As I whizzed past houses, barns and fields of cows that evening in my mad rush to my parents' home in north Georgia, the neural connections in my brain were busy at work. They moved in tune with the Postal Service beats that thumped through my car speakers. I thought a lot about life; where I am, where I've come from and where it is I think I'm going. Sometimes I make bad decisions, like that time I decided to start smoking. Or like the time I thought it would be a good idea to skip my curfew in high school because I took my mother to be understanding. I know what you're thinking, but don't worry, I have had some bright moments, and here they are:
1. That time I kicked Billy French in the nuts in kindergarten. But here's what happened for real before you think I'm a bitch of a man hater: I was going across the monkey bars, minding my own damn business. Billy walked up and started asking me a bunch of questions. So, I stopped moneky barring and started swining on the bars and was talking to him. He kept getting closer and closer to me as I was talking. Eventually, he got mad at something I was saying and grabbed my crotch, right up under my dress, stuck his dirty hand right up my skirt. I struggled and eventually fell off the monkey bars, landing on his arm. I stood up looked him in the face, he was laughing. I'll never forget the way he was laughing at my anger and my embarassment. My response: I kicked him directly in the nuts. He cried, I got in trouble but he never came near me again. I think that's when I subconsciously knew I did not like anti-feminist men, or at least fresh six year old boys.
2. Then in high school, before I made that decision to take up an unnecessary nictoine addiction, I was a member of an elite group of musicians. By elite, I mean, we were arrogant stringed instrument artists who thought the world was at our talented fingertips. Then our orchestra director moved to Ohio to chase her booty-chasing husband. I dropped out of chamber ensemble and began running long distance races. Despite my inability to run efficiently, as my coach told me, I got down to a size six, maintained a consistent tan throughout the year, learned to appreciate the power of spandex and weighed 120 pounds for about 3 years. I was in the best shape of my life both mentally and physically.
3. At the tender age of thirteen, I was suicidal and optimistic all at the same time. I fell in love with the mountains of Tennessee and developed aspirations of moving there some day to escape my family. My dream began to pan out as reality right before I turned eighteen, when I received an acceptance letter to Sewanee: The University of the South, a liberal arts university on the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee just north of the Alabama/Tennessee state line. I accepted the invitation to go to school there. I was the only student from my graduating class to choose to go to school out of state, and it was probably the best decision of my life, thus far.
4. While attending school at Sewanee, I met a community of individuals who were both talented, intelligent, spiritual and just plain fun. Within that community, I came to know who I am on many different levels. I traveled with them, drank and ate with them, cried with them, napped with them, joked with them, and of course, slept with them. It was through this community that I came to know myself as a lesbian, and it was through this community that I came out not only in terms of my sexual orientation but as a person. This was probably the third best decision of my life. The second best is below.
5. Breaking out of the community described in number 4 allowed me to come into myself fully. Breaking up with my girlfriend who I met in that community, breaking unhealthy ties to people who had mingled their identities with my own, and severing ties to the community that was forcing boundaries on my growth. A community that needed me, but a community for which I no longer required support, as the support had transformed into hindrance. In that breaking out, I have found a handful of people with which I choose to interact, support and grow. I am often lonely, but as one of them says, "it is within our fear that we learn to know ourselves, maintain our identities and grow exponentially." I choose myself.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
a speech, just in case
There I was, knee-deep in emotional baggage and booze. She grabbed my hand. Hadn't we been through this? And besides, I was kicking the shit out of Little Miss Tight T-Shirt at beer pong. She misses me; this I know, but currently tight t-shirt looked really inviting. (And she knew it, too). But I was never going to get to explore her with this dead weight holding my hand. Women are inconvenient; wanting intently, leaving me broken, broke and blogging.
Finally Joe walks up, takes one look at me and knows the whole story. "Let's go get a beer out of my car," he says. "I'll be right back," I tell dead weight.
We get outside, my shoes are sticking in the effluvia-mud that is my life, and my armpits are sweaty and I'm tripping on self-induced illusions. Joe hands me a beer. "Thanks," I say.
"No problem," he replies, opening his beer and taking a sip.
I am irritated and pacing.
"You don't look so good," he takes another sip of his beer. I pop the tab on mine, "Dude, this week has been insane. I'm convinced that nearly half the world's population should be in therapy and that if I don't soon learn how to be rude and abrasive that I'll need two therapists. One for me and one for every else's problems that I get to hear about at all hours of the night," I explained.
He sips more beer, hardly looking at me. I try not to get angry. Whatever, at least he's listening to me and not trying to make me deal with his problems. But I am angry, and frustrated. I look down at my feet, embarassed. Joe takes a deep breath, I do the same.
Then, it occurs to me. I'm doing to him exactly that I'm complaining about other people doing to me. "Oh my God," I say.
"What?" he askes.
I say, "I'm turning into my mother." Joe begins to cackle.
I knew this day was inevitable. I've been waiting for it but I never thought it would happen this soon," I say. I take another sip. It's cold and icy and delicious, just as a beer should be. I take a deep breath. Joe is laughing at me. He tackles me and gives me a big Joe bear hug. The ones I never think I need, and sometimes reject, until they're happening, and then I'm floored. These are the moments I should enjoy, so I smile. Joe smiles back. We look up at the stars. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could live somewhere we're not supposed to. If we could move past the fear of it and be comfortable in the uncomfortable? You know, like flick off conventional society and problematic people and live in that place. You know the place where you just don't care because you can't anymore, but you're sort of okay with it?" I asked, thinking surely he couldn't have followed all that. My eyebrows are furrowed with hope.
"Dude, I wrote a speech on that very topic once," Joe spat out. "What? Who did you deliver the speech to?" I asked with excited eyebrows.
"No one. I just wrote it because I thought, I want to be prepared just in case someone ever asks me to deliver a speech," he explaind proudly.
I laughed heartily. I sipped his beer, non-chalantly.
"No problem," he replies, opening his beer and taking a sip.
I am irritated and pacing.
"You don't look so good," he takes another sip of his beer. I pop the tab on mine, "Dude, this week has been insane. I'm convinced that nearly half the world's population should be in therapy and that if I don't soon learn how to be rude and abrasive that I'll need two therapists. One for me and one for every else's problems that I get to hear about at all hours of the night," I explained.
He sips more beer, hardly looking at me. I try not to get angry. Whatever, at least he's listening to me and not trying to make me deal with his problems. But I am angry, and frustrated. I look down at my feet, embarassed. Joe takes a deep breath, I do the same.
Then, it occurs to me. I'm doing to him exactly that I'm complaining about other people doing to me. "Oh my God," I say.
"What?" he askes.
I say, "I'm turning into my mother." Joe begins to cackle.
I knew this day was inevitable. I've been waiting for it but I never thought it would happen this soon," I say. I take another sip. It's cold and icy and delicious, just as a beer should be. I take a deep breath. Joe is laughing at me. He tackles me and gives me a big Joe bear hug. The ones I never think I need, and sometimes reject, until they're happening, and then I'm floored. These are the moments I should enjoy, so I smile. Joe smiles back. We look up at the stars. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could live somewhere we're not supposed to. If we could move past the fear of it and be comfortable in the uncomfortable? You know, like flick off conventional society and problematic people and live in that place. You know the place where you just don't care because you can't anymore, but you're sort of okay with it?" I asked, thinking surely he couldn't have followed all that. My eyebrows are furrowed with hope.
"Dude, I wrote a speech on that very topic once," Joe spat out. "What? Who did you deliver the speech to?" I asked with excited eyebrows.
"No one. I just wrote it because I thought, I want to be prepared just in case someone ever asks me to deliver a speech," he explaind proudly.
I laughed heartily. I sipped his beer, non-chalantly.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Laundry is a big fat bummer
She sat on the middle of the floor of the living room in their quaint two bedroom home in the middle of the stix South Carolina (real place). The task of folding old tattered blue jeans and ill-fitting underpants daunting. Her mother sat on the newest chair next to the fireplace that produced heat she couldn't feel; not now, not for a long time, not forever. Her father would have sat there on the floor with her and made jokes about mother and the cats with their seizure disorders, but he was on vacation and had been for seven years.
The children had been in bed for quite some time, with dreams floating about in their amygdalas about swing sets and hopskotch. Their slumber slight and carefree. She longed to join them and be rid of this laundry; the laundry that permeated her thirteen year old life.
Mother fixed more wine for herself, sucking her teeth as her feet scooted across the stained, but clean, carpet. As the laundry finished itself, she, the thirteen year old parent, looked to her mother, tears welling in her graying eyes. She tried not to sniffle, tried not to interrupt the television program. Mother didn't notice a thing.
"Mom," she said meekly. There was no response. The tears surged down her young cheeks, and the urge to sniffle strengthened. "Mom," she said more urgently. Mother looked at her, "What?" Mother complained. "Mom, I'm really having a hard time here," she explained to the best of her ability. "But the laundry's finished, thank you," her mother responded, looking back to the television. The tears poured now, from the broken faucet of her blues singing soul. "Mom, I've been thinking a lot about killing myself," she said conversationally, to lighten the blow of the statement. "No, you haven't," her mother said matter-o-factly without looking at her. The thirteen year old got up, and took the laundry to the small dark hallway in the back of the sleepy house. Her feet were cold and she wanted to get in the bathtub to escape the awkwardness of the situation that she felt so overwhelmingly esponsible for causing.
Though it was full of her thoughts, the bathtub was her refuge. It contained no one and nothing but brightness and water and her trembling body. Mother never knocked. But it sure did feel lovely to let the water run all over her attention starved body. The body that is still inhabited by that wanting thirteen year old. Where is she now? I'd really like to talk to her, give her a hug and tell her that it's ok to eat too many cookies, smoke a little too much pot and have a beer to calm the problems of her world. That's what being an adult is all about, I suppose.
The children had been in bed for quite some time, with dreams floating about in their amygdalas about swing sets and hopskotch. Their slumber slight and carefree. She longed to join them and be rid of this laundry; the laundry that permeated her thirteen year old life.
Mother fixed more wine for herself, sucking her teeth as her feet scooted across the stained, but clean, carpet. As the laundry finished itself, she, the thirteen year old parent, looked to her mother, tears welling in her graying eyes. She tried not to sniffle, tried not to interrupt the television program. Mother didn't notice a thing.
"Mom," she said meekly. There was no response. The tears surged down her young cheeks, and the urge to sniffle strengthened. "Mom," she said more urgently. Mother looked at her, "What?" Mother complained. "Mom, I'm really having a hard time here," she explained to the best of her ability. "But the laundry's finished, thank you," her mother responded, looking back to the television. The tears poured now, from the broken faucet of her blues singing soul. "Mom, I've been thinking a lot about killing myself," she said conversationally, to lighten the blow of the statement. "No, you haven't," her mother said matter-o-factly without looking at her. The thirteen year old got up, and took the laundry to the small dark hallway in the back of the sleepy house. Her feet were cold and she wanted to get in the bathtub to escape the awkwardness of the situation that she felt so overwhelmingly esponsible for causing.
Though it was full of her thoughts, the bathtub was her refuge. It contained no one and nothing but brightness and water and her trembling body. Mother never knocked. But it sure did feel lovely to let the water run all over her attention starved body. The body that is still inhabited by that wanting thirteen year old. Where is she now? I'd really like to talk to her, give her a hug and tell her that it's ok to eat too many cookies, smoke a little too much pot and have a beer to calm the problems of her world. That's what being an adult is all about, I suppose.
Monday, February 18, 2008
fuck the clouds, i want some tuna salad
We met some years ago. I was waiting on the sidewalk for a friend. (I know what you're thinking; some loose chick in a short leather skirt and red prostitute boots). Well, I was leaning against a blue building smoking a cigarette and pondering whether or not I was in Cicely, Alaska and what if a moose came down the street, if that's what you mean. But, when I flicked my cigarette onto what I thought was a tree. It turned out to be her. She marched right up to me and told me I needed to be careful before I ruined her brand new sweater. Her eyes were the most lovely shade of brown I've ever seen. I snubbed out my cigarette and asked her if she wanted some tea or coffee or something? She smiled and blushed, and we've been together ever since. And in case you were interested, I remain to this day the non-owner of red prostitute boots.
I was wary of love. Life demands all sorts of things from the soul and the heart. My heart and soul are no different.
We decided to make like an Indigo Girls song and take a picnic. I packed the pinot noir. She made tuna salad with olives in it; my favorite. We set out for the spot on the bluff where I always get this overwhelming feeling that if I jumped, I would fly. I would fly so far out over the Cumberland Plateau and all the places shadowed by the tallness of the mountains. I would fly right up to the clouds and mingle with them. And then I'd fly back and rest on the bluff and wait for the feeling to come along again. But when I went there with her, that day, and we ate tuna salad with olives in it and drank pinor noir; I didn't have to wait on the flying feeling to come because I had been up there socializing with those clouds for three months at that point.
But then, I got scared.
"I always feel bad when I step on their roots," she said, "like I need to say I'm sorry to the trees." Tears welled in her eyes. That's when I knew I loved her. I took her hand. It fit so snugly into mine, and in my heart I was flying off the bluff. And all the things that I wanted to have happen before that ran through my mind; live in a tree, work on a farm, go to Canada. All of that stuff made me drop her hand. The purest tears I've ever seen. Tears of honesty and truth; compassionate tears ran down her cheeks. And I ran. I ran away from those tears because I knew they were for me and not the trees. I left her there with the trees. And I can't go back because my heart and soul are wary of love.
I was wary of love. Life demands all sorts of things from the soul and the heart. My heart and soul are no different.
We decided to make like an Indigo Girls song and take a picnic. I packed the pinot noir. She made tuna salad with olives in it; my favorite. We set out for the spot on the bluff where I always get this overwhelming feeling that if I jumped, I would fly. I would fly so far out over the Cumberland Plateau and all the places shadowed by the tallness of the mountains. I would fly right up to the clouds and mingle with them. And then I'd fly back and rest on the bluff and wait for the feeling to come along again. But when I went there with her, that day, and we ate tuna salad with olives in it and drank pinor noir; I didn't have to wait on the flying feeling to come because I had been up there socializing with those clouds for three months at that point.
But then, I got scared.
"I always feel bad when I step on their roots," she said, "like I need to say I'm sorry to the trees." Tears welled in her eyes. That's when I knew I loved her. I took her hand. It fit so snugly into mine, and in my heart I was flying off the bluff. And all the things that I wanted to have happen before that ran through my mind; live in a tree, work on a farm, go to Canada. All of that stuff made me drop her hand. The purest tears I've ever seen. Tears of honesty and truth; compassionate tears ran down her cheeks. And I ran. I ran away from those tears because I knew they were for me and not the trees. I left her there with the trees. And I can't go back because my heart and soul are wary of love.
Friday, February 15, 2008
I don't think I would have liked it in Portland anyway...
I stood outside the house with the car keys in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other; I was nervous. I had screamed several times for them through the screened door. Each time hearing laughter, which irritated me. I puffed on my cigarette and began running around the front porch in my clacker shoes while humming Led Zeppelin. Fran and her brother emerged from the house, laughing at my expense, "Geez Bertha, it's just a magazine editor."
"Just a magazine editor?!!!" I yelled. "You guys, this is Andi Zeisler of Bitch: Feminist Response to Pop Culture. She's speaking at our conservative college--this is a huge deal! Also, Fran, you have a vagina, so you should know these things," I pointed to her vagina. She looked at me with one of these 'really?' kind of looks. Like it was completely inappropriate to be discussing a vagina in the driveway. I mean, vaginas--they exist--half the population has one and nearly everyone came out of one (with the exceptions being Ceasarean section births).
Anyway...
We piled in the car. I sped to the other side of campus and lectured the entire way about feminism and organized vs. unorganized and choice and empowerment. Fran's brother looked frightened. Fran just laughed. I... well, I chain smoked in between rants.
We got there...YAY!..we found seats....YAY!...I saw hot-professor-who-I-have-a-crush-on...YAY!...and then it happened. Andi Zeisler took the podium in all of her glory and my little social justice oriented heart--it crushed on her.
I took notes, and here they are:
why do we consume pop culture?
the quicket route to fame for a woman is to release a sex tape.
psychological war=Oxygen channel
for a shot at notoriety --> ?
nonficitional women --> dismissed
victim blaming v. freedom of expression --> why do we choose to express ourselves this way
women = pliable = goal ? (gross)
Clinton = sexism in the media (motherfuckers)
1996 = birth of internet, before facebook, blog or reality tv--zine born with ranting
social equality = consumer freedom
normal women =/ feminists (?)
moments of consumption --> pop culture = politics = social justice (overlapping)
advice: see the forrest, not just the trees
obligation to be aware and know where it's coming from--> hollow cath phrases/true analysis (choosing one over the other)
male commercial oriented society--recycled ideas
documentary about strippers --> sexualized image of women --> coopting feminism
empowering: overcoming disenfranchisement v. choosing what women want and declaring it awesome
choice: roe v. wade, it's an apolitical word juxsaposed to the word "right"--degrading/lessens the impact--is choice a right if you're a feminist--and then is it just a choice if you're not a feminist?
pop culture + commerical industry = empowerment (gag)
limitations are our choice?
feminism made me make choice and therefore we, as women, are limited -- FUCK THAT
family friendly policies--> no b/c the system is anti-feminist? or patriarchal? or just flat out doesn't give a damn
SEX IN THE CITY: success + happiness + choice
backsliding within feminism-->happened and succeeded (no!)
"a woman can't be trusted to make her own decisions" (bwhahaha) --but that's what the gov't thinks
infuriation = energy
she likes law and order--i heart her! and we're made for each other.
Spread magazine--look into this.
Basically, after Andi was finished talking, people asked questions. I had a question, but was a little afraid I would say something inappropriate like, "I love you," to her if I asked it. So, instead, I followed her around like a puppy dog until I got the chance to ask her my question. But I was really nervous...so my friend Mary introduced me to her by saying, "Hey Andi, meet my friend Bertha. She has a huge social justice crush on you." I shook her hand and said, "Yea, it's true," and consequently turned various shades of red. Later I found out that she was taken. So, I drank a lot of beer and went home to watch Law and Order...alone.
"Just a magazine editor?!!!" I yelled. "You guys, this is Andi Zeisler of Bitch: Feminist Response to Pop Culture. She's speaking at our conservative college--this is a huge deal! Also, Fran, you have a vagina, so you should know these things," I pointed to her vagina. She looked at me with one of these 'really?' kind of looks. Like it was completely inappropriate to be discussing a vagina in the driveway. I mean, vaginas--they exist--half the population has one and nearly everyone came out of one (with the exceptions being Ceasarean section births).
Anyway...
We piled in the car. I sped to the other side of campus and lectured the entire way about feminism and organized vs. unorganized and choice and empowerment. Fran's brother looked frightened. Fran just laughed. I... well, I chain smoked in between rants.
We got there...YAY!..we found seats....YAY!...I saw hot-professor-who-I-have-a-crush-on...YAY!...and then it happened. Andi Zeisler took the podium in all of her glory and my little social justice oriented heart--it crushed on her.
I took notes, and here they are:
why do we consume pop culture?
the quicket route to fame for a woman is to release a sex tape.
psychological war=Oxygen channel
for a shot at notoriety --> ?
nonficitional women --> dismissed
victim blaming v. freedom of expression --> why do we choose to express ourselves this way
women = pliable = goal ? (gross)
Clinton = sexism in the media (motherfuckers)
1996 = birth of internet, before facebook, blog or reality tv--zine born with ranting
social equality = consumer freedom
normal women =/ feminists (?)
moments of consumption --> pop culture = politics = social justice (overlapping)
advice: see the forrest, not just the trees
obligation to be aware and know where it's coming from--> hollow cath phrases/true analysis (choosing one over the other)
male commercial oriented society--recycled ideas
documentary about strippers --> sexualized image of women --> coopting feminism
empowering: overcoming disenfranchisement v. choosing what women want and declaring it awesome
choice: roe v. wade, it's an apolitical word juxsaposed to the word "right"--degrading/lessens the impact--is choice a right if you're a feminist--and then is it just a choice if you're not a feminist?
pop culture + commerical industry = empowerment (gag)
limitations are our choice?
feminism made me make choice and therefore we, as women, are limited -- FUCK THAT
family friendly policies--> no b/c the system is anti-feminist? or patriarchal? or just flat out doesn't give a damn
SEX IN THE CITY: success + happiness + choice
backsliding within feminism-->happened and succeeded (no!)
"a woman can't be trusted to make her own decisions" (bwhahaha) --but that's what the gov't thinks
infuriation = energy
she likes law and order--i heart her! and we're made for each other.
Spread magazine--look into this.
Basically, after Andi was finished talking, people asked questions. I had a question, but was a little afraid I would say something inappropriate like, "I love you," to her if I asked it. So, instead, I followed her around like a puppy dog until I got the chance to ask her my question. But I was really nervous...so my friend Mary introduced me to her by saying, "Hey Andi, meet my friend Bertha. She has a huge social justice crush on you." I shook her hand and said, "Yea, it's true," and consequently turned various shades of red. Later I found out that she was taken. So, I drank a lot of beer and went home to watch Law and Order...alone.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Order what you will...
Happy Valentine's Day and all that crap.
What I'm really here to talk about is how instead of writing my Hitchcock analysis paper that's due in 2.5 hours, instead of waking up next to a lovely lady, insteady of feeling full of joy about the day dedicated to love--I am blogging and eating cheap candy alone in my bed while listening to classical music--AND IT'S AWESOME! Oh, and having a spot of tea. Like in Mary Poppins.
Mary Poppins used to be my all time favoritest movie. I think it was the penguins. Either that or Burt/Dick Van Dyke. When I was a kid, I would dress up and put all my stuffed animals in the living room and while I watched Mary Poppins, I would act out the scenes and by act out the scenes I mean run around jumping on the furniture singing Feed the Birds and Supercalifragalisticexpialidocious while my mom sat in a corner and cried. No, I'm just kidding, she was very proud of my non-existent acting skills, especially when it was time to act out the Wizard of Oz and she got to be the witch and I got to smack her around with a broom.
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yea...the penguins. They were so cute the way they waddled with their serving trays and wine glasses and towels. I think we need to see that:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQcjHABsrTo
And basically, that's how I want to be loved this Valentine's Day; the way the penguins love Mary Poppins. They dance for her, they give her free cakes and tea, and they openly announce that she is their favorite person. And also, I'm sure they would condone my lack of paper-writing behavior and of course the spot of tea.
What I'm really here to talk about is how instead of writing my Hitchcock analysis paper that's due in 2.5 hours, instead of waking up next to a lovely lady, insteady of feeling full of joy about the day dedicated to love--I am blogging and eating cheap candy alone in my bed while listening to classical music--AND IT'S AWESOME! Oh, and having a spot of tea. Like in Mary Poppins.
Mary Poppins used to be my all time favoritest movie. I think it was the penguins. Either that or Burt/Dick Van Dyke. When I was a kid, I would dress up and put all my stuffed animals in the living room and while I watched Mary Poppins, I would act out the scenes and by act out the scenes I mean run around jumping on the furniture singing Feed the Birds and Supercalifragalisticexpialidocious while my mom sat in a corner and cried. No, I'm just kidding, she was very proud of my non-existent acting skills, especially when it was time to act out the Wizard of Oz and she got to be the witch and I got to smack her around with a broom.
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yea...the penguins. They were so cute the way they waddled with their serving trays and wine glasses and towels. I think we need to see that:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQcjHABsrTo
And basically, that's how I want to be loved this Valentine's Day; the way the penguins love Mary Poppins. They dance for her, they give her free cakes and tea, and they openly announce that she is their favorite person. And also, I'm sure they would condone my lack of paper-writing behavior and of course the spot of tea.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
rain and absurdity
Out of nowhere tonight it began raining...nay, pouring. The rain smattered and pattered against my window. I was sitting on my bed and suddenly, I had an urge to be one with the rain. And so, I did. I put on dirty clothes and went outside to hydrate my soul.
As I lay in the middle of the soccer field outside my dormitory, in the mud, with my eyes closed and the rain pouring down my face, I became very aware of the responses of my body. Have you ever thought about how we've become such a highly sensitized society. We run to get in out of the rain to keep our clothes and faces and hair dry. But yet, we'll wet our faces and hair in the shower and put our clothing in the washing machine. Absurdity.
Look people, rain is a beautiful thing. The water cycle is AMAZING. People are always bitching about how it rains too much or about other types of weather. Well, first of all, if we didn't have weather then what the hell would all of you dry-hair-obsessed-people talk about for the rest of your lives and secondly, I would have no inspiration for poetry. And thirdly, and most importantly, the world would die. There would be no vegetation, no humans, no animals, no fishies, not fishing, etc.
Ok, I feel much better now.
As I lay in the middle of the soccer field outside my dormitory, in the mud, with my eyes closed and the rain pouring down my face, I became very aware of the responses of my body. Have you ever thought about how we've become such a highly sensitized society. We run to get in out of the rain to keep our clothes and faces and hair dry. But yet, we'll wet our faces and hair in the shower and put our clothing in the washing machine. Absurdity.
Look people, rain is a beautiful thing. The water cycle is AMAZING. People are always bitching about how it rains too much or about other types of weather. Well, first of all, if we didn't have weather then what the hell would all of you dry-hair-obsessed-people talk about for the rest of your lives and secondly, I would have no inspiration for poetry. And thirdly, and most importantly, the world would die. There would be no vegetation, no humans, no animals, no fishies, not fishing, etc.
Ok, I feel much better now.
Monday, February 04, 2008
i am wary of johnson and johnson consumer company, inc--but here's why
I live in America; I am a consumer. I know, it grosses me out, too.
About a month ago my mom went to the store to purchase items that I had requested before I returned to school for my final semester of college. The grocery list included: Ramen noodles, Campbell's chicken and rice, EZ Mac, Oreos (of the double stuf variety), coffee, non-dairy creamer, tampons and Johnson and Johnson Clean and Clear face wash with the micro-scrubbers (in the light blue tube)--I'm really particular about what I put on my face because just about everything except the items I use, make me get hives, which is why I don't use fabric softener, ever.
She bought me all of the above and more and even bought me my favorite body wash (Suave unscented body wash with hydrating cocoa and shea butter--because I've got mountain woman skin--gag).
But you see, the newer tubes of Johnson and Johnson Clean and Clear face wash with micro-scrubbers (in the light blue tube) are causing me angst as an anti-consumer consumer. The hole that the face wash comes out of in the lid--is a lot bigger in the new tube than in the older version. I think Johnson and Johnson, are out to get my buck because I have already gone through a whole tube of face wash in the last four weeks. It usually takes me a whole other month to get through a whole tube of that fabulous stuff. And, I mean, a tube of face wash costs like six bucks! Rip! Off!
I am extremely disturbed by this new dilemma because I like to think that I make good selections in products. That the products I choose, actually choose my hippie-tree-hugging-Marxist-loving-self. That these products emit some kind of karmic energy that my soul is attracted to. That these products are meant for me. Now, before you go getting all huffy...I realize that Oreos and EZ Mac and ready in the microwave soup create an intense amount of garbage but I do drink beer out of glass bottles so that I can recycle them and so that aluminum doesn't seep into my brain or the brains of the fish who swim in the streams below the landfill in my town. And I even purchase beer (in the bottle) for the guys who come by my dorm once a week to take out the entire dorm's recycling. So, overall, I think I have pretty good karma and that basically I'm an aware individual who attempts to pursue equal rights of not only humans but of the fishies and the birdies and the toaster strudel eating raccoons that live in the woods across the street from me. (Also, the beer for the recyling guys acts as positive reinforcement and thus perpetuates recycling--trust me, I'm a comped psychology major--refer to the link in the title of this blog entry). Thus, I'm allowed to rant about the deceptive increase in the size of the hole in the new tube of face wash that chooses my harmonious soul to purchase it at six bucks a pop. Like I wouldn't notice?
Dear Johnson and Johnson Consumer Company, Inc,
Why do you choose to take my money at an exponentially increasing rate? Why do you choose to rip off a social activist who just wants clean poors and the orgasmic feeling of micro-scrubbers in the morning and the night on my face skin? Why do you choose to create more garbage with the increased size in the dispensing hole (one tube being thrown away each month per user as opposed to one tube every two months per user)? If you, Johnson and Johnson Consumer Company, Inc--with the word consumer in the title of your company, would like to do one of the following? I would be extremely grateful: a) decrease the size of the hole or b) take the profit from the increase in hole size each month and donate it to the Green Party.
Thanks,
Bertha
About a month ago my mom went to the store to purchase items that I had requested before I returned to school for my final semester of college. The grocery list included: Ramen noodles, Campbell's chicken and rice, EZ Mac, Oreos (of the double stuf variety), coffee, non-dairy creamer, tampons and Johnson and Johnson Clean and Clear face wash with the micro-scrubbers (in the light blue tube)--I'm really particular about what I put on my face because just about everything except the items I use, make me get hives, which is why I don't use fabric softener, ever.
She bought me all of the above and more and even bought me my favorite body wash (Suave unscented body wash with hydrating cocoa and shea butter--because I've got mountain woman skin--gag).
But you see, the newer tubes of Johnson and Johnson Clean and Clear face wash with micro-scrubbers (in the light blue tube) are causing me angst as an anti-consumer consumer. The hole that the face wash comes out of in the lid--is a lot bigger in the new tube than in the older version. I think Johnson and Johnson, are out to get my buck because I have already gone through a whole tube of face wash in the last four weeks. It usually takes me a whole other month to get through a whole tube of that fabulous stuff. And, I mean, a tube of face wash costs like six bucks! Rip! Off!
I am extremely disturbed by this new dilemma because I like to think that I make good selections in products. That the products I choose, actually choose my hippie-tree-hugging-Marxist-loving-self. That these products emit some kind of karmic energy that my soul is attracted to. That these products are meant for me. Now, before you go getting all huffy...I realize that Oreos and EZ Mac and ready in the microwave soup create an intense amount of garbage but I do drink beer out of glass bottles so that I can recycle them and so that aluminum doesn't seep into my brain or the brains of the fish who swim in the streams below the landfill in my town. And I even purchase beer (in the bottle) for the guys who come by my dorm once a week to take out the entire dorm's recycling. So, overall, I think I have pretty good karma and that basically I'm an aware individual who attempts to pursue equal rights of not only humans but of the fishies and the birdies and the toaster strudel eating raccoons that live in the woods across the street from me. (Also, the beer for the recyling guys acts as positive reinforcement and thus perpetuates recycling--trust me, I'm a comped psychology major--refer to the link in the title of this blog entry). Thus, I'm allowed to rant about the deceptive increase in the size of the hole in the new tube of face wash that chooses my harmonious soul to purchase it at six bucks a pop. Like I wouldn't notice?
Dear Johnson and Johnson Consumer Company, Inc,
Why do you choose to take my money at an exponentially increasing rate? Why do you choose to rip off a social activist who just wants clean poors and the orgasmic feeling of micro-scrubbers in the morning and the night on my face skin? Why do you choose to create more garbage with the increased size in the dispensing hole (one tube being thrown away each month per user as opposed to one tube every two months per user)? If you, Johnson and Johnson Consumer Company, Inc--with the word consumer in the title of your company, would like to do one of the following? I would be extremely grateful: a) decrease the size of the hole or b) take the profit from the increase in hole size each month and donate it to the Green Party.
Thanks,
Bertha
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