Loath though I am to support Laura Mallory’s detestably idiotic conclusion that children and young adults can’t see the line between fantasy and reality, I will admit that the politico side of me practically salivates sometimes when I watch West Wing. Not because I have a nerd-crush on Bradley Whitford (okay, okay, not ONLY because of that…) but because it was a large part of what inspired and amplified my interest in politics to begin with. The sight of people willing to stand up and fight was, I’ll admit it, a bit starry-eyed and overly-optimistic for today’s politics, but I guess I was bamboozled by the insane idea that the Democrats I worked my ass off to get into office would actually do anything once they got there. Don’t get me wrong, I mostly agree with the Democrats…at least, on the issues they say they stand for. But standing for something and being willing standing UP for it seem to be two entirely different things. Out of curiosity, I decided to download the PDF file of the Democratic party platform, formally accepted in August 2008. Snappily titled “Renewing America’s Promise,” the fourth sentence of the Preamble reads: “We believe that quality and affordable health care is a basic right.” In small print, in a copy of a document few people ever take the time to read, then, Democrats can speak in absolutes. Not “We think that health care should be well-regulated, sometime, maybe,” not “we’d like to support the radical idea that companies shouldn’t be able to drop a newborn child for a ‘pre-existing condition,’ if that’s not too much to ask.”
No. Unless I’m losing my ability to interpret the English language, that says health care is a basic RIGHT. Not a responsibility the state should uphold for the sake of morals or the sake of keeping up with the industrialized world, although those are both perfectly valid reasons. That language specifies that the right of Americans to live without being crushed by ever-mounting premiums and discriminatory insurers only concerned with their own bottom line is just that: a Right. Up there with all the others, the right to freedom of speech, and of religion, is the freedom of life. Life is what you make of it, but if at the very least you should have the opportunity to live it, and the extent that we, as a collective, can provide that for each-other, we’ve done our duty is the extent that we have done our duty to the champions of the past who have died with their dreams unfulfilled and to the children growing up today who will one day lose their insurance and waste away in a hospital room because they’ve run out their savings on deductibles, or because they happened to be cursed with a condition over which they have no control.
I believe that structuring the provision of health care exclusively through a for-profit system will always leave the unprofitable bleeding in the dust, which is why I wish Democrats would live up to the substance of what they pledged to believe in 6 long months ago, on August 25, 2008.
If you disagree with that, that’s fine: stand up and say so. Let’s start a conversation, and I place only two caveats on the freedom of it: that everyone speaks based on facts, not based on fear. And second, that everyone supports what they truly believe, not what they’re being encouraged by others to disingenuously support.
You can probably guess my level of confidence that what I just hoped for will ever see the light of day in the conversations of most Congressmen and women, much less Senators.
Thank goodness, at least, for the few courageous Congress-people like Anthony Weiner, who, despite a slightly unfortunate last name isn’t too in love with his name plate and cushy chair to waste the two years we gave him tacking to the right and giving away our hopes to the black hole of a party that demands no less than total agreement, and makes no concessions despite being largely in the minority.
And people wonder why I’m becoming a cynic.
I’m tired, and I’m depressing myself. I’m going to go read, watch Glee, and play with my adorable kitten, not necessarily in that order. Existentialism will have to wait for tomorrow, or potentially tonight. Enjoy your day, everyone (and for fellow Little Lions, enjoy your snow day…although I will admit a bit of disappointment; I was looking forward to Yellow Sweatshirt Friday!)
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
A Steaming Cup of Late-Night Existentialism
At school recently, I've been reading a good deal of Existentialist literature, from Sartre (Les Jeux Sont Faits, or "The Chips are Down," roughly translated) in French class, to Camus's The Stranger (thankfully in English) in my AP Lit course. My initial reaction to Existentialism was primarily groaning resentment: not only did I see existentialist ideas as a annoying stain on the already dreary trial of February, but they also scared me just a bit, like some gaping abyss howling into endless darkness, threatening to consume whatever pitiful strains of happiness had managed to survive endless college apps and months of subfreezing temperatures.
However, even though I wouldn't quite say I was surprised, I would say that all this deep thinking about the core of existentialism has left me with a new respect with the mentality, even if I don't agree with all its pillars (and, to be honest, even existentialists don't always agree with existentialists; this seems, from my minimal experience, like one of the vaster school of thought in philosophy and literary criticism).
I don't have the time or the mental stamina at the moment to give the entire backstory for the forthcoming rant, but just know it was...inspired by The Stranger, and also the frightening imminent notion of having to write a formal essay on said novel. Nothing like an 3-day essay assignment out of nowhere to encourage critical thinking...anywho, here goes...
One of the main ideas of existentialism I've really come to embrace (at least one I've personally picked up, even if it wasn't intentionally inserted by the author(s))is that of scarringly gorgeous, blisteringly blindingly overwhelmingly raw truth, and how often we humans hide from it. Whether it's the truth within our own (small, petty, meaningless *cough* sorry, channeling Sartre) lives, or the grander and more terrifying truths about the universe, we as a species construct so many fictions to spruce up the bare humongity of this world into bite-size pieces we can pretend to understand.
Truth can be scary sometimes, especially when that truth bares its fangs and snaps wildly at the house of straw our lives are sometimes based on. If we don't build our lives around a foundation of truth, we're sacrificing the possibility of a strong, sturdy (if more difficult to build) "brick house" of a life.
Paradoxically, if we don't embrace truth, then we condemn ourselves to a life of fear.
When we deceive ourselves, even if we lie to ourselves well,we never manage to fully suppress those devilish fears lingering, grinning nastily below the surface of what we so frantically tell ourselves is true. Unless we face these demons of doubt head-on once and for all and accept whatever bitter pills they make us swallow, then we will always remain like the foolish little big who builds a straw house, with no foundation to hold it when floods, earthquakes, and big Bad Wolves--metaphoric and otherwise--come knocking at the door.
Over the next few days, this blog will be bouncing around from more wonderful philosophy to a medical assessment of certain metaphorical body parts of a certain political party.
I love you guys, and I love getting back into writing like this. I feel like I've got fire in my fingers again...
However, even though I wouldn't quite say I was surprised, I would say that all this deep thinking about the core of existentialism has left me with a new respect with the mentality, even if I don't agree with all its pillars (and, to be honest, even existentialists don't always agree with existentialists; this seems, from my minimal experience, like one of the vaster school of thought in philosophy and literary criticism).
I don't have the time or the mental stamina at the moment to give the entire backstory for the forthcoming rant, but just know it was...inspired by The Stranger, and also the frightening imminent notion of having to write a formal essay on said novel. Nothing like an 3-day essay assignment out of nowhere to encourage critical thinking...anywho, here goes...
One of the main ideas of existentialism I've really come to embrace (at least one I've personally picked up, even if it wasn't intentionally inserted by the author(s))is that of scarringly gorgeous, blisteringly blindingly overwhelmingly raw truth, and how often we humans hide from it. Whether it's the truth within our own (small, petty, meaningless *cough* sorry, channeling Sartre) lives, or the grander and more terrifying truths about the universe, we as a species construct so many fictions to spruce up the bare humongity of this world into bite-size pieces we can pretend to understand.
Truth can be scary sometimes, especially when that truth bares its fangs and snaps wildly at the house of straw our lives are sometimes based on. If we don't build our lives around a foundation of truth, we're sacrificing the possibility of a strong, sturdy (if more difficult to build) "brick house" of a life.
Paradoxically, if we don't embrace truth, then we condemn ourselves to a life of fear.
When we deceive ourselves, even if we lie to ourselves well,we never manage to fully suppress those devilish fears lingering, grinning nastily below the surface of what we so frantically tell ourselves is true. Unless we face these demons of doubt head-on once and for all and accept whatever bitter pills they make us swallow, then we will always remain like the foolish little big who builds a straw house, with no foundation to hold it when floods, earthquakes, and big Bad Wolves--metaphoric and otherwise--come knocking at the door.
Over the next few days, this blog will be bouncing around from more wonderful philosophy to a medical assessment of certain metaphorical body parts of a certain political party.
I love you guys, and I love getting back into writing like this. I feel like I've got fire in my fingers again...
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
My Lethargic Life
Hello, world. It's been awhile, and I've missed you.
I'm not quite sure where to start in this whole confusing narrative of my life right now, so I guess I'll just leap in headfirst and hope it makes some sort of sense at some point.
Right now, I'm going through a hard point in my life. For most of the life I can remember, I've always had writing, no matter what else was frustrating me in the real or online worlds. I could always sit down, shake out the old fingers, and let creativity flow onto the page. It was something I could hold onto, something that I could turn back on and use to remind myself that I had worth, even when the rest of the world seemed to disagree. I'm reading my blog posts from last year, and I sound like such an intriguing and interesting person! I'm funny, I have a prodigious vocabulary, I have decent comic timing. I feel like I've lost that person, somehow, and it terrifies me. I'm not sure if it's because my English class has involved minimal writing this year, or because my brain is currently mutinying after being forced into months of hard labor as an essay-producing machine earlier in senior year, but I'm feeling seriously rusty. My vocabulary seems to have regressed about 10 steps, and half the time I feel like I can't even put sentences together, that I have to think way too long to find the right words, when it used to come so naturally.
I feel like the floor has fallen out from under me -- the one ability that I could always tell myself I had, no matter what, seems to be slipping away, and during a college admissions season already grating on my self-esteem...this isn't something I need.
Sometimes, I have spurts of what feels like my old self - happy, bubbly, sarcastic, involved, interested. But sometimes, I feel like that girl takes a few days off, and I'm left, scared and alone, trapped within my own skull.
I have realized that whenever I'm able to produce some writing I'm proud of, it makes me feel better about myself (which in turn makes me more comfortable and more able to produce good writing, etc) and keeps me out of the downward cycle of sinking into depressed lethargy, which I can assure you does no favors to my rusty old brain. So, in some proactive attempt at climbing out of this whole I've so masochistically dug for myself, I'm going to try to write, every day. I know I've said it before, but I'm really going to hold myself to it, and I really need you, as my friends, to keep me honest as well. This is one of those things that, in moments of clarity, I realize will be good for me in the long run, but which, at certain specific points, I try to wriggle my way out of for convenience's sake.
Has anyone else ever experienced something like this? Everyone keeps telling me it's senioritis, and it will pass, but I guess I'm just fishing for some confirmation.
Also, any of my friends who are reading this, I would be unspeakably, incredibly grateful if you could leave me questions/blog topics in your comments, either here on Blogspot or on Facebook. The wood of my creativity fire is a little wet, as previously described, so I need sparks to really get it going, and having something to write about makes this whole process easier than just sitting down in front of a blank screen and hoping I can blink some meaning into it.
Peace. Love. Happiness. (Hopefully soon, even if not now)
Cody
P.S. If you're wondering why this was posted during school hours, I'm home from school with dizziness and a headache.
I'm not quite sure where to start in this whole confusing narrative of my life right now, so I guess I'll just leap in headfirst and hope it makes some sort of sense at some point.
Right now, I'm going through a hard point in my life. For most of the life I can remember, I've always had writing, no matter what else was frustrating me in the real or online worlds. I could always sit down, shake out the old fingers, and let creativity flow onto the page. It was something I could hold onto, something that I could turn back on and use to remind myself that I had worth, even when the rest of the world seemed to disagree. I'm reading my blog posts from last year, and I sound like such an intriguing and interesting person! I'm funny, I have a prodigious vocabulary, I have decent comic timing. I feel like I've lost that person, somehow, and it terrifies me. I'm not sure if it's because my English class has involved minimal writing this year, or because my brain is currently mutinying after being forced into months of hard labor as an essay-producing machine earlier in senior year, but I'm feeling seriously rusty. My vocabulary seems to have regressed about 10 steps, and half the time I feel like I can't even put sentences together, that I have to think way too long to find the right words, when it used to come so naturally.
I feel like the floor has fallen out from under me -- the one ability that I could always tell myself I had, no matter what, seems to be slipping away, and during a college admissions season already grating on my self-esteem...this isn't something I need.
Sometimes, I have spurts of what feels like my old self - happy, bubbly, sarcastic, involved, interested. But sometimes, I feel like that girl takes a few days off, and I'm left, scared and alone, trapped within my own skull.
I have realized that whenever I'm able to produce some writing I'm proud of, it makes me feel better about myself (which in turn makes me more comfortable and more able to produce good writing, etc) and keeps me out of the downward cycle of sinking into depressed lethargy, which I can assure you does no favors to my rusty old brain. So, in some proactive attempt at climbing out of this whole I've so masochistically dug for myself, I'm going to try to write, every day. I know I've said it before, but I'm really going to hold myself to it, and I really need you, as my friends, to keep me honest as well. This is one of those things that, in moments of clarity, I realize will be good for me in the long run, but which, at certain specific points, I try to wriggle my way out of for convenience's sake.
Has anyone else ever experienced something like this? Everyone keeps telling me it's senioritis, and it will pass, but I guess I'm just fishing for some confirmation.
Also, any of my friends who are reading this, I would be unspeakably, incredibly grateful if you could leave me questions/blog topics in your comments, either here on Blogspot or on Facebook. The wood of my creativity fire is a little wet, as previously described, so I need sparks to really get it going, and having something to write about makes this whole process easier than just sitting down in front of a blank screen and hoping I can blink some meaning into it.
Peace. Love. Happiness. (Hopefully soon, even if not now)
Cody
P.S. If you're wondering why this was posted during school hours, I'm home from school with dizziness and a headache.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Grocery Store Rules
This is just going to be a quick little rant-type blog, because most of what I have to say in the way of intelligent dialogue came out in my blog on Blogspot earlier today. For those of you who don't know (which is about 99.9% of people reading this, I would think) I work at a grocery store as a cashier. Glamorous, no? Actually, it is a pretty good job, except for the fact that I've been working long hours recently, and dealing with the pre-Easter rush. Coming out of the frustration of today, here are 5 rules to follow if you don't want your cashier secretly plotting ways to poison your food using only the materials provided at a standard cash register:
1. Don't ask for "paper inside paper" bags. Really, it's not necessary. Unless you truly want to pack your entire order of 30 items into a single bag (thus pretty much ripping your arm from your shoulder socket) there is no reason why you can't get by with a single layer paper bag. Here's a suggestion: how about you get two paper bags, fill them quasi-equally, and then you won't fall over when you're walking down a set of stairs because all your weight is balanced on one side!
2. Please figure out how to use a credit card. I'll let it slide for the 80 year old, but if you're a twenty year old guy, I'm sorry, but you have no legitimate excuse for not knowing how to slide a credit card through a slot that includes diagrams. Come on, you're a member of a consumerist generation, if you don't know how to work a credit card, what hope is there left for a completely soulless, materialist world! *sarcasm note*
3. Don't speak to me as though I have the IQ of a rock. I'm aware that I'm working at a fairly "no-skill-needed" job, but last time I checked, neither hospitals nor law firms hire sixteen year olds. I'm doing what I can, and even though I'm going to respect you even though I may want to bash you over the head with an oversized squash, you can at least pretend to reciprocate the favor.
4. Do not ask me where the chive-stuffed olives are. I work in the front end, not grocery. I am a part-time teenager; I am not omniscient (although I can bag at a surprisingly quick rate of 17.13 items per minute! XD ) ! I know that it's supposed to be my job to know where everything in the store is, but the grocery store I work at is roughly the size of some smaller European nations, so that's a bit of a dilemma.
5. Don't haul your cat litter/water bottles/charcoal/ice up onto the belt: I have a remote scanner, I can just get it in the cart! Exciting as it is to have to field 40 pound items rolling towards you down a belt, it would just be easier to deal with them in your cart! Besides, if I wanted to join a weight program, I join one!
Peace. Love. Happiness.
~Cody
1. Don't ask for "paper inside paper" bags. Really, it's not necessary. Unless you truly want to pack your entire order of 30 items into a single bag (thus pretty much ripping your arm from your shoulder socket) there is no reason why you can't get by with a single layer paper bag. Here's a suggestion: how about you get two paper bags, fill them quasi-equally, and then you won't fall over when you're walking down a set of stairs because all your weight is balanced on one side!
2. Please figure out how to use a credit card. I'll let it slide for the 80 year old, but if you're a twenty year old guy, I'm sorry, but you have no legitimate excuse for not knowing how to slide a credit card through a slot that includes diagrams. Come on, you're a member of a consumerist generation, if you don't know how to work a credit card, what hope is there left for a completely soulless, materialist world! *sarcasm note*
3. Don't speak to me as though I have the IQ of a rock. I'm aware that I'm working at a fairly "no-skill-needed" job, but last time I checked, neither hospitals nor law firms hire sixteen year olds. I'm doing what I can, and even though I'm going to respect you even though I may want to bash you over the head with an oversized squash, you can at least pretend to reciprocate the favor.
4. Do not ask me where the chive-stuffed olives are. I work in the front end, not grocery. I am a part-time teenager; I am not omniscient (although I can bag at a surprisingly quick rate of 17.13 items per minute! XD ) ! I know that it's supposed to be my job to know where everything in the store is, but the grocery store I work at is roughly the size of some smaller European nations, so that's a bit of a dilemma.
5. Don't haul your cat litter/water bottles/charcoal/ice up onto the belt: I have a remote scanner, I can just get it in the cart! Exciting as it is to have to field 40 pound items rolling towards you down a belt, it would just be easier to deal with them in your cart! Besides, if I wanted to join a weight program, I join one!
Peace. Love. Happiness.
~Cody
The Woes of an Grammar Nerd
[Warning: Very Disjointed Blog Ahead]
It would make sense, normally, for the worlds of "grammar nerd" and "person who listens to music about a book series" to intersect...right? Well, yes. Except that being a grammar nerd in the wrock world can often lead to confusion, largely involving pronouns.
For example, if I want to refer to The Whomping Willows (or Tonks and the Aurors, or Justin Finch-Fletchley and the Sugar Quills...) within a sentence, would the verb need to be plural to agree with the subject, even though technically the band name is a plural noun referring to a singular person? And if I used, to continue the example, The Whomping Willows, and wanted to use that as an antecedant to a pronoun that came later, would that pronoun be "he" or "they"? The amount of time I've spent wondering about this is truly sad...
I'm having trouble thinking of anything else interesting to say at the moment, sadly... I think that all the cashier work I'm doing is sapping my soul. Although I can name a huge number of grocery codes. What would be really interesting is if I could develop some sort of code for cashiers, where the 4 digit code referred to the first letter of the produce item it referred to.
For example...
4225 (Avacado) would be A
4011 (Banana) would be B
4050 (Cantelope) would be C
So, steppint off one nerd train and onto another for a moment, has anyone heard about the pirates? I'm not talking Jack Sparrow here; a US ship has actually been taken, and a hostage taken, by Somalian pirates. This would be funny, if someone's life didn't hang in the balance..
Quote of the day: There are a terrible lot of lies going about the world, and the worst of it is that half of them are true.
Winston Churchill
Peace. Love. Happiness
~Cody
It would make sense, normally, for the worlds of "grammar nerd" and "person who listens to music about a book series" to intersect...right? Well, yes. Except that being a grammar nerd in the wrock world can often lead to confusion, largely involving pronouns.
For example, if I want to refer to The Whomping Willows (or Tonks and the Aurors, or Justin Finch-Fletchley and the Sugar Quills...) within a sentence, would the verb need to be plural to agree with the subject, even though technically the band name is a plural noun referring to a singular person? And if I used, to continue the example, The Whomping Willows, and wanted to use that as an antecedant to a pronoun that came later, would that pronoun be "he" or "they"? The amount of time I've spent wondering about this is truly sad...
I'm having trouble thinking of anything else interesting to say at the moment, sadly... I think that all the cashier work I'm doing is sapping my soul. Although I can name a huge number of grocery codes. What would be really interesting is if I could develop some sort of code for cashiers, where the 4 digit code referred to the first letter of the produce item it referred to.
For example...
4225 (Avacado) would be A
4011 (Banana) would be B
4050 (Cantelope) would be C
So, steppint off one nerd train and onto another for a moment, has anyone heard about the pirates? I'm not talking Jack Sparrow here; a US ship has actually been taken, and a hostage taken, by Somalian pirates. This would be funny, if someone's life didn't hang in the balance..
Quote of the day: There are a terrible lot of lies going about the world, and the worst of it is that half of them are true.
Winston Churchill
Peace. Love. Happiness
~Cody
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Is it summer yet?
I just watched this video, which if you don't feel like actually watching, is Brian Malfoy covering a song that I've unfortunately never heard before today, Construtive Summer by the Hold Steady. That, along with The Remus Lupins announcing their tour dates today (my frustration with the world of wizard rock and pronouns at another time, likely tonight) just made me realize how very much I want summer, and more than that, how many huge, probably unfulfillable dreams I have for summer. I have this image of being able to see my friends, and not be an awkward, unintentionally anti-social dork. So, I guess more than anything, I hope that summer will bring out the person I want myself to be. Huh. Yeah, psychoanalyzing yourself isn't very productive, it would seem....
Anyway, back to some semblence of topic. I've been writing in essay format for pretty much the last 24 hours straight, so I'm going to rebel and go with a list format. Becuase I'm just that original...
Reasons Why I need Summer.
1. Because I am sick of having to wear sweatshirts whenever I'm not wearing my coat
2. Because I'm sick of junior year
3. Because I haven't seen a wrock show in over two months, and that's getting on my nerves
4. Because summer will mean the end of ridiculous contest essays for awhile
5. Leakycon
6. Because that will mean I'm just that much closer to being able to get my license in August
7. Because HBP comes out in July
8. Because I need more sleep
9. Because I want to be able to ride my bike again
10. Because I'm lonely
Peace. Love. Happiness. (and Sunshine?)
~Cody
Anyway, back to some semblence of topic. I've been writing in essay format for pretty much the last 24 hours straight, so I'm going to rebel and go with a list format. Becuase I'm just that original...
Reasons Why I need Summer.
1. Because I am sick of having to wear sweatshirts whenever I'm not wearing my coat
2. Because I'm sick of junior year
3. Because I haven't seen a wrock show in over two months, and that's getting on my nerves
4. Because summer will mean the end of ridiculous contest essays for awhile
5. Leakycon
6. Because that will mean I'm just that much closer to being able to get my license in August
7. Because HBP comes out in July
8. Because I need more sleep
9. Because I want to be able to ride my bike again
10. Because I'm lonely
Peace. Love. Happiness. (and Sunshine?)
~Cody
Monday, April 6, 2009
Totalitarian Librarians, Obnoxious dialogue, and what the Hell is Going on in Minnesota
Like the random capitalization in the title? DFTBA!
This blog comes to you in three semi-distinct parts! (and perhaps more if I think of something else when I get to the end. It will be a surprise, I suppose!)
1. Totalitarian Librarians
This was inspired by a post in my friend Kat's blog mentioning how her school has totalitarian librarians, and I felt the need to relate some of my stories from 9th and 10th grade involving librarians. Actually, I think I need to go back a bit further. As I'm sure is no surprise to most of the people actually reading this blog, I was sort of an uber-nerd in middle school...to that point that I was horribly, painfully shy and didn't talk to anyone my age, so I ended up in the library during every lunch period for 7th and 8th grade, and the librarians knew me by name and what kind of book I liked, and would often recommend things to me or discuss things we both had read. It was a wonderful little haven for me. And then I hit high school. Our HS is divided into two buildings, South and North. South is generally for grade 9 and 10, and North is 11 and 12 (although there is some crossover) so in grades 9 and 10 I mostly used the South library. The librarians there were horribly strict. If you came in a minute late, even if you had a note from a teacher, they wouldn't let you in for study hall. One time, my friend and I were sitting across from eachother, not talking at all, and the librarian made us move so our backs were to eachother because she insisted we would make too much noise. She then proceeded to talk loudly on the phone.
I feel like I'm going to need to enter a witness protection program now...anyway, the good news is that the North librarians are much nicer...and I now I in the library every morning to read the New York Times. Like old times again!
2. Has anyone ever read the Grapes of Wrath? As in, the entire, cover-to-cover thing? If you've done so without repeatedly hitting your head against a hard object, you're a stronger man (or woman) than I am. Honestly. It is a wonderful narrative about the corruptive power of industry, the strength and resiliance of the human spirit, and a testament to kindness even in the darkest of hours....but the entire thing is written in phonetic dialogue. Example:
"I don' feel good. I wisht Connie would come. I don't feel like doin' nothin' 'thout Connie"
"Rosasharn, you git upright. You jus' been mopin' enough. They's a ladies' committee a-comin', an' the fambly ain't gonna be frawny when they get here"
"But I don' feel good."
"Git! They's times when you how you feel got to be kep' to yourself"
Approximately 600 pages of this. Sing joy.
3. Minnesota
And the results of the 2008 election are....really? We don't know yet? Come on ,that's a little bit embarrassing...it's been 5 months...you do know that the new Senators are in office already, right?
Yes. That's right. As of now, Minnesota has only one Senator. It was an exceptionally close race, generally decided by about 200 votes on each side, a ridiculously small amount in a Senate race. Now the two contestants, Al Franken and Norm Colman, are engaged in a legal death match. It would be ridiculous, not to mention funny, if it weren't that Minnesota sort of deserves equal representation in the Senate. Maybe we should settle this Solomon-style. You know the story, the one where two mothers claim that a baby is theirs, and Solomon says "OK, just cut the baby in half" and the mother that said "No, I don't care if I get the baby, I just want him to be safe" was the real mother? How about that. Since they seem to be tearing Minnesota apart in their process.
Well, look on the bright side. At least they aren't running for a House of Representatives seat. Theyd be up for reelection before either of them even took office at this rate!
I'm supposed to get my SAT results tomorrow....and I'm nervous.
Peace. Love. Happiness
~Cody
This blog comes to you in three semi-distinct parts! (and perhaps more if I think of something else when I get to the end. It will be a surprise, I suppose!)
1. Totalitarian Librarians
This was inspired by a post in my friend Kat's blog mentioning how her school has totalitarian librarians, and I felt the need to relate some of my stories from 9th and 10th grade involving librarians. Actually, I think I need to go back a bit further. As I'm sure is no surprise to most of the people actually reading this blog, I was sort of an uber-nerd in middle school...to that point that I was horribly, painfully shy and didn't talk to anyone my age, so I ended up in the library during every lunch period for 7th and 8th grade, and the librarians knew me by name and what kind of book I liked, and would often recommend things to me or discuss things we both had read. It was a wonderful little haven for me. And then I hit high school. Our HS is divided into two buildings, South and North. South is generally for grade 9 and 10, and North is 11 and 12 (although there is some crossover) so in grades 9 and 10 I mostly used the South library. The librarians there were horribly strict. If you came in a minute late, even if you had a note from a teacher, they wouldn't let you in for study hall. One time, my friend and I were sitting across from eachother, not talking at all, and the librarian made us move so our backs were to eachother because she insisted we would make too much noise. She then proceeded to talk loudly on the phone.
I feel like I'm going to need to enter a witness protection program now...anyway, the good news is that the North librarians are much nicer...and I now I in the library every morning to read the New York Times. Like old times again!
2. Has anyone ever read the Grapes of Wrath? As in, the entire, cover-to-cover thing? If you've done so without repeatedly hitting your head against a hard object, you're a stronger man (or woman) than I am. Honestly. It is a wonderful narrative about the corruptive power of industry, the strength and resiliance of the human spirit, and a testament to kindness even in the darkest of hours....but the entire thing is written in phonetic dialogue. Example:
"I don' feel good. I wisht Connie would come. I don't feel like doin' nothin' 'thout Connie"
"Rosasharn, you git upright. You jus' been mopin' enough. They's a ladies' committee a-comin', an' the fambly ain't gonna be frawny when they get here"
"But I don' feel good."
"Git! They's times when you how you feel got to be kep' to yourself"
Approximately 600 pages of this. Sing joy.
3. Minnesota
And the results of the 2008 election are....really? We don't know yet? Come on ,that's a little bit embarrassing...it's been 5 months...you do know that the new Senators are in office already, right?
Yes. That's right. As of now, Minnesota has only one Senator. It was an exceptionally close race, generally decided by about 200 votes on each side, a ridiculously small amount in a Senate race. Now the two contestants, Al Franken and Norm Colman, are engaged in a legal death match. It would be ridiculous, not to mention funny, if it weren't that Minnesota sort of deserves equal representation in the Senate. Maybe we should settle this Solomon-style. You know the story, the one where two mothers claim that a baby is theirs, and Solomon says "OK, just cut the baby in half" and the mother that said "No, I don't care if I get the baby, I just want him to be safe" was the real mother? How about that. Since they seem to be tearing Minnesota apart in their process.
Well, look on the bright side. At least they aren't running for a House of Representatives seat. Theyd be up for reelection before either of them even took office at this rate!
I'm supposed to get my SAT results tomorrow....and I'm nervous.
Peace. Love. Happiness
~Cody
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