Thursday, November 17, 2011

So Close to Twenty Followers... Sad.

No, my title has absolutely nothing to do with what I'm writing about today. I've decided my blog is going to rebel against sanity and all that is proper and decent. Nay, I will not be controlled by the "norm." Instead I will rave on incoherently, indefinitely, ridiculously. Actually, I have been mulling over a pretty serious topic of interest that has not only infiltrated the hearts and minds of the country but also irritates the hell out of people and can be extremely offensive. It's a question you're asked whenever you purchase that loaf of bread and eggs and lunch meat. Or every time you pile tofu, flax seed and oatmeal into your shopping cart. You know the question well, "Paper or plastic?" Nowadays that is almost like punching someone square on in the mouth. WHAT DID YOU ASK ME?! PAPER OR WHAT?! I HAVE MY OWN BAG THANK YOU. Ah, yes. The people who not only use age old rags fashioned into bags in order to avoid the blasphemous, sinful, just plain wrong option to take a plastic bag. Ok. Do not get me wrong. I LOVE MOTHER EARTH. I'm all for her flourishing forever and ever, living a long, healthy fulfilling life, BUT, I do have a problem with people who get incomprehensibly angry at people who don't use reusable bags and have an air of disgusting superiority that you cannot penetrate... without fists of fury. I'm really just mad at the people who are oblivious to class and don't see how this little privilege is just that- a privilege. Making blanket statements that smother logic and destroy my nerves. There's nothing wrong with being environmentally conscious. Hell I'm all for that shit. I love recycling. Upcycling is my new obsession, but let us not forget that it is a privilege. Sigh. Class. What a slippery slope. Man, I'm just a ball of sunshine today eh?

And to really drive it home... My new favorite song...

I'm out.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Race Riot

There's this whimsical, unrealistic illusion in society that race relations have magically disappeared and that everyone observes tact when speaking about their opinions on the subject. No. That no is emphatic with a touch of misery and disappointment. I realize that people are raised differently, exposed to different or not so different things and I don't hold that against anybody. You can't change where you grew up, however, I would hope that after 25+ years in the world there would be some kind of conversation with yourself about how to approach certain heated topics and situations. I would hope there would be some level of consideration when speaking so confidently about such a topic. Nay. There is nary a stutter when I hear off-hand comments carelessly spouted after two beers. I'm tired of it. I'm exhausted from all the excuses I formulate after speaking candidly with said people. I'm annoyed that people feel it's okay to say certain things in front of me assuming I won't mind or care. I'm tired of writing about these occasions so consider this the LAST POST I will write on the subject. My fingers are cramping over these keys, trying to get this shit out for the lasssttt timeeee. Alright, you and I both know that will not be the case, but at least for a while I will cease. No more. For a while. And now to cheer you up... my girl Ri Ri. Yes, it is ok that your jaw has hit the floor. I too am amazed at my seamless turnaround. All it takes is one video directed by Melina Matsoukas featuring Calvin Harris for me to drink the cool-aid. Man, I'm all up in it.

I'm out.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

The Pursuit of Happiness

I've been asking myself this question for over 3 years now, "What makes me happy?" And depending on the time of day, the amount of food in my stomach, the weather, the company, the answer(s) change. The key is finding the constant. What constantly makes me happy regardless of outside, uncontrollable factors. I have come to the conclusion that not only does happiness lie within the beholder, but in all the important relationships that have manifested, sprang up, reigned down on me in the past, ones that I hope will form in the future and the ones that I cherish now. My happiness is also affected by what I do. For a long time I've been suppressing the obvious. Negating to tap into how I'm really feeling, I just kept ignoring my feelings of defeat and anxiety- mostly annoyance, now that I think of it. Everyone says you're suppose to hate your job. It's normalcy. And I used to agree. I used to accept the inevitable and struggle through my day praying that I would eventually become numb to the incessant insanity and dehumanizing task of folding clothes, tracking numbers, and pretending to care about something so trite and ultimately soul crushing. After a series of fortunate/unfortunate events I now realize what's important. Happiness. People. Life. And actually not loathing your job and everything it stands for. Life is on the up and up minus the awful down and down of the weekend.

I'm out.