Since when did Newsweek post the opinion of rednecks?" Well, honey, in response to this, I would politely tell you to turn around and look in the mirror and at the rest of America
And it cracks me up to see so many people get SO defensive about the shoes they wear. If you like the shoes: great. grand. wonderful!!! That doesn't make you any better of a person than the author. In fact, the masses are asses, and any fad (one that is high in fashion or as pathetic as wearing crocs), deserves people who will stand opposite the crowd and have the guts to tell 99% of Americans that they are stupid, ugly, pathetic dorks.
And I believe that this man teaching his son to not just follow the crowd (whether it's wearing ugly shoes, or whatever!) and to do his own thing, is freaking brilliant! America
Monday, August 2, 2010
I think, therefore I am.
I have been doing a lot of pondering lately. Which is a weird thing for me, because usually my days are so filled with things (meaning for the most part, "things to do"). I have left very little time in my life for solitude or having any sort of intelligent thought at all, which I have discovered is quite unfortunate. There have been times in the past when I have felt that life was simply meaningless, and I was just sort of going through the motions. It was during those times that I was so focused on things, and things for things sake (if that makes any sense at all). Those were dark times, when my mind was not illuminated by the many benefits that come from.... pondering.
During this recent period of contemplation of mine, I have done a lot of introspection. I have spent time reflecting back on my life and discovering in many ways how my experiences have made me who I am today. It has been an interesting journey; not all my memories from the past are pleasantly reminiscable. (Yes, I just made up a new word.) I have discovered something about myself that I have always known, but never really done anything about.
I haven't the slightest clue who I am.
There, I said it. I mean, I know who I am, but not who I am. I am Savannah Parry Swanson, I am 23, I am a graduate student, I am a wife, I am a mother, I am a daughter, I am a sister, I am a best friend. You get the picture. Those things tell you a little about me, but they don't tell you who I really am. And frankly, if you asked me, I'm not sure I could tell you exactly who I am, either. Which is sad. So I am giving myself an assignment to quit being a mindless wanderer in my own being, and search deep down inside until I discover what really makes me tick and what tickles my fancy. (Did you like my insertion of silly cliches?)
I feel sort of crazy, outing myself like this, but I have been reminded of an amazing quote that I heard during my intro to counseling and psychotherapy class (which was possibly the greatest class I have ever taken). It goes something like this:
"I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood. That the speaking profits me, beyond any other effect...And of course I am afraid, because the transformation of silence into language and action is an act of self-revelation, and that always seems fraught with danger...We can learn to speak when we are afraid in the same way we have learned to speak when we are tired. For we have been socialized to respect fear more than our needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us. The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an attempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us, for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken." -- Audre Lorde
Now, I realize that blogging is not exactly verbal communication, but I am one who believes in the power of the written word. So I am sharing with anyone who will listen, my journey into the psyche of Savannah. (Keep your arms, legs and head inside at all times, and enjoy the ride!)
To be continued....
During this recent period of contemplation of mine, I have done a lot of introspection. I have spent time reflecting back on my life and discovering in many ways how my experiences have made me who I am today. It has been an interesting journey; not all my memories from the past are pleasantly reminiscable. (Yes, I just made up a new word.) I have discovered something about myself that I have always known, but never really done anything about.
I haven't the slightest clue who I am.
There, I said it. I mean, I know who I am, but not who I am. I am Savannah Parry Swanson, I am 23, I am a graduate student, I am a wife, I am a mother, I am a daughter, I am a sister, I am a best friend. You get the picture. Those things tell you a little about me, but they don't tell you who I really am. And frankly, if you asked me, I'm not sure I could tell you exactly who I am, either. Which is sad. So I am giving myself an assignment to quit being a mindless wanderer in my own being, and search deep down inside until I discover what really makes me tick and what tickles my fancy. (Did you like my insertion of silly cliches?)
I feel sort of crazy, outing myself like this, but I have been reminded of an amazing quote that I heard during my intro to counseling and psychotherapy class (which was possibly the greatest class I have ever taken). It goes something like this:
"I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood. That the speaking profits me, beyond any other effect...And of course I am afraid, because the transformation of silence into language and action is an act of self-revelation, and that always seems fraught with danger...We can learn to speak when we are afraid in the same way we have learned to speak when we are tired. For we have been socialized to respect fear more than our needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us. The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an attempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us, for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken." -- Audre Lorde
Now, I realize that blogging is not exactly verbal communication, but I am one who believes in the power of the written word. So I am sharing with anyone who will listen, my journey into the psyche of Savannah. (Keep your arms, legs and head inside at all times, and enjoy the ride!)
To be continued....
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