In a world full of women, it's interesting to think how many of us are completely controlled by our synthetic hormones.
I know I am.
I can predict what days I'm going to cry. Today is that day. Although I have not cried, I've noticed an incredible drop in mood. It's interesting, probably, to watch the way we react.
I personally dislike it and can't wait for the day that I am not ruled by medical creations, but for the time being, it serves some necessarily normalizing purpose.
I'm upset tonight. I'm hurt. I'm tired. I'm scared.
I'm a million different emotions that I can't quite put a finger on.
I've been feeling invalid lately, which is to say that I'm not feeling validation from any aspect of my life. Not romantically, not career-wise, not motivationally, with friends, etc. I'm stagnant and terrified about it. Of course, when I get scared, I shut down.
There are times like this, obviously. This is what makes life life. These are the learning periods, the times when things are ironed out, when one becomes self-sustaining. Learn, I keep telling myself. Grow and blossom out of this shit. But growing and blossoming are hard, even though I have enough manure around me to seemingly sustain myself for life.
But it's all rough and disheartening.
I'm embarrassed by my inability to move past certain things. It's time. Everything is time but I wish I could fast forward. But then I'd miss so much. So here I am, embracing the roller coaster I've put myself on. Allowing it to creep up, slowly, cresting and then falling. Let's free fall into the next solid up of life, and then let's watch this all begin again.
You're never exactly where you think you are.
I tried on my cap and gown tonight. I look absurd.
I went to the bookstore. I love books. I will never own enough books. I can't even be mad at myself when I spend money on literature. There's no reason that one should chide oneself for wanting to invest in words. Knowledge. Art in the best form. I'm excited. I'm glad for tonight's solitude, it's given me the long awaited opportunity to curl up and read.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Why I hate Black History month
Before I begin, I need to impart some important information: 55 whole grain Goldfish crackers only have 150 calories.
Secondly, I love my cat. Even if he only loves me because I feed him, I feel as though the feeling is mutual. We've become fast friends. He's having a biting issue at the moment though. When we snuggle, which he seems to enjoy, he likes to playfully bite me. The problem is that being bitten isn't quite so fun as you might think.
I had this whole post typed out at the library yesterday morning and then I logged into Gmail to check an email and the entry got deleted. This is round two. Not pleased, I'm not pleased. But nonetheless:
This is the post I've meaning to get around to since February, if not before.
At last, we've arrived at the intersection of race and gender in class and I find that it's pertinent now more than ever to discuss the issues that rise out of our cultural consciousness to permeate through our sense of being and direct each and every one of us in our outward behavior.
It's something that I've noticed lately, being as inundated with theory as I am. Women's struggles are often related to the struggle of the Black American. True, there are struggles there, but I'm always fundamentally annoyed by the comparison.
Anyway. Yesterday we watched a film about the portrayal of black men in hip hop. The portrayal of masculinity seen through the music videos shows that power comes through money, intimidation, violence and women.
The artists themselves agree that it's all a front, that the posturing that they're doing has more to do with their image and sales than it does with their actual experiences.
At a hip hop convention in Florida, young women walk around in short shorts and bikini tops, upset that the young men are aggressively harassing them; touching them and grabbing at them. The police do very little. Talking about the lyrics that refer to women as "bitches" or "hos," one woman says that she knows those lyrics aren't about her.
So who are they about?
White suburban kids who listen to rap music are interviewed. One of them says "colored people." The interviewer, shocked, asks him, "Did you seriously just say 'colored people'?"
Another group of white students say that rap music gives them a chance to get into another culture, to understand the ways that other people live. They also say that rap music upholds stereotypes.
Wait. That doesn't even make sense. Those two statements don't belong together.
This is where the racism begins to filter in. Race consciousness is all too obvious in our society, especially in Chicago.
But let's start with an example.
On the train one day, a group of young black teenagers are causing a disturbance. Generally being loud and obnoxious. Passengers glare at them. I'm glaring at them. They assume that it's because they're black and say so. I disagree. It's not because you're black; it's because you're annoying. I would have been equally annoyed by any group of people, age, race, gender, whatever being obnoxious on the train.
I understand that certain groups of people have disadvantages, but I think it has more to do with access to education and socio-economic status than it does skin color.
I hate Black History month. By continuing to highlight difference, we are making it impossible to live as people of all colors. Instead, we are segregating subtly as we attempt to counteract years of racism in the country. I understand why things such as that were a good idea at one time. But they are no longer relevant in our society.
To move forward, we must embrace each other as people not as skin colors. Instead, we're in a holding pattern. We've got segregation in the schools (Chicago is one of the worst cities for diversity among schools) that leads to the inability of groups of people to interact with each other. We've got segregation in our cities. We've got misinformation being spread around. We've got stereotypes. We've got a whole mess on our hands and the only way to fix it is to move past it.
Seems impossible.
Quite right, but it might not be.
I'm sick of race being used as a crutch. I wasn't born white on purpose. I just was. You weren't born Asian on purpose. You just were. It's not your fault. It's not my fault. Don't hate people for being a skin color or a race that they had no part in choosing. I'm sick of hearing that your skin color prevents you from doing something. You're letting yourself be put into a box.
True, as white woman I cannot claim to fully understand certain aspects of the race issues in our country since I am part of the hegemonic description. But I have been a victim of both sexism and ageism, as well as countless other isms. So when I speak of the problems, I'm speaking of moving toward acceptance of all people. Don't blame your actions on your race.
Grandpa Joe always says that you are who you associate with. You absolutely are. Chances are, people aren't afraid of you based on your skin color, they're afraid of you based on the way you look. Trust me, I know this. Now that I'm no longer black haired and outwardly angst-ridden, I get treated much differently than I did before.
It might be because you're sketchy in your baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirt. It might be because you won't make eye contact. It might be because you're lurking in an alley at night. It's probably not your skin. It's probably your generally creepy self.
Ghetto is not the only option of outward appearance, just as rap music does not define an entire culture.
This month's Esquire magazine had comments from a story that appeared last month. "Blagojevich thinks because he grew up poor, cleaning shoes, he is blacker than Obama, and then Taddeo describes Jay-Z as 'black black'? Statements like these do nothing but perpetuate stereotypes. Let's not forget that black people have varying interests, personalities, cultures, and yes, socioeconomic classes." -Mel McKenzie.
Also, "I'm black, and I grew up in an inner city in the Midwest. I never sold drugs, didn't curse, and I never followed urban fashion. I listen to alternative, grunge, rock, reggae and R&B. I eat quinoa more frequently than fried chicken. But I guess that means I'm not 'black black.' Jay-Z's story is interesting enough without stereotyping an entire diverse community." -B. Doutherd.
Anyway, it's not just a black-white thing. It's an everything thing.
We can never ignore our races. They're what make us unique. They're what define us as human beings. But let's stop letting race get in the way of progress as people. Let's be black. And white. And all the colors in between.
But realistically, that can't happen unless we start to change the way we think.
I hope I got it all. Probably not.
Secondly, I love my cat. Even if he only loves me because I feed him, I feel as though the feeling is mutual. We've become fast friends. He's having a biting issue at the moment though. When we snuggle, which he seems to enjoy, he likes to playfully bite me. The problem is that being bitten isn't quite so fun as you might think.
I had this whole post typed out at the library yesterday morning and then I logged into Gmail to check an email and the entry got deleted. This is round two. Not pleased, I'm not pleased. But nonetheless:
This is the post I've meaning to get around to since February, if not before.
At last, we've arrived at the intersection of race and gender in class and I find that it's pertinent now more than ever to discuss the issues that rise out of our cultural consciousness to permeate through our sense of being and direct each and every one of us in our outward behavior.
It's something that I've noticed lately, being as inundated with theory as I am. Women's struggles are often related to the struggle of the Black American. True, there are struggles there, but I'm always fundamentally annoyed by the comparison.
Anyway. Yesterday we watched a film about the portrayal of black men in hip hop. The portrayal of masculinity seen through the music videos shows that power comes through money, intimidation, violence and women.
The artists themselves agree that it's all a front, that the posturing that they're doing has more to do with their image and sales than it does with their actual experiences.
At a hip hop convention in Florida, young women walk around in short shorts and bikini tops, upset that the young men are aggressively harassing them; touching them and grabbing at them. The police do very little. Talking about the lyrics that refer to women as "bitches" or "hos," one woman says that she knows those lyrics aren't about her.
So who are they about?
White suburban kids who listen to rap music are interviewed. One of them says "colored people." The interviewer, shocked, asks him, "Did you seriously just say 'colored people'?"
Another group of white students say that rap music gives them a chance to get into another culture, to understand the ways that other people live. They also say that rap music upholds stereotypes.
Wait. That doesn't even make sense. Those two statements don't belong together.
This is where the racism begins to filter in. Race consciousness is all too obvious in our society, especially in Chicago.
But let's start with an example.
On the train one day, a group of young black teenagers are causing a disturbance. Generally being loud and obnoxious. Passengers glare at them. I'm glaring at them. They assume that it's because they're black and say so. I disagree. It's not because you're black; it's because you're annoying. I would have been equally annoyed by any group of people, age, race, gender, whatever being obnoxious on the train.
I understand that certain groups of people have disadvantages, but I think it has more to do with access to education and socio-economic status than it does skin color.
I hate Black History month. By continuing to highlight difference, we are making it impossible to live as people of all colors. Instead, we are segregating subtly as we attempt to counteract years of racism in the country. I understand why things such as that were a good idea at one time. But they are no longer relevant in our society.
To move forward, we must embrace each other as people not as skin colors. Instead, we're in a holding pattern. We've got segregation in the schools (Chicago is one of the worst cities for diversity among schools) that leads to the inability of groups of people to interact with each other. We've got segregation in our cities. We've got misinformation being spread around. We've got stereotypes. We've got a whole mess on our hands and the only way to fix it is to move past it.
Seems impossible.
Quite right, but it might not be.
I'm sick of race being used as a crutch. I wasn't born white on purpose. I just was. You weren't born Asian on purpose. You just were. It's not your fault. It's not my fault. Don't hate people for being a skin color or a race that they had no part in choosing. I'm sick of hearing that your skin color prevents you from doing something. You're letting yourself be put into a box.
True, as white woman I cannot claim to fully understand certain aspects of the race issues in our country since I am part of the hegemonic description. But I have been a victim of both sexism and ageism, as well as countless other isms. So when I speak of the problems, I'm speaking of moving toward acceptance of all people. Don't blame your actions on your race.
Grandpa Joe always says that you are who you associate with. You absolutely are. Chances are, people aren't afraid of you based on your skin color, they're afraid of you based on the way you look. Trust me, I know this. Now that I'm no longer black haired and outwardly angst-ridden, I get treated much differently than I did before.
It might be because you're sketchy in your baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirt. It might be because you won't make eye contact. It might be because you're lurking in an alley at night. It's probably not your skin. It's probably your generally creepy self.
Ghetto is not the only option of outward appearance, just as rap music does not define an entire culture.
This month's Esquire magazine had comments from a story that appeared last month. "Blagojevich thinks because he grew up poor, cleaning shoes, he is blacker than Obama, and then Taddeo describes Jay-Z as 'black black'? Statements like these do nothing but perpetuate stereotypes. Let's not forget that black people have varying interests, personalities, cultures, and yes, socioeconomic classes." -Mel McKenzie.
Also, "I'm black, and I grew up in an inner city in the Midwest. I never sold drugs, didn't curse, and I never followed urban fashion. I listen to alternative, grunge, rock, reggae and R&B. I eat quinoa more frequently than fried chicken. But I guess that means I'm not 'black black.' Jay-Z's story is interesting enough without stereotyping an entire diverse community." -B. Doutherd.
Anyway, it's not just a black-white thing. It's an everything thing.
We can never ignore our races. They're what make us unique. They're what define us as human beings. But let's stop letting race get in the way of progress as people. Let's be black. And white. And all the colors in between.
But realistically, that can't happen unless we start to change the way we think.
I hope I got it all. Probably not.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Metaphor Metamorphosis
I hate metaphors. I'm filling this post with them unintentionally.
I feel as though my life is reminiscent of the Colorado weather: give me 20 minutes, and I've completely changed my mind.
This time, it's nothing that drastic. You might even call it rational.
But I've never made a rational decision in my life, so perhaps not.
Business school is not off the table. It's actually very much on the table, so much so that it might be the table. (I hate metaphors that can't or won't end.)
I just need more time. I want to make sure that my math skills are on par with the rest of the world so that I might have a fighting chance. (For some reason, I always type "change" instead of "chance" and vice versa.)
So, the GMAT book is still being pored through, yet I am not preparing to take the test until at least the fall. I've even considered the possbility of getting an outside tutor.
I've come to see myself as headstrong lately; had I made this realization earlier, my life could have been made very much easier. I never want to ask for help or advice. And if I do, I'm not actually listening to what you're saying, I've already made up my mind.
At least now I understand that.
I'm going to buiness school, I would just like to have some time to make some flashcards and get some more math in me before I do so.
I am terrible at math. Learned helplessness, but actually maybe not. Long division was the first sign of trouble. I never told anyone that. You shouldn't either, fifth grade Katie will be very hurt. Pre-algebra. Geometry. It's geometry that gets me. I don't get it.
But. To succeed at getting into business school without really trying, you at least have to understand your math. And alas, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. I'd like to get a paddle, so I'm going to take some classes at Metro (maybe) or get a private tutor (definitely, but with reservations. We can't forget the effects of private direction on a young mind. Vern and his mole, anyone?) in order to be prepared to take the test and improve my score in the fall.
I can do a lot with business school and I've long been seduced by the lure of the corporate world. (Men in suits, anyone? If that's not enough, I have a strange love of office supplies - I'll blame my mother for that one - and a strong desire to lead a life of structure - something that the 9-5 could help with.) None of those answers will be going into my "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" or "Why do you think business school is a good fit for you?" essays.
For now, I'm settling myself to the idea of being back in Denver. I'm terrified. Part of me thinks I should stay in Chicago, but I've lived here for four years knowing that I won't stay here, so I've not established any realistically permanent roots. Going home will be nice because I have my family, but other than that, I've not got much. Making friends will come in time, I'm sure. (Unless it doesn't and then I die a cat lady at the age of 23, but that's realistically not going to happen, probably.)
Anyway, the logistics of the move have yet to be ironed out and I'm getting a little bit antsy about it. But time will tell. In all honesty, I'm just going to end up selling stuff (hopefully) or breaking down all my shelves, etc and throwing them in the back of a hastily acquired moving van.
Excitement, fear, dread, anxiety, relief, hope....my god, it's an emotional stew over here.
The melancholy waxes and wanes like a tide. Last night, news came to me from the lips of the person who had set it in motion, and I felt my heart collapse a tiny bit. I don't regret my decision, not for a moment. Child bride, indeed. But I feel sometimes that I've lost the ability to find someone suitable. I find myself not projecting outwardly my inner being. I'm more than what I look like. I'm not sure if it's confidence issue caused by the transitory period I'm in or if it's more than that. Perhaps I am plain (both in outward appearance and in personality) and unsuitable to date, lacking in grace and charm, not to mention social fluidity, but I'd prefer to blame my current situation. Stress and the post-graduate, it will be called. It will be a memoir for posterity.
Ugh, and onward with the ever-upping stack of assignments and duties. My room has lost any hope of resembling that of a sane woman, and instead speaks of post-hurricane destruction (without the mold and rotting things, of course). Focus. Focus. Focus. These are the words I wish I could hear.
I feel as though my life is reminiscent of the Colorado weather: give me 20 minutes, and I've completely changed my mind.
This time, it's nothing that drastic. You might even call it rational.
But I've never made a rational decision in my life, so perhaps not.
Business school is not off the table. It's actually very much on the table, so much so that it might be the table. (I hate metaphors that can't or won't end.)
I just need more time. I want to make sure that my math skills are on par with the rest of the world so that I might have a fighting chance. (For some reason, I always type "change" instead of "chance" and vice versa.)
So, the GMAT book is still being pored through, yet I am not preparing to take the test until at least the fall. I've even considered the possbility of getting an outside tutor.
I've come to see myself as headstrong lately; had I made this realization earlier, my life could have been made very much easier. I never want to ask for help or advice. And if I do, I'm not actually listening to what you're saying, I've already made up my mind.
At least now I understand that.
I'm going to buiness school, I would just like to have some time to make some flashcards and get some more math in me before I do so.
I am terrible at math. Learned helplessness, but actually maybe not. Long division was the first sign of trouble. I never told anyone that. You shouldn't either, fifth grade Katie will be very hurt. Pre-algebra. Geometry. It's geometry that gets me. I don't get it.
But. To succeed at getting into business school without really trying, you at least have to understand your math. And alas, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. I'd like to get a paddle, so I'm going to take some classes at Metro (maybe) or get a private tutor (definitely, but with reservations. We can't forget the effects of private direction on a young mind. Vern and his mole, anyone?) in order to be prepared to take the test and improve my score in the fall.
I can do a lot with business school and I've long been seduced by the lure of the corporate world. (Men in suits, anyone? If that's not enough, I have a strange love of office supplies - I'll blame my mother for that one - and a strong desire to lead a life of structure - something that the 9-5 could help with.) None of those answers will be going into my "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" or "Why do you think business school is a good fit for you?" essays.
For now, I'm settling myself to the idea of being back in Denver. I'm terrified. Part of me thinks I should stay in Chicago, but I've lived here for four years knowing that I won't stay here, so I've not established any realistically permanent roots. Going home will be nice because I have my family, but other than that, I've not got much. Making friends will come in time, I'm sure. (Unless it doesn't and then I die a cat lady at the age of 23, but that's realistically not going to happen, probably.)
Anyway, the logistics of the move have yet to be ironed out and I'm getting a little bit antsy about it. But time will tell. In all honesty, I'm just going to end up selling stuff (hopefully) or breaking down all my shelves, etc and throwing them in the back of a hastily acquired moving van.
Excitement, fear, dread, anxiety, relief, hope....my god, it's an emotional stew over here.
The melancholy waxes and wanes like a tide. Last night, news came to me from the lips of the person who had set it in motion, and I felt my heart collapse a tiny bit. I don't regret my decision, not for a moment. Child bride, indeed. But I feel sometimes that I've lost the ability to find someone suitable. I find myself not projecting outwardly my inner being. I'm more than what I look like. I'm not sure if it's confidence issue caused by the transitory period I'm in or if it's more than that. Perhaps I am plain (both in outward appearance and in personality) and unsuitable to date, lacking in grace and charm, not to mention social fluidity, but I'd prefer to blame my current situation. Stress and the post-graduate, it will be called. It will be a memoir for posterity.
Ugh, and onward with the ever-upping stack of assignments and duties. My room has lost any hope of resembling that of a sane woman, and instead speaks of post-hurricane destruction (without the mold and rotting things, of course). Focus. Focus. Focus. These are the words I wish I could hear.
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