but a 30 second poem, nonetheless. a change up from all this political rigmarole. i filed it under thefogmachine.

Such a cloud.
You obscure yourself
From even you
Just like the rest of us.

And I'm sure that last line's
Already been written,
But it deserves a
Rewrite
Just as much as we all
Deserve a
Rewrite.

You're one of those characters.
I cannot see through you so easily,
So you weigh on my mind,
And I try to find you
But you keep on with
These one-line
Replies
Never saying
Anything revealing.

Well, here you are now,
Sir.
I've wrapped you up
In this
From
Beginning
To the time I realize you're
Not all those wonderful things
I've filled in
To
End.

tags: bad poetry

My post yesterday troubled Rick, and I'm fairly certain he's the only person who reads this but, in case anyone else does read this and had similar trouble as he with the embedding of a youtube video, it's only the speech V makes when he takes over the British airwaves.

Today, I'll be even less creative and post a little passage I read out of Karl Mannheim's Ideology and Utopia:

"There are certain aspects of politics which are immediately intelligible and communicable. An experienced and trained political leader should know the history of his own country, as well as the history of the countries immediately connected with his own and constituting the surrounding political world. Consequently, at the least, a knowledge of history and the relevant statistical data are useful for his own political conduct. Furthermore, the political leader should know something about the political institutions of the countries with which he is concerned. It is essential that his training be not only juristic but also include a knowledge of the social relations which underlie the institutional structure and through which it functions. He must likewise be abreast of the political ideas of his opponents. There are still further though less immediate questions, which in our own times have undergone continual elaboration, namely the technique for manipulating crowds without which it is impossible to get on in mass-democracies. History, statistics, political theory, sociology, history of ideas, and social psychology, among many other disciplines, represent fields of knowledge important to the political leader. Were we interested in setting up a curriculum for the education of the political leader, the above studies would no doubt have to be included. The disciplines mentioned above, however, offer no more than practical knowledge, which, if one happens to be a political leader, might be of use. But even all of these disciplines added together do not produce a science of politics. At best they may serve as auxiliary disciplines to such a science. If we understood by politics merely the sum of all those bits of practical knowledge which are useful for political conduct, then there would be no question about the fact that a science of politics in this sense existed, and that this science could be taught. The only pedagogical problem would consist, then, in selecting from the infinite store of existing facts those most relevant for the purposes of political conduct."

I suppose now there is a discipline called political science. I've never bothered with it in my 140+ hours of college education. I always thought it was just there for the kids who wanted to be lawyers one day...then maybe politicians, I suppose. That seems to be the field we usually pick the politicians from, isn't it? If anyone feels that your poli sci courses adequately trained you for some leadership position, please shed some light on the topic for me.

Mostly, I just thought about how much this demands of a political leader. It demands intelligence. Maybe us voters might consider it the next time we head for the polls.

tags: political

I've spent a great deal of time doing absolutely nothing for several months now. Well, I suppose I've done stuff, but it isn't as much as I ought to have been doing or even exactly what I ought to have been doing.

Mundane Things:
I finished reading Classical Sociological Theory, 4th edition, and I'm currently obsessing over Karl Mannheim. Which led to...
I actually went into the Morrow Library General Collection for the first time in my entire college career. Isn't that pathetic? Generally, if I can't just pluck it off of a shiny bookshelf in Drinko with pleasantly temperate air flowing over me, I just find some relevant journal article. Let me tell you, I might just be a changed woman. Morrow is saturated with the delightful scent of old books, and I love that scent.
I cannot believe that "Owner of a Lonely Heart" by Yes is now considered Classic Rock. I need to go karaoke soon.
I enjoy housekeeping. I could totally be happy as a housewife. Laundry is the best.
My hair is everywhere. Long hair just falls all over the place, and I have to harvest it out of the shower after washing it lest have to deal with a hair clog later.
I've almost read all of Chuck Klosterman's books. I'm fairly sure they wasted my time. Except for Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, which is hilarious.
The hours between 9 am and 3 pm just fly by when you're doing "nothing."

Not as Mundane Things:
I spent some time hanging out at the Inner Harbor the other day, and I should do that again today. Instead I'm doing this. I suppose this is no less mundane than the above crap. But I *love* sitting and gazing out at large bodies of water, and I do believe I would like to live here in Baltimore for a time.
Jim's family is awesome. They serve delicious food. Last night it was filet mignon and big, fat, juicy grilled shrimp and veggie skewers. I just ate some of the leftover veggies and shrimp for lunch. Yum. They're also just great, and I'm going to go and meet some extended family on Friday evening while Jim's at work. I'm a little terrified, but Rob will be there (Jim's brother-in-law) to support me.
I'm excited for my history class, and I want July 10th to hurry up and get here. (Also because they won't give me any student loan money until my fourth hour of summer courses actually begins, so I'm dead broke right now.)
Jim and I are going to DC tomorrow. We will eat at Les Halles. That's the main event. Then we will stay in a hotel that my "step"brother said he would pay for, and I dearly hope he hasn't forgotten that he said that. It will be fun. I haven't been to DC since fifth grade.

I'm getting bored with this. I thought that if I started writing crap I'd eventually get to some point that would be at least mildly interesting. Sorry.

tags: personal, travel

I think that is a valid excuse for anything. Really, the media influences us to recreate and perpetuate our own culture day to day, and we do so accordingly. The majority of people can accurately be described as "suckers" when you consider the intrinsic value of the above idea.

That's why I'm going to discuss the ending of The Sopranos today, because the morning talk show people are talking about it and telling people how to feel about it. (I know. I'm the one "watching" the morning talk show hosts. They're really just background noise, but how else am I to keep some contact with the "society at large"?)

IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST EPISODE OF THE SOPRANOS, ENJOY THE SHOW, AND INTEND TO WATCH THE FINAL EPISODE AT A LATER DATE (and somehow dodge hearing about the ending from countless outlets), DO NOT CONTINUE READING THIS.

I haven't consistently watched The Sopranos. I strongly dislike violent imagery unless it's clever and in the context of an overtly fantastical piece. (Think LOTR, Kill Bill, or Kung Fu Hustle) The Sopranos does not fit into that category. However, my common-law stepfather has religiously watched the show since the start of it, so I know the gist of the plot and have watched more of the show than I would have under different circumstances. That being said, let's get down to the end of the show and why everyone seems to be disappointed about it.

First of all, Sopranos watchers expected Tony to die. They wanted him to die. They needed him to die.

Why would his fans want him to die? How could one desire the demise of a beloved fictional character? They needed him to die in order for them to feel satiated with the whole experience of the series. They needed him to die so that they could feel relief and closure along with the ending of the series. Mostly for the same reasons that Harry Potter must die to conclude Rowling's wildly popular 7-book series. If Harry were to live, wouldn't she have to eventually write about his life beyond Hogwarts? Wouldn't that probably devalue the whole of the series? Thus, if Tony lives, the fans NEED to know what happens next. They don't want mystery or the opportunity to think independently about possible different endings. They MUST SEE THE END, and that end must be so concrete that their desire for this vicarious experience is completely exhausted.

As an aside, I would like to mention that I thought of this comparison before Newsweek wrote a story about it which largely agrees with my own ideas. I'm serious. It kind of bothered me, but it doesn't really take genius or originality to reach this conclusion.

Sadly, for The Sopranos fans, the ending was (like much of the series) a chain of suspense-inducing events. The nuclear family decides to meet for dinner at a little diner, which probably has some significance that is lost on me. Tony is the first to arrive, and he plays the Journey song "Don't Stop Believin'" on a cute little table jukebox. The song plays for the entirety of the suspense building. We see Carmela enter. We see young Anthony enter. We are forced to watch Meadow struggle with parallel-parking her ridiculously expensive car. We are supposed to feel suspense. We are supposed to poignantly consider the relationship we have formed to these characters. We love them, but we are forced to consider which of the other diner patrons will inevitably kill the shit out of at least one of them. Anthony mentions how Tony once told him to "remember the happy times," and Tony has to ponder such a sentiment before he agrees that he did, in fact, say that. We see one of these suspicious fellows enter the restroom, and we see that Meadow is finally able to park her ridiculous car and enters the diner. Keep in mind that Steve Perry is still telling you not to stop believing, hold on to that feel-ah-e-ah-e-ing. Just before the four are joined over this booth table and just after Perry croons "Don't Stop," the screen goes black. The series ends.

This ending obviously leaves room for the watcher to create their own personal ending, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that this entire series follows a family man that we must love despite the fact that he makes a very comfortable living through violent means, and we fully expect and want him to die. Sorry, guys. Tony lives. The ending seems to be premature and unsatisfying. The trouble here is that the brilliant script writers suddenly want their audience to be different than their actual audience. The writers want us to be optimistic. We had to be optimistic throughout the entire series and hope that certain characters would live long enough for us to form a connection with them. (It doesn't take a television audience very long to form a connection. They're already hooked before they even bother to consider why.) The ending fully indicates that our suspicions are paranoia and the nuclear family remains intact. It ends happily. It ends with an overtly optimistic soundtrack.

Everyone is upset about this. How could they (dirty script writers that they are) do this to us? How could they deliver all this horrifying violence and tragedy simply to end the whole thing with hope?

Perhaps, eventually, Sopranos fans will see what (I think) the writers intended for us to feel--hope and optimism in the face of a grim and disappointing reality. How will they possibly reach this conclusion with all the TV personalities telling them to be disappointed? Maybe Newsweek will come to the rescue. Maybe I'm just too optimistic.

mood: amused tags: culture, television

HUNTINGTON -- A Huntington man is free on bond after the FBI says he posted threatening messages on his MySpace Web page.

Yes, Dorothy,
We are being watched through the crystal ball,
And the witch isn't working alone.

She's got footmen and lawyers,
Money and
Legitimized Power.

Do not be
Hypnotized by the beauty of
Intoxicating flowers.

Do not be
Fooled by your own doubt,
Lest you lose your power.

It isn't about
The sparkling shoes,
Dear.

There is no way
Back to Kansas
Now.

You'll have to find
Home in the Emerald City,
That overwhelming pleasure palace of seeming delight.

Where you come from
You haven't the choice to
Return to your farm.

It probably
Won't be there
If you go back, anyway.

Instead you'll find
Neat brick cottages
All looking alike.

And you'll wonder how
Their appliances run
In the absence of electrical lines.

You'll find shining cars,
Stuffed mailboxes,
And clean white pavement.

The pigs
Are only a cartoon
In the supermarket.

Pre-sliced and preserved.

Don't worry, Dorothy.
You're a nice, pretty girl
Sure to be married and protected.

You'll learn to appreciate
The values of Oz.

You can relax
In the beautician's chair.

And soon you will forget
Your aunt.
Your dreams.

You have a pedicure
To empower you
In overpriced shoes.

If you just stay put,
Remain calm and silent,
The Wicked Witch
Will not trouble you.

As for the rest of us,
We'll get along just fine.

After all,
We have
A brain,
A heart,
And courage.

*I directly imported this from MY myspace blog.

tags: poem, political

I want this guy to be the next president. You should check him out and make a donation if you can. I'm broke as hell, but I will donate soon.

That's all for now.

(Yeah. Click up there.)

tags: political

A math professor asked me this today. I said, hesitantly, "yes."
She went on to ask how much math I'd taken and assumed, "at least algebra, right?"
"Actually, I took everything up to calculus in high school, but once I got to college I figured out that I couldn't do math at all," I replied. To say it aloud that way made me think of how ridiculous that idea is. If high school me could manage straight A's in AP Calculus, then how the hell did college me scrape by math 121 (for poets, as one professor called it) with only a B?
She went on to tell me about a project she had made with her students and introduced herself to me. She was a nice lady. There are very few people who will strike up a conversation in a public restroom and actually continue it past the restroom door. There are very few professors who bother to ask your name and repeat it once aloud to remember it.
That's more what I want to be. I want to be a professor, and, with any luck, an author. It wasn't until just a few moments ago that I realized that I'm already an "academic." Whatever that means. If it means having some strange desire to read obscure theory and figure out ways to rewrite it so that it both makes better sense as a whole and can be communicated to a much larger audience, then, yes, I'm already one of those. If it means to strive to make up new ideas that are completely relevant, then, yes, that is definitely me. If it means to realize why "high school me" and "college me" display vastly different math skills, then, well, that's sort of me.
The difference between my high school experience and my college experience is the answer. In high school, I fought my way to stay in the elite crowd of honors and AP students. I graduated third in a class of terribly bright kids, many of whom have gone on to much more impressive institutions and maintained their excellence. The first four years of my college experience were largely spent partying and getting over (in some cases) with half-assed work. I had no one to compete with anymore but myself. What I had in high school to motivate me was utterly removed. In one sense, I know that, in this cultural climate, they will become the winners, and I will more than likely become mediocre. (With some luck, at least, I can still achieve that.) And what I mean by mediocre is a career that will stick me somewhere in the ever-shrinking middle class income bracket. Perhaps I'll have the edge when it comes to wisdom, but wisdom matters naught when there's money to be made, stockpiled and stored away. That's alright. What I want is to teach. If there is a way to communicate wisdom that is the closest.
Leaving class today, I chatted with a classmate on the way to the library. She's older, with adult children, and she told me that I sound so smart when I speak in class. She had earlier pointed out that I tend to habitually finger-comb my hair now that it's long again, and she complimented me on that, too. It felt good. I complemented her on taking 21 hours over the summer, but I don't think it came out as skillfully as hers. I said something along the lines of "that's insane." Tomorrow I will make sure she knows that I admire her for that discipline. Throughout high school, that's what I cultivated, and it is what I allowed college delusions of grandeur destroy. I don't think it's like "riding a bicycle," as they say. I am going to have to nurse that discipline back to health like a plant that's so close to death most people would just throw it away.
But I'm convinced there are spider plants growing in a landfill someplace.

tags: personal

I can't be too mean about my mother. She's pretty awesome. She likes to throw parties. She likes to party, and we have fun together. She's throwing a great big birthday party for my great aunt Mimi's 90th birthday. Which is cool. I enjoy hanging out with my family. Unfortunately, I am just not feeling it. I feel surly. Frankly, this is my time of the month to be surly.
I've been cleaning house just about all day in preparation for this shindig, and my mother is just emanating this essence of urgency. She works a full time job, but she wants to make sure that the house, the backyard, everything looks beautiful. And it does. I even dusted the blinds. I have this problem with empathy, though, so her sense of urgency makes me feel like I'm having a very long panic attack. Maybe that's how she feels, too. If so, I don't know how she maintains her cloak of sanity, because I couldn't do it. Maybe it has something to do with the generational difference.
Furthermore, there's going to be a bunch of those family members over tomorrow that I hardly ever see, and they're all going to awkwardly say they're sorry for my loss and bring their little children. Don't get me wrong. I love children. I (generally) love my family, but they seem to waltz in and out of various family events and, beyond that, we share so little in common that it's just hard. It's easier for me to love strangers and friends, and I'm awful at feigning affection.

All that aside, it's one of my very close friend's graduation day, so I've committed myself to going out with the girls for some celebrating. I love them, but I feel tired. I wanted to have this weekend to try to collect myself before class starts on Monday, but I guess I knew that was not going to be the case all along.

tags: personal

I would so move to India and work in a highly lucrative call center job for the rest of my life. (Those jobs are highly lucrative by Indian standards. At least middle class.)

I woke up at 10:40 am today, and it's raining outside. I am, thus, overwhelmed by a feeling of laziness. This is, however, the first morning in a few where I have actually been able to sit around and drink coffee while wasting time on the internet. I like being able to do that in the morning.

I have to come up with $685 by Monday. I am taking the one sociology class that lies within the scope of my interest being offered before I intend to graduate...somehow. I have to make it happen.

I feel lightheaded. It could be the caffeine. I will read Newsweek until it passes.

tags: whining

So I decided that if I couldn't find a real job, then I would go after my Master's in Sociology with absolute devotion over the next year...not to mention beginning the long process of applying to various PhD programs. I got a rejection letter from one prospective employer on Saturday. I decided the other one just didn't want me, because they didn't bother to contact me at all.

Today I'm on campus scrounging for summer funding to take a couple of classes. I go buy lunch. I drive to the park. I'm eating my lunch in my car when my mother calls. She just wanted to let me know that the other prospective employer left a message on the home phone asking to schedule an interview with me.

I suppose the first door opening was just one inside my head leading into a dusty old place where I used to stay and study, keeping education as my first priority. The second door is, literally, the place that wants to interview me, but it's also my feeling of being 24 years old and having a car payment. It's a desire to support myself and live only on money that I have earned. It's a desire to get out of my mother's hair.

What to do? Get a secure job with benefits, retirement, and the prospect of middle management? Or should I do what I've been working toward for the past four years...and dreaming about for many more?

I suppose I already know the answer. I just feel like such a burden.

tags: personal