Florida

Thursday morning, I am Florida bound. I'm going to go ahead and say I'm looking forward to this small escape from the hustle and bustle of dear old Chicago. Perhaps the knots in my muscles and the steady pressure on the inside of my forehead will leave me in peace for a fleeting few daiquiri sipping, crab munching, sun soaking, water splashing days.

Before I moved to Chicago, I never knew how much I needed peace. Complete silence is a rare commodity in a big city and being able to lay in bed with just your thoughts is nearly impossible. I've never meditated, but I think there's something about just being alone and quiet that's close.

I'm seeing myself becoming angry and unsettled. I'm not sure if that's the byproduct of Chicago or something that's grown in tandem. Maybe I read too much news. Maybe I'm just fixated on things that I have no way of changing. But I don't know if that's it. I read the news just as much in college. Back then I had the New York Times delivered to me!

But then I had a tendency for escapism. I would read the news religiously but then I would also read Harry Potter. Today I read the news and chase it with A People's History of the United States. I'm self defeating. I don't give myself a chance for naive happiness. Well now I'm sounding like a martyr, which I don't mean to. I don't think me wallowing in this puddle of worldly woe is going to make anything better. Honestly, I don't think I'll ever have the power to change the world. I'm neither rich nor charismatic enough.

I miss my kingdom of escape. The Magic Kingdom to be exact. I grew up with Disney World. I know it's every nook and cranny. I can quote the introduction to the Haunted Mansion. Nothing feels more like home than the chlorinated smell of Pirates of the Caribbean and the cool breeze on the WED Way People Mover. And now, going to Florida, I'm choosing a trip to Islands of Adventure to visit the Magical World of Harry Potter, over Disney. I feel as if I'm betraying my best friend.

Maybe this love of rides and fancy magic tricks is unhealthy. I don't think it is. Is it wrong to relive my childhood that I may strive to maintain the same wide eyed awe I held for the world then? This place where I can where funny hats, take pictures with large mice, and spend time with my parents, is my last bastion against adulthood, that sour state that spoils all of the fun.

I am a product of my generation, a twenty-something child, feet flailing to find footing in this black and white world. I don't understand why I have to "grow-up". I refuse to do so. I am determined to be happy and if that means ignoring what the baby boomers say I'm suppose to do, then so be it!

Dear Glenn Beck

You are not Martin Luther King Jr.

You are a jackal who feeds off the ignorance of Americans too gullible to research your erroneous statements. You are smart, there's no denying that. You and your friends at Fox have implemented an ingenious system. Via your fear mongering and hate spreading, you completely have the uneducated and poverty stricken in the palm of your hand. The rich don't have a need to fight to stay rich any longer, the poor do that for them.

I think about how drastically different our country would be if the lower class were afforded the same opportunities as the middle and upper. We would still have varying opinions, but they would be well informed. If we all went to college (or had a decent, well funded public education system) we would learn the importance of research (hopefully).

Unfortunately, this is not going to happen any time soon. The right wing media is going to see to that. The 1% of Americans who own 40% of our wealth do not want a more robust middle class.

When I think of Martin Luther King Jr. and the Civil Rights Movement, I think of a man who spoke truth to illuminate a terrible injustice that had been thrust upon a group of people for centuries. His cause was great. There was no need for him to spread rumors and lies. Glenn Beck is grasping at straws. By being sure in his convictions he convinces an alarmingly high percentage of Americans that our President is a communist Muslim (honestly I don't see why his religion matters one way or another, but that's another post).

I'm trying to maintain the idea that our country is merely ignorant, not stupid, but my self restraint is slipping. It's exhausting fighting an uphill battle against inaccuracies, lies, and intolerance, especially when they seem to be winning with no sure fire way to turn the tide.

Nostalgia

Today I miss London. It's been two too short years since I ventured over the pond and began the most exciting four months of my life to date. All at once, thoughts of BUNAC and living in England for a year are drifting around my nostalgic brain. But it could never be the same. No theatre classes, no study center, and most importantly, none of the same wonderful people that made it so spectacular in the first place. That chapter of my life is finished, and I'm having difficulty swallowing that.

When I really think back, it wasn't as if life were perfect in London like my memories are attempting to make me believe. I was homesick. I missed my family, my Sergio, my cat. Prices were outrageous. I think what I'm really pining for are my friends. We're all scattering across the U.S., starting our adult lives.

I came to Chicago completely alone. Sergio was in Virginia for my first two months and everyone else I had met maybe once or twice before. It was terrifying. I'm notoriously shy and the task of having to make friends completely on my own was daunting. But I did it. I'm pretty sure that most people even like me, and I like them. I've learned over the years that there is no good that comes from being catty even if someone is snarky to you. It doesn't make you feel better. I try to utilise that understanding as frequently as possible.

I wish my old friends could come to Chicago, but I know we all have our hopes and dreams. I think that despite our communications failing and our connections fading that I'll still have a couch to sleep on in pretty much every major US city for a very long time. I think the good that's come out of Facebook is that you feel connected even if you haven't spoken in years. I think that's a great thing.

So I'm going to smile and hold my head up high because I'm in Chicago and I know wonderful people! I've met my goals. The time has come to set new ones and move forward, only rarely stealing a glance in the rear view mirror.

An Artistic Post

Lately my blog has been about the frustration of politics and has lived very much in the macrocosm of my life. I thought it was time to take a step back and talk a little bit about what's happening now, in the artistic realm of my tender and erratic existence.

This past weekend, at about 4 am Sunday, I did a play. Tympanic Theatre Company was selected to be part of the Abbie Hoffman Theatre Festival at Mary Arrchie this year. Abbie Hoffman is 72 hours of non-stop theatre. It is insane, much like its namesake. Here I am thinking, 4 in the morning, we're going to have a few scattered company members in the audience. No, it's packed. More than that, it's packed with highly inebriated theatre goers thanks to the tradition of handing out beer to the viewers. Attempting to do a somewhat quiet show in that environment was somewhat of a struggle, but invigorating. I went from exhaustion to completely energized just standing by the bathrooms, waiting to go on.

To say I enjoyed the whole process would be a lie. Our time slot was 1:45. Having to wait an extra two hours, not fun. I understand that its a hippie theatre festival, but there's something to say for organization.

Last night I slept like I had never slept before. I'm actually surprised I heard my alarm go off this morning. But I feel well rested. Maybe I'm crashing slightly now, but it's that usual 2 O'clock feeling. I actually felt so creative today, I worked on my play. It might not be so bad. I even added a few more pages and introduced a new character. The new stuff really isn't so good, but it's out there now so I can mold it into something, hopefully, better.

I think all my creative juices have been spilt for today.

A People's History of the United States

Two days ago I finished A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn. I'm a little overwhelmed and I'm taking a little time to digest it. It's one of those books that I know I'm not done with. I'm sure I'll be diving into its bibliography soon and examining his sources. In a year, I will be ready to read it again.

I was going to write a review, but I have trouble rounding out an opinion on something I've read or watched once. I enjoyed the book. It was written in a way I believe all history books should be written, vibrantly and with spunk. Too often we are left with the dry blandness of textbooks which strive to preach nothing but the facts. But when you leave out entire groups of people, whether Native American's or women, you are in fact writing biased material.

Nothing is unbiased. There are always multiple ways to look at every subject. Grey area permeates our lives and our history. It's okay to pick sides if you can intelligently support your argument. We should be teaching our children to be free thinkers, not to follow blindly traditional schools of thought. Present two or more sides to history if you can. When discussing Hiroshama and Nagasaki, look at both the reasons why they did it and why they shouldn't have. I have my own well informed opinion, and so should everyone else.

We allow our students to be lazy in their research which is why we have adults claiming Obama is a Muslim and that the dead plan for universal healthcare would have lead to "death panels". People don't read any more. The thing that's preached to the masses the most is the thing which is retained and believed. Fox news doesn't want an America of thinkers, they want an America of sheep. If we all researched claims made by the likes of Glenn Beck, Fox would lose the vast majority of their viewers. See, I don't have an issue with differing points of opinion, I have an issue with lying in order to protect the 1% of our nation that owns 40% of our wealth.

I'm an Idealist

I was told yesterday that I had a nice "text-book answer" in regards to my support of the Islamic Cultural Center (or Mosque as everyone insists on calling it despite that being one minute part of the whole) two blocks from Ground Zero. In tandem with this being a very condescending comeback intended as a "aw that's cute, now let the grown-ups talk" response, it made me wonder, what's wrong with a text-book answer?

To tell this religious group that they can not build on this private land is unconstitutional. There it is, cut and dry. What else is there to say? It's a text-book answer because it doesn't need an explanation.

I am not unsympathetic towards the families of the victims of 9/11. If Al Qaeda decided to set up shop two blocks away from Ground Zero, or hell, anywhere with in the United States, I would be the first one to protest, constitution or not. But Islam can not be blamed for the actions of radicals any more than Christianity can be blamed for Jonestown or the Oklahoma City Bombing. I understand that it must be very difficult for these people to separate Islam from terrorism, but this is America. We're suppose to rise above our enemies and recognize that innocents should not be punished for the actions of others.

As this title says, I am an idealist. I believe that we could live in a country that doesn't fight fruitless wars. I believe our military's budget could be safely and greatly diminished and our health care system vastly improved with that saved money. I believe our school system can be one of the best in the world. I believe we can put aside our religious differences and live side by side. If I didn't believe these things, I wouldn't fight for them, and if nobody fights, how could we even come close.

Real Life Story Telling

Whether you believe Steven Slater is a new American folk hero or not, you have to admit his dramatic exit makes for a great story. The truth is, we all love to hear about a martyr/dumb ass making some grand gesture in defiance of "the man". Whether what he did was wrong or right is moot.

I write a blog because I enjoy writing with truth. Even within my fictional exploits, elements of honesty must be woven within. I consider blogging my writing stretch. I start out with something out in the world, a happening, an opinion, and add something to it.

Steven Slater's story reads like fiction. If it were in a novel, would critics find it believable? I'm trying to figure out exactly what I'm trying to say here. I guess, I love it when something extraordinary happens in life because it becomes a clear example of how fiction technique mimics life. We see the effect of a folk hero like Robin Hood had on people, so authors write stories about them and orators recount their legends verbally.

Personally, it's nice to have a larger than life hero to look up to from time to time. I can't imagine listening to screaming babies, too loud iPods, and grumpy passengers inside a metal tube for hours every day with out eventually snapping. But let's be real, if you're going to snap, for gods sake, snap like Steven Slater: grab two beers and go down a slide.

Friday the 13th

So ladies and gentlemen, it's that spookiest of all Friday's, the 13th. Over all though, I haven't had too much bad luck as of yet (knock on wood). I woke up on time, I made it to work on time, and there was even coffee cake! In my A People's History of the United States I've made it to the feminist movement and for once I don't feel completely depressed by our countries history. I mean, this is the couple of decades where we really made some drastic headway. The little man (or woman) stood up to the Man and won a lot. Not everything, but that's a different blog post.

A good Friday. I guess if there is a little bad luck it would have to be these jeans I'm wearing. It's casual Friday which is awesome. However, I'm learning just because you can wear jeans, doesn't necessarily mean you should. Not when it's in the 90's outside. Dumb move, Miss Moats. However, the good luck is these are my favorite jeans and they do cute things for my bum.

Which brings me to my next point (this is going to be a slightly scattered post if you could not already tell) I had an epiphany concerning my body this morning. I was walking by a store window and I checked myself out, you know, just to make sure everything in order. But something struck me about this profile, full length view. The reason I have trouble fitting into size four jeans isn't really my (small)belly pooch. It's the fact that I have a little junk in my trunk.

Now this may not seem so mind blowing to most people, but the truth is, I wear a lot of skirts and slacks and I don't own a full length mirror. It never occurred to me that my tight pants had anything to do with my rump. A nice little boost of self confidence on a Friday morning never went awry.

So now that I'm done being all girly and fawning over my own body, the photography bug is biting again. I'm feeling the need to take some epic pictures, like grandiose landscapes a la Ansel Adams. Unfortunately, the Midwest is a little on the flat side. I want to go to the desert. Maybe the Badlands. Or maybe old west style with massive red arches of stone. There was this photographer, and I feel like such a dunce now that I can't remember his name or find him through Google, who drove around America taking picture that were his interpretation of, well, America. This was like in the 50's. I think our fair country deserves new documentation.

We as a nation have changed significantly. While we've gained a lot, a majority of our current issues strike a disturbingly familiar cord. Racism, the idea of the existence of a second class citizen, sexism are all alive and well despite that they are now taboo. When a woman is raped, a police officer might not blame her to her face these days, but the underlying belief that "she had it coming" is still prevalent.

Maybe one day I'll buy a tiny trailer and head out "look for America" as Simon and Garfunkle put it. Maybe that's what I'm working for, why I put $100 away every pay day. Maybe in two years I'll pack it all up and take it on the road before I throw myself at the mercy of grad school.

Plans, plans, plans, so many plans. Let's start solidifying some of these plans, shall we. Actual adventures, now that would be an awesome blog.

A Respect for Food

When it comes to eating, I don't follow the best of diets. When I go to a bar and grill do I opt for the limp salad? No! I order some chicken fingers dipped in buffalo sauce and fries. Maybe some Mac and Cheese if they have it. But I leave with this guilt deep fried in grease. Thanks to a speedy metabolism I'm far from the 300 pounds I should be. Perhaps I could stand to lose those five to ten magical pounds that every girl says she could, but for the most part, I'm happy with my weight and silhouette.

I wish my insides could say the same. My cholesterol is strangely high for a 23 year old girl and I have a sensitive stomach that leaves me nauseous generally at some point on any given day. I'm really beginning to believe this stems from a disrespect I have for both my body and for food.

So here I am, on my blog, making an announcement. I'm not going to promise to abstain from every cheeseburger I encounter. When chocolate cake falls into my lap like manna from heaven, who am I to say no? But I will strive to eat less of those oral delights which are slowly clogging my arteries and leaving me lethargic. Maybe next time I'm at a bar I'll order the light (ick!) beer. Maybe I won't go that extreme. I mean, it's beer, not even worth drinking if it doesn't taste good!

Plagiarism

Stanley Fish of the New York Times is down playing the moral significance of plagiarism.

It's a sad, sad day when an "intelligent" individual comes to the rescue of lies and deceit. If we are going to consider untruths a moral sin, then plagiarism must come with it. Plagiarism is not about using someone else's idea, it's about stealing them. It's about taking a preexisting thought and repackaging it as your own.

I refuse to believe that students don't understand plagiarism. It's absolutely insulting to my generation to say we can't comprehend. From my Middle school years onward, plagiarism, what it is and what it isn't, has been shoved down my throat relentlessly. Honestly, if students don't get it, they're just not listening. It's their own damn fault. More likely than not, plagiarism stems from laziness and disinterest. There are a million things we'd rather be doing than researching a paper on Napoleons failed invasion of Russia.

I understand admission to college isn't as large a marker for intelligence as it once was, but it means something. Florida State might not be Harvard, but you still have to perform decently in high school to get in. College students may under-play their smarts (ie: sorority girls, jocks, pot heads, etc.) and maybe common sense is in short supply (ie: they think they can get away with plagiarism), but they know what their doing. Hold these people responsible for their actions. Don't undercut their guilt by saying "Oh, they didn't really know what they were doing". A college degree is becoming worthless because we let these cheaters get away with it and graduate. It's bad enough that we're coddling high school student. In college, it's inexcusable.

Grad School Update

Hello folks. As the GRE looms ever nearer and my 20 page writing sample has yet to begin itself, I'm starting to feel a bit unsure about grad school. I know I would love studying history. I would love teaching, dramaturging, and writing about it. But I don't think I'm finished with this chapter in my life. I am not ready to give up concrete pieces of happiness for uncertainty. So, I am officially announcing my postponement of grad school applying.

So here I am, prepared to spend the next year examining the pieces of my life. I want to develop myself, strengthen those talents which I know I possess. Perhaps I may succeed in making myself a healthier person both physically and mentally.

I probably won't accomplish much. Come August 9th, 2011, I'll most likely be just as bewildered as I am now. I won't be a professional writer, photographer, or actor. But maybe I'll have written a few one acts or short stories. Maybe I'll have taken a few more head shots. Maybe I'll have been in a few plays. Maybe my hidden temper won't be quite so fiery.

I'm really young. Maybe it's time I stop worrying about the future for five minutes and embrace the ephemeral present.

Being 23

Being 23 feels an awful lot like being 22. It might even feel like being 21, but that's too long ago to accurately say. I wonder what that age happens to be when there's too many years to put the correct number of candles on the cake. I hope it's not this year. I may not have a cake and I'd hate to miss my last opportunity!

May I just point out what a pretty good week or two this has been?

1) Proposition 8: Unconstitutional.

2) Arizona Anti-Immigration Law: Struck down.

3) Shark Week: Sharks.

4) President Obama's birthday: Yesterday.

Now, you know, I don't want to take credit for all of these amazing happenings, but don't you think it's a little too coincidental that they're all happening so close to my day of birth? I never thought I was magical, but you know, maybe I'm the real Sookie Stackhouse. Get me in a room with Glenn Beck and we'll see if a bright light erupts from my hands.

Okay, so maybe I'm not the cause of all of this joy. Maybe amazing things just happen in August. Perhaps I'm just a byproduct of these miracles.

And I'm done fawning on myself.

But seriously, pretty good week. I got some flowers this morning from my handsome Latino boyfriend, Sergio. As much as I would love to say I'm one of those girls who thinks flowers are a waste, that they just exist so we can watch them die, I freaking love flowers. These have the added bonus of smelling nice in tandem with looking gorgeous.

In a mere half hour I'll be munching on delicious Italian food with the HR ladies here at work. I must say, for my first "real" job, I can't imagine anything much better than this.

Year 22 was pretty great. Let's see if we can top it in 23!

Prop 8: Unconstitutional

A step has been taken in California that will inch the United States closer the ideal country of acceptance and tolerance that so many of us ache for. For well over a century, the under-dog in America has been fighting tooth and nail for rights that were once limited to the white, male, straight, and rich. What began as workers unionizing for safer work environments and living wages evolved into the women's suffrage movement, evolved into the civil rights movement, evolved into the feminist movement. Here we are on cusp of success for tolerance and respect's next major victory.

I am proud of the countless people who stand up and refuse to let the government dictate who you may or may not love. I am proud of the California legal system acknowledging what is not constitutional and what is merely religious, right-wing hate that has no business in our law.

I hope this is a wake up call to our federal government that our country is ready for a change. The issue of gay rights is NOT a state issue, it is a federal issue. People all over our country are being treated like inferiors. It's up to you to protect them and give them the rights they deserve as human beings!

Studies have shown beyond a reasonable doubt that homosexuality is no more a choice than the color of your skin, but even if it was a choice, it's none of your business who someone chooses to love! These right-wing, bible thumping, tea party movement nut-jobs scream that we are heading towards socialism and communism. They fling the words "freedom" and "liberty" around, well, freely. Yet these are the same people who would exterminate all the many colors of "different" in the US, whether that means homosexuals or liberals or immigrants, illegal or legal. Tell me, how is restricting who marries who freedom? How is forcing your Christian standards on everyone different from a Islamic country like Iran forcing their Muslim standards on their citizens?

We have a long road ahead of us, but we will win this fight. If something can be gleaned from American history, it's that we are a persistent bunch and that while it takes baby steps, eventually we do persevere.

CTA Etiquette, an Oxymoron

I was once in love with the CTA. Finally I lived in a city that didn't require a driven commute. Anywhere worth getting to is accessible via the "L". It was pretty wonderful. But the people, the inconsiderate, smelly, irritable people, have completely spoiled it for me and left me longing for the sanctuary of my car. So let me break down a few of my CTA pet peeves and hopefully relieve my transit headache.

1) Sick People
If you are sick, please do not ride the "L". This is a shout out to the runny nosed man sitting next to me this morning on the train. Besides the annoying/disgusting sound of you blowing your nose every five seconds into a filthy tissue, I can't afford to get sick! I know, come fall I'll have my annual flu, I don't need one in August. It's completely inconsiderate of you to bring your virus into what basically equates to a germ incubator. You shouldn't even be going to work! If you're sick, stay home, or at least don't bring your bug into a situation that will give it the best chance of transmittal.

2) People on the Aisle Seat Who Won't Stand So You Can Get Out
Is it really so fucking hard to stand up? This one really burns me up. These people assume that twisting their knees into the aisle to you can shuffle by is good enough. It's not. I don't like putting my butt in your face any more than you like having it there. I don't like having to touch a complete stranger, let alone smush against one just to exit my seat. Just stand up for five seconds and then, guess what, you get to sit down again! I know! Who knew?

3) People Who Don't Shower/Don't Wear Deodorant/ Wear too Much Perfume/Cologne
You know it's going to be crowded. You know it's going to be hot. You know people are going to be trapped with you for 30 minutes. You would think this would mean people would make an effort to smell decent, but no. At the worst, these stinky people will attempt to mask their odor with a bath of perfume, which generally leaves me more nauseated than natural body stink.

So there you have it, the people I hate most on the CTA. There are others such as the person who thinks their bag deserves a seat more than the 88 year old woman, or the person who elbows their way onto a train that already feels like a sardine can, but talking about them in length would only prolong this need to throw something and see it shatter. So instead I'll think calm thoughts, like driving in my car down an empty highway, listening to Petula Clark's "Don't Sleep in the Subway".