Monday, April 26, 2010

Everything BUT studying...

Yeah so Tuesday I have a test in Gender and Society.

I haven't read shit for it.

Correction: I've read 168 pages today of most boring book in the world about the ways American society reinforces heterosexuality and heteronormativity through the Western marriage ritual and the negative repercussions of Western marriages including reproduction of patriarchal hierarchies, exploitation of foreign workers, and creating a new breed of wedding-crazed women who will, in turn, contribute to the same oppressive cycles of patriarchy and exploitation...and oppression.

I won't name this book because that's rude, but it might as well be named, "Why Marriage is Fucked Up--A Plethora of Negative Things that Happen When Americans Marry."

The book is so boring, I'm doing a million other things right now.

Like blogging.

I also completed one of those Flow Chart things about which Sex And The City character you really are--because, let's face it--We are NOT all Carries. Yeah, umm, I might even put it up here one day. First, I need to download photoshop so I can make it amazing because my scanner is WACK and everything comes out as unlegible number signs and randomly paired letters.

It's times like these when I've had half a can of Full Throttle and I'm avoiding studying that I take time to ponder the really important questions and mysteries in life.
Like why waffles are so superior to pancakes...
And why birds that don't fly haven't lost their wings in accordance with evolution...salamanders are blind because they don't need to see. I'm just saying.

While I'm here, I should probably also apologize to you for wasting your time with this post.

& now:



Wayne's World! Wayne's World! Party Time! Excellent!

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Why Do You Want To Hurt Me?

Reader(s),

It's been over a week since my last post. This is largely in part due to the fact that I need to graduate. That's been my focus recently: not flunking so I can walk across the stage in two weeks. Shazam!

But anyway, so that's why I haven't been here. & I'm sorry. Because you guys are equally important.

Now that we've got that squared away, I'm going to talk about something semi-related.

Full Throttle.

How is that semi-related you might find yourself asking? Because generally I ONLY drink Full Throttle when I'm studying, or leaving Austin at 6 am & needing to stay awake, or thirsty...

But anyway, as I've also mentioned I'm a procrastinator. Which is ALSO why I need the Full Throttle: sometimes I am just that far behind in my studies that as tests approach, I spend days on end awake studying. Case in point, last week. My Classical Mythology class had its second test. It was monumentally important that I pass this test because it accounted for 30% of my grade and I made an F on the first test--which was 20% of my grade. So actually, I didn't just need to pass, I had to pass the shit out of it like with a high B. And I was behind in my studies...redundant?

So I was drinking Full Throttle.

I had two cans and then around 3 am, I start hearing scratching/chewing sounds coming from the far wall of my bedroom. It stopped and would come back every now and then. I wrote it off as the floor boards creeking since I have hard wood floors. Actually, I ignored it until Shakespeare started barking and scratching at the same spot where all of these noises were coming from. Then I stopped studying and spent 45 minutes with my head against the wall listening to whatever it was chewing and scratching and scurrying. I wasn't sure, but in my mind, I saw this:


Yes, my friends, that is a naked mole rat. An oddly specific fear. Actually, in my mind, I just saw a rat chewing away at the inner walls of my bedroom but the photo is for dramatic effect.

So at 4:50, I was deeply considering taking a hammer to the wall, creating a hole large enough for me to find said supposed rat and then bash its brains in with the hammer.

But my parents pay mortgage on this house & with me moving out this summer, we're going to need to find someone to rent it...or buy it. Not a good time to create large holes in the wall.

At 5:15, I went walking around the perimeter of the house looking for a rat hole chewed into the house's stucco exterior. And I found one; in the roof.

At 5:20, I decided to phone my dad for advice. Our conversation went something like this:

Riiiiiing, Rinnnnng

Dad (in sleepy voice): Hello?

Me: Dad! Dad!

Dad: Is everything okay?!? What's wrong?!?

Me: Dad, there's a rat in the wall. I'm trying to study but I can't because I can hear it chewing and scratching. What should I do???

Dad: There's a rat in wall?

Me: YEEEES! I found the hole it made; it's in the roof! Omigosh, do you think it'll eat its way into my room? I have a test tomorrow & I can't study. Even Shakespeare can hear it! He keeps clawing and barking at the wall. What should I do?

Dad: Just calm down? You found its hole outside? Well, there's nothing we can do right now. I'll be in town next week, we'll call an exterminator. Don't worry.

Me: What if it comes inside???

Dad: It probably won't; it probably just wants to get back outside. Don't worry about it, okay? We'll take of it when I get there.

Me: Dad--I'm scared.

& the conversation went on from there.

When my dad did get here & we did call an exterminator, the hole turned out to be from a satelite dish that was unistalled.

& I haven't heard the scratching since.

I BLAME YOU, FULL THROTTLE!!! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO TASTEY WITH SUCH DIRE CONSEQUENCES?!? WHY DO YOU WANT TO HURT ME???


Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Old People Say the Darnest Things.

My art professor is a little crazy. I guess that comes with the territory but sometimes it catches me off guard.

Like today--we are in the middle of a peer critique of our latest works and my prof starts rambling about death and art. She's talking about how death influences our work and gives us motivation to leave behind a legacy through our work. To support this statement she says, "We only have sex because we're going to die. We have sex to procreate and continue our line."

Is that why we do it?

I guess I'm a jerk because I couldn't help but say, "Oh yeah, that's  why we have sex. I mean, that's the only reason I do it."

The gay guy to my left echoed my sentiments, "That's the only reason I do it, too. But I think I'm doing it wrong since I'm not with child at the moment."
Maybe it was a little disrespectful to say those kinds of things to a professor, but I can't help but feel like she walked into that one. And also, I figured I have nothing to lose since she already hates me because all of my work looks like I ate a box of crayons and then vomited directly onto the canvas.

Another notable instance of an elderly person saying something funny is Linda. Linda is maybe 65, working on her undergrad at A&M. She's also just a little bit racist. Or a lot-a-bit.

In our gender and society course, we're currently reading a book about the sexual experiences of Mexican immigrants living the United States. When asked how the experiences of immigrant women and men differ, Linda answered, "Well, Mexican men have machismo. They put the women second and Mexican women are subservient. But that's how it's always been. Also, Mexican men have Latin Lover's Syndrome. They have a hard time being faithful to just one woman and it's more acceptable in Mexican culture for the man to have a mistress...I'd say even expected."

Haha, Oh Linda, you nut! I know in your teens songs like, "She could shake the maracas" ran rampant on the radio but we have ipods now & even though you're probably as stubborn as you are wrinkley, you were supposed to abandon all those racist ideals back when the civil rights movement proved successful.

& now for your viewing pleasure:



With Lyrics:

Every Latin has a temper,

Latins have no brain
And they quarrel as they walk in
Latin's Lover Lane
So before you lose your temper
Listen little senorita,
And I'll tell to you the story
Of Pepito and Pepita

She could Shake the Maracas
He could play the guitar
But he lived in Havana
And she down to Rio del Mar.
And she shook the maracas
In a Portuguese bar
While he strummed in Havana
The distance between them was far.
By and by
He got a job with a band in Harlem
She got a job with a band in Harlem
Ay! Ay! Ay!
He said, "I'm the attraction"
She said, "I'm the star"
But they finally married
And now see how happy they are
So shake your maracas
Play your guitar!

Sing it, Desi!

Monday, April 5, 2010

Where Were You When...?

In my last post, I encouraged the members of Generation Y to think of the questions that will come to define us in the future.
Did I not? I meant to.

But anyway

The questions were
"Where were you when 911 happened?"

"Where were you when America mobilized and invaded the Middle East?"
"Where were you when Obama was elected?"
"Were you watching when the Saints totally dominated Superbowl XLIV?"

For me, the answers to the third and fourth questions are nothing spectacular; I was watching Tv-- I didn't vote but I was desperately hoping and praying that Obama would be elected. Why didn't I vote? I was 21 and stubborn...and stupid...and I didn't believe in the power of my individual vote. But, I digress.
To question 4 I say, "Yes I was bitches! & I was wearing the shirt I made for MYSELF with Pierre Thomas' number on the sleeve, made out of gold sequins."
& I was uber proud! Who loves you, baby?

To get back on track, once again, where I'm going with this is that writing those questions encouraged me to think about my own answers to them.

The day 911 happened, I was in the eighth grade and one of my classmates was telling about something he saw on the news where a bunch of people were jumping out of this skyscraper that was on fire. I thought he was joking and even if he wasn't, I couldn't see how that really related to me. A couple of hours later, every teacher had their local news station on and we all watched replays of the coverage in silence. School ended early and everyone's parents were called, emergency trauma councelors were brought in for the rest of the week. I don't think I realized at that moment, just how much my world had changed, would change...

Fast forward to a year later. I was a freshman in high school. I was with my two best friends at that time, Crystal and Darlene-->Darlene IS STILL my best friend, at Crystal's family's place.
Crystal's family had a small property on the outskirts of town. Their home was situated on a large lot of land that was covered in pomegranate trees. It was a weekend evening and the three of us were sprawled out on Crystal's front lawn stargazing.


It looked nothing like this, but we were nearly in the country so the sky was beautiful.

Crystal's mom called us inside--the media had just released a statement from the Whitehouse; America was mobilizing in an effort to track down the parties responsible for 911. Killeen, Texas--the town I grew up in--is a military based town. Thus, this statement had particularly large implications for all of us.

Even then, I thought about how just a moment ago the three of us were laying out in the grass. We were young, sweating beneath the stars, taking in the scent of pomegranate fruits ripening and the even sweeter musk of the fallen fruits rotting. We were little girls swatting away mosquitos and telling stupid stories up against the earth. But I knew, we all knew, the world as we knew it had just changed and could never go back.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

When Hell Freezes Over

Before I even start, I just wanted to point out how funny Google Adsense is. I write ONE blog with the word "midget" sprinkled throughout & now the ads on my page say things like "Half Pint Brawlers" and "Seven Dwarfs Ornaments" and "Book Midgets Wrestling." I liked it better when I had that large PeiWei banner running down the right side of my page.

Part of me wants to go back and include the word "penis" in every post--just to see if all my adds will come up as male enhancement or porn.

*Penis*
ahaha. I'm just kidding.

Anyway, for that painting class I'm in, we're currently working on a collage. Knowing that I suck, I decided to be as ambitious as possible, if not simply for the fact that I've got nothing to lose.
I am now crafting Botticelli's Birth of Venus out of magazine scraps. Part of this project required that I dig through my collection of old magazines and clip things out--and by collection I mean magazines I was just too lazy to recycle stacked up on my bathroom floor. One of the magazines I came across was RollingStone's issue that ran from December 24, 2009- January 7, 2010. It was their "00" issue, recaping the first decade of the millenium in music and American culture, but mostly music. --> They did such a good job, I moved this magazine to my book shelf in order to preserve it for the posterity.

Anyway, the cover article, entitled, "A Decade of Lost Chances," begins with this:

" It was a decade in which we saw our leaders squander the peace and prosperity of the previous decade. We watched as they sold us into an endless war, stomped civil liberties and trashed the economy, all while the icebergs kept melting and the seas kept rising. It was a decade of lost chances, which we can only hope are not last chances."*

I felt pretty terrible after reading those opening few lines and it really made me think about time and the social changes I've lived through. Some of them have been amazing; my family was stationed in Germany when the Berlin wall came down, and during my time in college, I saw the first Black president take office, as well as the first Black Disney Princess. <--The Princess & the Frog is my favorite Disney Classic, Ever.

I loved it so much, I want to name my daughter Evangeline.

But a negative change has also taken place consistently, if subtly, throughout my life.

I live in Texas. A stupendous indication that you are, in fact, in the Lonestar state is it can go from 80 degrees to thunderstorms to snow all within the same week. Notice how I said snow; it has been fucking snowing.
Those of you from other states may not understand the significance, but snow in Texas is a big deal. Up until I started college, I understood that snow in Texas is really hail--lots of hail that piles up and covers everything in ice. Yeah, we make fist-fulls of the stuff and throw it at each other like it's snow. We might even pile up as much as we can gather and make pathetic little ice snow men out of it--but it's always been ice, never snow.

Until recently.

I came to Texas when I was 8 and since then I can count on my hand the number of times it has actually snowed since I've lived here--4.
Once on Easter weekend of 2007,
once in November of 2008,
and finally twice this year.


See how rare snow is here? At the first sign of snow, I took a picture of backyard thinking, "Oh, how cute. It's kinda snowing."

But then this happened
Followed by this:

This is me, scared and overwhelmed, leaving yoga in my flip flops because just the day before it was fucking 75 degrees outside so I figured the snow was just little flurries. This sign points to visitor parking but also wants you to know it's with stupid.

I am no scientist. In fact, I'm an English major--chosen precisely so I could avoid all science and math courses I would surely fail. But I'm pretty certain all of this recent snow business in Texas can be traced back to global warming. It's kind of scary, right?
On the same train-of-thought induced by afor mentioned RollingStone article, I thought about our generation(or my generation, really, since you could be generations ahead or below me). The baby boomers felt their lives could be summed up with one important question: Where were you when Kennedy was assassinated?
My generation, Generation Y (which I just googled), will be defined by the following:
  • Where were you when 911 happened?
  • Where were you when America mobilized and invaded the Middle East?
  • Where were you when Obama was elected?
  • Were you watching when the Saints totally dominated Superbowl XLIV? <--ahah, that was just for me.
I can remember my answers to each of these questions. In particular, the third question, I remember watching TV and the moment the broadcastors declared that Barack Obama was our new president and I remember the anchor comparing our/my generation to the baby boomers. That was a truly powerful moment, not just because I was witnessing history, but because of the baby boomer comparison. WE ARE so much like them; we're living in a time of anxiety and political upheaval and we have all the means to change the world.--We really do.

With that said, I urge everyone to pick something to be passionate about--it doesn't have to be global warming or health reform. It can be recycling or better treatment of the elderly, better sex education in public schools, AIDS awareness, or even just keeping the highways clean from litter.

It doesn't sound like fun, but some of the best hours of my life were spent collecting trash on the side of a highway with my fellow TAMU Multi-Cultural Greeks. :)

Whatever it is--understand that you have the power to make things happen.
I know that to end with all of this motivational prompting of good deeds is a weird place to end up after the quote I began with, but I did that for a reason. As the article points out, lost chances do not have to be last chances. Furthermore, I chose to name this post "When Hell Freezes Over" as a pun because of the snow. Hell, which some might consider East Texas, has in fact, frozen over. That means in this time, we can make any thing happen because the impossible has already proven itself to be very real and tangible.
What's more impossible than snow in the middle of March in Texas? A lot of things--but that's besides the point.

I'd like to leave you with this thought:
penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis penis.

God, I hope my parents never read this.

penis.

& Happy Easter, Reader(s)!

*Sheffield, Rob. "A Decade of Lost Chances." RollingStone; Best of the 2000s 24 Dec. 2009: 15-34. Print.