And I really thought things couldn't get any worse.
I was wrong. Today got worse, much worse. So much that I am now a broken being and still in shock from the day's events. When I say broken, I mean that my entire ego, my confidence in editing, my excitement to be in this major was absolutely shattered. In about... 10 minutes.
It all started when I finally got a hold of the department chair. I had spent all day long trying to catch him between meetings and finally, around 1:30, I was able to catch his attention for. Earlier today, I was shaking up a storm when I was supposed to go and see him (but he was in a meeting), so by the time that I did speak with him, I was more determined to just get the whole thing over with.
The conversation started out well enough. I told him about myself, that I had my AA in English and that I was a transfer student. He even joked with me about having started out as an English major himself. Then it began. I explained why I was there and my purpose for speaking with him, even though my adviser and the professor had already spoken with him. He told me that since the copy editing class did have a prerequisite, I would have to wait to take it. I would have easily agreed with him and left at that point, but he felt that he had to continue. He felt compelled to inform me that, just because I had my AA in English, it might mean that I was a good proofer but it definitely didn't mean that I was a good copy editor. He said that if he had the option, he would not have hired me at the newspaper last semester and insinuated that he probably wouldn't have hired me this semester either. He also told me that he was giving his copy editing students a quiz the next day and he was positive that I would fail it.
I left his office, devistated.
The current chief copy did her best to cheer me up, but I still don't really feel better. I feel broken. She assured me that there was a reason why she has me as the lead section copy editor. But I still feel broken.
So, about an hour later, I finally got a hold of my adviser. The adviser who had told me that he would take care of it. The adviser that never contacted me. As soon as I saw him, I told him what the department chair had said. I expected him, like always, to be sympathetic and on my side. However, instead, he pulled me aside and began to speak to me very quietly. He told me that the entire thing wouldn't have blown out of hand if I hadn't been late to the copy editing class in the first place. He BLAMED me for the whole thing. He told me that once I had let the instructor know, that once the instructor emailed the department head, everything had blown up. He basically blamed me.
After discussing it with many friends, I've come to the conclusion that I have landed in the middle of a tiff between two full grown men. I realize that this argument cannot be about me. I haven't done anything wrong. All that I did was tell the truth. I told the truth that I was in a class that I technically wasn't supposed to be in. It may have blown up on me, but I fought and lost. I had a man break me into a million pieces simply because he was frustrated that my adviser had told me to sign up for the class. Taking it out on me was wrong and I'm still broken and frustrated by it. However, I know that he probably didn't mean it.
Still... it'll take me a while to pick up the pieces.
Showing posts with label the college. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the college. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
And Now Part 1 of the Dramatic Life of Megan...
I am convinced this day could not get any worse. And yes, right now, I look very much like this:
It started at 9:15 this morning. That's right. 9:15. When I woke up and realized that I was late for my first day of my 9am copy editing class. I don't think I've ever dressed so quickly. I realize that being a little late for a class isn't that big of a deal but I had heard stories of the professor that I was about to meet, so I thought that I was going to get grief about being late for sure. However, when I entered the class, breathless from running, the professor let me sit down without much of a problem. Sure, she teased me a little bit about being late but it wasn't bad. After doing a brief assignment of copy editing a story so that she could see where we were in our copy editing ability, I went up to apologize for being late. I did not want to start off on the wrong foot with this professor, especially because I wasn't supposed to take this class until after I took news-writing.
However, after she found out that I hadn't taken news-writing yet and that I was actually taking it this semester, she told me that I needed to talk to the department chair about being in the class. The same department chair, she also informed me, who forced her to drop 3 of her other students for taking news-writing at the same time as well.
JOLLY DAY.
I was devastated, of course. My adviser had promised me that taking this class would not be that big of a problem and I would be able to push through it fairly easily. So, I went to speak to him and he seemed surprised that he needed to speak to the department chair as well. What??? I thought to myself. Haven't you done this before?
I didn't hear from him the rest of the day (and still haven't heard from him... bad sign?) but I did run into my instructor. I got the guts up to ask her if she had spoken with the department head. She said that she had and he had said that, I quote, "under no circumstance is she allowed into your class this semester." No circumstance? What if I was dying and finishing my journalism major was my last dying wish? What if I was getting a job at a large magazine in the summer? No circumstance... I think wanting to be Chief Copy next semester is a freakin' decent circumstance. It means, "Hello. I'm willing to kick my butt taking a class that's going to be a little harder for me than other people because I'm taking the prereq at the same time instead of the semester before... see how dedicated I am???"
Anyway, I emailed the department chair (due to much persuading by the managing editor of the newspaper) and am going to go in and talk to him tomorrow, whether he emails me back or not. I will not take "no" for an answer until he tells it to my face. I'm not an ordinary student and I want him to know that, even if he tells me "no" again. I would be fighting for this a little bit harder if I didn't have 12 units (luckily the newspaper saves me with an extra 3 units because, technically, it's a "class"), but I do want this. And I'm not a fan of being told "no" when he doesn't even know me.
Apart from that, the day went fairly... I guess I could call it smoothly. (Since there were no tears. Weird things still happened.) My C.S. Lewis and Tolkien class took an interesting turn when 1) my professor decided to "make fun" of the story of Job in the Bible and 2) my professor decided to call this class useless and said that neither the works of Lewis or Tolkien were great works of literature. Luckily, with the first, I discovered that there is another fairly strong believer in Christ in my class, who I will probably be paired with for projects since we appear to be the only 2 Christians in a religious studies class. And with the second... I pretty much blew the professor away with why the works of Lewis and Tolkien not only matter, but are great works. (I'm going to give props to my background in Literature.) Then, in my other journalism class (it's a basic people & media class), my professor decided it would be funny if everyone told him what food we would be when he called our name for roll, and then made crude sexual jokes about whatever we picked. I don't give a darn if the man has tenure... he needs to learn some manners.
Right now, though, I need to begin to read 5 chapters of the Hobbit (due Thursday) and get some sleep so I don't wake up at 9:15 again. More to come with the events of tomorrow...
It started at 9:15 this morning. That's right. 9:15. When I woke up and realized that I was late for my first day of my 9am copy editing class. I don't think I've ever dressed so quickly. I realize that being a little late for a class isn't that big of a deal but I had heard stories of the professor that I was about to meet, so I thought that I was going to get grief about being late for sure. However, when I entered the class, breathless from running, the professor let me sit down without much of a problem. Sure, she teased me a little bit about being late but it wasn't bad. After doing a brief assignment of copy editing a story so that she could see where we were in our copy editing ability, I went up to apologize for being late. I did not want to start off on the wrong foot with this professor, especially because I wasn't supposed to take this class until after I took news-writing.
However, after she found out that I hadn't taken news-writing yet and that I was actually taking it this semester, she told me that I needed to talk to the department chair about being in the class. The same department chair, she also informed me, who forced her to drop 3 of her other students for taking news-writing at the same time as well.
JOLLY DAY.
I was devastated, of course. My adviser had promised me that taking this class would not be that big of a problem and I would be able to push through it fairly easily. So, I went to speak to him and he seemed surprised that he needed to speak to the department chair as well. What??? I thought to myself. Haven't you done this before?
I didn't hear from him the rest of the day (and still haven't heard from him... bad sign?) but I did run into my instructor. I got the guts up to ask her if she had spoken with the department head. She said that she had and he had said that, I quote, "under no circumstance is she allowed into your class this semester." No circumstance? What if I was dying and finishing my journalism major was my last dying wish? What if I was getting a job at a large magazine in the summer? No circumstance... I think wanting to be Chief Copy next semester is a freakin' decent circumstance. It means, "Hello. I'm willing to kick my butt taking a class that's going to be a little harder for me than other people because I'm taking the prereq at the same time instead of the semester before... see how dedicated I am???"
Anyway, I emailed the department chair (due to much persuading by the managing editor of the newspaper) and am going to go in and talk to him tomorrow, whether he emails me back or not. I will not take "no" for an answer until he tells it to my face. I'm not an ordinary student and I want him to know that, even if he tells me "no" again. I would be fighting for this a little bit harder if I didn't have 12 units (luckily the newspaper saves me with an extra 3 units because, technically, it's a "class"), but I do want this. And I'm not a fan of being told "no" when he doesn't even know me.
Apart from that, the day went fairly... I guess I could call it smoothly. (Since there were no tears. Weird things still happened.) My C.S. Lewis and Tolkien class took an interesting turn when 1) my professor decided to "make fun" of the story of Job in the Bible and 2) my professor decided to call this class useless and said that neither the works of Lewis or Tolkien were great works of literature. Luckily, with the first, I discovered that there is another fairly strong believer in Christ in my class, who I will probably be paired with for projects since we appear to be the only 2 Christians in a religious studies class. And with the second... I pretty much blew the professor away with why the works of Lewis and Tolkien not only matter, but are great works. (I'm going to give props to my background in Literature.) Then, in my other journalism class (it's a basic people & media class), my professor decided it would be funny if everyone told him what food we would be when he called our name for roll, and then made crude sexual jokes about whatever we picked. I don't give a darn if the man has tenure... he needs to learn some manners.
Right now, though, I need to begin to read 5 chapters of the Hobbit (due Thursday) and get some sleep so I don't wake up at 9:15 again. More to come with the events of tomorrow...
Barely Hanging On
I'm beginning to feel like the beginning of my semesters are going to start the same way over and over and over. Last semester, I had a problem with my legs. This semester, I have a cold that won't go away.
Last Monday began with a flu of about 102. Most of my friends freaked out and wanted to take me to the hospital but, after calling my mom, it was determined that I was fine. Heck, even the nurse at the student health center said I was fine (but I'm still having a tough time trying to trust those people.) Then came everything else that comes with a cold: the stuffy nose, the headaches, and the sore throat. I've had a million colds in my 21 years but nothing compared to the intensity of this one. As the week went on, a cough developed and, though my throat seemed fine during the day, at night it went all Dr. Jeckle on me. The past couple of nights have been impossible for me to sleep, either because I can't stop coughing or because my throat hurts so bad that I don't even want to consider swallowing. All the Halls in the world did absolutely nothing for either of those. So, I'm currently on amoxicillin and praying that all of this stuff goes away. I'd like to feel normal again.
That being said, school started back up again today. My first class, newswriting, was extremely awkward. The professor decided to call out not only the names but the majors and years of each student, so I quickly discovered that I was the only junior in a class filled with freshman and a few sophomores. I was on the verge of mentioning that I was on the newspaper staff but I don't want to get off to a bad start with all the younglings around me, so I kept my mouth shut. A little later in the day, I had my rock climbing class, which I had to drop due to the fact that the professor wanted to go on class trips on the weekends and my entire weekend is dedicated to the newspaper.
And speaking of the newspaper... if I said we were busy today, that would totally under-estimate how swamped we were. I spent the majority of my day downstairs with the rest of the editors, helping out as best as I could. My new job as Lead Section Copy Editor has definitely taken on many more responsibilities. I stepped out of the newspaper for an hour to go to a class and, in the time, I received a call from the Chief Copy Editor, wanting to know if I could edit four opinion stories that had arrived extremely late and the current opinion copy editor was at soccer practice. So, off I tromped to the basement again for 2 hours of copy editing. (I had been down there earlier for about 2 hours before my next class and, at that time, they didn't have anything for me to do.) Then, right after I left the school to go home and crash from all my copy editing time, I recieved another call, this time from the managing editor, who needed me to look over the final proof of a couple of stories because the Chief Copy Editor needed to go to class (class? What's that?) and didn't get the time to look over again. So, as I waited for my pasta to cook at home, I sat and edited another three stories.
I'm basically the on-call, go-to copy-editor, when people need someone.
I'm really glad that I decided to take this job before becoming Chief Copy, just so I start feeling the weight of responsibility on my shoulders getting heavier. I realize that this is the first week of school, so things are a bit crazy, but getting used to being on-call isn't too bad. Especially because I'm going to have a lot more responsibility next semester.
Tomorrow, I have a copy editing class, the religious study on C.S. Lewis and J.R.R Tolkien, and Women, Men, and the Media. It should be an interesting day...
Now, if I could just stop coughing, the world would be dandy.
Last Monday began with a flu of about 102. Most of my friends freaked out and wanted to take me to the hospital but, after calling my mom, it was determined that I was fine. Heck, even the nurse at the student health center said I was fine (but I'm still having a tough time trying to trust those people.) Then came everything else that comes with a cold: the stuffy nose, the headaches, and the sore throat. I've had a million colds in my 21 years but nothing compared to the intensity of this one. As the week went on, a cough developed and, though my throat seemed fine during the day, at night it went all Dr. Jeckle on me. The past couple of nights have been impossible for me to sleep, either because I can't stop coughing or because my throat hurts so bad that I don't even want to consider swallowing. All the Halls in the world did absolutely nothing for either of those. So, I'm currently on amoxicillin and praying that all of this stuff goes away. I'd like to feel normal again.
That being said, school started back up again today. My first class, newswriting, was extremely awkward. The professor decided to call out not only the names but the majors and years of each student, so I quickly discovered that I was the only junior in a class filled with freshman and a few sophomores. I was on the verge of mentioning that I was on the newspaper staff but I don't want to get off to a bad start with all the younglings around me, so I kept my mouth shut. A little later in the day, I had my rock climbing class, which I had to drop due to the fact that the professor wanted to go on class trips on the weekends and my entire weekend is dedicated to the newspaper.
And speaking of the newspaper... if I said we were busy today, that would totally under-estimate how swamped we were. I spent the majority of my day downstairs with the rest of the editors, helping out as best as I could. My new job as Lead Section Copy Editor has definitely taken on many more responsibilities. I stepped out of the newspaper for an hour to go to a class and, in the time, I received a call from the Chief Copy Editor, wanting to know if I could edit four opinion stories that had arrived extremely late and the current opinion copy editor was at soccer practice. So, off I tromped to the basement again for 2 hours of copy editing. (I had been down there earlier for about 2 hours before my next class and, at that time, they didn't have anything for me to do.) Then, right after I left the school to go home and crash from all my copy editing time, I recieved another call, this time from the managing editor, who needed me to look over the final proof of a couple of stories because the Chief Copy Editor needed to go to class (class? What's that?) and didn't get the time to look over again. So, as I waited for my pasta to cook at home, I sat and edited another three stories.
I'm basically the on-call, go-to copy-editor, when people need someone.
I'm really glad that I decided to take this job before becoming Chief Copy, just so I start feeling the weight of responsibility on my shoulders getting heavier. I realize that this is the first week of school, so things are a bit crazy, but getting used to being on-call isn't too bad. Especially because I'm going to have a lot more responsibility next semester.
Tomorrow, I have a copy editing class, the religious study on C.S. Lewis and J.R.R Tolkien, and Women, Men, and the Media. It should be an interesting day...
Now, if I could just stop coughing, the world would be dandy.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Conflicted Holiday
Christmas is a conflicted time of year for me.
Now that I live away from home, Christmas is no longer a holiday that I begin and end with my family. It is a holiday that I join in on, a holiday that is left to childhood memories and feelings of the past. I really feel like that, until I am married and have my own family to celebrate the holidays with, Christmas has become simply a time to "remember when" and just spend time with the family I have.
Two memories dominate my mind when December decides to show her chilly face in my life. First, there's the memory that makes me look forward to Christmas. The memory of growing up in Tehachapi. The memory that reminds me of how Christmas feels. This one consists of decorations on the house, the snow covering our 2 1/2 acres of land shimmering in the moonlight, my sister and I pulling our sleds up a hill only to ride back down it again, calling after our dog who had decided to hide in the snow from us, making cat huts (instead of snowmen) out of snow for my cats (who loved them, by the way, and would hide in them as soon as we put an old towel inside that they could lie down on), hot chocolate, a roaring fire, a giant Christmas tree with presents stacked underneath it, listening to the sound of laughter as I watched my family open presents, the smell of the pancakes my mom would make every Christmas morning...
The Christmas of my childhood.
Then, there's that memory that always ruins my Christmas, that memory that makes me despise this time of year more than anything else. You probably guessed it. It's the memory of my father and the legacy that he left behind when he decided to thrash his way out of his family's life. Now, most people might be mad at me for not just saying "screw him!" and throwing this memory out, but, when it's been so deeply ingrained in my mind, it's hard to remember Christmas without remembering him. Without remembering how much he hated the holiday. Without remembering how he moaned and groaned about getting the Christmas tree every year because "it wasn't Christian" and "it's too much trouble" and "that's not what Christmas was all about." Without remembering how, on Christmas day after my sister and I had opened up all of our presents, he would ask us to give him half of the presents that we had recieved to give to the homeless shelter. Without remembering him getting mad at us when we asked him why he didn't just ask us to do that before we opened the presents, before we had seen what they had given us. Without remembering closed blinds and hiding in bedrooms and going out to see a movie with my mom and sister just so we could get the hell away from him sitting at home, being an absolute terror.
I once gave my father a Grinch tie as a Christmas gift and a joke. Now, years later, I wonder if I was predicting the future.
So, as I end finals this week and head from my university to my mom's house for Christmas, I open my book of memories and try to flip backwards through all the bad memories to my childhood in Tehachapi, when all I thought about was stockings and snow and servings of bacon, fresh from the skillet.
What memories do you carry with you at this time of year?
Now that I live away from home, Christmas is no longer a holiday that I begin and end with my family. It is a holiday that I join in on, a holiday that is left to childhood memories and feelings of the past. I really feel like that, until I am married and have my own family to celebrate the holidays with, Christmas has become simply a time to "remember when" and just spend time with the family I have.
Two memories dominate my mind when December decides to show her chilly face in my life. First, there's the memory that makes me look forward to Christmas. The memory of growing up in Tehachapi. The memory that reminds me of how Christmas feels. This one consists of decorations on the house, the snow covering our 2 1/2 acres of land shimmering in the moonlight, my sister and I pulling our sleds up a hill only to ride back down it again, calling after our dog who had decided to hide in the snow from us, making cat huts (instead of snowmen) out of snow for my cats (who loved them, by the way, and would hide in them as soon as we put an old towel inside that they could lie down on), hot chocolate, a roaring fire, a giant Christmas tree with presents stacked underneath it, listening to the sound of laughter as I watched my family open presents, the smell of the pancakes my mom would make every Christmas morning...
The Christmas of my childhood.
Then, there's that memory that always ruins my Christmas, that memory that makes me despise this time of year more than anything else. You probably guessed it. It's the memory of my father and the legacy that he left behind when he decided to thrash his way out of his family's life. Now, most people might be mad at me for not just saying "screw him!" and throwing this memory out, but, when it's been so deeply ingrained in my mind, it's hard to remember Christmas without remembering him. Without remembering how much he hated the holiday. Without remembering how he moaned and groaned about getting the Christmas tree every year because "it wasn't Christian" and "it's too much trouble" and "that's not what Christmas was all about." Without remembering how, on Christmas day after my sister and I had opened up all of our presents, he would ask us to give him half of the presents that we had recieved to give to the homeless shelter. Without remembering him getting mad at us when we asked him why he didn't just ask us to do that before we opened the presents, before we had seen what they had given us. Without remembering closed blinds and hiding in bedrooms and going out to see a movie with my mom and sister just so we could get the hell away from him sitting at home, being an absolute terror.
I once gave my father a Grinch tie as a Christmas gift and a joke. Now, years later, I wonder if I was predicting the future.
So, as I end finals this week and head from my university to my mom's house for Christmas, I open my book of memories and try to flip backwards through all the bad memories to my childhood in Tehachapi, when all I thought about was stockings and snow and servings of bacon, fresh from the skillet.
What memories do you carry with you at this time of year?
Friday, December 4, 2009
Bible Thumping Crazy Christians
I am a Christian.
I'm not a flaming Christian. I'm what I would call a "quiet Christian." I share my beliefs with people who would like to listen and share their ideas and opinions back in a calm manner. When my family moved to the coast when I was in high school, I was (what people called) a "pretty crazy Christian." I called people out right on the spot, I didn't explain myself after giving the answer that I believed was right. When someone asked me if they were going to hell and told me they weren't a Christian, I stuck with the "yes, you are going to hell" and was told that I hurt a fair number of people's feelings that way. As time progressed and people stopped talked to me, I turned my tone down from an 8 to a 4, realizing that the way you approach people about Christianity should be gentle, calm, and optimistic. As much as I believe that the Bible is the way, someone else has a right to their opinion as well and it would be just of me to listen to it, even if I'm going to contradict it with another verse from the Bible.
So... when I saw this man on my campus looking exactly the way he does in this picture, claiming to preach a message of love from God... my blood boiled. And every time I look at this picture, my blood boils.
How would you like it, Christian or no, if you came upon someone like this? From this picture, what I gather is that he is pointing his finger, his mouth is open, and his eyes are narrowed. Which means... he's accusing someone of something. And that's just what he is on campus to do. I don't care what he has told everyone. His yelling and screaming and finger pointing presents a message of hate.
I'm come across this guy twice on campus, by myself, and both times I felt compelled to speak to him. The first time, he was standing on top of something, looking over the heads of students, screaming how they were all sodomites and lovers of homosexuals and how God "abhors" them all. I witness a young man from the college standing next to him, holding a sign in cardboard that read "God abhors this guy" and I listened to students laughing at guy screaming. I praised another young man who was telling the crowd that God and Jesus both love everyone and that they want to save everyone, while the preacher tried to scream over him about how they were all sinners and horrible and going to hell. I attempted to say something to him but he didn't listen to me and, I admit, my yelling up at him just blended in with the rest of the chaos.
The second time, Wednesday afternoon, I found that guy out again with an even bigger audience circling him this time, and a buddy who was holding the sign that the guy was holding the first time that I saw him. Off to the side were two young men holding cardboard signs with phrases such as "Jesus loves all!" on them, and I decided to approach them this time. I was grateful to find that they were from a Christian fraternity on campus and were trying to prove to the audience that you can preach a message without screaming, which was true because people continuously approached them, talking to them calmly, and mainly asking if they were with the two men who were yelling at the crowd. After talking to one of the guys for a while, I saw the preacher had stopped yelling so, against the boyfriend's warning earlier that day, I approached him.
I was calm. I asked him if he had a moment. I then proceeded to inquire how he thought all of this yelling was preaching a message of love, when it appeared to everyone that he was preaching hatred. He yelled at me after I had approached him quietly, inches from my face, with his horrid crooked teeth and horrid crooked breath, while I stood there quietly, looking at him quizzically. I felt the full force of his confrontation with his face so close to mine, accusing me of not being a true Christian, of not spreading the message of God. (I wanted to tell him that he reminded me of my father but I was afraid he would actually suggest my father is a good man.) Yet, never once did he open the Bible that he had been slapping around in his hand. He asked me if I had read the Gospels and seemed a little surprised when I confidently replied "yes" and wanted to add "have you?" When he went so far as to say, "What do you think your little ice cream socials and your little Bible studies can do compared to my preaching?" I actually shook my head and walked away. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to punch him in his crooked teeth and get him to stop making Christians look bad, make him stop angering Campus Crusades and the Christian fraternities and sororities. Of course, I didn't, but I wanted to. Perhaps I felt this way because the message he was spreading inspired anger and I wanted to show him anger in the form of my fist.
I later found out from another staff member at the student newspaper that the police have a record on this guy. His group travels around CSU campuses, screaming "the love of God" messages, and getting in people's faces so that someone physically assaults them. Then, they sue that person for a lot of money (claiming that they were in the campus free speech area) and they move to the next CSU. Personally, if I could, I would convict them of a hate crime.
My blood boils when I see that picture. My blood boils when I see that man.
I wonder what the police would say if a girl decked that guy in the face.
I'm not a flaming Christian. I'm what I would call a "quiet Christian." I share my beliefs with people who would like to listen and share their ideas and opinions back in a calm manner. When my family moved to the coast when I was in high school, I was (what people called) a "pretty crazy Christian." I called people out right on the spot, I didn't explain myself after giving the answer that I believed was right. When someone asked me if they were going to hell and told me they weren't a Christian, I stuck with the "yes, you are going to hell" and was told that I hurt a fair number of people's feelings that way. As time progressed and people stopped talked to me, I turned my tone down from an 8 to a 4, realizing that the way you approach people about Christianity should be gentle, calm, and optimistic. As much as I believe that the Bible is the way, someone else has a right to their opinion as well and it would be just of me to listen to it, even if I'm going to contradict it with another verse from the Bible.
So... when I saw this man on my campus looking exactly the way he does in this picture, claiming to preach a message of love from God... my blood boiled. And every time I look at this picture, my blood boils.
How would you like it, Christian or no, if you came upon someone like this? From this picture, what I gather is that he is pointing his finger, his mouth is open, and his eyes are narrowed. Which means... he's accusing someone of something. And that's just what he is on campus to do. I don't care what he has told everyone. His yelling and screaming and finger pointing presents a message of hate.
I'm come across this guy twice on campus, by myself, and both times I felt compelled to speak to him. The first time, he was standing on top of something, looking over the heads of students, screaming how they were all sodomites and lovers of homosexuals and how God "abhors" them all. I witness a young man from the college standing next to him, holding a sign in cardboard that read "God abhors this guy" and I listened to students laughing at guy screaming. I praised another young man who was telling the crowd that God and Jesus both love everyone and that they want to save everyone, while the preacher tried to scream over him about how they were all sinners and horrible and going to hell. I attempted to say something to him but he didn't listen to me and, I admit, my yelling up at him just blended in with the rest of the chaos.
The second time, Wednesday afternoon, I found that guy out again with an even bigger audience circling him this time, and a buddy who was holding the sign that the guy was holding the first time that I saw him. Off to the side were two young men holding cardboard signs with phrases such as "Jesus loves all!" on them, and I decided to approach them this time. I was grateful to find that they were from a Christian fraternity on campus and were trying to prove to the audience that you can preach a message without screaming, which was true because people continuously approached them, talking to them calmly, and mainly asking if they were with the two men who were yelling at the crowd. After talking to one of the guys for a while, I saw the preacher had stopped yelling so, against the boyfriend's warning earlier that day, I approached him.
I was calm. I asked him if he had a moment. I then proceeded to inquire how he thought all of this yelling was preaching a message of love, when it appeared to everyone that he was preaching hatred. He yelled at me after I had approached him quietly, inches from my face, with his horrid crooked teeth and horrid crooked breath, while I stood there quietly, looking at him quizzically. I felt the full force of his confrontation with his face so close to mine, accusing me of not being a true Christian, of not spreading the message of God. (I wanted to tell him that he reminded me of my father but I was afraid he would actually suggest my father is a good man.) Yet, never once did he open the Bible that he had been slapping around in his hand. He asked me if I had read the Gospels and seemed a little surprised when I confidently replied "yes" and wanted to add "have you?" When he went so far as to say, "What do you think your little ice cream socials and your little Bible studies can do compared to my preaching?" I actually shook my head and walked away. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to punch him in his crooked teeth and get him to stop making Christians look bad, make him stop angering Campus Crusades and the Christian fraternities and sororities. Of course, I didn't, but I wanted to. Perhaps I felt this way because the message he was spreading inspired anger and I wanted to show him anger in the form of my fist.
I later found out from another staff member at the student newspaper that the police have a record on this guy. His group travels around CSU campuses, screaming "the love of God" messages, and getting in people's faces so that someone physically assaults them. Then, they sue that person for a lot of money (claiming that they were in the campus free speech area) and they move to the next CSU. Personally, if I could, I would convict them of a hate crime.
My blood boils when I see that picture. My blood boils when I see that man.
I wonder what the police would say if a girl decked that guy in the face.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Wanting More
Have you ever felt when you walk into a room full of peers that you know that everyone likes you there but you simply don't feel like you belong?
That's how I have felt the past couple of weeks regarding my major. I love the people involved in it but I just don't feel as if I should really be there. When people come up to me and ask what I want to do with my major, if I don't automatically say, "nursing," (normally it's along the lines of running a woman's clinic), people give me funny looks or kind of a shun attitude. No offense to the people going into nursing; they are doing something that I completely respect but just don't feel like I want to be involved in. I've been keeping these feelings inside the past couple of weeks, only mentioning to the boyfriend sometime last week that I wondered what it would be like to be a religious studies major.
Wednesday, I decided that I was done with Health. I was bored and, when my Computer Applications teacher told us that we had to pick a motivational statement of our goals in Health Education, I couldn't think of anything to write. "What it is that you want to do with your life?" one of my friends asked me and my only response to that was, "write." It's true. All I want to do is write. But the realization that I didn't know what to do with my life (apart from write) hit me like a ton of bricks. I have already changed my major once. I didn't want to do it again. I had thought to use Health as a back-up plan in case my novel didn't take off (which there's no guarantee that it ever will) but I knew Health was the wrong back up plan. Even when a very close friend of mine told me, "It doesn't matter what you're major is; you could even take time off school if you want to work on your writing so badly," I couldn't agree. I needed a back up plan.
So, as you might have guessed, after much deliberation, I changed my major to journalism. Since it requires a minor, I am minoring in the Literary Editing and Publishing certificate (which, for some odd reason, journalism still considers a minor even though it is really a certificate). My Health friends are disappointed in me, my journalism friends (and the staff of the newspaper) are thrilled, and my new adviser did this funny little dance when I told him I wanted to change to journalism. I still haven't let my Health adviser know... I figured that would be the upsetting conquest of next week. People who were disappointed that I changed my major from English Lit are satisfied that I am do some sort of writing (as am I) and I really don't regret this change at all. Especially because if the minor falls through due to budget cuts, I'll be a creative writing minor. I've signed up for the classes that are still open and I'm really excited/intimidated by my Creative Nonfiction class next semester.
It was a necessary change and a good one. I don't regret it, even though journalism is a lot more work (unit-wise) than health education.
At least I wont be taking physiology next semester.
Excerpt from chapter 5:
To be posted later today.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Zombie Slayers Gone Wild - Part Four
*Gurgle*
Brains... must feed...
*Low moan*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I want to add a side note to this blog post which, yes, is supposed to be short and stupid. You'll see why tomorrow. (I've been having way too much fun at school chasing humans around for me not to act like a silly zombie.) Lately, the boyfriend and I have been re-watching the old Star Wars movies. You know, the original three, the only ones that are worth watching. We finally got to the last one and a little conversation between Vader and the Emperor caught my eye. Now, I have watched these movies over and over again but it took a late night viewing to come up with this. I'll write it down first, see if you can catch it, and then I'll mention what I saw. This little conversation takes place just after Leah, Han, and Luke have met the Ewocks on Endor.
Vader: My son with with them.
Emperor: Are you sure?
Vader: I have felt him.
Emperor: Strange I have not. I wonder if your feelings on this matter are clear, Lord Vader.
Vader: They are clear, my master.
Emperor: You must go to the Centrilian Moon and wait for him.
Vader: He will come to me.
Emperor: Yes. I have forseen it. His compassion for you will be his undoing. He will come to you and you will bring him before me.
Find it? No?
Rewind a second. Vader kind of leads this conversation and the Emperor catches on later, making Vader's words his own. Vader is confident that he will see Luke under Luke's own terms and, at first, the Emperor questions this. He even critisizes Vader, wondering if his "feelings on the matter are clear." Then, later in the conversation, the Emperor basically repeats what Vader said, telling him "I have forseen it." My question is this: How could the Emperor have forseen this when he even tells Vader "Strange that I have not" in regards to feeling Luke's presence?
It's just so funny how little things like re-watching a beloved film could catch such mistakes. I wonder what George Lucus thinks of his masterpiece after all these years. I still love this movie, anyway.
Brains... must feed...
*Low moan*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I want to add a side note to this blog post which, yes, is supposed to be short and stupid. You'll see why tomorrow. (I've been having way too much fun at school chasing humans around for me not to act like a silly zombie.) Lately, the boyfriend and I have been re-watching the old Star Wars movies. You know, the original three, the only ones that are worth watching. We finally got to the last one and a little conversation between Vader and the Emperor caught my eye. Now, I have watched these movies over and over again but it took a late night viewing to come up with this. I'll write it down first, see if you can catch it, and then I'll mention what I saw. This little conversation takes place just after Leah, Han, and Luke have met the Ewocks on Endor.
Vader: My son with with them.
Emperor: Are you sure?
Vader: I have felt him.
Emperor: Strange I have not. I wonder if your feelings on this matter are clear, Lord Vader.
Vader: They are clear, my master.
Emperor: You must go to the Centrilian Moon and wait for him.
Vader: He will come to me.
Emperor: Yes. I have forseen it. His compassion for you will be his undoing. He will come to you and you will bring him before me.
Find it? No?
Rewind a second. Vader kind of leads this conversation and the Emperor catches on later, making Vader's words his own. Vader is confident that he will see Luke under Luke's own terms and, at first, the Emperor questions this. He even critisizes Vader, wondering if his "feelings on the matter are clear." Then, later in the conversation, the Emperor basically repeats what Vader said, telling him "I have forseen it." My question is this: How could the Emperor have forseen this when he even tells Vader "Strange that I have not" in regards to feeling Luke's presence?
It's just so funny how little things like re-watching a beloved film could catch such mistakes. I wonder what George Lucus thinks of his masterpiece after all these years. I still love this movie, anyway.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Zombie Slayers Gone Wild - Part Three
Yes, that's right, I have been bitten. It was a long hard battle and I'll will tell all to you in due time.
As I got on the bus this morning, still human, I met five other male humans, well armed, who offered to get me to my class safely. I took this offer and off to class we went, without seeing a single zombie along the way. However, once in class, one of my dear friends became ill and my professor asked me to take her to the Health Center, the one place I didn't want to go (after previous experiences with that retched place) but I said I would go, anyway. Armed with socks, I walked her over to the Health Center, once again without meeting a single zombie. What is going on? I thought to myself. They should be out by now! After seeing her safe within the confines of the sick ward, I headed back towards the library in search of zombies. I knew they were out. There were at least 55 of them. It had been reported last night!
That's when I got the text message from Jo. He had been bitten and was going through the painful transformation. I shed a single tear and then closed my cell phone. All I could do was let him go to his doom.
I was right about the zombies being out. One was there, walking across a bridge I was also crossing to get to the library. She turned, ready, but was not fast enough. I pegged her with a sock before she could even get near. Inside the library, I ran into a human friend, one that needed to get to a building that had been rumored to be infested with zombies. I offered my services and we traveled without disturbance. I was dumb-founded by this time. I had hardly seen any zombies all day. Very few guarded the library, which was normally very guarded. I headed home to get ready for my second class, pondering this thought.
I suppose I let my ego get the best of me. That must have been why this happened. After class, a fellow human and I debated on waiting until 6:30 (when the zombies had to stand down) to go to a human meeting that was supposed to take place in the library at 6:45. We peeked out of the building and, though we couldn't see any zombies, I immediately got a bad feeling about the situation. I wanted to wait until 6:30 to come out of hiding but she offered that we move now, while the zombies were gone. We were sure, too, that they had all given up until we came upon the library cooridor.
We didn't even make it to the front door.
Three zombies jumped out of hiding and sprinted after the two of us. I bolted for the neared building I could see, which happened to be the second closest building. I realized, as my friend was bitten behind me and let out a shriek, that I had led us in the wrong direction. I heard fast steps beside me and turned to hit the original zombie, who immediately backed down. I kept running. Moments before I reached the door of the building, I turned to hit the zombie behind me and, as the sock left my hand, he grabbed me. I let out a disappointed wail and stooped to catch my breath as the pain of the new transformation began to flow through my veins. Moments later, the original zombie appeared, welcoming me into the horde and complementing me on my quickness of step. "We could use people like you!" he told me as he clapped me on the shoulder.
And now I am home. In these last moments, I apologize to all of you for my weakness of judgment. I was trained to be strong and I wasn't strong. I was trained to be wise and I wasn't wise. I am sorry to let you all down. I just hope that... in this new transformation...
I can find...
forgiveness...
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Zombie Slayers Gone Wild - Part Two
I knew today would be much different than yesterday.
First of all, I had more stuff to carry with me today. If I had only had to go to the library and study for my evening midterm, I would have just carried on small bag. But I had my yoga mat with me, as well as a set of clothes for yoga. Which put extra weight on, extra weight that I would have to carry if I broke into a sprint away from a determined zombie.
Second of all, the finally tally for zombies last night was 22. That means that the original zombie tagged enough zombies, who tagged other zombies, to reach the count of 22. Who knew what the count would get to be today? If all of those zombies tagged at least one person, the count would reach 44. Or worse. What if they each tagged two people? The count would be 66. And I’m determined not to be one of those 66. Or 88. Or 110.
I have been taking the bus to school instead of riding my bicycle because rumors have it that last year there was a zombie outbreak and a human got chased down by three zombies while riding his bicycle to school. And there’s no way you can ride your bike and pelt zombies with socks all at the same time. So, as I stepped off the bus, I looked around cautiously, alternating between looking in front of me and then behind me every other second, and darted to my yoga class. I got there safely, without a single zombie spotting.
Afterwords, however, it was a different story. On my way out of the building, I ran into another member of the resistance, a girl around my age looking very rattled. I asked her if she had seen any zombies and she immediately told my how she had bumped into her friend in a building who had been turned into a zombie and how, even though it was only the second day, they were growing in number. I thanked her, promising to be cautious, and set on my way. I had planned to head straight to the library to study for a midterm, avoiding any narrow paths where zombies might be hiding in wait of an unaware human. However, there was a slight kink to my plan. I needed a scantron for my exam and the only place that I knew to get one was the student store. I mapped the path out in my head before starting out, using the same method as before of alternating between looking in front of me and then behind me.
I had almost made it there. As I crossed an open grassy area, students absolutely everywhere, I could see the student store in front of me. I debated breaking into a sprint but I decided that it would make me much less aware of my surroundings, as I would have to sprint and look ahead. As I rotated my gaze to behind me, I suddenly saw it: a male zombie, dark-haired, about my height with an orange bandanna, racing towards me. For a moment, I froze, and then, feeling the weight of the sock of my hand, I whipped around, aimed the sock at him, and threw it. He jumped past me, the sock missing him by an inch, and as he turned to try again, I recovered my sock and threw it. I thought it missed him until a disappointed look crossed his face and I knew I had hit my target. “Fifteen minutes!” I yelled and then hustled to the student store, breathing hard by the time I was inside. I was only there for five minutes, so I knew he couldn’t follow me for another ten. That was enough time to get to the library, I told myself.
The trip to the library was a little less eventful but only slightly. A zombie in a green bandanna stood against a pillar, texting, glancing around him. I froze, watching him closely, and then I moved slowly, quietly. I can only suppose he didn’t see me, although I was ready, sock in hand. As soon as I was close enough, I made a bolt for the door of the library and retreated safely inside for a couple hours of studying.
A few hours into the library session, I ran into a bunch of humans who were watching zombies in front of the library from a window. We bickered for a while about whether or not they could get me to my 6:30 before 6:30 (since the zombies have to stand down on campus after dark) and we finally were able to work out a route to my class before it became too dark. We also worked out a major zombie massacre on Thursday afternoon (if we all were still humans by then).
Jo is still a human. We’re keeping each other safe.
Final tally:
Megan – 1
Zombies - 0
First of all, I had more stuff to carry with me today. If I had only had to go to the library and study for my evening midterm, I would have just carried on small bag. But I had my yoga mat with me, as well as a set of clothes for yoga. Which put extra weight on, extra weight that I would have to carry if I broke into a sprint away from a determined zombie.
Second of all, the finally tally for zombies last night was 22. That means that the original zombie tagged enough zombies, who tagged other zombies, to reach the count of 22. Who knew what the count would get to be today? If all of those zombies tagged at least one person, the count would reach 44. Or worse. What if they each tagged two people? The count would be 66. And I’m determined not to be one of those 66. Or 88. Or 110.
I have been taking the bus to school instead of riding my bicycle because rumors have it that last year there was a zombie outbreak and a human got chased down by three zombies while riding his bicycle to school. And there’s no way you can ride your bike and pelt zombies with socks all at the same time. So, as I stepped off the bus, I looked around cautiously, alternating between looking in front of me and then behind me every other second, and darted to my yoga class. I got there safely, without a single zombie spotting.
Afterwords, however, it was a different story. On my way out of the building, I ran into another member of the resistance, a girl around my age looking very rattled. I asked her if she had seen any zombies and she immediately told my how she had bumped into her friend in a building who had been turned into a zombie and how, even though it was only the second day, they were growing in number. I thanked her, promising to be cautious, and set on my way. I had planned to head straight to the library to study for a midterm, avoiding any narrow paths where zombies might be hiding in wait of an unaware human. However, there was a slight kink to my plan. I needed a scantron for my exam and the only place that I knew to get one was the student store. I mapped the path out in my head before starting out, using the same method as before of alternating between looking in front of me and then behind me.
I had almost made it there. As I crossed an open grassy area, students absolutely everywhere, I could see the student store in front of me. I debated breaking into a sprint but I decided that it would make me much less aware of my surroundings, as I would have to sprint and look ahead. As I rotated my gaze to behind me, I suddenly saw it: a male zombie, dark-haired, about my height with an orange bandanna, racing towards me. For a moment, I froze, and then, feeling the weight of the sock of my hand, I whipped around, aimed the sock at him, and threw it. He jumped past me, the sock missing him by an inch, and as he turned to try again, I recovered my sock and threw it. I thought it missed him until a disappointed look crossed his face and I knew I had hit my target. “Fifteen minutes!” I yelled and then hustled to the student store, breathing hard by the time I was inside. I was only there for five minutes, so I knew he couldn’t follow me for another ten. That was enough time to get to the library, I told myself.
The trip to the library was a little less eventful but only slightly. A zombie in a green bandanna stood against a pillar, texting, glancing around him. I froze, watching him closely, and then I moved slowly, quietly. I can only suppose he didn’t see me, although I was ready, sock in hand. As soon as I was close enough, I made a bolt for the door of the library and retreated safely inside for a couple hours of studying.
A few hours into the library session, I ran into a bunch of humans who were watching zombies in front of the library from a window. We bickered for a while about whether or not they could get me to my 6:30 before 6:30 (since the zombies have to stand down on campus after dark) and we finally were able to work out a route to my class before it became too dark. We also worked out a major zombie massacre on Thursday afternoon (if we all were still humans by then).
Jo is still a human. We’re keeping each other safe.
Final tally:
Megan – 1
Zombies - 0
Monday, October 26, 2009
Zombie Slayers Gone Wild - Part One
The epidemic has begun.
I've seen several of my fellow humans but no one can seem to tell me who the original zombie is. All we can do is walk softly and become paranoid people. My fellow classmates - those not knowing or caring about the epidemic - stare at me strangely. I'm sure the orange bandanna around my arm looks slightly strange but it's the only method the fellow members of the resistance and myself can tell who is who.
We hear the zombie are growing smarter.
The infection begins at the forehead, the sin growing grayish and ragged. We're not entirely sure how it began; rumors are that a freshman chemistry student went rogue and ingested a tampered formula. We do know that once touched, the infection spreads like wildfire. Those who have started getting the infection decided to move their bandanna from their arms to their foreheads to hide the beginnings of the infection. It tricked us at first but, once one of those monsters with the bandannas on their heads attacked a member of the resistance, we grew smart, too. Anyone wearing a head bandanna is immediately pelted with ammo... er... socks. Or hidden from.
But I am not the hiding type.
I have not seen a zombie today but, then again, it is only the first day of the epidemic. Jo, on the other hand, was caught in an elevator with a human who had very recently been turned into a zombie. As soon as he could find me, we immediately snuck out of the building before that one zombie retrieved her zombie friends and killed us in a zombie fashion. I would have stayed and fought for the resistance but we're not quite sure how many zombies there are on campus at the moment. Once we see more zombies, we can take different precautions.
I am determined to survive the week.
Me, brandishing my sock and orange bandanna.
Jo with his yellow bandanna, determined to fight for the resistance.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Not an English Major: You Do the Math
I must be writing a lot about writing my novel on my Facebook, lately, because a very dear friend of mine asked an interesting question today. I’m not sure if I have ever completely covered this subject on this blog but I suppose I’ll cover it now. The question my friend asked was, “If you like writing so much, why aren’t you still an English major?”
I could give a very simple response to this and, then, I could give a very long-winded one. I think I’ll do both. We’ll start with the simple one. I’m not an English major the same way Michael Crichton was not an English major (RIP to an amazing writer). I realize that Stephen King taught English for a while (and one of the women in my NaNoWriMo group teaches an English language class) but it is not a necessity.
Now for the long one: I used to be an English major. All through high school, English was my favorite class. I did better than many of my peers, baffled many of my friends, and it was the one subject that I could proudly beat my ex-boyfriend at without trying (he was better than I at basically everything else). I’ve been writing since the 3rd grade so, naturally, English was what I thought I was going to get into as a major. I actually tried all the different areas of English in my senior year high school: I was a copy editor for the school newspaper, I was taking an AP English Literature class, I took a creative writing class from the local junior college during the fall, and I followed a professor at the junior college for my senior project (of what job we would like to get into). I decided early on that I didn’t want to teach, not because I couldn’t but because I would get bored with the repetition. When I started applying for 4-year universities, I applied as a creative writing major but, thankfully, due to circumstances, I didn’t go to any of those universities and attended the junior college instead. I ended up graduating with my AA in English Literature and actually applied for my current university in the Editing Literature major.
So, why then, you ask, did I suddenly switch my major? Why did I turn from something that I loved doing so very much?
The truth is this: I hated it. Sure, without my emotions involved, my resume is pretty clear: ENGLISH MAJOR. But, as soon as I got into college (and when I was taking those AP English exams), I despised every essay. It was really clear that I was done with the major when I was forced to read Crime and Punishment in Spring of 2009; forcing myself to sit down every day with the novel, a pen, and little pieces of paper to shove into the spine as I made notes about the plot, theme, ect; forcing myself to dissect every little paragraph, sentence, or word that I came across with; forcing myself to write about Dunya’s transformation as a result of Raskolnikov. For some, that might be heaven. For me, it was taking a wet towel and twisting it very slowly, until every last drop had disappeared. Those drops? The joy of writing. The joy of reading. I am not an English major because it took away the joy of sitting down and reading a good book.
I remember that professor telling my class at the end of the semester, “I bet none of you will never be able to sit down with a book ever again and read it without seeing the themes, noting the syntax, and finding chronotopes.” I didn’t reply to him but, by this time, I thought to myself, “Whatever happened to reading for fun? Just to get the joy out of the riveting experience of the plotline? Why should I have to dissect everything? Sure, it’s fascinating to learn the mother, Addie, only has one chapter (after her death) in As I Lay Dying, but why am I responsible for finding out why?”
And that’s why I’m not an English major.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still get the joy out of writing. I’m actually beginning to get the joy back after taking most of the summer off of writing. The negative effects of being a literature major are wearing away, which is awesome because I’m beginning to remember how much joy I took from writing in high school, before the whole English major thing started.
And, currently, I recommend On Writing by Stephen King. This book is freakin’ fantastic.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
So Over Jobbing
It's not what you think.
I didn't give up. I didn't look at it and say, "It's never going to happen." I just realized that, in order to get a job here, you need to have a flawless resume, an open schedule, connections, and a ridiculous amount of time and effort to keep looking. None of which I have. I didn't come to this conclusion just by watching the job market or by searching. It was when a friend of mine, who has been looking for a job for over a year, finally found one that gets her late night shifts and a ball of frustration. It was when someone I'm very close to got a job almost just-like-that because he had a certain job over the summer, which he got due to a certain job during the school year.
You have to have connections.
As it is, I've begun to fill up my schedule and plan for my schedule for next semester. And, as it currently stands, I don't have time to get a job anyway. My time is taken up by school, the newspaper, the HPA, and (more importantly) I need to keep up with working on my novel. In California, if you want to get into grad school, you need to not only have straight A's in every class, you need to have extra curriculars that make you look good, and none of this spells "job" in it. And it's sad because I sometimes feel useless being jobless, especially when I take out to loan to guarantee myself that, if I need to have a little extra money to buy food, it's there. Especially when, back home, I had a stable job for 5 years and never worried about money. Now I worry about it all the time.
That said, last night I had the most important interview of... well... my life so far. It was to work during summer orientation next year, which is probably the best job any student can get at this school. It makes between $2500 and $3000 just in the months of June and July, which would hopefully cover me for August. This job would definitely open doors for other jobs on campus next school year and it would give me a reason to stay here during the summer in my beautiful apartment when it's quiet and all the other students have left. I would love this job. I've been looking forward to signing up for it since the summer because I know I would love this job.
I've had many people ask me about the interview and I still can't tell you how the interview went. I simply don't know. It was a lot of team building experience, working with other people by stuffing folders, doing introductions, drawing shapes, and answering questions. I tried to stand out, I tried to make myself unique, but there were so many other people who were doing well, it's hard to know. All I know is that I tried my best and, if given the second one-on-one interview, I would fight for this job. A friend of mine who is on the judging panel told me last night that he thought I did well but... it's hard to trust friends, you know? They want you to think well of them, to think that they voted for you. I'll find out next week if I'm only thanked for attending or asked to come to the second interview.
If there's no second interview... I'm terrified to go through the whole job process again next May like I did this May. Applying early, being told that they're not doing summer hiring til after the school year ends, applying after the school year, being told that they've already done their summer hiring...
All we can do is wait.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
HvZ Craze!
With all this talk about zombies lately, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.
Well, I'm not really surprised. More stoked outta my skin than anything else.
The week before Halloween, my university is holding a game of Humans vs. Zombies that a LOT of students (and even some teachers) can and will get involved in. Everyone will start out as humans and wear bandannas around their arms and one person will begin as the original zombie, wearing the bandanna around his/her head. The original zombie has to go around campus tagging people and turning them into zombies (they'll shift the armbands to their foreheads), who will then go around tagging more people. They can only attack those involved in the game, of course, and the object of the game is to stay alive. If there is at least one human alive at the end of the game, the humans win. If not... well... Zombieland! Sounds epic? I haven't even told you the best part yet. In order for humans to avoid zombies...
THEY CAN PELT SOCKS AT THEM!!!!
The whole thing was started at Goucher College a few years back and, if you watch the documentary at http://humansvszombies.org/, it became a big deal. At Goucher, humans can use nerf guns and socks to stun zombies for 15 minute intervals. They all formed teams and it just brought a lot of people together. I'll be interested to see how big this will get at my university. I'm planning on bringing an extra bag just for socks. I hope I can last the week!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Career Crisis
The boyfriend noted something this morning that I thought was worth mentioning, "I've noticed that many people who go to college overshoot their ability levels and end up trying for a job that they'll never do."
I totally agreed with him, especially in the health field. Sure, it sucks to be disappointed when all you've ever wanted to do was be a nurse but if you need a GPA of 4.0 and you're only at 2.5, it's going to be a little difficult to get there. It's not bad to change your mind if you know that the goal that you're shooting for is a little bit too high. I'm living proof of this, since I changed my major from literature to health and everyone (even my ex boyfriend) was shocked and called me out on it. But I knew what I wanted and what I could handle and I wanted to write but I couldn't handle literature. I still feel that being a literature major takes a lot of the fun out of reading. Sure, you want to know things about the theme of the story and about the characters but analyzing every little bitty thing? Not for me.
If I could, I would write full time. If I knew that I couldn't fail. This reminds me of something Christian said at the conference, "Writing is a full time job. When you do it, you do it every day and you get paid for doing it. Hopefully, anyway." But you cant just write and expect to get somewhere. Many classic novelists had jobs while they were writing, such as being an editor or a scientist or some laborious day job where the only time they had to come home and write was at night. So, of course, I might end up like them. Working the day job until the night job takes off with something special.
As Christian said, there's no way of knowing whether you're going to get published. You just have to keep trying. "Someone will eventually like your work," he promised. "But you have to keep searching for that person." Then, when a girl said, "I'm 18. What are my chances of getting published?" he laughed and replied, "More likely than mine! Americans told me I was too European for them at first and had to publish outside of America, in Europe, before anyone took interest."
So, I know I might have the GPA for it but I'm not trying to be a doctor. I may have the smarts but I'm not shooting to be a physicist. Why? My hand is stretching in a different direction, one that is less likely to happen but one that I want so badly to take hold of. I'll keep with my day job and push at my night job. Because I know something that many my age don't: if you have a back up plan, no matter what, you are sure to succeed. You will always have something to fall back on. And, of course, that is where Health comes into the picture.
I totally agreed with him, especially in the health field. Sure, it sucks to be disappointed when all you've ever wanted to do was be a nurse but if you need a GPA of 4.0 and you're only at 2.5, it's going to be a little difficult to get there. It's not bad to change your mind if you know that the goal that you're shooting for is a little bit too high. I'm living proof of this, since I changed my major from literature to health and everyone (even my ex boyfriend) was shocked and called me out on it. But I knew what I wanted and what I could handle and I wanted to write but I couldn't handle literature. I still feel that being a literature major takes a lot of the fun out of reading. Sure, you want to know things about the theme of the story and about the characters but analyzing every little bitty thing? Not for me.
If I could, I would write full time. If I knew that I couldn't fail. This reminds me of something Christian said at the conference, "Writing is a full time job. When you do it, you do it every day and you get paid for doing it. Hopefully, anyway." But you cant just write and expect to get somewhere. Many classic novelists had jobs while they were writing, such as being an editor or a scientist or some laborious day job where the only time they had to come home and write was at night. So, of course, I might end up like them. Working the day job until the night job takes off with something special.
As Christian said, there's no way of knowing whether you're going to get published. You just have to keep trying. "Someone will eventually like your work," he promised. "But you have to keep searching for that person." Then, when a girl said, "I'm 18. What are my chances of getting published?" he laughed and replied, "More likely than mine! Americans told me I was too European for them at first and had to publish outside of America, in Europe, before anyone took interest."
So, I know I might have the GPA for it but I'm not trying to be a doctor. I may have the smarts but I'm not shooting to be a physicist. Why? My hand is stretching in a different direction, one that is less likely to happen but one that I want so badly to take hold of. I'll keep with my day job and push at my night job. Because I know something that many my age don't: if you have a back up plan, no matter what, you are sure to succeed. You will always have something to fall back on. And, of course, that is where Health comes into the picture.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Valuable Lesson
Yesterday, my Drugs in Our Society teacher had a speaker come to our class.
The woman who came also brought her husband for support and, before the talk even began, I found out why. My class already knew that their daughter died from alcohol poisoning last December, so this was a very fresh topic. What we didn't know was how completely amazingly eye-opening the talk would be.
After a short slideshow of her daughter and her daughter's favorite songs (which definitely got me teary-eyed), the woman came back in and began to tell us about her daughter. She told us how her daughter was full of life, good at everything, and popular with everyone, but down to earth. She told us that, 5 days before Christmas, on the first day of spring break, her daughter had gone to a friend's house. They drank a lot and they drank it quick. After a short while, her daughter got sick and her friends left her next to the toilet in the bathroom, thinking that she would be fine. They found her at 9am the next morning, unconcious, and we unable to revive her. She died not long after.
The woman told my class that she had learned out of the whole ordeal that alcohol poisoning is something that most are not well informed of. Drinking and driving? Sure. Blackouts? Of course. But alcohol poisoning is just not as commonly talked about. She knows this because her daughter died of about 8 shots of 80 proof vodka.
She put it into perspective for us this way: "This is a drink," she said. "One class of beer is about 8 ounces."
The woman who came also brought her husband for support and, before the talk even began, I found out why. My class already knew that their daughter died from alcohol poisoning last December, so this was a very fresh topic. What we didn't know was how completely amazingly eye-opening the talk would be.
After a short slideshow of her daughter and her daughter's favorite songs (which definitely got me teary-eyed), the woman came back in and began to tell us about her daughter. She told us how her daughter was full of life, good at everything, and popular with everyone, but down to earth. She told us that, 5 days before Christmas, on the first day of spring break, her daughter had gone to a friend's house. They drank a lot and they drank it quick. After a short while, her daughter got sick and her friends left her next to the toilet in the bathroom, thinking that she would be fine. They found her at 9am the next morning, unconcious, and we unable to revive her. She died not long after.
The woman told my class that she had learned out of the whole ordeal that alcohol poisoning is something that most are not well informed of. Drinking and driving? Sure. Blackouts? Of course. But alcohol poisoning is just not as commonly talked about. She knows this because her daughter died of about 8 shots of 80 proof vodka.
She put it into perspective for us this way: "This is a drink," she said. "One class of beer is about 8 ounces."
"This is a wine glass," she said next. "A typical glass of wine is about 4-5 ounces."
Then she picked up the shot glass and stared at it. "This is also one drink," she told us. "One shot of hard liquor is about an ounce."
"The problem is getting people to understand that the one shot of liquor is exactly like the glass of beer. Each is one drink. However, it is much easier to do 8 shots of vodka than it is to drink 8 glasses of beer."
This really hit me hard. About two months ago, Jo and I were bored one night and decided to play a little drinking game while watching one of the Star Wars movies. The deal was that every time Anakin said "Jedi Knight," we would each take a shot of tequila. About 7 shots into the movie, we decided to end the game and I am ridiculously glad that we did, now. It scares me that a shot or two more could have put my life into a ridiculous amount of danger. I know that I'll probably never do anything like that ever again after knowing this. If a 5'6" girl weighing only 107 can die from 8 shots of vodka, I can die from the same amount, if not just a bit more.
The woman and her husband aren't trying to teach people to stop drinking, just to drinking responsibly. I know that I definitely will from now on. I hope you do too.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Human Sexuality
There are some very dumb people in this world.
I realize that my Human Sexuality class is a GE class and that most students taking it are freshman or sophomores. I'm not, though. I'm a junior. I'm taking this for my major. I am genuinely curious about the human body and how it works. I am excited to find out about what drugs do to your brain. I wish I wouldn't have to read a textbook to find out but it interests me. So, when people ask me truly dumb questions, all I want to do is ask them if they went to high school.
For example, before my first major Human Sexuality test today, a girl (not blond and I'm not stereotyping) was asking some of us to give her some of the answers on the study guide.
Girl: Do you know what andosperm is?
Blank stares all around me.
Me: It's male sperm.
Girl: And gynosperm...
Me: Female sperm.
She stares at me like I've just shocked the poo out of her, so I decide to explain.
Me: You know. 'Cause the guy produce both sexes, xx sperm or female sperm and xy sperm or male sperm. It's the guy's sperm that decide whether or not the baby is going to be male or female.
Girl: Wow... how do you know so much?
Me: *blink blink* Uh... well... I... uh... took a lot of science classes in high school.
And I really only took physical science, biology, and chemistry but SERIOUSLY, PEOPLE? Not knowing that the whole reason why women need men is because of their sperm to complete the whole baby-making and gene/chromosome deciding process? Seriously??
I am dumb-founded.
I realize that my Human Sexuality class is a GE class and that most students taking it are freshman or sophomores. I'm not, though. I'm a junior. I'm taking this for my major. I am genuinely curious about the human body and how it works. I am excited to find out about what drugs do to your brain. I wish I wouldn't have to read a textbook to find out but it interests me. So, when people ask me truly dumb questions, all I want to do is ask them if they went to high school.
For example, before my first major Human Sexuality test today, a girl (not blond and I'm not stereotyping) was asking some of us to give her some of the answers on the study guide.
Girl: Do you know what andosperm is?
Blank stares all around me.
Me: It's male sperm.
Girl: And gynosperm...
Me: Female sperm.
She stares at me like I've just shocked the poo out of her, so I decide to explain.
Me: You know. 'Cause the guy produce both sexes, xx sperm or female sperm and xy sperm or male sperm. It's the guy's sperm that decide whether or not the baby is going to be male or female.
Girl: Wow... how do you know so much?
Me: *blink blink* Uh... well... I... uh... took a lot of science classes in high school.
And I really only took physical science, biology, and chemistry but SERIOUSLY, PEOPLE? Not knowing that the whole reason why women need men is because of their sperm to complete the whole baby-making and gene/chromosome deciding process? Seriously??
I am dumb-founded.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Barely Awake
Yesterday was Jo's 22nd birthday. It's so funny that he's now two years older than me and he's been able to drink legally for a year. We went to a fairly expensive sushi bar with some good friends who love sushi as much as we do (and it's hard to find a good sushi bar in NorCal because you're far from the ocean) and Jo tried sake for the first time. He loved the hot sake but, of course, he's a lightweight (as am I), so he felt the effects right away. I actually had a tiny sip of it, but it was kind of cold by that time. I liked it but I still would have liked to have tried it hot. 3 1/2 more months until I can!
I also had a job interview yesterday.
We'll just have to wait and see.
However, I've been debating on posting a bit of my prologue here. What do you all think of that idea? I'm mostly afraid that someone would steal it.
I've also discovered that I am tired all the time now. I never thought that was possible but it's true. I'm pretty used to it now and the only time when it ever consumes me is in the morning. For example, I got up at 9am this morning, ate a bowl of cereal, and then sat back down on my bed to write a blog entry. At 10:15am, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of total exhaustion and could barely keep my eyes open, so I set my laptop aside and laid down, thinking I would close my eyes for just a couple of minutes. I woke again at 11am and got up to do some chores before Jo's mom got here. And then it was go go go from then on, working on my Human Sexuality study guide and studying for my Statistics test. I just don't seem to have time for anything until 11pm, unless I try to get some writing in during the middle of the day. It's sad.
This aside, I was shocked to learn that my university's health center ordered 1,000 flu shots and they ran out in just 2 days. Being a health major and in the health professionals club, that's just awesome to me! I cant wait for the H1N1 shots to come out so I can get myself vaccinated.
8 days until Writers Conference!!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
35 Things I Have Learned So Far...
Today is one of those days. One of those drink two Pepsi's in a row days. One of those come home and munch on a bag of popcorn days. One of those listen to 3 Doors Down because that's the only thing that will make me feel better days. One of those body aching days, where everything hurts, mentally and physically. One of those days where I come up with a list of things I've learned in the four weeks that I've been at a 4-year-university days because I'd rather do that than muster up enough energy to rant about my ridiculous week.
So here it goes.
1. If your parents are divorced, everything is way more complicated. This includes university and non-university stuff and you will have to deal with it weekly.
2. If you don't feel like you want to collapse of exhaustion by the 4th week, you're either not taking enough classes or involved in enough clubs because, by this time, everyone is saying, "HOLY CRAP!"
3. Use your friends who have been here longer than you. Seriously. Use them for job opportunities and for finding a good place to hang out when you're bored and for financial aid/study abroad/ect. information. Use them!
4. The moment that you think something is a big issue, it probably is just a small one in diguise. And the moment that you find that out, you will feel very frustrated.
5. You could fill every inch of your schedule and still find time to hang out with your friends. (For ex: one of my friends is taking 27 units and is in debate and the other is taking 19 units and works 30 hours a week and we all still have time to hang out somehow.)
6. If you bike to school every day for 4 weeks and decide to take the bus on a sunny day, when you really don't need to, you will feel very stupid waiting for the bus after class and seeing all of your friends bike past you to much farther destinations than where you live. Especially because in the 1/2 hour that you have to wait for the bus to show up, you could just walk home.
7. By the 4th week, if you haven't taken out a loan, you will, and if you have taken out a loan, you'll be asking for more money.
8. No one needs to go out to have fun. Staying inside and playing old school N64 for 4 hours can generate quite a bit of laughter.
9. Don't you dare do anything wrong near campus or on campus. Especially riding your bike on campus. Police are ruthless. They will ticket you for a meter expiring only 2 seconds before you get in your car, riding your bike on the wrong side of the road, not having lights on your bike at night, putting your lights on wrong, a "California stop," looking at them wrong, crashing your bike, riding upside down, sideways, and backwards, and anything else you can think of.
10. However, they will NOT ticket you if you're not registered under the state of California. Confusing?
11. The response to asking questions in the student center will only lead to this answer, "It's on the website. Did you check the website first?"
12. Even if a job is posted, don't expect them to hire you. Or anyone. Many times, they'll just decide to close it and just run overload with their current staff instead.
13. If you forgot your cell phone and have to ask someone for the time, they will look at you funny.
14. If you don't have your cell phone out during class, you're not cool.
15. The people who say that they hate texting during class will be doing it 5 minutes later, guaranteed.
16. If you're standing in financial aid, deciding on a loan, and say, "Let me call my mom," they will look at you funny.
17. Anything involving calling parents more than once a week (and you have to react to it painfully) is taboo and people will look at you funny if you mention that you talk to your mom every day. (And enjoy it.)
18. There are some teachers who want to be there and some who don't. Those who don't will either be every funny (due to sarcasm) or mean (hatred of the system, the students, and their small income) and those who do will either be funny (and you might enjoy the class) or mean (they enjoy watching you work your ass off to get that A). There is no middle ground.
19. If you're doing a group project and have a problem, try to work it out before you go to the professor. Chances are, he wont know how to help you either.
20. The classes that you think are the most relaxing will probably have the most homework due the last two weeks before finals.
21. Administration likes the student to get exercise. They achieve this by giving the student a little nugget of information and smiling as the student runs around campus, trying to figure out what to do with that nugget, before crawling back for more information and trying the process all over again.
22. There is never any parking. Day or night. Weekends? Don't think so. Holidays? You've gotta be kidding.
23. Students will use any excuse to drink. Holiday. Beer pong! Weekend. Beer pong! Stats test the next day. Beer pong! Bad day. Beer pong! Car battery exploded. Beer pong! House on fire. Beer pong!
24. Assuming this, you will find parties on days Sunday-Wednesday, not just Thursday-Saturday.
25. For some students, there is no definition of a weekend. Every day is their weekend.
26. Biking every day = about $20 spent on gas every two weeks to fill your tank up 1/2 way. At first it seems like a god-send. Then, you'll even begin to despise spending that much.
27. It is strange if anyone visits you in the first 2 months of school starting.
28. WinCo is the K-mart/WalMart of food stores. Use it. It is your best friend.
29. If your pantry isn't stocked with rice, mac and cheese, and ramen, you have too much money.
30. Cable is superfluous. Don't waste money on it. Everything you could ever want is on high speed internet (for cheap)!
31. Your university will either have more or less school spirit than your high school. If less, you will miss football games from your high school days. If more, you will laugh at the people who were previously mentioned.
32. The term "dumb blond" does apply to some people. You will meet those people.
33. Playing the Sims 2 is not cool when you are in a group of friends who enjoy War Hammer, Diablo, and Star Craft. Playing Sims 3 is iffy.
34. If you couldn't find people like you in high school, you will certainly find them in college.
35. Apple cobbler fixes everything.
So, this is the list I've combined so far. I might add more later but, for now, I cant think of anything else I could add. I bet YOU probably could, though, so feel free to comment with what you've learned at your own universities.
So here it goes.
1. If your parents are divorced, everything is way more complicated. This includes university and non-university stuff and you will have to deal with it weekly.
2. If you don't feel like you want to collapse of exhaustion by the 4th week, you're either not taking enough classes or involved in enough clubs because, by this time, everyone is saying, "HOLY CRAP!"
3. Use your friends who have been here longer than you. Seriously. Use them for job opportunities and for finding a good place to hang out when you're bored and for financial aid/study abroad/ect. information. Use them!
4. The moment that you think something is a big issue, it probably is just a small one in diguise. And the moment that you find that out, you will feel very frustrated.
5. You could fill every inch of your schedule and still find time to hang out with your friends. (For ex: one of my friends is taking 27 units and is in debate and the other is taking 19 units and works 30 hours a week and we all still have time to hang out somehow.)
6. If you bike to school every day for 4 weeks and decide to take the bus on a sunny day, when you really don't need to, you will feel very stupid waiting for the bus after class and seeing all of your friends bike past you to much farther destinations than where you live. Especially because in the 1/2 hour that you have to wait for the bus to show up, you could just walk home.
7. By the 4th week, if you haven't taken out a loan, you will, and if you have taken out a loan, you'll be asking for more money.
8. No one needs to go out to have fun. Staying inside and playing old school N64 for 4 hours can generate quite a bit of laughter.
9. Don't you dare do anything wrong near campus or on campus. Especially riding your bike on campus. Police are ruthless. They will ticket you for a meter expiring only 2 seconds before you get in your car, riding your bike on the wrong side of the road, not having lights on your bike at night, putting your lights on wrong, a "California stop," looking at them wrong, crashing your bike, riding upside down, sideways, and backwards, and anything else you can think of.
10. However, they will NOT ticket you if you're not registered under the state of California. Confusing?
11. The response to asking questions in the student center will only lead to this answer, "It's on the website. Did you check the website first?"
12. Even if a job is posted, don't expect them to hire you. Or anyone. Many times, they'll just decide to close it and just run overload with their current staff instead.
13. If you forgot your cell phone and have to ask someone for the time, they will look at you funny.
14. If you don't have your cell phone out during class, you're not cool.
15. The people who say that they hate texting during class will be doing it 5 minutes later, guaranteed.
16. If you're standing in financial aid, deciding on a loan, and say, "Let me call my mom," they will look at you funny.
17. Anything involving calling parents more than once a week (and you have to react to it painfully) is taboo and people will look at you funny if you mention that you talk to your mom every day. (And enjoy it.)
18. There are some teachers who want to be there and some who don't. Those who don't will either be every funny (due to sarcasm) or mean (hatred of the system, the students, and their small income) and those who do will either be funny (and you might enjoy the class) or mean (they enjoy watching you work your ass off to get that A). There is no middle ground.
19. If you're doing a group project and have a problem, try to work it out before you go to the professor. Chances are, he wont know how to help you either.
20. The classes that you think are the most relaxing will probably have the most homework due the last two weeks before finals.
21. Administration likes the student to get exercise. They achieve this by giving the student a little nugget of information and smiling as the student runs around campus, trying to figure out what to do with that nugget, before crawling back for more information and trying the process all over again.
22. There is never any parking. Day or night. Weekends? Don't think so. Holidays? You've gotta be kidding.
23. Students will use any excuse to drink. Holiday. Beer pong! Weekend. Beer pong! Stats test the next day. Beer pong! Bad day. Beer pong! Car battery exploded. Beer pong! House on fire. Beer pong!
24. Assuming this, you will find parties on days Sunday-Wednesday, not just Thursday-Saturday.
25. For some students, there is no definition of a weekend. Every day is their weekend.
26. Biking every day = about $20 spent on gas every two weeks to fill your tank up 1/2 way. At first it seems like a god-send. Then, you'll even begin to despise spending that much.
27. It is strange if anyone visits you in the first 2 months of school starting.
28. WinCo is the K-mart/WalMart of food stores. Use it. It is your best friend.
29. If your pantry isn't stocked with rice, mac and cheese, and ramen, you have too much money.
30. Cable is superfluous. Don't waste money on it. Everything you could ever want is on high speed internet (for cheap)!
31. Your university will either have more or less school spirit than your high school. If less, you will miss football games from your high school days. If more, you will laugh at the people who were previously mentioned.
32. The term "dumb blond" does apply to some people. You will meet those people.
33. Playing the Sims 2 is not cool when you are in a group of friends who enjoy War Hammer, Diablo, and Star Craft. Playing Sims 3 is iffy.
34. If you couldn't find people like you in high school, you will certainly find them in college.
35. Apple cobbler fixes everything.
So, this is the list I've combined so far. I might add more later but, for now, I cant think of anything else I could add. I bet YOU probably could, though, so feel free to comment with what you've learned at your own universities.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
What's Your Life Made Of?
I sat in the back seat of a car Saturday afternoon, staring out the window next to me, tuning out the blasting "scremo" music and hanging on to the handle of the door as the guy driving the car blasted down the street, racing his friend next to him. The guy in the front passenger seat made faces at the driver that we were racing and the guy sitting next to me was quiet, saying nothing. I assumed he wasn't pondering the same thing I was.
What was on my mind was a line that my friend had pulled on my best friend and I on Friday: "You two must either have low standards or love each other for no reason."
Love, I thought, struggling not to fall to the left as we turned right. What does he think love means? Was is this? Speeding down a street, laughing as you cut people off, making stupid jokes, after seeing a mediocre movie that only 4 people out of a group of 16 liked? This might be fun but it certainly wasn't love.
My two best friends came into town this weekend and wanted to meet the people that I hung out with. As per usual, it didn't go very well. One isn't a geek (and I hang out with mostly geeks - hence the D&D) and the other one is very shy. However, the one thing the three of us have in common is that we love one another despite our many differences; we see past everything to the true beauty that shines beneath. I don't know how many people can say that they can do that. Although we made have our bad times and our fights, although we live 10-15 hours away from one another in any direction, although our hang-out experiences maybe mediocre, we still love each other's company.
Living here, away from my best friends and my family, I realize how the college students view the best times of their lives. It is the times when they had the most fun. In this town, it's drinking. Today, I was ashamed to read an article that was specifically meant for the new students of this town. It described a typically Thursday in the life of this college girl and it basically went like this: beer pong (8-11pm), alcoholic tea(11-12), shots and beer(12-2), and more beer pong (2-4? 6?). The girl writing this article described these years of drinking every Thurs-Sat night as the best years of her college life and that she felt young doing all of this.
Myself... I can't imagine throwing my weekend nights away on black-out juice. The best times in my life have been spent with the ones that I love: giggling with the girls, watching a movie with friends, doing homework next to my boyfriend... I find it so sad that people don't really appreciate those things in life. They want their next high or their next buzz or their next... well, you get the point. This is why I don't drink or do drugs. I'm trying to appreciate the things that matter.
What was on my mind was a line that my friend had pulled on my best friend and I on Friday: "You two must either have low standards or love each other for no reason."
Love, I thought, struggling not to fall to the left as we turned right. What does he think love means? Was is this? Speeding down a street, laughing as you cut people off, making stupid jokes, after seeing a mediocre movie that only 4 people out of a group of 16 liked? This might be fun but it certainly wasn't love.
My two best friends came into town this weekend and wanted to meet the people that I hung out with. As per usual, it didn't go very well. One isn't a geek (and I hang out with mostly geeks - hence the D&D) and the other one is very shy. However, the one thing the three of us have in common is that we love one another despite our many differences; we see past everything to the true beauty that shines beneath. I don't know how many people can say that they can do that. Although we made have our bad times and our fights, although we live 10-15 hours away from one another in any direction, although our hang-out experiences maybe mediocre, we still love each other's company.
Living here, away from my best friends and my family, I realize how the college students view the best times of their lives. It is the times when they had the most fun. In this town, it's drinking. Today, I was ashamed to read an article that was specifically meant for the new students of this town. It described a typically Thursday in the life of this college girl and it basically went like this: beer pong (8-11pm), alcoholic tea(11-12), shots and beer(12-2), and more beer pong (2-4? 6?). The girl writing this article described these years of drinking every Thurs-Sat night as the best years of her college life and that she felt young doing all of this.
Myself... I can't imagine throwing my weekend nights away on black-out juice. The best times in my life have been spent with the ones that I love: giggling with the girls, watching a movie with friends, doing homework next to my boyfriend... I find it so sad that people don't really appreciate those things in life. They want their next high or their next buzz or their next... well, you get the point. This is why I don't drink or do drugs. I'm trying to appreciate the things that matter.
Do you?
Friday, September 4, 2009
An Odd Take
I was going to tell you all about the protest that is going to take place on Tuesday, the first California mandatory furlough day of the semester; however, I think that blog will do further justice on Tuesday when I (hopefully) attend the protest.
So, on a different note, I'll start with this thought:
There are some memories that never die.
This was brought up in my human sexuality class on Monday. We were discussing love, the different types of love and your "LoveMap," which are the traits that your subconscious finds attractive in other people, when my professor just so happened to mention that love can be a very strong bond. Especially when it's your first love.
People shun high school relationships as something temporary, and mock their endings, when both sides are left bleeding. People laugh at the love that children feel for one another and shoot it down, saying that it can't be true love because they are only children. How can they know what love is, right? But, truth be told, they are experiencing their own version of love, which is the strongest emotion their minds can comprehend at the moment. There's even been studies done on it. So I have to ask, why don't those same adult's who criticize a child's "puppy love" mock the love of college students? They're just high school students a few years older. Or why don't grandparents mock the love of adults? They're just full-grown children. What do they know of love, right?
Heck. We might as well mock all love in America. It means nothing with as high as the divorce rate is these days.
I suppose this is why I found the video that we watched in my Human Sexuality class uninteresting. It dealt with love and how we find love, our LoveMap as it were. With all the divorces this day and age, telling people that they should get married just based on love just makes me want to laugh. The end of the video, however, was all about arranged marriages from the perspective of those who are in them. I found this interesting because those people actually preferred those marriages and said that, if they had the option, they would rather choose to have a marriage arranged than actually to arrange one themselves.
This is because the people in arranged marriages base their marriage on trust, obligation, and duty, instead of just love. "Love isn't important when you first get married," one man said. "Love comes later." Surprisingly, because of this, the two people learn to trust each other more because they aren't blinded with those romantic feelings. According to these people, their relationship works better that way because, as one person suggested, "You have a lifetime to get to know someone. You're never going to know them completely when you first get married."
Now I know that you all know my second biggest fear is marriage because of my parent's divorce. However, this video gave me some hope. If I can, someday, get married and build a marriage upon those foundations (including love, of course, because a marriage needs love), then I have a better change of staying married longer. And my fear of marriage should begin to shrink.
Instead of ending this on a "I'm all hopeful" thought, I'd like to ask you all a question. What is your LoveMap? What are the things that you for in a person personality-wise, physically, ect that make you go "I need to walk across the room just to talk to that person"? Everyone has their own LoveMap. What's yours?
So, on a different note, I'll start with this thought:
There are some memories that never die.
This was brought up in my human sexuality class on Monday. We were discussing love, the different types of love and your "LoveMap," which are the traits that your subconscious finds attractive in other people, when my professor just so happened to mention that love can be a very strong bond. Especially when it's your first love.
People shun high school relationships as something temporary, and mock their endings, when both sides are left bleeding. People laugh at the love that children feel for one another and shoot it down, saying that it can't be true love because they are only children. How can they know what love is, right? But, truth be told, they are experiencing their own version of love, which is the strongest emotion their minds can comprehend at the moment. There's even been studies done on it. So I have to ask, why don't those same adult's who criticize a child's "puppy love" mock the love of college students? They're just high school students a few years older. Or why don't grandparents mock the love of adults? They're just full-grown children. What do they know of love, right?
Heck. We might as well mock all love in America. It means nothing with as high as the divorce rate is these days.
I suppose this is why I found the video that we watched in my Human Sexuality class uninteresting. It dealt with love and how we find love, our LoveMap as it were. With all the divorces this day and age, telling people that they should get married just based on love just makes me want to laugh. The end of the video, however, was all about arranged marriages from the perspective of those who are in them. I found this interesting because those people actually preferred those marriages and said that, if they had the option, they would rather choose to have a marriage arranged than actually to arrange one themselves.
This is because the people in arranged marriages base their marriage on trust, obligation, and duty, instead of just love. "Love isn't important when you first get married," one man said. "Love comes later." Surprisingly, because of this, the two people learn to trust each other more because they aren't blinded with those romantic feelings. According to these people, their relationship works better that way because, as one person suggested, "You have a lifetime to get to know someone. You're never going to know them completely when you first get married."
Now I know that you all know my second biggest fear is marriage because of my parent's divorce. However, this video gave me some hope. If I can, someday, get married and build a marriage upon those foundations (including love, of course, because a marriage needs love), then I have a better change of staying married longer. And my fear of marriage should begin to shrink.
Instead of ending this on a "I'm all hopeful" thought, I'd like to ask you all a question. What is your LoveMap? What are the things that you for in a person personality-wise, physically, ect that make you go "I need to walk across the room just to talk to that person"? Everyone has their own LoveMap. What's yours?
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