WJ CLINTON YO

Bill Clinton is on my answering machine telling me to vote for Lieberman.

Sorry buddy, I’m voting Lamont.

3 1/2 Weeks…

Last night I dreamed that I was in my Early American Literature class. That’s all. Just sitting in class learning stuff. And taking notes. In East College, the Humanities Building on campus.

I woke up extremely happy, then was rapidly reduced to a deep and dark depression when I realized that I woke up in Connecticut and not at school.

Eight-Year-Olds Who Talk To Much

I’m going to preface this absolutely and completey true story with a little piece of information about myself. I cannot stand small children. Ever. They’re small and annoying and a general pain in the butt. I try to avoid them like the plague.

Today was a lovely lazy Sunday. I slept until 10:30 until my friend Nikki called me to make plans for later in the afternoon. She swung by the house to pick me up around 2:00 and we decided to head to the local ice cream & candy shop, Scoops.

We walked through the old screen door and toured the small square shop, looking over the ice cream and candy, deciding what we were going to get. In front of the bubble gum,we turn to find that a little blonde girl wearing only a bathing suit was talking to us.

“These are sidewalk chalk, and you can eat them, too!”, said the little girl, holding up a fist sized plastic container. Nikki, the ever patient angel that she is said, “What?” The little girl enthusiastically thrust her prize into the air, “It’s sidewalk chalk, and gum, too!”. I was puzzled, as usual. “So, you can write on the sidewalk with it?” I asked. “Yes!” She said triumphantly. “And then you can eat it?” “Yes!” she cried, again. “Is that entirely hygenic?” I inquired. She stared at me for a second. She cocked her head to the side. “Uhuh!”.

I rolled my eyes and looked at Nikki, and we excused ourselves so that I could locate my beloved Giant Cherry Now & Laters. As I was looking through the jar, skillfully pushing aside every other flavor, I heard a voice to my left. “This store has everything! A lot! They have everything!” It was the little blonde girl. I pondered for a moment the most polite way to respond to it while getting her as far away from me as possible. “Yes,” I responded, “They’ve had everything since I was a little girl.” “EVERYTHING!” she nearly shouted. A shiver ran down my spine. She wasn’t going away. I shut my eyes quickly, hoping by some feat of magic she’d dissappear. “Sarah!” I hear someone call. I jumped. “It’s time to go!”. After a brief moment of confusion, I realized I shared the same name as the little girl, but the confusion was quickly followed by relief as I saw the little girl turn around and walk out the door.

I shared a look with Nikki. “I hate small children,” I enthused.

We purchased our goodies and saw that little Sarah, her mom, and her brother were eating their ice cream outside the store. “They’re still here.” I said. She nodded, “Let’s sit as far away from them as possible.”

We found our seats, and started bonding over the good old days of high school and catching up on our lives. Suddenly, there was a shadow in the humid sunshine. It was little Sarah, holding her ice cream, saying “Hello!” I groaned, audibly. There was an awkward silence as little Sarah looked at us.

Nikki put a stop to that. Picking up on the swimsuit, she asked little Sarah “Did you go swimming?” “YES!” Little Sarah cried. “Where?” Nikki asked. “Y! M! C! A!” Little Sarah yelled, annunciating every letter in a grotesquely wierd manner. She then proceeded to sing the lyrics. “How old are you?” Nikki asked slightly incredulously. Little Sarah stuck her tongue out and yelled something that sounded suspciously like “eight”, but we weren’t quite sure. Little Sarah, her back to me, then backed up further and straddled herself further on my thigh. My jaw dropped in shock and disgust. I looked at Nikki. “GET IT OFF ME!” I mouthed desperately. She looked away. The seconds ticked by like hours as a small bathing suited psychotic 8 year old straddled me. What do you do in a situation like that?

“Sarah!” I hear her mother yell. “Thank God,” I thought to myself, “Her mother is about to yell ta her for being overfriendly with strangers.” But no, I was sadly mistaken. “Oh!” her mother called, “I was just wondering where you were.”

Nikki saved the day again. “I think it’s time for us to go.” I agreed. I pushed little Sarah towards her mother and hurried to walk away from the store. I spotted something sparkling on the ground, and cried out “Oh look! I found a nickel!” (Because I really am that mature.) I heard a voice call from behind me. It was Little Sarah. “Was it heads or tails?” “Heads.” I called back. There was no need to call. She hurried until she was right behind me. “That means you’ll have good luck.” She said wisely. “That’s great,” I said. “Well, it was really nice meeting you!”

Nikki and I then walked away as quickly as we possibly could. “Why? WHY ME?” I moaned.

“Well,” Nikki said, “That was an odd girl.”

Quoting My Dad

The Scene: My dad and I are discussing our excitement at watching “Office Space” together this evening.

“Some people work in offices. I just like to pretend I’m furniture.”

Hmm….what?

The great thing about wordpress is that it gives you interesting stats about your blog. For instance, what people typed into a search engine and your blog came up as an answer. Today, my blog was found when someone typed in “wolf virginia fairy sex”.

WTF??

 Edit: Today, someone typed in “six year olds in thongs” and found my blog. Clearly, this is the pedophile capital of the blogging industry, and I’m terrified.

Landis is a Dope!

Apparently, the guy who won the Tour de France with the Mennonite parents tested positive in a doping test.

Which leaves me with one question: Guys, you know you’re going to be tested. Why would you take anything?

A Notice to My Upper Right Torso: I HATE YOU

Dear Readers,

Hi! How are you? Fancy this weather we’ve been having?

Right, so about how I’ve been remiss in my blogging…My car crashed. No. A tornado hit. No. I was elected to an important office. No. Well, clearly my half-assed attempts to make up a good story aren’t working, so I might as well be straight.

I can’t use my right arm! Hoorah! Well, I can. But it hurts. I’ve mentioned briefly that my shoulder’s been in trouble. Well trouble and my shoulder have been having a lot of bonding moments, and want to stick together for a while. So, let’s see if I can explain. The tracking in my shoulder is off, so one bone doesn’t line up properly with the other bone. This is caused, or causes, the muscles in my shoulder to remain permanently contracted, thus pushing the shoulder bone forward. (Ow.) But wait! There’s more. The displacement of the bone also displaces the ligaments, so every time I move my shoulder, it pops. Which is the ligament moving over the bone. Which, by the way, it’s not supposed to do. But wait! There’s more! The displacement of everything in my shoulder is affecting the paths of my nerves, so periodically, my arm, from my neck to my middle finger, breaks out into tingles, and sends shooting pains down my right side to the center of my back. Without warning. But wait! There’s more! The contraction of my shoulder has elevated my topmost rib in my ribcage. But wait! No, that’s it.

So I spent my 4 day weekend groggy and lying around the house in pain. And intend to do so for quite some time when I’m not at work. Just a heads up.

Feel free to send me fattening baked goods to ease my pain. I like cupcakes.

Song of the Moment

Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk
By Rufus Wainwright
From the album Poses (2002)

Cigarettes and chocolate milk
These are just a couple of my cravings
Everything it seems I like’s a little bit stronger
A little bit thicker
A little bit harmful for me

Taking the backroads of Connecticut to escape traffic this morning set a mood for contemplation. I like to think I give the outward appearance to my peers that I am strong and successful and happy with my life. I think everyone does. But everyone has their vices. Their cigarettes and chocolate milk. When you think or act or do in ways you know will do nothing but cause you more harm. Cigarette smokers know what they are doing could potentially kill them, and addictions aside, won’t quit. People get involved in relationships with other that they know cannot result in anything but grief.

I’m curious, though. Why can’t we let go of our vices? What is it about the human race requires pain to exist? Think for a moment about the phrase you hear athletes throw around – “Pain is your brain telling you that you aren’t dead yet.” Is that true, to some degree? Do we doubt our existance unless we’re feeling something acutely painful?

I’m going to confess something to everyone on the internet, anyone who has access to this blog and cares to know this level of information about me. I was on anti-depressants from 7th to 12th grade. And I’m sure they served their purpose well enough, but I wasn’t aware enough of myself as a person to know for sure. In 12th grade, I sat down with my doctor, and had an epiphany.

“Look,” I said “I’m glad that these pills make everything stop hurting so much. But they don’t just dull the bad, they dull the good, too. And I’m not okay with that. I’m willing to suffer through pain if it means I can feel the exhilarating laughter, too. I need to stop taking them.”

But it wasn’t an “I need to feel pain”thing, it was “I need to feel in general”. So everyone is walking around telling eachother how happy and successful they are, with all their secret vices that cause them pain, are just a really downtrodden society? Is that why anti-depressant use has spiked in teenagers and adults?

All the secret pains and the public pains, mixed with smiling masks, it’s just an explosion waiting to happen. Overmedicating, medicating at all, why are we so afraid to face ourselves?

What Happens When You Can’t Give Peace a Chance

Anyone in the world who has had any sort of in depth conversation with me is well aware of my ardent belief in non violence. (Which does very little to explain my unfortionate penchant for men in uniform.) Unfortunately, as I have now taken Political Philosophy, I’ve learned that sometimes, violence and war is the only option.

When the Twin Towers fell, I cried. When the USA invaded Afghanistan, I cried. When the death toll kept rising in Iraq I cried. Rockets are flying in and out of Israel, Lebanese airports are being destroyed, civilians are dying. But I can’t cry. I have to shout.

When I was growing up, my parents drilled one lesson into my head, more than any other. The three most important things in life have an order, and that order never changes. The number one most important thing was Family, followed by School/Education, followed by Friends. I saw my mother drop everything in her life at a moment’s notice to be at the side of a distant cousin. When I ended up in the hospital at school one morning in December, my mother was there that night. It wasn’t even a question in her mind.

The concept of being with family was so important, that as a family, we traveled to Israel as often as we could to visit our family there. (The plight of Jews escaping the Holocaust – families are spread out across the globe.) I never understood the vital importance of these visits until I went to Israel by myself for three weeks the summer before my senior year. I stayed with cousins, who I hadn’t seen since my freshman year in high school, and visited all my family up and down the country. Even though I hadn’t seen many of them in years, I felt at home, and comfortable, because there is so much love there, that nothing can make you feel unwelcome.

But what can you do when you can’t be with your family when you need to be? Israel’s required military service has some of my favorite cousins enlisted, possibly even in combat zones. This never appeared to be a problem until the rockets started to fall.

There’s so much uncertainty, and fear, and the desire to be with them that I cannot bring myself to make any political commentary about this circumstance. All I can do is shout from the bottom of my heart at the top of my lungs that I love my family, and I support them, and with every last fiber of my being, I hope they are safe.

Just Another Day at the Beach – Connecticut Style

Today, I went to the beach.

The end.

No, just kidding, I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that.

Today, I went ot the beach with a few friends of mine. The journey started as any journey comprised soley of college students would. The great beach debate. I suggested the state public beach, where parking is a mere nine dollars, as opposed to the thirdy dollars of the town next door’s beach. Everyone seemed satisfied with this for a moment. Alex, cocking her head slightly to the side for a moment in thought, finger on her chin, stared for a moment. “Yeah,” she said, “but at the town beach, there aren’t any sketchy gangs wandering around.” We all realized this was true, and agreed that it was best to go to the more expensive, but gang-free beach. We were safe, once again.

As we drove down the wealthy and priviledged roads to the expensive Connecticut beach, I started to think. Yes, maybe there are gangs in the less-wealthy towns in Connecticut, and maybe they had the potention to shoot and beat us, but what would gangs be doing shooting and beating people in broad daylight on the beach? It’s not very logical, even for gang members.

We arrived to the beach, forked over our hard-earned minimum wage for a parking space, and situated ourselves on a lovely little spot of sand overlooking the Long Island Sound. (On that note, who the hell charges 30 dollars to see the Long Island Sound? There’s nothing in it but rocks and gross water and possibly toxic waste. All the intelligent sea lions moved many many years ago. That’s why we all visit the aquariums in middle school. The only things living in the LI Sound are the Ninja Turtles at this point.) Right, as I was saying, we found ourselves a lovely little square of sand, removed extra clothing, and laid ourselves out in the sun. (But not after Alex pointed out very loudly that I was the whitest person on the beach. Which was true. There is no doubt in my mind that my pallor could easily reflect sunlight.) We enjoyed the possibility of future skin cancer for a while, occasionally frolicked in the Ninja Turtle breeding pool, and people-watched.

People are really fun to watch in Connecticut. It’s amazing to watch them walk in a straight line with their noses stuck so far in the air. Also, big news, anorexia is in in IN! So I’d advise you all stop eating. Period. Nothing. These anorexics do try to describe their death-like appearance with a tan, but really, it just looks like a whole bunch of dirty skeletons splayed across the beach. The frightening thing was, a twelve-year old in a bikini was near us, and I noted with a bit of disgust, that her body type was the body type expected of us all. Ew. Doesn’t that make the majority of men who lust after rail thin women pedophiles? To some degree? So, the nose up skeletons wandered on the beach, on the arms of their macho macho men, who tossed frisbees and footballs back and forth. Which posed another question – doesn’t it get boring to toss a frisbee back and forth without any great range of motion? Or is it just an excuse to flex your man muscles Val Kilmer Top Gun style? And if so, way to go boys, I completely objectified you.

So, in conclusion, after a day of wandering the beach, objectifying men, taking in the sunlight, and generally judging everyone I saw, I can stretch out my slightly sunburned legs and say one thing – youth is fun.