Le Sigh.

Often, I use this space to rant. I believe I will be doing the same now.

I'm not sure if it's because I am tired. I'm not sure if this is a legitimate feeling. Whatever. There's so much I would like to write. Yet when I do sit down to do so, the words do not find their way to the screen.

This is going to be random.

For the sake of being terse, I am simply going to say I feel inadequate in most areas of my life. In school, definitely. In some aspects of my personal life, most definitely. In deciding what to do after graduation, yup.

It seems like I find myself knowing exactly where the problems are, and I know how to solve it (kind of?) but I don't do it. I don't think that makes much sense.

I don't like being negative, usually, and I don't like saying "don't" so often in a short piece such as this one. This is no way to spend one's time, wallowing in shallow despair about things I can't exactly pinpoint. But I know these things are solvable.

At the same time, there's nothing wrong with admitting that I'm not 100% happy. There's nothing wrong with admitting there are parts of life that are not where I want them to be. There's nothing wrong with admitting that I am frustrated that a boy I have the unfortunate circumstance of actually liking is in a relationship with someone else. That's part of the human experience: we have our ups, our downs, our in-betweens. Everything is not always where we want them to be.

It passes.We overcome it. It comes back. And we vent, we cry, we laugh, we write to do so.

Accountable.

It is time for real talk.

Let's cut to the chase: I have been overweight for my entire life. Every so often, I will start some sort of fitness regime and diet in order to lose those 15 pounds I am always looking to lose. Two weeks in, I'm craving buffalo wings, I'm craving spinach and artichoke dip, I'm craving all these wonderfully delicious but sinfully awful things. And I give in. I give in hard. I gain back those measly 2-5 pounds I lost and I give up. And the cycle repeats itself endlessly.

About two months ago, I read an article of a man who lost over 100 pounds. I wish I had bookmarked the link so I can share it here, but I did not. Anyway, he lost the weight by doing the usual: diet, exercise, and a complete overhaul of his lifestyle. He explained that he too would commit himself to losing weight but he would quit shortly after. He believed he was doomed to be obese for the rest of his life. He eventually came to the realization that he constantly failed because it was a private battle; he would not tell his family or friends because he was afraid of being mocked. More than anything, he was afraid of failing in front of them. And then it clicked: he would be motivated if he in fact let his family and friends know about his weight loss experiences in a very public way. Failing was no longer an option. He began blogging about his journey to lose the weight every single day. He continues losing weight to this day.

It's really a shame that I didn't save the link. On his blog, he writes extensively about his day, the amount of time he spent working out, and what exercises he did. He also writes in excruciating detail about every morsel he has had during the day. He does this in order to be accountable for every single action he takes during the course of the day, and it impacts him in the long run. He shares what he's feeling that day, whether it's him feeling great or absolutely hating having to diet or whatever. He has inspired dozens of people to do the same.

Well, I felt pretty inspired to do the same. These past 3 weeks however I have been eating poorly and not exercising at all. I am aware though that a skirt I wear to work is starting to feel slightly tighter, and that's not a good look. My mom told me I looked like a big box today. Whether I like it or not, my mom's opinion on how I look affects me even though I brush it off as her being a bitch to my friends. At least she didn't tell me today that if she looked like me she would throw herself off the Brooklyn Bridge. I can't make this shit up.

Regardless, I have wanted to lose weight for such a loooooonnngggg time. Unfortunately, my attempts are usually unsuccessful. So I'm going to put it out there: I'm going to lose weight, damn it. I think I'll start a separate blog about it, since this one is not about my trails and tribulations about the size of my ass. My first entry will be tomorrow and I'll put the link up here. I simply can't update every single day but I will strive to update four days a week.

I am more than aware it is easier said than done. I absolutely hate working out and I hate depriving myself of that occasional slice of pizza. I HATE IT. However, I hate having to buy size 8 jeans and having to suck in my stomach every time I pass by a full size mirror even more. I hate hate hate sweating and huffing and puffing. But, I hate not being able to button button-down shirts I try on that look so damn good on other people even more.

With that said, it's time to suck it up! I hope to do some kickboxing and cardio and yoga these coming weeks as well as eating correctly and avoiding eating out with my wonderful friends. (Seriously, love you guys, but we need to stop eating out!)

I hope you all read along. This is going to be possibly disastrous but with your constant checking up on my blog, I hope that gives me some extra motivation other than fitting (and looking good!) in size 4 Banana Republic skinny jeans.

And please, don't hesitate commenting, if anyone bothers reading this. If just one other person reads along, I will be incredibly content.

Writing.

I do not have anything remotely interesting to say in this particular post, but I felt like I should be doing some writing. You are forewarned for whatever rants I might go on about.

I'm an English and History major and writing is obviously a major component of my degree. I've discussed this several times here in one way or the other.

This summer, I have not done not one bit of productive reading or writing at all. Granted, I am on vacation but that doesn't make me feel less guilty. I think my lack of reading directly affects the quality of my writing, in terms of both diction and syntax. My grammar becomes more flexible during the warmer months. I have been saying things like "Ok'RRRRR," "Meow," and "My man, go wash your penis" on a regular basis. Not exactly the sort of vocabulary a college junior should really be using in mixed company, especially one that is a slave to the rules and regulations of the written English language.

Instead of picking up some literature worth reading, I've been reading posts on lamebook.com, Facebook status updates worthy of lamebook status, and shorthand texts. I personally never stoop so low that I spell out "u" instead of "you" in a text message, but if I don't get back to school and do some real writing, I might succumb to that. And yes, I do have a sense of superiority that I do not shorthand text and I do not feel guilty about it at all.

With that said, I'm excited for the start of Fall 2010 on the 26th. My very first class is an English class, although I can't remember if it's my Introduction to Creative Writing class or the Modernism one. Either way, I'm looking forward to it. The thought of having deadlines for papers and interpreting texts is a happy one, for now. I'm sure I'll be singing a different tune when midterms start to roll around and I have 5 papers and 3 finals to study for, like last semester. I need to sharpen my vocabulary and refine my writing once again. All play and no work makes me a dull girl.

Give and Get is Here!

Give and Get is Here!: "Enjoy 30% off from August 26-29 at Gap, Banana Republic and Old Navy and we'll donate 5% of what you spend to a non-profit."

 

I'm an employee at Gap Inc., and occasionally we have special deals we can only offer our friends and family. The link above is to receive 30% your purchase at any Old Navy, Gap, and/or Banana Republic starting August 26-29. 5% of your purchase will go to Teach for America, the non profit organization of my choice.

I decided to choose Teach for America because having truly dedicated and passionate teachers can shape one's entire educational and professional future. Teachers have been incredibly important for nurturing my love in writing and literature, and my passion for learning in general. My favorite teachers and professors will always have a special place in my heart, and I hope that every student in America's public school system can feel the same way I do about my overall education experience. An education is so inherently important to one's development not just in an intellectual, getting-an-awesome-GPA way. Knowledge is power. It is something no one can take away from you, it is something you can grow from in so many different ways, ways one does not even realize. Without education and the willingness to learn, nothing fruitful can come about. For knowledge to make such a profound impact, the education system, especially in impoverished areas around the country, needs amazing teachers. Teachers who care about their students, new idealists with fresh ideas and a clean emotional slate. Teach for America allows recent college graduates to teach to kids who normally wouldn't have teachers that meet their needs. Teach for America is about reshaping how we feel about teachers and the learning experience, which is very important to me.

I'm not saying this as some BS propaganda my job is making me do. Not at all. I think this is an amazing opportunity to bring awareness to issues we often forget because it's simply not in our daily lives. Other organizations Gap Inc. is supporting is Feeding America, WWF, (Red), The Leukemia and lymphoma society, and Big Brothers and Big Sisters. I'm sure many employees are going to go for the Luekemia and lymphoma society and (Red) because they probably know someone with the diseases these non-profits are trying to combat. These are all extremely incredible organizations, but I felt Teach for America is just as special and does not get as much visibility as the others.

I know at least one other person reads my blog, so I hope they take advantage of this =] But even if you happen to be passing through my blog for some unknown reason, please feel free to use the discount. You'll save some money, get an offer normal customers usually do not have, and help an awesome cause!

Boyfriends, take II.

In light of several conversations I have had in the past few days, I felt the need to revisit this topic again.

My cousin and I were discussing relationships on Saturday evening, next to a boy she is currently crushing on. While swigging a Corona Extra around, I proudly announced I didn't want to look for a boyfriend, that I didn't want a boyfriend, and that I didn't need a boyfriend. She had a different opinion.

"Really? I go crazy without a boyfriend."

This evening, my friends and I were discussing one of my friend's boyfriends. My friend without the boyfriend quipped: "Having a boyfriend sounds like a lot of work."

So why is it many of us desire one?

I came to the not-so-original conclusion during my fifteen minute break at work. We want to be wanted by someone we want. This is what we crave. We want someone to desire us for our physical attributes, as well as our personalities, passions, morals, and flaws. We want to have a stable source of affection. We want someone to love us completely. We want everything this person has to offer us, even if it means arguing over the most trivial situations, putting up with their foreign habits, accepting certain unchangeable differences.

Perhaps I am not actively searching for a boyfriend. However, I am not completely closed off to the idea either.

Differing, Part III.

The following is the final part of an opinion paper I wrote for my expository writing class.

I suppose I should clarify the meaning of “differing.” I derive my definition from Edward Said’s Orientalism, somewhat. In this book, he argues European elites would record history and often omit the merits of other cultures considered nonwhite. At the same time, they would downplay the atrocities European nations have caused in other countries. Ultimately, it comes down to creating conscious but superficial differences between races to keep propagating false ideas of supremacy and entitlement. Differing has had incredibly damaging effects on America. Arizona will continue to “differ” people by asking them for legal documentation solely based on their appearance, the way they dress, or maybe even the restaurants they frequent. This law sends out the message that if you are different, you deserve to be harassed for papers and if you just so happened to forget your drivers license, you are going to jail. Yes, for being different. For not resembling an American citizen.
 
I believe Arizona has failed to understand there is no quintessential American citizen. There never has been. Most Americans do not derive from America, unless you happen to Native American. For those who can trace their lineage to the days of colonialism, I think it is important to realize that their ancestors were in fact here illegally. They chased out the real Americans off the land. Had a law like Arizona’s been around in the late 17th century, there would be no modern day America. So, the real question I would like to pose is: How is Arizona going to enforce this inane law without being incredibly discriminatory? The answer is that it is not possible. Americans will again tap into the dark legacy of shunning those that come from different backgrounds and force them to assimilate into whatever “American”culture really is. The fact of the matter is this will not happen. It never has. This new law is no more than a poor excuse to go on a witch hunt.

Differing has never solved anything for this country. It has been the cause of countless social problems and misunderstandings. If this law does indeed go into effect in June, it will force people to continue differing, to point out what is “wrong” in others based on their superficial differences. Illegal immigration is a problem, without a doubt. But having law enforcement identify them on a hunch because of the way they look is ludicrous. There has to be alternatives to counteract illegal immigration. Until then, let people celebrate their culture without fear of being singled out for it.


So there you have it, some historical perspectives on discrimination in the United States and how it compares to the stupid Arizona illegal immigration law. I am not sure how effective this essay is so if you just so happened to read it all, let me know in the comments! Or in person! Don't sugarcoat it either; I want to know the honest truth.

Differing, Part II.

The following is the second part an opinion paper I wrote for my expository writing class. I'll post the last part in the next few days.
 
African-Americans have not been the only group to suffer the government’s--and the general public’s--incompetency. Immigrants of the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century encountered  problems of their own. When immigrants from southern and eastern Europe and especially Ireland,  they were promised a land that would not discriminate, a land that can make all their dreams come true. Sadly, this was not the case for many of them. It is no secret that urban life in the 1800s and early 1900s was appalling: lack of plumbing and a proper sanitation department meant filthy conditions, inadequate tenement housing made for unimaginable cramped quarters, and very low wages meant staying in these conditions. All in all, many immigrants had a pretty dismal life in urban areas, especially in New York City. To add insult to injury, these immigrants were largely resented by “Americans” who were also toiling and struggling to survive. Store owners in cities like New York and Boston would post “Irish need not apply” to their store fronts. Italian immigrants were thought of as “unclean” people. These groups lived in among the worst neighborhoods, such as the infamous Five Points in Lower Manhattan.

Essentially, there was a vicious cycle occurring in urban areas: immigrants that were considered inherently “nonwhite” and therefore savage and violent, would only get hired at places with minimal wages. Because of their low wages, they lived in abysmal places. Because they lived in abysmal places, poor quality of life was rampant which contributed to drunkenness and violence. Because of the drunkenness and violence that emerged from immigrant neighborhoods, it would continue to fuel the stereotype that these ethnic groups were savage and violent. What occurred to the Irish and the Italian immigrants of the 19th century could have been prevented. It was the narrow mindset of Americans as identifying these groups as stupid and useless that led to the demographics of the urban slums. In other words, this was discrimination at its absolute worst.

I would like to believe American society has come a long way since Reconstruction and the immigration waves of the 1800s. I was under the impression activists made great strides with the Civil Rights Movement, the Brown vs. Board of Education decision, and the final dismantling of Jim Crow laws. I truly wanted to believe we were moving towards a post-racial society, where race was not an indication of one’s “value” or “worth.” This law in Arizona says otherwise. It says that “differing” is alive and well, that it has to be the “American” way, or the high way.

Part III soon!

Differing, Part I.

The following is the first part an opinion paper I wrote for my expository writing class. I'll post the other two parts later on in the week.

Last month, Arizona passed a law to counteract illegal immigration. The law requires officials to stop anyone they suspect of being illegal and ask them to produce documentation that proves they are here legally. If they cannot, they can spend a night in jail. If they are in fact illegal they face being deported from the United States promptly.
  
As a born-and-bred New Yorker, I do not fully comprehend the need for this law. People of this city are accustomed to walking down a crowded avenue and hearing up to five different languages within a five block radius. We are used to the different smells, sights, styles that indicate the culture or country an individual hails from. Children of immigrants also wear their culture proudly even if they have spent little time in their parent’s native land. I bring this up because this new immigration law in Arizona, that some are claiming is the best thing that has happened since sliced bread, will not only strike fear and anxiety into the hearts of thousands of people. It will force those individuals, be they illegal or not, to suppress a part of their identity that will indicate they are “un-American.” It is abhorrent and unacceptable. Perhaps this country has not learned from the failures of the past what this sort of discrimination will do to the morale of its inhabitants.

There are various historical events I can think of that compares to these actions in Arizona. Before slavery was completely outlawed, free African Americans were required to carry documentation stating they they were in fact free. If they failed to conjure these documents, it was likely officials would take them into custody and sell them as slaves. For those African Americans that were indeed enslaved, they were required to carry papers at any given time stating that their master had given them permission to travel to a different town, state, or a couple miles away from their residence. It has been well over a hundred years since slavery was outlawed. This government has attempted its share of reparations. However, laws that were intended to help African Americans were trumped by laws intended to prevent equal opportunity.  Jim Crow laws and the Grandfather Clause reinforced the notion that the government did not want to help a group of people who needed the help the most. In case the reader may not remember, Jim Crow laws mandated the “separate but equal” laws. These included separate public facilities including bathrooms and public buses as well as private facilities such as schools and restaurants. As many who have studied modern American History will know, these laws stayed in place well into the twentieth century. The Grandfather Clause mandated that African American men could not vote if their grandfather was once a slave. Since this was the mid 1800s, it was more likely than not most African American men had grandfathers who were slaves. Therefore, many African American men could not vote even after granted their "freedom."

Stay tuned for Part II!

Umbrella.

I don't like umbrellas.

Today is raining and cold and dreary. I don't mind the rain and the cold too much actually. I just don't like having to use umbrellas.

I almost left my umbrella on the 2 train this morning. The umbrella I was holding made it increasingly difficult to drink my coffee and hang on to my heavy bag. Anything that interrupts my morning routine is something I dislike in general really.  On the subway it drips everywhere and other's umbrellas drip on other people. Some people decide their umbrella needs its own seat and when they get up, it leaves the seat wet.

Umbrellas are a major cause of arguments in my household. Who lost my umbrella? Why is this one broken? No, I need that umbrella I'm going further than you! I don't like that one it doesn't open properly! These discussions usually leave me using the tiny Spongebob umbrella I bought in the 8th grade because I thought it was cute. Today, not so much.

Speaking of 8th grade, I had a friend who flat out refused to use umbrellas. When it was pouring, all she would have on was the hood of her sweater. I asked her where the heck her umbrella was. "I don't believe in umbrellas," was her response. I would share this philosophy if I wasn't so partial to being dry.

I do not see the purpose of buying these expensive, fancy umbrellas because the wind tends to break each and every umbrella I have owned. Umbrellas are a cause of major embarrassment, especially when they fold inside out. Or they decide not to open. Or when they decide to open at random.

So yeah. I'm not a fan of umbrellas. Yet I like the rain and getting to wear my rainboots. That is always fun.

Request.

On Sunday evening, I was on Facebook instead of writing a paper for my American Pop Culture class. As I was writing on my friend's status about something that happened to him at the Louis Vuitton store, I see the little red flag pop up over the new friends icon on the upper left hand corner of the screen. I click on it.

"Oh no. No, no, no, no."

I looked at the profile picture for a while. This person's expression looked sad, it seemed. We have 122 friends in common. Naturally. We used to be best friends.

For those who have been reading my blog for a while now, you will probably remember my post on expired friendships. I argued in that post was that some friendships are bound to fail while others are strong enough to withhold the test of time. Unfortunately, the friendship with "new friend request" had long expired. Dare I say, the mention of this person makes me wrinkle my nose as if I just sniffed some nasty, rancid milk.

We live in a curious time in terms of socializing. One of my classmates discussed his hatred of texting; he writes that people would rather text instead of actually having a conversation with a person. I completely agree. Now, we write on our friend's Facebook walls to wish them a happy birthday instead of singing to them through the phone. Or better yet, showing up to their house with balloons. We type incoherent emails instead of meeting with the person you want to talk to. Methods of everyday communication have been completely revamped thanks to the marvels of the internet and smart-phones. Sadly, some of these methods are the worse. Many people do not know how to verbalize their frustrations to someone else because they can leave this comment anonymously over the internet instead of resolving the issue. We now have a way to be completely elusive yet completely explicit. It's very strange.

To me, it's interesting to see how "new friend request" probably believed re-adding me as a friend on Facebook was a step towards possible reconciliation. I'm not sure whether to blame this person's general incompetence or the way our generation is used to dealing with problems with abstract internet actions, making it almost impossible to decipher the motives or reasons behind them. Perhaps I'm completely wrong about this. But I digress.

Let's say this person truly wanted to reconcile. Sending a friend request through a social networking site is not the way to do it. There is so much more that would need to be done than simply being friends on a website. When did people forget the fundamentals on healthy, real relationships? Where's the communication? Where is there the sincerity? You simply could not figure these things out through words typed on a page.

Maybe some people are downright clueless. About everything.

Change.

I like change, for the most part. I like it when the winter melts into spring and when summer cools to fall. I like changing up the bags I use during the weekends. I like trying new cuisines and becoming borderline addicted to it. I like how one can change the fluidity of everyday life, whether it be changing the subway route I take or walking down a street I've never walked before. Change helps one determine whether we should keep things, relationships, and desires or get rid of them for something better. Change is essential to constructing a life one would like to lead.

But what if you don't have control over this change?

This sentiment springs from various situations happening around me, that are directly and indirectly connected to me. One of them kind of, sort of having to do with my still-not-sure decision to not become a lawyer. I have not shared this with anyone else because then they'll ask "So, what are you going to do?" and I do not have an answer. I suppose I do have control over what career path to take but... I'm feeling conflicted. Anyway. Back to not having control over changes.

It can go one of two ways. It is change you did not wish for but it turned out being for the best. For example, in my junior year of high school I was placed in dance instead of gym. Although I had no say in this unprecedented change in my curriculum, I really enjoyed learning how to square dance and swing. Plus, I wasn't forced to play basketball, which I hated with a burning passion. Then there are changes you have no control over and it's not for the best. I see my family's move to the Dominican Republic when I was in the third grade as something I certainly did not want and did not enjoy. I was forced to learn in a different language that was not as familiar as I thought it was. I had to adapt to a hotter climate, which I learned quickly to despise. All in all, I did not have such a pleasant time living in my parent's native land and was more than content when we moved back to New York soon after I turned ten. It was a failed change.

However, my time in the Dominican Republic strengthened my Spanish. As extremely corny as this is going to sound, it made me more resilient to circumstances out of my control, such as the hot weather and unfriendly classmates and relatives who believed I was not "Dominican" enough because I was actually a "New Yorkina."

By that, I mean quite a few things. When I was in school, students were asked to get up and read out loud a passage of something we were reading. When it was my turn, I would need to pause and ask the teacher what it meant. My classmates would laugh openly at my inability to read Spanish properly. This didn't bother me too much since I knew I couldn't read as fluently as they could and held my ground. Still, when I wasn't invited to a pool party one of my classmates was throwing, or when in the third grade they would run away from me because I was apparently made out of mud, that didn't make me too happy. I grew infuriated when I needed to wake up from an air-conditioned nap to get reading tutoring in our stifling hot dining room downstairs. When I complained about the heat, no one understood why I was complaining. The English teacher in fourth grade didn't give me 100 in the subject because I constantly corrected her in class. Some mistook my help as being pretentious. Some told me straight up that they thought that I thought I was too good for them because I'm from the good ole USA. This was false. Still, I did not fit in too well with my broken Spanish, my affinity for cooler temperatures, and for not calling cereal "corn flakes" in an insanely Dominican accent. Perhaps it was not so much I wasn't "Dominican" enough rather than being different from the rest. Writing this, I realize that living in DR helped me understand that simply being "me" was just fine; I didn't need to change to make anyone happy other than myself. I loved the fact I was from New York and they were all really jealous that I grew up in this mysterious, foreign land. I loved the fact I said "Hello?" on the phone instead of "Allo!" I loved the fact that I knew what a bagel was and they did not. Never once did I want to be like my classmates: snobby rich kids who thought the universe revolved around them, being rude to classmates and adults alike, and generally annoying. I learned that loving myself was all that mattered.

In retrospect, this change I did not want and did not ask for was beneficial in many ways.

Unwanted change does not have to be as life changing as moving to a different country. Changes such as a train getting cut (see my rant on GreeNYC) or having to sell your car to save money may seem like a burden. It's important, though, that there is always a way to get through it. Maybe that extra ten minute walk to the bus stop will help you lose unwanted weight. Selling the car gets rid of all the expenses associated with it, making it easier to save up for that dream house you have always wanted. Perhaps the change is not as dismal as we perceive it to be at first.

In fact, undesired change can be good for you. These experiences make you reevaluate priorities and simply learn how to deal. And maybe learn something about yourself along the way.

Of course, if this unwanted change is nothing but detrimental, then by all means something must be done. 

If you feel all this uncontrollable, negative change leaving you feeling powerless, keep in mind what the A train conductor said over the intercom this afternoon: No matter what happens, keep your head up. It's going to be a good day.

Language.

This, my friends, is why I continue losing faith in the American political system.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Just watch about thirty seconds of the video. There are a few more seconds of it (the YouTube video just looked unsightly on the blog, sorry) where he says: "Maybe it's the businessman in me, but we'll save money." He looks down. "But it makes sense. Does it to you?" And it ends there.

Please join me as I mourn the slowly dying flame that once was my fiery American nationalism.

And people wonder why we continue referring to areas of the South as backwards swampland. It's bigots like Tim James that reinforce these stereotypes that many people from the South have been trying to dispel for decades.

Seriously, Tim James? What kind of votes are you looking for here? Are you going to reimplement segregated public spaces too??  I can just imagine him saying: "If ya'll want some good ole Southern fried chicken, ya'll just gonna need to go and get yourselves ejamacated in this here English language we red blooded Americans speak! Or you can just kiss your poultry good bye! Yee hawww!!"

Unbelievable.

GFC.

GFC stands for Ghetto Fried Chicken, a statement invented by my good friend Kyle. He has a knack to say extremely catchy things that I have incorporated into my daily lexicon, such as GFC, "Mmmhmmm," and "It's not a good look!". Since about February, I've pretty much have been saying "ghetto fried chicken" on a daily basis, including this blog. It is said frequently on each other's Facebook pages, among our circle of friends, and by my own family members.

I want to make it clear that GFC is not intended to offend anyone, anything, or any group; it's supposed to entertain, to put into words the ridiculousness we come across as New Yorkers that live primarily in Queens and Brooklyn. The powers of GFC does not discriminate in any way, shape, or form. It can refer to absolutely anything! From the potholes on Jamaica Avenue that the bus runs through that makes us spill our drinks on the person next to us, to the broken chopsticks we find in a hip Thai restaurant in Williamsburg, to having a waiter pack up our food at Max Brenner's to take home to our moms, it's all ghetto fried chicken to us. Then we laugh, soaking in all the little things that makes everyday life fun and interesting.

Glee.

I can't bring myself to watch this show for one, very inane reason. I'm not going to reveal it. That's how stupid my reason is. It doesn't even have to do with the quality or the premise of the show. I just wish I didn't have to see promotions all over the place for it.

That's pretty much it. I don't know why this needed a blog entry. I just felt I should share this sentiment with the rest of the blogging world.

Beer.

This evening, I was at a family get-together at my aunt's house. After most people had left, my uncle turned on the television. During commercials, this particular one hit a nerve:




From my short search on YouTube, this was the commercial that aired during the Superbowl, so I'm just a tad bit late.

What is the deal with this guy in the baseball get-up? He's about to leave and spots the Bud Light and just has to have one. Okay, great. Then he goes on to interrupt the book club that was going on by making suggestive remarks( "Ooh, thrusting!") and disregarding the fact he was being incredibly rude. I know this is a silly beer commercial but still. It just exploits all the negative stereotypes of men who like to drink beer.

I suppose Bud Light's intention was to say that their beer is so darn good (it's not) that this guy will give up baseball practice, which must be incredibly important because duh it's a sport! And guys just love sports! And beer! But beer and chicks reading books are more important than other priorities! Because he stayed behind his buddies were able to mingle as well, making it a win-win situation.

I feel like this is pretty insulting to men in general. Even if that first guy really liked the beer, he didn't have to act like a complete asswipe when the woman was trying to explain to him what they were discussing. From what I could tell, he did not possess the mental capabilities to be considerate because all he could think about was beer. What the hell is that? Couldn't he just take the beer and go?

Then the last guy didn't even know the woman was referencing literature! Alright, so it was kind of funny. But all the men just came off as incredibly stupid.

So stupid men like beer? Is this the image this commercial wants me to believe?

Well, you have to be dumb to even spend money on crap like Bud Light. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. Much like their ads.

Driving.

I have a complicated relationship with driving. As excited as I was the day I passed my driver's test on the first try, I have come to almost dread being behind the wheel.

Today, two of my cousins, my sister, and I went to take a yoga class at Yoga to the People. One of the studios is located on St. Mark's Place in the East Village.Check it out. My plan was to pick one of my cousins up and drive to Ridgewood to meet up with my other cousin and take the L from Myrtle-Wycoff. When I do drive, I take my dad's 2002 red Subaru Forrester. When I pick up cousin #1, she informs me that she has her boyfriend's GPS is in her car that's parked on some o ther block.

"We could just drive into the city."
I hesitated. "Well, Papi did say we could drive there. As long as someone had a GPS and had crossed the Williamsburg before."
"You want me to drive?"
"Yeah. I've never driven across the bridge before and you have."

So we pick up the GPS. My cousin takes the wheel. I take the backseat, not entirely sure if this was such a great idea. I call cousin #2 to let her know we would be picking her up and driving there.

The GPS had a low battery. "Eh, it'll be fine," cousin #1 assures as we make our way down Myrtle Avenue. 

As my cousin makes her way onto the Williamsburg Bridge, she puts the turn signal to the left, indicating she will be merging to the next lane. Either she didn't properly look at the side view mirror or the other vehicle was in the "blind spot," but our side view mirror grazed the side of a Toyota SUV. I yelled, obviously.

"What the hell just happened?" I asked.
"We scratched their car."
"What?? What are we supposed to do?"
"Meet them at the other side of the bridge."

The lady in the Toyota's passenger's seat showed us the napkin she was taking down the license plate number. Cousin #1 yelled out the window,"This is your fault! My dad's a cop!" Both lies.

I called my house to find out what in the world I was supposed to do. My mom picks up. "Hi Ma. We're on the Williamsburg. Can you put Papi on, please?"
"Why? Did something happen?!"
"No. Just put him on."
"Hello." Finally!
"Hi Pa. We're on the Williamsburg. So what had happened was we're driving, right? And these Chinese people came out of no where! The side mirror scratched their car. What do we do?"
"Who's driving?"
"Diana."
"Make sure to take down their license number. And make a police report once you cross the bridge. Write down the color of the car too!"
"Thanks Papi. Bye."

Well, that conversation went easier than I expected.
"Hm. This car is under Tia Gento's name. I wonder if that affects anything," I wonder out loud.
"Oh shit," remarks Zuly, cousin #2.

So we finally cross that god forsaken bridge. We stop in a "No Standing" section on Norfolk Street, by Delancey.
"Alright, let's get ready to rumble," I half-joke. We all step out of the car.

Diana calls the police. "Yes, hi. We're here at Norfolk and Delancy and there was a..." I zone out after that. I check the damage on the Toyota. The couple driving it were pretty calm.

"Let me just see what happened," I say as I check out the side of the car. There is was: a red and white streak about seven inches in length alongside their shiny, dark gray finish. "Oh, man." There wasn't a dent.

"Well, accidents happen, you know," I say.
"They do, it's okay," says the wife.

"So, the cops are coming," says Diana once she's off the phone.
"Okay, good," I say, sort of in a daze. I lean against the Subaru, feeling cold in my thin leggings and indigo converse sneakers. I have the car's registration in my fist.

"Why does this ghetto fried chicken stuff always happen to us?" I ask Zuly.
"I know. Whenever we're together, something has to happen!"

We are referring to last Saturday afternoon, when Diana's car got towed from a sushi restaurant's parking lot in Elmhurst. We spent almost three hours arguing with the manager on how we weren't informed about the car blocking some customer from the business next to the restaurant and how he had to pay the $201 to get the car towed back to us, not us. He was refusing because he had a waiter ask us if we were in a little black Toyota. We were never asked. Long story short: my older cousin, Diana's sister, and her her husband come and yell at the manager too. The tow truck comes with the truck and seeing how the tow truck person wasn't being paid, he was driving away--with the car. My cousin's husband drives after the truck on Queens Boulevard, with his two year old son in the back. We get the tow truck to come back, we get the manager to pay, and we vow never to return to that sushi place again. A time before that, we were stopped on Broadway, also in Elmhurst, because Zuly's younger sister, Mely, didn't have her seat belt on in the back. Diana was also driving and got a $130 ticket.

My dad calls again. "Hello?" I answered.
"When the cops come, make sure Diana talks to them first. Say they were the ones at fault. Take down their license plate number and take pictures with your phone of the damage," Papi says.
"Okay Papi. I already have the license plate number down."
"Okay call me when they get there."
"Okay. Bye."

As I was talking on the phone, Zuly was talking to the husband/driver. He asked her if I went to Brooklyn College, remarking on the sweatshirt I had on. "Yeah, she does go there!" she answers cheerfully. "Oh, that's a good school!" he says.

A few moments later, the wife comes up to me and says: "Listen, if we file a report my husband's insurance will go up and your insurance will go up."
"So what do you guys want to do?"
"Just leave it alone. The car is only scratched."
The husband chimes in. "Yeah, there's no dent or anything. It's fine, I'll get it fixed."
"Are you sure? The police are on their way."
"No it's fine. You are all so young! I just want to go meet my friend, I'm already late."
My dad calls again. "I'm sorry, that's my dad calling." I answer the phone.
"Hello?"
"Is the police there yet?"
"Not yet. Papi, they say they want to leave it alone. They don't want to file a report anymore."
"Alright. Take down their driver's license information then."
"Oh look, the cops are here." I hang up.
The police had finally made it. Diana and the husband tell the police to leave; they had it under control.

"Alright then. Do you want my driver's license information?" I ask.
"No, it's fine. Leave it alone."
"Oh, alright then."
"Be more careful! Have a good day!"

We went back into our respective cars.
"Well that turned out okay," said Diana.
"I guess so. We're not driving into the city again," I said.

Still, after the Toyota took off before us, I had a bad feeling at the pit of my stomach. What if they sue us? How could they? They didn't know my name, just my dad's license number. That's registered in my aunt's name. Who's address is upstate.

"Oh, these kind of things happen all the time when you're driving, Lily," Diana attempts to comfort me.
 "Yeah. My dad's been in tons of accidents a lot more serious than this!" Zuly says.
"Ugh, I just hate when this happens! It drives me insane."

Rest assured, I really did need that yoga session. We ended up parking on E 4th Street, between Avenues A and B. We had to walk over to St. Mark's, between 2nd and 3rd avenues. A 10 minute walk.

Surely, this was not a worst case scenario. In all seriousness, it was not even that big of a deal. The side view mirror on our Subaru has some paint scratched off and is a bit cracked. I just hate driving culture, if there is even one. The making sure no one scratches your car. The parking it in the right place to avoid overzealous parking tickets. The making sure you turn in the right place. The rules on certain parts that don't apply to others. It makes my head spin. It stresses me out immensely. Even trying to get out of the city was a nightmare, with the pedestrians and the blocked streets. And I wasn't even the one driving!

So, from this day forward, I refuse driving anywhere near Manhattan. Or having someone drive a car I'm responsible for into Manhattan. I don't think my nerves can take it. I'm sticking to the most wonderful and reliable L train, that takes the same (if not less!) time to get to the same destination. And there is no stress to avoid those "No Parking" or "No Standing" signs, no Muni-Meters, no random fire hydrants, no people cutting you off without putting the turn signals!

I'll just stick to driving in Brooklyn and Queens when I absolutely have to, thank you very much. Driving in New York is just another reason to love the subway system.

Checklist.

In a month's time, the Spring 2010 semester will be over and done with. As for me, I will resume classes for Fall 2010. I will be a college junior.

What? Didn't I just get into college? Wasn't it just the other day I walked into the wrong English 1 class and made a fool of myself? Wasn't it just the other day I was disappointed that my very first grade on a college paper was a C? Wasn't it just the other day I took my first nap on the Quad on a spectacular fall afternoon?

I have to stop and ask myself: What the hell am I doing? Yes, I am going to my classes and writing papers and reading and drinking massive amounts of coffee. Yet, I feel I am not taking full advantage of what college has to offer. I do not have a formal plan of action once I graduate. I need to take action damn it.

There a few things on my imaginary checklist that I would like to do before I graduate. I want to study abroad. I want an internship. I want to decide if I really want to go to to law school. I want to decide what other careers I would like to explore if I decide I do not want to be lawyer. Certainly, I would like to further my education, but in what other field?

This question about what I want to "do" after Spring 2012 has been bothering me for the last couple of weeks. Last year, I decided I wanted to be a lawyer. This year, I am not so sure. Is law my passion, really? As I learn about American politics and history, the more I want to move away. As I take courses for my history major, I realize the land of the free and home of the brave does not live up to the ideals we were forced to memorize in elementary school. Do I really want to defend the laws of a deeply hypocritical government based on elitist documents? I really actually do not.

This is a reason why I want to spend time abroad as an undergraduate. I want a change of pace. Not necessarily because I am sick of the US or New York or Queens (well, a little). Perhaps spending time somewhere else will help me make decisions about where my passions truly lie, if I want to "do" something that involves traveling.

I sound like the kind of person I would be infuriated with for being so... indecisive. I sound like someone who does not have a clue where their life is going, what their plans are, nothing.

This is what I do know, for now. I want to get a job for the summer to possibly save up for a study abroad program I will be applying to in Italy. I want an internship for the following semester.  I want to be in Italy for Spring 2011. I want to grab life by the horns and be happy by simply being alive.

Feminism.

On a couple of well known feminist blogs such as Jezebel and Feministe, some bloggers are ripping Tina Fey apart for her performance during some SNL skits that aired this past Saturday, especially the "Brownie Husband" one. The general consensus is that it's an embarrassing and insulting representation of single women. In the skit, Fey has a suit on, talking on a cell phone in her home. It is implied she lives alone with her cat and seems career oriented, perhaps indicating why she doesn't have a husband and has to turn to chocolate to fill the void in her life. It's supposed to be a commercial for brownie mix so they are advertising a new, super huge brownie for sad single women everywhere. You can watch the entire skit here:
 

On this other blog called The Frisky (which I am slightly addicted to) another blogger responded to these accusations of Tina Fey not being "feminist enough" by saying she is in fact a comedian and was not necessarily deprecating single women, but the brownie commercials. Commenters responded saying something around the lines of "This is why I'm not a feminist! They are all crazy and analyze innocent skits as evil evil things!!"

I was particularly annoyed with the comments left on The Frisky. Honestly, I don't know why I even bother reading that blog. Perhaps it has to do with the fact it helps me procrastinate immensely. Those annoying people who left comments left me baffled. I don't understand why women would negate the whole ideology of feminism. I am surprised also women this day in age would even go as far as bashing feminism.

Feminism and what it encompasses is discussed constantly and widely by many publications, organizations, and individuals with much more visibility and importance than this little blog of mine. However, I think it is important each woman understand what feminism means to her, not just some stereotype or abstract idea created by invisible people on the internet. Meaning, women cannot just generalize feminists are radical, loud mouth bitches who tear Tina Fey apart for starring in a comedy sketch intended to make people laugh. Surely, those exist. But those are not the only feminists around.

From experience, I think women do not understand that feminists have vastly different beliefs and ideals. Essentially, feminists are radically different from each other in a number of ways. However, they share one fundamental belief:  Feminists would all like a world where men and women have equal opportunity in all aspects of private and public life. Whatever that means to a each individual woman is up to her. But equality is paramount.

I am by no means an expert in all feminist theories and I am not a Women Studies major. I took a class called "History of Feminism" which helped me develop my own theories on feminism based on what measures women historically have done. So, yes I have a limited education about the development of feminism in our society but this class certainly helped in understanding what it meant a lot more than before. I know for certain I am a feminist. I do believe men and women should be equal in all aspects of life. Do I transcribe to the idea that we should get rid of high heels and bras because they are part of male tyranny imposed on women for centuries? No. Do I think the fight for equal rights is over? Absolutely not. Do I think Taylor Swift's songs about being saved by a Romeo type are anti-feminist? No, but she's not a little girl anymore and needs to wake up and smell the coffee. 

At the heart of the problem, women criticizing feminism has to do with ignorance. Many times, it's ignorance because they are not aware feminism is so broad and diverse. Person A's brand of feminism could condone prostitution; Person A could argue it's sexually liberating because women no longer have to be married to have lots of sex and have it be socially acceptable! Person B could argue women should wait until marriage because it's their choice not to be coerced by men into having sex when women are not ready. Yet, they are both feminists. They advocate women should choose what they want to do, free of whatever our still patriarchal society is imposing they should do. I hope that made some sort of sense.

I see no reason why people should not be feminists. Feminists, on a very basic level, just want a better quality of life for the female gender. They want to dispel inaccuracies created by a millennium ruled by narrow minded men with their pseudoscience. They want to spread knowledge and let women know it's not a solely a man's world anymore. It's ours too. And we can change things for the better.

As for feminists being bitter about men, this is not true for many women. Men can (and should) be feminists too! It's not about "taking away" all "power" from men. It's about sharing, just the way it was supposed to be from the beginning.

Feminist blogs like Jezebel and Feministe are great, don't get me wrong. I love a good feminist analysis just as much as the next woman. Granted, blogs like those aforementioned have a specific demographic that adhere to their general interpretation of feminism, which is totally acceptable.  I cannot, however, agree there is a certain level of "feminism" one should achieve in order to be "feminist." If we set impossibly high standards of what being a feminist is, then it simply becomes unrealistic and even hypocritical. Feminism for all people!

As for Fey being "un-feminist" because of certain skits, that's a little much. Yet, I would love debating the social stigmas attached to being a single women and why they are in fact in all these commercials for chocolate, and always alone.

Florence+The Machine.

Last Thursday night, my friend Priscilla and I went to the Florence+The Machine concert in (Le) Poisson Rouge in the West Village. The concert did not start until 8:30pm but we got there at 5pm to hopefully obtain a good standing spot.

We almost missed the venue, located on 158 Bleecker Street. There wasn't a very visible sign saying "(Le) Poisson Rouge," possibly to have that cool, underground vibe. After the security guy made me throw out the cookies I bought from the Duane Reade down the block and my water, we made our way downstairs into a dark room with a bar. We were confused and eventually asked another suited security guy when we were able to make our way to the room were the concert was happening. We had to wait for the double doors to open. At 7pm they opened the door and we landed a spot front and center. The stage was kind of low but it was alright, I guess. We stood right in front of the microphone stand that was decorated with fake flowers. It didn't look as tacky as it sounds. The room was lit with this cool blue light. Here's a picture. They moved the tables away for the crowd to stand.

 I talked to some people before the show started. These were hard core fans of Florence's music and some were even going to the concert at Terminal 5 the following night. They talked of her music like it was part of their being. In their defense, Florence's music is pretty powerful, the kind of music that compels you to close your eyes and just feel it. The crowd seemed pretty diverse, minus the fact most were under the age of 30: a medical student, a recent college graduate, a graphics designer, blonde party girls, and a few girls with British accents. Florence + The Machine is supposed to be quite mainstream in the UK so the British girls made sense.

The opening act was canceled so they were able to come on stage right at 8:30pm. The Machine comes out first (the band members) and then she came out, clad in this odd long white tunic with gold short shorts underneath, her red hair completely covering her face. She played "Howl" first, which is one of my favorite songs.  It was slightly eerie the way she was hitting the drum she had in front of her while looking down. My only complaint was that the microphone was low so it was hard to hear her sing.

 As you can tell from the shot, we were right in front of her.

As for her performance, she definitely delivered! She was full of energy. She paused for a little while to take off her enormous gold heels so she could jump around stage properly. She was visibly having a lot of fun on stage, which is great being her first time performing in New York. The band was great too. They had a this depressed, grunge looking harpist who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there, but whatever.

I was disappointed with some of the audience, which ruined part of the show for me. Some people had absolutely no concert etiquette! It was about halfway through the concert people were clearly intoxicated. The blonde party girls behind Priscilla were spilling tequila all over the place. The worst offenders was a 24 year old I had talked to earlier, who was there with her douchebag boyfriend and came from Pennsylvania. She seemed like a decent person before she started drinking. She managed to give Florence a tequila shot, the Florence readily accepted. I don't know what Florence was thinking: what if that drink was laced with something? Well, the 24 year old was really happy Florence paid attention to her and had someone buy another shot for her. She managed to get the shot and was raising her arm while Florence was performing, urging her to take the shot. When Florence ended the song, she took another shot. A stage manager came on stage and told the 24 year old "That's enough with the drinks. Stop it, okay?" with his awesome British accent. She didn't listen. A security woman makes her way through the dense crowd to warn her to stop or she will be escorted out. Surprisingly enough, she didn't stop after the warnings and tried giving Florence a third drink. By now this girl has squeezed her way between Priscilla and I, pushing everyone to the side. Another girl in a striped dress also was drunk and pushy right next to her. The concert was nearly over and Florence was off the stage. A security guard asked the drunk 24 year old to step outside and refused, again. Another security guy came on stage and nearly pounced on her, pushing her back. Finally, that annoying girl was kicked out! Gah! They left the stripped dress girl, who spilled tequila on the floor and on my shirt. I was very happy when the concert ended at around 10:30pm.

I just wanted to get the hell out of there after the spilling of the drinks and the pushing and my feet hurting. Then again, this is the nature of these general admission, no frills shows. It gets crazy but you have no option but to endure it. I didn't want to push her because she was drunk and might get violent. I don't want to be kicked out!

I've been to other concerts that were standing room shows and the audience was a lot less rowdy. I, for one, do not feel like attending a concert for a while. Until I forget the insanity of the Florence + The Machine concert anyway.

In case you're wondering what songs she sang, Priscilla took a picture of the set list:

 Like I mentioned, I loved "Howl." I didn't like "Blinding" and I didn't like "Ghosts" much either. I'm not sure if that had to do with the fact they are slower songs. "Rabbit Heart" was great too; she had the audience shout "Raise it up!" and raise their hands as she sang. The participation was great. The graphics designer we met kept screaming: "Oh my god! You're fucking retarded! In a good way!" after every song. Florence heard him and said "Oh, I don't know if that's a good thing, but thanks."

If I had to rate this concert, I'm going to give it 3 out of 5 stars. Taking off one star for the drunk girls and another because my bag and my shirt were drenched with liquor. Florence's performance was excellent, but concerts are about the entire experience in my opinion. I suppose if she wasn't any good I would have just walked out in the middle of it.

So that's my review. This is my first concert review so I'm not sure how good this is. Let me know in the comments yes?

A note for Tegan (if she reads this!): we weren't allowed to record sadly that's why there are no videos! Sorry!

Boyfriends.

My good friend Bianca and I were sitting on the 8th avenue bound L train discussing how our spring breaks were going when we paused momentarily. A couple across from us were having a moderately loud argument. It was something about the girlfriend not receiving a text message promptly enough from her boyfriend. The boyfriend quickly hugged her-- from the corner of my eye it seemed like he smothered her-- and she remained motionless. However, her tone became softer, but she was still visibly irritated. I thought, "Why is she so annoyed over something as mundane as a text message?" But then again, this was her boyfriend. Everything he does--or does not do-- becomes a much bigger deal than if someone else had done it.

I'm not sure exactly what question to pose in this post. It seems lately everything I've been seeing or reading is about relationships and how to make one work and all that mumbo jumbo. Hm, maybe I should clarify what "mumbo jumbo" is. There are hundreds of relationship books on how to make it last with your partners and keep the passion and romance alive in a fading relationship. A few nights ago, the Discovery Channel had an hour long program dealing with how certain hormones and brain activity determine if a person is in love or simply in lust. It was fascinating stuff. Yet amid the very public scandals of certain public figures and the general slue of television programing dealing with broken and dysfunctional relationships it makes me wonder: Are boyfriends even worth the trouble?

Perhaps as a person who is not in a relationship and certainly not in love, this will be biased. I'm more than sure those who will read this will disagree with a lot of things I may or may not say, or write rather. I suppose a disclaimer is in order: I am a very cynical person, especially when it comes to relationships. This comes not only from very limited past experiences but also from observing the people around me. Some may think I am bitter. Maybe just a little. But you have been warned if the tone gets suspiciously pessimistic.

I guess I should offer an explanation of what "worth the trouble" means. Relationships and marriages require work from both parties to have a healthy and constructive one. Ideally, they should be very happy with each other and desire each other's company because, hopefully, the other person makes their life richer, happier, and more wonderful. The way the other makes them feel is indescribable and it's intoxicating. Ideally, the feeling should be mutual. In short, relationships are supposed to be awesome. For the most part; nothing is perfect. Obviously, if your partner makes you feel awesome, then by all means have a happy relationship! So, those kinds of relationships are worth saving, obviously. But what if your partner makes you feel like crap, annoys you to no end, hurts you in any way, shape or form intentionally, constantly and without fail? What if you do not have those amorous feelings towards your partner? What if that throbbing and insatiable desire becomes a weak and dull throb of what once was? Is that worth saving? From what I have been observing lately, the weak and dull throbs of what once was are the only relationships left. Certainly, this is not the case for everyone. However, those hopeless and futile relationships still abound and I want to know why.

Oh man, where to begin? Maybe one of the first inclinations relationships aren't all they are cracked up to be was in my own household. I will spare most of the details but my parents never had a picture perfect marriage. From the time I was about five I knew my parents did not love each other. I knew that something was off because parents on fictional shows on television seemed to like being in each other's company. Hm.

By the time I was eleven, there was an extremely popular talk show on Telemundo called "Laura." I think it's still on. Anyway, the host, Laura, would have the same sort of people on the show everyday. A woman would come on, clad in acid wash jeans and horrendous clogs, sobbing about how she suspects her boyfriend/fiancee/husband cheating on her. She would regale the audience about the story on how they met--usually at parties called "polladas"-- and how they fell in love fast and hard. The camera would pan to the audience, showing the sympathy and compassion on the plump and weathered faces of women who looked similar to the distressed woman. She would explain he would take her out for dinner and moved in to pay her rent. However, there was trouble at paradise she suspects: he was distant and coming home late. Laura would then ask her production people to roll the tape. There was her beloved usually in a city park making out with another woman who looked very similar to the woman currently sobbing, now harder than ever. Laura would then ask the man to come out, having seemingly no idea what he was doing there. The woman would charge at him, slapping and kicking him, calling him a "desgraciado" among other derogatory, but earned, names. He would then sit after the security men had the woman under control. He would explain, visibly flustered, that it wasn't him, they had him confused for someone else. But lo and behold, Laura would then ask the mistress to come out! The mistress would also fling herself on the man and hit him. The mistress would also wail about how they met at a pollada and how she believed they were indeed in love. Often there were multiple mistresses. Needless to say, it made for very entertaining television.

In high school, I listened to the woes and worries of friends in relationships, wondering why their boyfriends were infuriatingly insensitive. Yet, they were incurably "in like" of these so called "assholes" and let them toy around with them anyway. It seemed like a whole lot of drama for nothing in return.  Even after the sobbing and the heart wrenching theories to explain their behavior, the relationship was still crap, no matter what angle we looked at it. One couple stand out in my memory in particular. These kids would make out all over the cafeteria, in front of teachers and administration. Their "love" knew no bounds! When they broke up, it was chaotic and the subject of much debate among people of my grade. And when they would get back together, there was more debate and speculation. They didn't last long after they got back together. I know however that the female still liked the male very much and much after the relationship was over, even after he cheated on her.

Why do these people stay in unhappy relationships even after being scorned and hurt over and over? Why do we bother trying to make it work when the other partner obviously wants out? And it's not just the boyfriends in the relationships; girlfriends are guilty of the scenarios above as well. Men just get a worse rep than women in these sort of situations.

I never understood why people agree to be together if they clearly make each other miserable. There are a ton of reasons, of course. Financial stability from a partner. A home. The kids. Other commodities. But what if both partners are capable of taking care of themselves? Why do they stay?

Perhaps they are in denial. They do not want to come to terms that a relationship of three years is no longer something they want or need. They are different people heading in different directions yet they can't seem to get out of the rut of their mundane relationship. Perhaps they feel their partner "completes" them when in reality they are scared of being alone. Perhaps they are afraid of heartbreak. Understandably. It's a horrible, sinking feeling of misery.

I could sit here all night and list possible reasons people stay in disintegrating relationships and marriages. I suppose I can't understand it because I am not in their shoes. I do not want to fathom a life being stuck to someone I can't stand for the sake of God-knows-what. Or maybe they are truly and deeply in love, despite the flaws.

Love, like I said in a previous post, is something everyone is looking for. We have boyfriends and girlfriends to determine if we can love them. But if you are fighting over a half hour about a text message, maybe you should reconsider if that is someone you can potentially love.

GreeNYC.

On my way home this evening, I saw an advertisement advising "A" train riders to switch to more energy efficient light bulbs. Here's a visual:

I thought the light bulb made up of the subways lines was clever and cute. That little bird that is now the new mascot for these subway ads letting people know to be more energy efficient and all of that environmentally good stuff.

I'm all for going green--especially with the reminders of Earth Day coming up all over the place--but I have a few problems with our mass transit system demanding us to go green. They are making it kind of impossible to commute.

Those on the subway and buses are already being green by choosing to take public transportation as opposed to a taxi or driving themselves. Granted, many people that take public transportation are not doing it primarily for environmentally conscious reasons but that's besides the point. With the way the MTA is cutting its spending that directly affects millions of people, it seems to me that it is becoming increasingly difficult to choose one of the greenest way to travel.

The latest and most dramatic changes to the system has been the decision to eliminate the W train and my beloved V train. The changes will take place on June 25. Yes, I am very fond of the V train; when I was in high school I would ride this train from Queens Plaza to Woodhaven Blvd to catch one of the plenty dreadful Queens bus lines home. The V was the most enjoyable part of my commute; it was never packed to the brim with people making it easy to locate a seat. The mostly bump free ride was soothing as one would be transported from Astoria to Woodside to Jackson Heights to Elmhurst in less than a half hour. Even riding it into the city was a delight. Many commuters would opt for the vastly overcrowded F train which runs on 6th Avenue as well, making my many trips to study for the SAT Subject Tests at the Mid Manhattan library pain free. Today (well yesterday technically) I took this train from 42nd Street to 14th Street which took a mere five minutes. It's promptness and speediness still don't fail to impress me. Why, dear God why, would they even think about eliminating one of the most efficient lines of the subway system?

For the same reason I listed above. Not many people ride this train as opposed to other lines so the MTA sees it as a waste of money. If commuters are not packed like sardines in a can then it obviously must be unnecessary! So, what they are proposing is changing the color of the M line (it's brown now so it will be orange... this bothers me too) and having the M run from Broadway-Lafayette to Forest Hills and having it run from Essex Street to it's current end location, Middle Village-Metropolitan Avenue. The new map will look a little something like this:

From my understanding of this map, there will be 2 M lines going to different places? I would imagine it will cause a lot of confusion and pissed off commuters going to a part of Queens they didn't mean to go to-- at first. Then we will get used it and know where we are going.

The M was crap to begin with though. It shows up once every 20 minutes even during rush hour. Commuters transferring from the Myrtle-Wycoff station in Ridgewood from the L to the M sprint if they hear the train coming overhead. Otherwise, they are in for a 15-30 minute wait of a packed M train. I have been a victim to the unprecedented cruelties of the M train. Whenever I drive pass the Forest Avenue stop in Middle Village/Ridgewood/Glendale there is never and I mean never an M train passing through. It sucks so much. There is no other way to describe it. These are the options the MTA is giving us. Suckiness to the extreme. As if commuting in Queens wasn't bad enough!

And it's not only Queens residents suffering the consequences. The M is mostly being discontinued in Brooklyn, meaning there will be more people on the R and the D. I can't speak for the volume of commuters on those trains in Brooklyn but I'm going to assume those lines are going to have more riders.

Ah, but I haven't gotten to the best part! The new orange M lines will be 480 feet long as opposed to the 600 feet the V train is. And we will have to wait on average of .75 minutes going to Middle Village and .60 minutes going to Forest Hills. .75 minutes MTA time=10 minutes real time (source: experience). What does that all mean? In short, it means a crappy subway line is going to be even worse with larger crowds and a longer time to get home/work/school/go to a friend's house to bake cookies because you can't at home.

Ah, yes the W. I did not ride that train very often but when I did it treated me well. The MTA wants to extend the Q line to the Astoria-Ditmars station so it runs alongside the N train. That's all good and well but the W was such a lovely train line. Now it will be an overcrowded Q line. I've taken the Q in Brooklyn and that shit takes an eternity. It makes every single random stop. It's usually not too crowded in Brooklyn, I'll give it that. But it still takes a million years to even get to Atlantic Avenue from Avenue H. The MTA made the calculations for me: passengers will have to wait an extra 1.1 minutes during rush hour and an extra 2.5 minutes during off peak hours for the Q. Oh yeah, and the N is going to be making more stops too because the W was local. An extra 1.1 minute wait. In short, it will take a fucking eternity to get to anywhere on those lines.

Where's the silver lining you may ask? The MTA thinks it will be saving $4 million with the elimination of the V and $3.5 million with the termination of the W. Also, there will be a permanent extension of the G train from Church Avenue to Court Square in Queens and shorter waits for it. Woo fucking hoo.

What about the rest of the subway system? Never mind the new waits on the F/M lines and N/Q lines. What about the damned C line? It was voted the worst line in the entire subway system due to infrequency, poor quality of sound from the operator/conductor, and nastiness in general. It's overcrowded and it also sucks. What about that overcrowded mess of a 6 line? What about the bus routes that are vital to Queens residents because the trains are ridiculous and don't service about half the borough? Where's the added frequency? Where's the major cleanup of the Nostrand Avenue train station on the A/C line that always smells like piss? The MTA is solving nothing. The MTA is the root of the problem.

There were talks of raising the subway fare to $2.50 but that did not pass. I spend roughly $1,000.00 a year on unlimited Metrocards to commute. Where is that money going to? Certainly not to benefit the consumers. Then they have the sheer audacity to tell me I need to be more green?! REALLY? You are chastising me for not being more energy efficient when honestly I can't afford to spend more money on energy efficient products because you are a major cause to my poverty! And for what?? Worse service and increasing the possibility for inappropriate sexual contact on those overcrowded trains. Kiss my ass MTA.

With these cuts and no signs of service improvement in sight, many commuters will turn to car services and driving to get around. I can't think of one person who would rather ride the train for an hour and a half pressed upon a hobo than drive for half that time to get to their destination. Or car pool. This might be a stretch but the MTA is certainly being counter intuitive. For many, it will force them to seek alternative, non-green ways of getting around. Unless they actually do something to benefit the New Yorkers who need this service, just stop. Stop shoving this green propaganda down my throat as I sit in a packed Brooklyn bound A train, contemplating begging my dad to drive his Subaru to school. You are in no way helping me in my decision to kill the earth with one angry step on the accelerator at a time.

In case you are wondering were I got all my information from and for additional cuts to public transportation, it's all here: http://www.mta.info/news/stories/?story=24 and click on "Final Report of all service changes" under New York City Transit.

Courtesy.

There are few things I get worked up about. It is my belief that life is too short to sweat the small stuff. I like giving people the benefit of the doubt. All in all, I think I'm pretty easy going. However, there are somethings I will not tolerate. One of these being people being downright rude.

Wednesday afternoon I went to my school's library to read a massive amount for my Introduction to History course. The material is rather dry so I wanted to concentrate the best I could. I made my way to the third floor which is the quietest of all the floors. The lack of computers may or may not have to do with that. Anyway, instead of walking all the way towards the back as usual, I sat in what most consider the "front" part of the library. I'm not entirely sure why I decided to make that change yesterday. It was quiet. Instead of these separated desks that are in the back there were these four seater tables. I suppose I wanted a little more space to spread my reading material. So I sat in the "front" part with the tables. For the first hour this section of the library was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. My neighbors in other tables were also emerged in their reading. One girl was typing away on her cute red Dell netbook.

Then the trouble began. There are tables closer to the staircase, not too far from where I was sitting. From that general vicinity I started hearing people. It would not have been a problem if they had been studying. No. These people were laughing and talking rather loudly. Not jut loud for a library. Just loud in general.

I was getting irritated. Here I was, trying to understand why European philosophers all of a sudden decided that history should be studied in a linear fashion as opposed to circular, and these incredibly rude people were being loud. I looked up and my neighbors were visibly annoyed as well. I had to do something.

I got up and followed the source of the noise. I saw it was four college aged guys laughing and horsing around. I walked up to them in a stride that I hoped demonstrated I meant business.
"Excuse me."
They all stopped talking. As if the mute was on. There were no books on their table.
"Could you keep it down? We can hear you from all the way over there." I pointed towards the other tables.
"Sorry."
I turned around to walk back to my seat. I added before I walked away "Keep it to a whisper; this is a library."

I heard one of these guys say "She's right." As if they didn't know they were in a damned library.

I sat back down, feeling pretty good about what I had just done. I hoped my neighbors appreciated my gesture to keep the silence. I returned to my reading.

Less than ten minutes later, they started up again. I heard female voices this time. Some others had joined them. It did not sound as if they were doing anything remotely productive.

My blood began to boil. Was this Chuck E. Cheese? No, this is a fucking college library. Did these people think they were in a cafeteria in middle school?

I slammed my pen down and walked over there again. Their group had grown to quite a few people, including three girls.

"Obviously you don't know what 'be quiet' means," I snarled. "Have some common courtesy; people are trying to get work done." I may have gotten a little loud. I was absolutely pissed.

I got another loud and insincere "sorry" from these people. Then I went to the bathroom. As I came out I heard one of the girls.

"We should be quiet unless you want to be... rawr." She was addressing her little friends. She made something that sounded like a cat sound.

I did not respond. I felt that I would get aggressive if I did. The last thing I wanted to do was to throw punches at a library. And then get kicked out.

Thankfully they left soon after. I left soon too. These other people came around and were talking. Granted, they were working on a group project and they were speaking quietly. The these two girls sat across from me and were making small talk. I felt the universe was against me reading and muttered under my breath "Fuck this!" and packed my stuff up and left.

It's not so much the Chuck E Cheese people were being loud at a library. I was angry because they had no respect for other's people space. It was obvious that people around them were concentrated on their reading, their papers, etc. There is a reason why there are libraries and why there are cafeterias and lounges. Even after I had told them politely they were distracting others, they continued to be obnoxious. It's hard to believe that college aged people still act like they need to be disciplined. I have honestly never encountered such inconsiderate, rude, disrespectful, immature asswipes.

I did what I could for my crusade of silence in the library. If they had stayed longer I would have had to call security. I would have done so. I'm not going to let a lack of courtesy from despicable people win. It's not about being quiet anymore. It becomes about so much more. In a society where a lot of manners do not seem to matter anymore, I wanted to make a difference even as small as keeping people quiet in a library.

I take comfort in the belief that karma exists. What goes around, comes around. Silly library people.

I shared this story with my advanced expository writing class. We all had a laugh at those peoples' expense.

Escape.

Today, I feel like escaping. I love New York, I love the cold wind in the winter whipping me in the face, I love getting wear scarves every day. I sincerely do. Tonight however, I desperately want to get away from it all. I do not want to go to a necessarily warmer place. I simply want to get away for a short amount of time. Some place new and fresh for me. Somewhere intrinsically happy.

There are those moments that one needs to escape their reality as content as one can be. Away from hostility and insolence, away from the chaos awaiting outside the bedroom door. I want to land somewhere where peace is commonplace, somewhere welcoming.

If only I could hop on a plane to St. Barts.

Audacity.

The title of this post is one of my favorite words of the English lexicon. For those who know me fairly well, they will tell you I am very fond of saying "audacity" at the top of my lungs, usually with a large cup of coffee in my hand, in public, and with much passion behind it. I consider it a fairly powerful word. Typically I use it when describing something or someone that exasperates me to no end. But what really makes something "audacious"? What does something or someone have to do to truly get under one's skin, to go further than being just arrogant or nonsensical?

According to one of the best websites ever invented, dictionary.com, audacity means "shameless boldness". However, when I think of something "bold" I think of something or someone who pushes the limits of the conventional and typically for something intrinsically good or beneficial for themselves or others. For example, I would consider the work of Junot Diaz "bold" because it is defies conventions and it's intention is to shock the reader. Additionally, his purpose is to showcase literature that makes the reader think, that effectively evokes emotion either because of the completely blunt nature of his narrative or the honesty of his characters. I admit I am somewhat biased on this particular point. Read some of his work and then report back to me whether you agree or not.

No, audacity is not simply boldness. Audacity goes farther and is much more sinister. Being audacious is wanting to cause harm to another party for completely selfish gain and knowingly doing so. Being audacious requires cunning and a certain level of intelligence. It is done to fuel controversy, to inflict pain in some shape or form to someone else or a whole. For example, the CEOs of the companies that caused the financial downturn as of late are most certainly audacious; they gave their top executives millions of dollars in bonuses for unprecedented reasons and went on to ask the government for tax payers money to bail them out of bankruptcy. Unbelievable. On a smaller scale, people who intentionally manipulate others to do things for them and go on and insult the used for a crappy job can definitely be considered audacious. As for "things" being audacious, take for example the operating system Windows Vista or any recent Windows system for that matter. "New and improved"? Give me a freakin' break.

So yes those that are audacious are shameless but also morally reprehensible and downright despicable. There is no need to call out those people or things on being audacious because there is a very good chance they are conscious of their actions.

Still, for me it does not take away from the thrill I get for reiterating "The audacity!" on crowded sidewalks while those around me mistake me for another New York lunatic.

A small update.

I just made a few minor adjustments that may or may not require some explanation. A little change is always good right?

My title is now Musings on the A. I figured I spend more time on the A train than on the 5. Plus some inspiring stuff happens on that train.

And I changed my name to my initials. If you are completely awesome, you'll know what the R stands for.

Passion.

I am glad I decided to write another entry. Yes, it has been several months. I feel pretty disappointed in myself; I've felt uninspired and my writing has felt inadequate in general. I had a serious case of writer's block for the second half of last year. However, this changed when I felt a genuine desire to write, something I have not felt even as I was writing about topics of my choosing for my History and English courses this past semester. My writing as of late felt contrived, strained, and lacking any genuine emotion. It feels so refreshing to actually have an inclination to write! I do hope this new found energy stays for the upcoming Spring semester! I have 2 writing intensive courses... anyhow.

I watched a recent episode of Ugly Betty it explored an interesting emotion: passion. Now, this necessarily does not have to do with anything romantic. More like having that burning desire to do something, to accomplish a goal one has been working towards furiously. At the episode's end I wondered: Do I have passion? How do we measure it? Can it be deceiving? Interestingly enough, while I was beginning to write this post a fellow blogger inspired passion to write!

So my dear, amazing friend Julianne over at http://jdaydreamer.blogspot.com/ discussed standards of beauty within American society. I figured I felt passionate about this topic: As I read her entry, a bubbling, slightly burning sensation built up in my chest that seemed to rise. I am certain this was not heartburn or indigestion. A flurry of thoughts and emotions whirred in my head for a while until I could form a half way (if lengthy) decent response on her post. After submitting my entry, I thought to myself "So, was that passion?"

This seemingly mundane experience has lead me to believe that being passionate is physical and mental. Just as a set of hormones are released from the adrenal glands one is excited, passion can often be felt. Mentally, a willingness to do it must be present. In Ugly Betty, for example, the protagonist Betty feels her boyfriend, Matt, needs to tap into his passion about painting again. To make a long story short, unbeknownst to Matt, Betty enters some of his paintings to an exhibit in hopes of igniting his passion for his art. The curator chose the pieces that had "drama and passion" which were the one's depicting Betty either as a savage monster, Medusa, and King Kong and Matt was the blonde girl.

The paintings were a result of the anguish and betrayal Matt felt when Betty "cheated" on him (so she kissed her ex boyfriend... and apologized profusely later... anyhow!). Combining raw and intense emotion along with skill and cunning Matt adequately demonstrated to the rest of society his passions. Betty felt he needed a remainder of something he felt strongly about, body and soul. In real life, do we need validation about our own passions? Is it really passion if we drift away from the goals we were so gun-ho about a few months, days ago? What causes some passions to extinguish?

Last year, my majors were English and Philosophy of Law. After taking a course for my second major, I realized I have no passion exploring the philosophical roots of ethics in our society. Instead I found myself missing the crushing course work of my European History class in my senior year of high school. Without much hesitation, I logged on to WebSIMS and changed my major from Philosophy of Law to History. Turns out, I was a lot more passionate about History than Philosophy. Had my passion for History been there all along? Did I bury my true passion for History because I deemed it silly seeing as I want to go to law school when I finished my undergraduate education? Yeah, pretty much. But I said to hell with it and I am very content with my choices. Besides, law schools don't have prerequisites in terms of what majoryou chose in college.

Our passions can be inhibited by our surroundings, misunderstanding parents, or toxic relationships. Sometimes it comes from within; we don't measure up to our own standards, we think what we care about is stupid. Perhaps what we felt passionate about twenty years ago (starting a flared leg jeans company) simply are no longer relevant. As long as these passions are not life threatening or criminal why should be follow some one else's plan for what we should feel strongly about? Write that novel. Make the perfect creme brulee even if you have zero baking skills. Flirt with the guy of your dreams. What do you have to lose?

Having passion for something makes life so much richer; things do not have to be so practical all the time. That's no fun. Let's embrace our passions and celebrate being alive.