@ the summit

I overheard a conversation while I was milking my coffee between a recent graduate of College and another whom I didn't know. The recent grad was defending her decision to work in town after she graduated, claiming that there was a social stigma of our generation stating that we have to want to travel the world, explore, branch out, etc., even if we didn't really want to. What if we've already seen enough of the world, or can experience it right here?

It was a weak question with no emphasis behind it, but I knew this broad before she graduated and she kinda talked like that anyway. Everything skittishly said with a lamb's quietude.

I couldn't help but think on what she said as I left. She was right about the social stigma, there is a sense that everyone under a certain age nowadays wants to escape. Fly the coop. But why?

There's the obvious argument for a wider perspective, not wanting to be entombed in one place, with one biased point of view. I suppose the idea's that prejudice would cease if more and more people were exposed to cultures other than their own - hence why so many colleges and universities encourage study abroad and exchange students.

But I think there might be a darker reason for my generation's want of leave. Didn't we see it in The Wizard of Oz, a long, long time ago, in a galaxy of the '40s? Dorothy literally dreams of somewhere over the rainbow that's better than Kansas. Somewhere without that mean neighbor riding on her bicycle and yap, yap, yapping at Todo.

Maybe somewhere away from the Great Depression? (Don't let's forget when The Wizard of Oz was written).

At any rate, she gets there, and it's awesome.....kinda. There's the Emerald City and Munchkin Land and all the happy little people dancing around with those trippy flowers, singin' songs to
Dorothy, heralding her as a hero for killing the evil Witch of the East. But there're two sides, and with the good come the bad. And the bad has gotten worse - instead of a mean neighber, it's a killer, evil witch wanting revenge and Dorothy's head on a plate.

But the grass is greener on the other side (Thanks, random bitch band from the '90's).

Well, for Dorothy the grass sure was greener on the other side - the other side was a fucking technicolor dreamland, no wonder she preferred it (at first) to the black and white, drab world of Kansas.

And so it is with my generation. Technology has given us the video cameras, the editing software, the HD TVs all required to paint that perfect picture of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. The "It's in Technicolor!" cry of the '40's has morphed into the "It's in 3-D" cry of the current youth, and it screams. It screams for us to join the army, go on a Royal Carribean cruise, meet your husband online and get married at the fucking beach, for God's sake. The point is, technology can (and does) make things look better than they actually are. (Take away all the air-brushing that beauty magazines do on the pictures of their models and you're left with real women, with scars and zits, and who's attracted to that these days? Real, unadulterated women?) It creates a fantasy world that people can get lost in, with no problems,no sorrow, and no ugliness. It's the new-age drug that no one recognizes as dangerous to the human psyche - because the grass isn't greener on the other side, it's just different.

It's pretty fucking frustrating, especially because technology also prides itself on its ability to keep people connected. When in reality, it's just another barrier for our souls (or essences, or consciousnesses, or whatever you will) to cross in order to kiss. We already have our bodies holding us in, now our connection is mediated a third time by the computer. Technology claims to be holding us together, to the people we love. But it's not, Facebook merely provides a socially acceptable way for people to stalk each other. Instead of looking at someone face to face and lerning about who they are from physical conversation, we look on their Facebook and get all the information we care to use. (Nevermind that the information isn't subjective - that it's all gleaned from what the owner of the Facebook wants to reveal about him or herself).

And so we're tricked into believing that the grass is greener on the other side. That we can be with our family even when we aren't with them. And wasn't that Dorothy's whole problem with the Land of Oz? She missed her family (Even though they were there all along - The Scarecrow, The Tin Man, and The Lion, a fact she would only realize upon waking) and so she wants to leave. "There's no place like home", Dorothy says. And it's because home holds the people she loves.

Are we losing that, as a generation? If we feel that we can keep connected to people we care about - keep really connected, as if neighbors - no matter where our physical body is in space, then why not travel the world? Why not get the fuck out - if you can always reach out to home online whenever you want?

It's obvious that you can - people escape and claim to be connected, at least through mediums, every day. So my question then becomes, when do you stop? When will you see enough of the world to realize that each place, though unique and beautiful, will still hold problems? When do you settle down, put in roots, claim a home? And do we even have to anymore?

I'm worried we're becoming a bunch of nomadic zombies, without even realizing it. Aimlessly wandering around, looking for something better.

I get off work in an hour and a half. I know I'll be better then.

Trial by Fire

I fear I may be losing steam. I happened to be reading up on Chinese Medicine, and after taking a subtle (yet intensive) personality test it's been determined that I am a fire type. I love personality tests. I really do get off on them.

The fire type runs the risk of burning out, of being all-consuming, and I'm worried. How long before I cool down? Before I run out of fuel? And, more importantly, what the fuck is my fuel?

Can you see what I've been dealing with here? God, and I'm gonna be a senior. A senior? What. I already did that once, I don't wanna do that again.

Or do I?

Since I started writing this I've been thinking about the good old days. I went to the off-campus meeting (dare we all forget Billy - "I can't be here tonight") and the new Chief of Police explained that (to her) the job of the Campus Police is to help usher college students through the next stage of their development. As if we're not adults already. I understand the argument that we're always growing, always going through developmental stages, but she made it seem as if she'd already gone through all the maturation the world held for her, had come out, unscathed yet fighting, and saw it as her job to nanny us. To corral us like sheep. To lead us beside cool waters and restoreth our souls...And my question is simple: who the fuck is she to to be our shepherd?

If I'm not an adult now, when will I be one? The Chief looked no older than thirty, standing up there with her dye-job and kitten heels. If she's an adult, how'd she become one? Eight years (max) older than me, and she's already gone through her trial by fire, come out of it alright?

And who says there has to be a trial anyway? Maybe Miss Chief had one, maybe she didn't. Maybe I'm not an adult, maybe I'm a half-adult, but we won't know anything until we've gone through it, right? Speculation can only go so far. At what point do we pull a William Blake and transition from songs of innocence to songs of experience?

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say maybe, just maybe, it's when we value our experience over our innocence. When we feel like we can finally take care of ourselves, with no one holding our hand. It'd be done easier if people were willing to let go.

7 Habits of Highly Effective People

The irony that my job has me searching for self-help books in the library catalogue is not wasted on me.

"Take the Road to Creativity and Get Off Your Dead End." Title search by Keyword. Scroll through the bullshit. The library doesn't have it? No shit.

Cause why would the library have that shit?

What about this one, "If You Don't Know Where You're Going, You'll Probably End Up Somewhere Else". All capitalized, just like that.

And does the library have it? No. Of course not. Cause why would the library have that shit?

Ah, this is a good one. "If I'm in Charge Here Why Is Everybody Laughing?"

Answer: No one's laughing (it's all in your head) and you're not in charge (you're in a nursing home).

Now I'm just getting bitter. I was supposed to be paid today. Got my paper paystub, went online and...nada. No money.

"The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful Lessons in Personal Change".

The way people dance power, persuasion, affluence, whatever, in front of the faces of those who lack it. The way people who lack it attain it. The way people understand that their grip is slipping. The way people clutch, at air (sometimes), and at roots. At something firm, to hold them down. Or maybe at something slippery, to hold it down with their own weight. (Cady, will you please tell him his hair looks sexy pushed back?).

"Weiner is Just Winner Misspelled; a Comparative Analysis of Weiners and Winners".

I made up that last one.

"God's Little Instruction Book For Graduates". I didn't make that one up.

The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People

1. Cut-Throatedness. (Go for the jugular, be them friend, family, foe, or stranger. The more blood the better, be ruthless, etc).
2. Preserve those you need (don't cut their throats).
3. Everyone's expendable (see point #2).
4. Never smile. Never admit that something makes you happy (walk around with a sneer on your face and people will double themselves over trying to please you, as long as there's proof you're please-able). Never admit weakness unless, somehow, your weakness is actually a strength. This probably happens more than you realize. (Take Sally Walker, who can't help but care too much about...whatever).
5. Never sweat. (You glisten)
6. Exclusion is key. No one wants to come if everyone's invited.
7. It's never too late to get what you want. And you always get what you want.

Oh My Heaven

I am now embarking on my 4th hour of work at the Library, which means I only have to sit behind this desk, reading Alexander Pope, for another two hours, and then I'm out of here.

And I'm watching some rabble-rousers throwing the complimentary puzzle pieces all over the place. They're having a really good time, picking up the legos and the connect four and the tiny little hot wheels and Barbie cars. I just know Boot Girl's gonna walk through the Library foyer, probably in wedges cause it's summer and all, step on a hot wheel and BLAM. Bob's-your-uncle. Eat face, on the ground, sprained ankle, bruised ass, smeared make up (from the tears - and there will be tears) and I'm on the phone calling for emergency services, cause some dumb bitty thought it wise to wear strappy heels in the Library at one in the goddamned morning, and some assholes decided to see if it's true that "Hot Wheels leads the way". They do lead the way, right under Boot Girl's big toe. The things College thinks will help us during exam time...


...Are pretty silly when you think about it. So much is happening right now, and I don't want nor have the ability to relay it all to you. I have one exam tomorrow, my last one, and then after that, my film write up (which I had forgotten about until now, thank you very much) and once that's done, then, then I'll start thinking about other things that I'm already thinking about in place of Alexander Pope.


I would love to see Boot Girl fall.


At least True Blood's coming back? Yeah?


Love/hate,

P.I. Staker

Sometimes...

...sending an e-mail can feel like piercing your own tongue. I say piercing because of the adrenalin, maybe the slight pain. I say tongue because you can't see it directly, you can look at it through a mirror. Through your star-fished hand. And of course it's you piercing your own tongue, because you sent the e-mail.

So there's this pain and tremor, and a sense that (maybe) you've done something spontaneous for once in your life and don't know what happens next. What happens next?

Ugh, I have a gross

zit on the front of my ear. It hurts, so much. Worse, my whole ear is kinda red and on fire. I'm thinking I should cover it up or something. I'm a little embarrassed.

I'm so bored. I should probably shower but I don't care enough to. I should probably wash my clothes, but, again...

At least school still excites me. I'm hanging by a thread, though, in that respect. I'm about to start sliding down the slope of "I'll catch up this weekend", about to. I'll make it though. Sleep this weekend, lots.

It's March? What the fuck?

Peggy

Hey-lo,

Margaret Atwood was an awful disappointment, but I think this is my own fault. I saw the day going much differently. Here we would be; twelve pupils, all students of her novels (in a seminar, no less) getting to meet the author who wrote the books we read. I felt like I would have been honored if I were her, I expected her to be pleased and accessible. I didn't account for the nature of her job, she travels all over the country, doing the same thing every time. She can't afford to give a shit about the individual people that she meets, she'd spread herself way too thin if she did.

I shouldn't make an enemy in the industry I wish to participate in, shouldn't I?

The first words I heard Margaret Atwood say were, "How did you get invited to lunch? Did you win the lottery?"

Tonight I helped her sign books for an hour ("If you'd like Margaret to sign your book with your name, write it in block letters on a post-it note, opposite the page with the largest title. Please keep your book open and on the table. I can help you if you need it.") and when it came time for her to sign mine, she didn't even look at me. She was having a conversation with someone else.

Her talent deserves the praise it's given, but that's different from her person.

Bitter, bitter, bitter,

P. I. Staker