new.

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It hurts my heart to watch the news more often than not, so I check up on what’s happening in the world with news sites and apps, and I typically keep my comments to myself but I was watching the Trayvon Martin closing statements today as I waited in the doctor’s office with my mumsi and I had some thoughts.

That’s new, I know!

Anyway, I am a fairly frequent traveller. Not frequent enough to have a boo-thang in the cities that I travel to, and pay for a subscription to the express line at the airport, but frequent enough to have all my liquids in a clear plastic bag, and have my laptop out, my shoes off, and everything out of my pockets without being told at the security check.

Unfortunately, despite being prepared, wearing no jewelry, not smuggling kinder eggs (AHEM.), and following protocol of 3oz liquids (cake frosting, by the way, is considered a liquid) I still am randomly selected for extra screening, bomb-swabbing, or having my meticulously packed bag unpacked at the clumsy hands of a TSA representative 8 out of 10 times that I fly.

And why? A twenty-something young woman poses a threat to national security?

What I’m saying is that like Trayvon Martin, it is because of the color of my skin that someone with very little actual power in the world has tried to have some kind of power over me. And the difference is that I walk away from being searched at the airport annoyed, but alive.

The same cannot be said for Trayvon Martin and for so many like him.

But I don’t think this is a new problem for us, as a society. We are afraid of what is different from us.

“Fear of the unknown. They are afraid of new ideas. They are loaded with prejudices, not based upon anything in reality, but based on… ‘if something is new, I reject it immediately because it’s frightening to me.’ What they do instead is just stay with the familiar. You know, to me, the most beautiful things in all the universe, are the most mysterious.”

I am keeping my thoughts and prayers with the family who lost their 17-year-old son, because I don’t know that I can tell you what ‘justice’ means, but I can tell you that Trayvon Martin doesn’t have the opportunity to go to college, have a family, fall in love, and that there are parents out there that had to bury their child.

Love, B

accept the love

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I wish someone had told me at 15: ‘You accept the love that you think you deserve’. I would have approached my relationships completely differently if they had. I like this idea of quality control: that we don’t have to accept just anyone into our lives. People talk about love as though it just happens to you – as though you’re a victim in it all, when actually you can make good choices and bad. But women have a natural tendency to want to nurture and take care of men. You always think that the guy is going to end up coming around and that you’re going to be the one that saves him – like the Oasis song. Actually I don’t think that you can change other people, but women always hope for the best.

— Emma Watson, Glamour UK

birds

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It’s Wednesday and YOU KNOW what that means, don’t you? Nothing in particular, really. I just thought I’d ask if you knew about something that I didn’t.

thinking face.

Today I looked at the faces of my fellow grads and saw the following emotions: stress, panic, fml, delirium. So I came home and made brownies to take into the office tomorrow. (y’know cause that’s what I do.)

Anyway, that has nothing to do with birds, or flying, or anything even remotely related to birds. I’ll eventually get to that.

This week has been crazy busy, crazy stressful, and crazy crazy. Why? Because we’re at MID semester, can you believe I’m half way through one semester of grad school? That’s 1/8 of my graduate schooling for a Masters degree. And I haven’t broken anything, set anything on fire, OR failed any classes. Not too shabby!

Just today I was working on a research project about women’s bodies in dance, and so I was reading about the political female body. I learned that in the early ninties there was a “contraceptive implant” introduced to the market, and it was used as a sentencing tool to women found guilty of child abuse cases. So…um, a type of forced sterilization. Cool, America. Cool.

Anyway, so amidst this panicky state of crazy I’m still trying to have fun and explore this ridiculous city. Another grad suggested we go to “Birds,” which is apparently an oyster bar that has karaoke. Now, that’s right up my alley! But thinking about the name Birds makes me think of this song about birds shitting on your head and that just makes me laugh.

So imagine this. Me. Sitting in my grad cubicle laughing, alone. Cubicle-mate here definitely must think I’m nuts, cause he often walks in to the cubicle with me sitting on the desk/laughing hysterically/generally being weird. Anyway, back to birds. I was thinking about this song, and I listened to it a couple of times since I hadn’t heard it in a while, and it’s actually really weird. The guy arrives in town and the girl meets him at the train station and they get on the bus and he wants to express his feelings for her. This is what he says:

Birds can fly so high
and they can shit on your head,
yeah they can almost fly into your eye
and make you feel so scared,
but when you look at them,
and you see that they’re beautiful:
that’s how I feel about you.

Um, I’m beautiful at a distance but I could potentially shit on you. I’m going to go ahead and take that as a metaphorical thing, because then it can be  true. I know lots of people who have metaphorically shit on me and other people, and at a distance they seem great, and then that’s just not how the cookie crumbles.

crumbling cookie, get it? get it?

Needless to say, if I can get everything that needs to be done, done, I will definitely be up there singing tomorrow.

Maybe Birds.

Or, let’s be real, Celine, if they have it.

love, B

PS. I hope the grad school chat isn’t boring — I’m excited about everything going on here, so I want to sing about it!

Here’s a (albeit creepy) picture to make it all better.

HAPPY MONTH BEFORE THE ELECTION

(This is for my bebe who’s birthday is today,
you know who you are lady)

interpretation

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What follows may or may not be a post about the validity of interpretive dance and it’s representation of the female body in contemporary choreography. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not. I’m not blogging as a way to avoid writing a paper. Never.

I was watching an episode of The Office today and weeping because I had totally forgotten the complete and utter heartbreak I feel whenever I watch this episode because what follows this scene makes me giddy. And I choose to bask in the happiness.

In the season 2 episode, Casino Night, after losing a lot of money, but flirting with Pam all evening, Jim finally says to her, while standing in the parking lot, that he is in love with her. She denies him, even though she (as we all know) is enamored with him. Okay, not so bad. People get turned down all the time.

Then he says the one line that I think is the most heartbreaking moment written into the show.

I’m sorry I misinterpreted our friendship.

Seriously, I’m sitting in my grad office, tearing up because it breaks my heart. It hurts as much as it does because I’ve felt that way before: apologetic because I had misunderstood something that I thought I understood perfectly. Apologetic because I’m embarrassed.

It’s heartbreaking to think that you have this wonderfully playful, honest, open relationship with someone and it turns out that either you don’t, or they’re telling you that you don’t. I can’t get over the chills I feel when he walks away after apologizing. While his guilt is unjustified (why should he apologize for being a human with feelings?) it’s completely relatable. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t felt guilt or sadness for having feelings that are discarded, even though it’s not their fault that they feel. I, too, am mortal sometimes and do sometimes feel things, like being hurt, when realizing that I was completely wrong in thinking something about someone.

Jim, you’re not alone: check this out, you do get the girl.

And, by the way, I am sorry.

Love, b

truth.

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“The (500) Days of Summer attitude of “He wants you so bad” seems attractive to some women and men, especially younger ones, but I would encourage anyone who has a crush on my character to watch it again and examine how selfish he is. He develops a mildly delusional obsession over a girl onto whom he projects all these fantasies. He thinks she’ll give his life meaning because he doesn’t care about much else going on in his life. A lot of boys and girls think their lives will have meaning if they find a partner who wants nothing else in life but them. That’s not healthy. That’s falling in love with the idea of a person, not the actual person.”

— Joseph Gordon-Levitt

the script.

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The Script, alternative rock band from Ireland, are awesome. Please don’t confuse what follows this as me questioning their awesomeness. But I do have some questions that I’d like to address about every song ever produced by The Script.

Every song is about a woman, a relationship, or a combination of the beginning or end of a relationship. Is this the same woman? Are there multiple women? If there are multiple women who have committed these heinous acts (like pursuing her happiness because she doesn’t need a man), do the script now believe that women are vicious man-eaters? WE’RE NOT.

Second, do they not realize that some of the things they’re saying aren’t remotely romantic, and even slip over to pathetic sometimes? Example one, the most popular song on the radio by them now is “Nothing.” So, your mates (I presume your male mates) are all there trying to calm you down, you probably shouldn’t listen to them. No, instead stumble over to her house in the middle of the night and then when she opens the door and says “nothing” while you proclaim your love for her, please be upset about that. You’re not invading her privacy, being a douche, or look like a pathetic drunk asshole. No, you’re not better off dead. But guess what, your friends are probably right, you are better off without her if she makes you feel like singing this song.

Example two, another song from the Science and Faith album. “If You Ever Come Back” is the story of a girl, I think, leaving the boy that’s singing. He says that he wishes that instead of her leaving she would give him “the cold shoulder” or “a hard time” and he even goes as far to say that he wishes HE could “wish it were over.” Really? You’re resentfully going to say that you wish you were the one to want it to be over so that you wouldn’t feel that way. Oh, okay. He goes on to say “even if wishing is a waste of time / even if I never cross your mind…” here’s all the things I’m gonna do for you. He’s going to leave the door on the latch, leave a light on in the hall, leave a key under the mat…okay he’s leaving his place of residence open for her — here’s where it gets sad. “There’ll be a smile on my face and the kettle on / And it will be just like you were never gone.” Are you kidding? Honey, she’s not coming back because you don’t even want to deal with whatever problem caused her leaving. It won’t be like she was never gone. And as your mates told you in “Nothing” you’re probs better off without her.

I have to bring up the song “Walk Away.” In this particular song, self-deprecation gets to an all-time low…or high? He begins by questioning why she’s with him, stating that he brings her trouble, and that if he were her “by now I would have left me.” He says that he would have walked away. But, the song goes on, she didn’t leave because she’s a “headstrong city girl” so now “I’ll never let you leave, never let you breathe…cause if you’re looking for heaven, baby, it sure as hell ain’t me.” Oh. Okay. We’ve gone from vicious man-eater to pathetic ones? The song even begs to know “how could any woman in their right mind be so blind”? WHAT?! Blind? You show up at her house in the middle of the night, you leave your apartment unlocked with a kettle on the stove…and she’s the one being blind? Is that so? You’re kidding. You have to be.

I want to reiterate that I do not dislike the script. I really enjoy the music, but when you really begin to listen, I have to wonder what on earth their problem is. Why does this woman or these women, have so much control over your emotional well-being (and for that matter, the well-being of your liver…think “For the first time” — she’s in line at the dole, but you’re sitting in the bar in the middle of the afternoon drinking Jack. okay). Come now, you are better than this. In fact, all of us are better than this. This isn’t how it should be.

I could probably write about every song on both albums of theirs that I have, but I’ll spare you. Just wanted to think about this for a minute.

Cheers, B

little lion man.

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Is anyone familiar with Mumford and Sons? I have this secretive love for folk-rock, especially English or Scottish folk-rock, because I mean really, really, who can turn down some banjo, dobro and string bass all in one? Who?

Their most recent hit is called “Little Lion Man”, and goes a little something like this “Well it was not your fault but mine / And it was your heart on the line / I really fucked it up this time, / didn’t I, my dear?” and the lyrics repeatedly refer to the singular audience, as “my man” and “little lion man”. I, well, naturally, now want to call everyone “little lion man” and hope that they know what I’m talking about…or maybe just get wildly excited that they get to be referred to as a lion.

I would love that, wouldn’t you?