SOMETIMES WE FORGET.

(This is a rant with activist undertones. Prepare accordingly.)

Dark room, blinds drawn.

Privleged youth forced to confront face-to -face the excesses that we take for granted.

I sit amongst my peers in a class about international news. For whatever reason, we are watching a documentary about Zambia. 

Granted, American teenagers aren't heavily exposed to the lifestyles of third-world Africans, but I continue to remain shocked at what I learned.

       On the screen before me, I see kids my age working laboriously; carrying enormous bales of second-hand clothing on their backs, with hopes of selling them at open-air markets around the countryside. One man shares his dream to build a tin roof on his family's house with the prophets he gains. The ram-shackle compound, that he is planning on renovating houses himself, and seven other family members.  The video later informs viewers that the roof this boy is working to fund will cost approximately $100. In order for the young laborer to earn this sum, he will have to sell second-hand clothes every month for an entire year, without spending a cent for himself.

      I continue to watch this film, but now chose to observe the reactions of my classmates. The majority remain rather unfazed. Some watch with intrigue and mild interest, others find this as an opportunity to catch up on some recreational shut eye. One girl in front of me has chosen to completely disregard the content of the film, instead spending her time on a relaxing game of Solitaire on her iPhone. 

     Despite my best interest, I feel my amateur political-activist fervor spark up, thus providing me with the motivation to write this rant. (Bare with me?)

Sometimes we forget how lucky we are.

As privileged youth enrolled in higher educational institutions, the most we will probably ever be exposed to an impoverished lifestyle (like that of 3rd world Africa, or otherwise), may be the eye opening documentaries we are exposed to one class, or another. 

         These images will upset us. We may feel guilty. People comfortable within the loving arms of mother America may scoff these off, or resent forced exposure to lifestyles such as these. & thus, they may react negatively. 

Why?? Because what we don't know won't hurt us? Because ignorance is bliss? We dislike having to be exposed to such lifestyles of misfortune and misery because they will make us feel guilty? God forbid we toss some empathy their way.

Upon the start of this documentary, my mind is packed to maximum capacity with mental to-do lists, obligations, and virtual post-its, full of reminders that I hold to heavy importance. My biggest problem, at this moment, is that I am currently without a cell phone, and have been for a few days. I am stressed out thinking of how I'll have to replace all the numbers in my contact list, and I continue the mental debate I've been having about whether or not I should just screw my plan all together, and upgrade to a Blackberry. Granted, it would be a little pricy (with all said and done, it would cost me $179 after a rebate). But, I try rationalizing it to myself by saying that I have wanted one for a while, and lots of my friends have this phone. (Bandwagon tendency? I digress...) I also concluded that if I lobbied hard enough to my family, I could probably persuade them to chip in for a portion of the cost.

          This was the immediate problem that was occupying my mind when I sat down to watch the documentary. And to be perfectly honest, I initially resented the distraction of what seemed like a superfluous film.

Sometimes we forget how lucky we are.

While I continue to call our good fortune 'luck', I personally prefer to look at them a series of blessings. I take a moment of self-reflection after remembering this. I think of materialism & how I've fallen guilty to indulgence. My biggest problem at the moment is whether or not I can dish our $179 on a cell phone when my universal contemporaries are halfway around the world laboring for what would be roughly two years to acquire close to that sum of money. These people had never seen cell phones, and remained amused by picking through new bundles of clothing imported from the first world. Clothes that  could have sat in my closet making a habit of their misuse, until I found time (in my busy, youthful existence), to toss them in a trash bag on the front step. For charitable purposes, only. 

        I kind of took this experience as a wake up call. So thanks God. For putting things into perspective for me, and helping me to acknowledge the blessings that I have received. I'm taking images from this film & tucking them in the back of my mind, for whenever I may be feeling self-indulgent., 

    

Happiness is a state of mind.

Humans have the amazing and innate ability to make their own happiness--regardless of physical location. I can achieve it without the aid of a new Blackberry. I can distinguish it without looking through a new pair of RayBans. & I can take it with me without carrying it in the $100 tote bag I've had my eye on for Summer. 

      With that being said, I'm not implying that I, or anyone reading this, should play the role of a sacrificing martyr, to compensate for those my age who do without. I'm just promoting awareness. 

Open your eyes!

Expose yourself to those who do without. Yes, it will hurt & you might feel guilt. But don't wallow in pity or remorse. Rather, acknowledge your blessings & use them to the best of your abilities. & maybe, if it upsets you that much, do something about it.

   

    

(I have more than 3.75 frequent readers. Elise Comber and Amelia Viner are loyal readers. They are also very pretty and smart. Thanks for reading =) )

A Double-Shot of Zen

I recently got this advice from a friend/acquaintance. It's been helping me out the past few days. Figured I'd share with my 3.75 loyal readers. This includes Mark McCune, Jake Sorgen, and Mary Pat Rourke (hi mom...) Enjoy....

Wisdom of the 14th Dalai Lama,

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.

Open your arms to change, but don't let go of your values.

Sleep is the best meditation.

Spend some time alone every day.

W can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves. 

Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.

We can live without religion and meditation, but we cannot survive without human affection.

Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions.

If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them.

The ultimate authority must always rest with the individual's own reason and critical analysis.

 

The Esplanade/Charles River, Boston, Mass. March 2009. 

New York Times and decaf coffee.

He was, and continues to be one of the most unwavering people I've ever met. 

His routine was like that of Old Faithful.

Day after day, waking up at 5 am, to rye toast and chilly hardwood floors, spending his days driving school buses around bucolic countryside. He would then return, about 12 hours later, trudging slowly up the front walk, maybe with a few minor, but necessary groceries in hand. 

Then, dinner with wife of 53 years (and still counting...) Upon consumption, he would praise, 'Well, nice dinner momma', clear the table, load the dishwasher, and easily make his way to his notorious perch in the living room. 

     Sigh, leisure time. With feet elevated and reading glasses balanced at the tip of his nose, his face would be perpetually shrouded with the day's New York Times, decaf coffee within arm's reach, and ambient classical music wafting around the room. 

This is my grandpa. 

Patient, hardworking, not desirous of much, except to provide for him and his. His modest, reserved demeanor would never feel the need to gloat about how he wonce worked in a spacious office on the top of a NY skyscraper, or how he was once a big-shot at Bell-Atlantic Telephone Co. No, you'd be more likely to get that out of his beautiful, occasional spit-fire of a bride. (A woman who would bear his four children, watch the birth of their 8 grandchildren, and wash his underwear for the greater half of a century.) 

His hair had since gone salt&pepper, his mid-section increased, as did his cholesterol. His pace slowed from a stride of power and determination, to an ever-faithful, sometimes unsteady trudge. 

This is an excerpt of a short story I'm writing. It's still a rough draft, just a little something I wrote on the train this weekend. Hope you enjoyed. 

lets blog about vaginas. ready? go.

Last night I experienced a renaissance in the form of a play I saw. After much persuasion, curiosity and a persistent feeling of hesitant intrigue, I saw a production of The Vagina Monologues, that is currently being put on by my school. It is a collection of vignettes and narratives, written by Eve Ensler. Now, I had known about the play for a while, even seeing a clip of it in my theater class last semester, but I had never really liked the idea of it. Yes, all women have vaginas. I have a vagina. What else is there to say about it? Why make these exhibitionist proclamations about it? Just keep on living your life. 

But, why not try something new, right? I have to admit, I was still a little wary of the concept when I saw the merchandise for the show including t-shirts that said 'Vaginas are for lovers', and lollipops in the shape of vaginas. Now I've never considered myself conservative-minded, but I was a little shocked, (if not borderline appalled). But, the show had received good feedback, and I knew it wouldn't be in poor taste. So, I sat back and strapped myself in for the ride. 

What I saw for the next two hours was a collaborative, creative piece that entertained, perplexed, educated, shocked, and impressed me. I understood the purpose of the play was not for exhibition, but celebration. Eve Ensler intended for women not only to embrace their sexuality, but their confidence and sense of self. What better way to do that then by talking about it, and performing it. 

I watched my female peers in front of me, perform monologues about every aspect of their vagina imaginable--from the obvious standpoint of pleasure, to sexual awareness about rape and abuse, to informative pieces about the history of vaginas and their role in society, and about empowering yourself through your love for your vagina. There was so much being thrown at me that, upon conclusion of the show, I didn't think I'd need to say vagina for quite a while. But I realized that that was one of the purposes of the show--to make the word less taboo. It definitely succeeded. It revealed to me that it can be socially acceptable for women to talk about stuff like this. Hell, men talk about their genitalia all the time. They're practically best friends with it. So, why the double standard?

Now I must admit there were parts of the show that left me a little uneasy. One of the first monologues tackled a word that I will never, ever be friends with. Everyone has at least one word that they can't stand, and will never use. Mine is cunt. Eh, I cringe just typing it. Let me tell you, I cringed even more watching it be explained and spelled out in a high-energy, passionate monologue, performed by a friend of mine. While I admired the approach, it is just something I will never get over. 

On the other hand, my favorite monologue was one entitled 'My Short Skirt', in which a woman justifies her decision to wear a short skirt, and to explain how it is no one else's property, or business. It was one of those moments that makes you want to snap and say 'Damn. Girl knows what's up.' This monologue kind of helped to identify my favorite aspects of the play--those of empowerment and awareness. Call me a feminist (you'd only be half correct), but I was definitely very pleased with the play's ability to shock audiences about the injustices of women, and how sometimes people don't give a shit. Not only did the play inform/educate, but it gave the very clear, definitive message that these injustices are not okay, and should not be accepted. Rather than being ashamed for being raped, women should love their vaginas, and embody a sense of self-worth. That's basically the strongest message I took from the production. 

So, as you can see, I survived. And I am no longer a Vagina Monologue virgin. I'd also like to point out that I saw the play with two friends- one straight boy and one straight girl. And upon gazing at my fellow audience members, I saw women, men, gays, straights, lefts, rights, mothers, and even a few dads, who happened to be perpetually blushing as they watched the 'apples of their eyes' fake orgasms on stage. =0

On spring break...

Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. 

But no matter, the road is life. Sometimes it seems like life on the road is nothing more than a jumble of airport terminals and postcards. Gas stations and cramped apartments. 

Sometimes, home feels less like the place you grew up and more like a scattered collection of familiar couches and good friends. Sometimes, we meet people along the way who make impacts on our lives we can never really calculate. 

-kerouac.

Obama-rama. For a limited time only?

One of my fondest memories of the past year was the wonderful night when Barack Obama was elected the 44th President of the United States. I happened to find myself in a hotbed of political fervor, commonly referred to as Boston, MA. Not only that, but I happened to be immersed in a 'communal artistic haven' within the hotbed of political fervor

. Some may call it Emerson College. 

So as you could guess, on the eve of our nation's most significant political renaissance of the 21st century, the majority of my peers were awaiting with anxiously liberal breath on the night of November 2nd. Be it snuggled up watching CNN in the comfort of a common room, or blogging on a Blackberry, the majority of college-aged semi-interested students gave a shit.

Yet, if I fast forwarded to tonight, February 24th, 2009, the common room crowd an

d Blackberry blog topics would be very different. Toda

y was not the date of an election, or an inauguration, but the current President's first address to Congress, his game plan of sorts, or agenda for the next 4 years. Essentially our President is discussing th

e same things he did during his campaign. Turning ideas into promises and realities. So why was is this once-heavily involved cross-section of society now apathetic towards the rock star political doppelganger? Why aren't college kids waiting with baited breath to hear the

 words of the current president that they worked so hard to elect?

I'm very hesitant to say this but maybe my long-kept secret theory may be true. Maybe the Obama-fad has finally passed; boiling down the political band-wagon

 fans from the socially aware youth of our current nation.

Where are all of the Obama t-shirt clad activists who were once so involved in the current state of our contemporary world? Perhaps I'm being too harsh and assuming that, just because students aren't gathered and celebrating means they are not t

uned in, or aware of the goings-on of their new administration. 

By writing this, I am not implying that I am higher intellect or interes

t than anyone else, I haven't even stated that I watched Obama's address. I am simply making an observation. 

SO, what do you think of this observation?

Is it accurate, is the Obama craze slowly dying down now that the job is done, and he's becoming less of a phenomenon and more of a diplomat? OR is the recent political inclination of the nation's youth still just as strong, just more sustained and normal? Or am I simply being a politically pretentious jerk? Your thoughts....

Ode to North Jersey

Written on 1/18/09.

There must have been an age when their neighborhood was found in the 'Prime Real Estate' section of The Post. & every time a moving truck would force itself up that embedded slope, the new home owners would exchange contented looks, breathe a satisfied sigh and smile, pleased with their new decision & eager to forge their new suburban homestead. 

To think, for such a reasonable price, they were only 20 minutes from the city. And if they bribed their super& went to the roof & craned their necks, they could see them...

Those persuasive, intoxicating lights that have that have attracted to many urban pilgrims with allure and the glamor of a new, reformed city life., 

The residents of this neighborhood had already tried their luck, and whether they had found it or not, they ended up across the river, in North Jersey, living vicariously through the events and moods of the city, parasitically feeding off of its resources, (and consequently the famous Brick Oven Pizza.)

Yet, from an outside perspective, these residents were far from city dweller

Their neighborhood now adhering to the reputation of a shanty-town, 

a crowded slum just far away enough from a metropolis.

The overpacked layout of houses and apartment complexes were packed like little red and white monopoly pieces stacked in the crook of a hill.

And at night if you stood at the right distance and silently observed for a bit of time, you would see the golden glow of comfort, emanating from every window, as the residents watched their favorite shows inside.

And if you watched particularly hard, you might even see the houses breathing; deep and consistently, as if they were all sleeping. 

& every house would soon begin to resemble a square block of a comfortable patch work quilt.

Every glowing window and breathing condo would  begin to melange together into an ambiguous microcosm of society.

...i need to start using punctuation. and complete sentences.