Friday, May 10, 2013

Finals Study Break!!!

Hello all! It's finals time for me and you know what that means???
YES!!!! ENDLESS PROCRASTINATION!!!!!!
So, to start our procrastination cycle that will end in self-destruction and panic attacks, I give you...
ADORABLE ANIMALS LOOKING ADORABLE!!!!
(Just...you know...I take no credit for any of these pictures, and all that jazz)
























Good luck on finals everybody!

Monday, April 22, 2013

Malala Yousafzai

If you don't know her, you should.
She is an inspiration.  This girl, this wonderful and courageous girl, began blogging at age 11 for BBC's Urdu site.  She did what I am aspiring to do.
Malala took a good hard look at her narrow world to find out what was wrong with it and then she spoke.  And people listened.  And people understood.
This young Pakistani girl wrote about injustice and inspired a nation and made deadly enemies of the group she was criticizing, her oppressor, her nation's oppressor, the Taliban.
When she was 15, the world took her seriously enough that the Taliban considered her a major threat and shot her and, if I remember right, one of her friends while they were on the school bus on their way to school.  But she survived and you know what? That girl just kept on writing.  Damn...
She says that her book is a memoir to raise awareness about the millions of people, children among them, who are forced to abandon their potential under dictators after dictators who demand doublethink and unwavering loyalty and that violence is only dealt to those who deserve it, regardless of what you think you know...even if the violence is being dealt out to you.
If Malala Yousafzai is not an inspiration to you, if her message doesn't send you running towards your fears at full tilt while bellowing your most ghastly war cry, if her achievements do not leave you mouth dropped and your eyes burning, then it is already probably too late for you.  You have probably been overcome by apathy, commercial mind-washing, mind-washing from a dictator, or some other form of debilitating mental illness.  Because at 11 years old, Malala Yousafzai began to change the world by just combining and recombining scratches on paper and keys on a keyboard.  What can we do?

More information: http://time100.time.com/2013/04/18/time-100/slide/malala-yousafzai/

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

When it all seems HOPELESS...

I'm going to be as up front with you as possible.  You all deserve my honesty and sincerity on a World Wide Web of possibilities, as many of them fake and imaginary as truthful.
I am feeling defeated.
These past 5 years have been fraught with economic instability, with revolutions, with bigotry, with slander, with death.
Fear seems to be the sole motivator of our society.
We fear our next pay check won't arrive in time.
We fear that the economy will fall again, leaving us behind even square 1.
We fear that our interventionist foreign policy will get us involved in another battle.
We are so economically and nationally exhausted from this fear that we in fact fear that we won't be able to win the next fight.
We fear that no one will understand us.
We fear that our rights will be taken away from us or somehow devalued if another person, political party, or some faction of people gain power.
We fear that if we are not right, then we're wrong.
We fear that if we take action, it will cause more problems than it solves.

I am so tired.  I am so exhausted from this fear.  I don't deserve to be living in fear.  You don't deserve to be living in fear.  We are not supposed to wake in the morning and be scared that we are going to die on our way to the airport or to a football game or to a marathon or to school.
And I don't have an answer to it.  I can't explain why or how or what or when.
And so I do what we naturally do in times of fear.  We look up to our leaders for our answers and for our actions.
"How could this happen?" we say.
"When will this happen next?"
"What are we doing about it?"
"What should I do?"
"How should I live?"
But the worst part is that they don't know either.  They don't know and they can't act until they know because they are on a pedestal that is thousands upon thousands of kilometers above the jagged pit of our critical stares.  We expect them to unify us, somehow, when we can't do it ourselves. We expect them to find some Other person to blame.  We expect them to find us an outcast, someone to fight a perpetual war with.
Because it doesn't really matter, right? We're fighting for something, an idea perhaps.  And even if we don't know what that idea is, then someone up the chain-of-command surely does and they just haven't been able to tell us yet.
Yeah, that's it.

My thoughts and prayers go out to those affected by the perpetrators of our fears.
Fourteen were injured by stabbing in Texas.
Three were killed and more than 120 were injured by bombs in Boston.
Thirty were killed and more than 100 injured by bombs in Afghanistan.
Fifty were killed and more than 200 injured by car bombs in Iraq.
Recently, news came out that bombs were discovered in Cedar Falls, Iowa.
North Korea has been stirring up trouble and bluffing its way into a corner since early 2013 which is unnerving because animals, people, and nations are always more dangerous when they are desperate.

But is that all I can really do?  Can I really only send out my thoughts and prayers to those who need them? Must I look up to leaders who don't have answers?  The answer is no.  And you don't have to be stuck in a passive role either.  I realize that in the past, a lot of my blogs have been about taking action, doing something visible and productive, getting out there in the world and maybe the world will follow your example.  This time I am asking that you take a step back.
Take a deep breath.  Look around.  Close your eyes.  Take another deep breath. Open your eyes.  Look around again.  Has anything changed?
Observing your environment and being conscious of your surroundings may often be more helpful than immediately running to someone's aid.  This is especially true when we are in large crowds, which have a tendency to be the target of these terroristic attacks.  I am of the opinion that people naturally care about each other.  When something traumatic happens, we instinctively protect those in our immediate vicinity and make sure that they are safe before hurrying to provide assistance, relief, and comfort to those who were affected by the event.
What I am suggesting in no way devalues that kind of action.  It is courageous and honorable and necessary. But in a large crowd, most people will do exactly that kind of action and our brains will subconsciously ignore anything that does not pertain to our provision of care to the injured.  In other words, we're so busy helping people, Scumbag Brain deletes our surroundings and memories of other people from our consciousness.
You, by holding back the instinct to aid your fellow man for just a few minutes, can look around and observe the environment.
Is there anyone who is not reacting to the event, either by standing by and watching or walking away?
What looks out of place?
The answer to that question is purely subjective, but if you know the area well, then you could see if there are any cars driving away, cars without license plates, cars with out of state license plates, backpacks or luggage carriers or strange bulky packages that don't seem to belong to anyone that are placed on the ground where lots of people might bump into them.
Never forget to look up.  Check windows, rooftops, glance into buildings if you can see their interiors.  These are the most commonly neglected places to look immediately after an explosion goes off or someone starts shooting people at random.
Remember details. Take mental notes or just carry a pen around with you at all times.  Your arms are awesome last-minute note pads.  All of your observations are useless if you can't remember what you saw.
Find the police and tell them what you saw as soon as you can. Your short term memory is very sharp and the sooner the police have this information, the more accurate it will be and the sooner they can go about catching the bastards that did it.
I will be the first to say that action is the most effective form of change, but action comes in many forms and accurate observation is among the most powerful and definitely the most underestimated.
While my advice in the bold is mostly for what you can do after a traumatic event happens, you can always practice your observation.  It's nearly impossible to tell when someone will jump on the crazy train and think it's a good time and place to kill everybody in the immediate area. Just noticing small things like someone putting things under cars or holding a conversation with themselves can be helpful because you may be able to prevent a traumatic event or to help a mentally disabled person find their way back to their care-taker.

Please stay safe. Please stay active. Please stay observant.


Friday, March 8, 2013

Impromptu Post: HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY!!!!

Right. So, in order to celebrate, I have memorized a spoken word poem titled "Pretty" by Katie Makkai that I have come to love. This post is going to be really short and here's what's going to be in it:
1) Transcript of the poem followed by the link I found it at
2) Link to the YouTube video where I first heard this poem and fell in love with it
Have a great International Women's Day!
Cheers!

"Pretty" by Katie Makkai

When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, “What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? What comes next? Oh right, will I be rich?” Which is almost pretty depending on where you shop. And the pretty question infects from conception, passing blood and breath into cells. The word hangs from our mothers' hearts in a shrill fluorescent floodlight of worry.

“Will I be wanted? Worthy? Pretty?” But puberty left me this funhouse mirror dryad: teeth set at science fiction angles, crooked nose, face donkey-long and pox-marked where the hormones went finger-painting. My poor mother. 

“How could this happen? You'll have porcelain skin as soon as we can see a dermatologist. You sucked your thumb. That's why your teeth look like that! You were hit in the face with a Frisbee when you were 6. Otherwise your nose would have been just fine!

“Don't worry. We'll get it fixed!” She would say, grasping my face, twisting it this way and that, as if it were a cabbage she might buy. 

But this is not about her. Not her fault. She, too, was raised to believe the greatest asset she could bestow upon her awkward little girl was a marketable facade. By 16, I was pickled with ointments, medications, peroxides. Teeth corralled into steel prongs. Laying in a hospital bed, face packed with gauze, cushioning the brand new nose the surgeon had carved.

Belly gorged on 2 pints of my blood I had swallowed under anesthesia, and every convulsive twist of my gut like my body screaming at me from the inside out, “What did you let them do to you!”

All the while this never-ending chorus droning on and on, like the IV needle dripping liquid beauty into my blood. “Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? Like my mother, unwrapping the gift wrap to reveal the bouquet of daughter her $10,000 bought her? Pretty? Pretty.”

And now, I have not seen my own face for 10 years. I have not seen my own face in 10 years, but this is not about me. 

This is about the self-mutilating circus we have painted ourselves clowns in. About women who will prowl 30 stores in 6 malls to find the right cocktail dress, but haven't a clue where to find fulfillment or how wear joy, wandering through life shackled to a shopping bag, beneath those 2 pretty syllables.

About men wallowing on bar stools, drearily practicing attraction and everyone who will drift home tonight, crest-fallen because not enough strangers found you suitably fuckable. 

This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, “Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?” I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer, “No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters.

“You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you, will never be merely 'pretty'.”
(http://dianasmanylifetimes.blogspot.com/2010/11/katie-makkai-pretty.html)

And the YouTube video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6wJl37N9C0

http://www.wand.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/International-Womens-Day-2011.gif

Thursday, March 7, 2013

New England Horror Story

Hello!
This is my attempt at a short horror story. I'm not as good at prose as I'd like to be but practice makes perfect. Enjoy, critique, and read while listening to scary music in the background. That might help with the ambiance. Thanks!


                A blood moon was lying just above the silhouetted tree line, dangerously red against the indigo sky, scanning the New England Coast with disinterest.  A slight south-eastern breeze blew warm and wet across the hills and in between the quiet forests and valleys.  Late June had transformed the area into a lush landscape full of life and wonder and secrets. 
This very night the forest was moving.  The moon had called out all the monsters and the haunts and the specters.  Big hairy beasts appeared from the air, wavering and shifting and then taking definite form before tromping out around the forest floors.  Unearthly lights faded and glided in a choreographed ballet, burning red and yellow and green and blue.  Moans and sighs ran from the lips of the trees.  Leaves rustled against the wind.  Twigs snapped.  Faces materialized.
The hills and mountains came alive with supernatural activity but the blood moon turned away.  Instead, it fixed its gaze upon a handful of small creatures in a clearing. A small fire was burning and four young students were camping out, enjoying a summer road trip.  They had stolen beers from home and cracked them open, throwing the empty bottles on the ground and reaching for more.  Drunk, they tried to tell horror stories but couldn’t keep straight faces.  They couldn’t even see each other.  The tent lay in its package in the back of the truck.  All that really mattered was where the beer cooler was and how hot Sophia and Jessica were.
Owen was the first to notice the blood moon.  He tore his eyes away from the mesmerizing flames to look at the sky.  It was really dark.  He couldn’t really see anything.  The moon had a red tint.  That was weird.  He was definitely hallucinating.  What was in his drink?  He took another sip and stared at the flames and Jessica on the other side of them.
Andrew was blacking out already.  He had been going heavy since they pulled up to their camping spot that evening.  There was no doubt that he would forget everything come morning except that he’d had too much, for which the legendary hangover he would have constantly reminding him until late in the afternoon.  Andrew was the first to hear the noises.  He flicked his head in the general direction of the whispers but didn’t pay too much attention because they weren’t nearly important as the front flip he was going to do to impress Sophia.
Jessica and Sophia were too busily giggling at the boys’ antics to see the bushes that were moving even when there wasn’t wind.  Sophia laughed and clapped gleefully when Andrew fell on his face.  Jessica batted her eyes in what she thought was a seductive manner as Owen undressed her with his eyes.  The whispers grew louder.  The bushes rustled more vigorously.  The blood moon watched on in interest.  There was no time left for them.
As time passed, Owen began to recognize the movement behind Jessica as unnatural.  He raised his eyes and was about to say something to Jessica when she suddenly shot up and screamed.  Owen’s head was ripped off in the jaws of a shaggy gray monster, eight feet tall with a gaping mouth from which dangled Owen from the neck up.  His lifeless body froze in its spot on the log before toppling over into a pool of its own blood.
Jessica and Sophia shrieked and Andrew stared in sheer horror at the monster and its devastation. The girls took off in the direction of the truck, grabbing at each other and scrabbling for the keys, wrenching their necks around in sharp jerks.  The monster had followed them and was quickly gaining speed.  Jessica screamed as, for the second time tonight, she watched a close friend mutilated.  Sophia was torn from her grasp, shrieking and writhing.  The monster had her bottom half in his sharp-toothed mouth when dozens of orbs of light began tugging at her arms and torso and hair.  Sophia was still alive and screaming in terror and pain.  Tears ran freely from her shocked eyes and then she was ripped in half, vertebrae and intestines raining around Jessica.
Jessica was crying hysterically as she pulled herself away from the graphic scene and sprinted to the truck.  She yanked the door open and fumbled as she shoved the keys into the ignition.  Miraculously, it started the first time.  Jessica gunned the gas before she remembered to put the truck in drive.  With a great lurch forward, she hurtled the truck blindly toward where she thought the road was.  The sound of powerful wings beating at the air caused her to look up, an action she immediately regretted.
What looked like a dead, half-rotten vulture with leathery wings was bearing down upon the truck from behind.  Jessica sobbed hopelessly as she veered around trees and caught air from unexpected bumps and branches.  The sound of talons on metal added to the hysteria.  Talon marks on the roof of the truck were drawn, stopped, and then the beast landed on the hood and stared her down through the windshield.  It opened its ugly beak and screeched, its tongue flapping ungraciously.  A crack appeared in the windshield, which it seemed to study before screeching again.
Jessica was pushing the truck far past its capacity, going 80 amidst the trees and faster when she thought she saw a break.  She thought that she could see the road just ahead and floored it.  She was going upwards of 110 mph when she hit the tree.  The airbag exploded from the windshield.  The entire front end of the car was compacted to less than half of its original size.  Some of the engine had been pushed so far back, parts had penetrated the dash and, by extension, Jessica’s stomach.  Amazingly, she was still conscious; she was conscious enough to see the vulture-thing hop towards her and lower its head.  It looked at her for a few moments before leaning in to rip off some flesh from her arm.  Jessica could only whimper.  Her head was tilted unnaturally and she was bleeding out from her stomach, but she felt it as the beast slowly ate its way up her arm and to her face.  She finally blacked out just before she saw it stare her right in the eyes and lean its cruel beak forward.
Andrew heard Sophia’s body ripped in half and the huge, squealing crash that was Jessica’s demise shortly after.  He hadn’t moved an inch since Owen’s head had been unceremoniously removed and eaten.  The adrenaline pumping through his body had sobered him up fast.  His eyes were wide and empty as the blood moon fairly glowed with satisfaction at the night’s entertainment.  The monster that had been picking its teeth clean with a splintered bone from Sophia’s shin now turned to him.  It glared for a moment before surging forward, mouth gaping, claws extended, hair thrown back.
Andrew couldn’t move as it moved closer.  His feet were rooted.  Only his head rotated up as the towering monster soared closer.  It stopped inches in front of him and roared in his face.  Andrew closed his eyes against the reek of blood and flesh which he knew used to belong to his friend.  Then it closed its mouth, hiding its many teeth and it began to pace around him, sniffing him, nudging him with its nose and claws, tugging agonizingly at Andrew’s clothes.  But through all this, Andrew couldn’t move.
The blood moon watched and knew that this would be the one.  This human that wouldn’t move would make it through the night.  Just luck that the one night the blood moon called out the haunts and spooks, they would meet one of them.  They had the blood of a warlock and the spirit of a shaman.  They were rarer than the ghosts the moon played with.  The blood moon shone even more brightly as it looked down with increased interest.
Andrew didn’t know what the moon knew.  All he knew is that he was scared.  He closed his eyes so tightly he began to see lights.  Finally, his hind brain kicked in and he threw back his head and howled a single, lingering shriek of terror and desperation.  Then he collapsed, unconscious.
A faint light shone around Andrew’s crumpled body before it gathered and emerged as a vaguely humanoid form.  The pacing monster now stumbled away from the newcomer, but it wasn’t fast enough.  The being lifted its arm and the monster was thrown against a tree.  The monster scrabbled around for its feet before making a hasty retreat into the forest.  The newcomer threw his arms out and back in a smooth, sweeping motion and the forest erupted.  Sounds of heavy beasts hitting trees and each other and loud snaps as they disappeared into rippling air echoed from every direction.  Wisps and specters hissed into non-existence.  Leaves and trees shuddered visibly and roots twisted uncomfortably in the presence of such raw power.
The being remained motionless, arms out in a T, palms facing out, until the final hisses and snaps and rustles disappeared.  The blood moon watched on in amazement.  Awe turned to panic and fear as the powerful figure then turned and tipped its face up to the sky.  The blood moon could sense its unseeing gaze.  A single palm extended towards the moon and, with extraordinary power, began to drain its light.  The blood moon fought and resisted, but it could feel its strength waning.  Slowly, very slowly, the moon was darkening and the being grew brighter and brighter, so bright that it would blind the naked eye.  In a matter of minutes, the moon was gone and the forest was lit by the unearthly light, with a red tint, from the unremarkable campsite in the woods.
The light-being lowered its palm and stood motionless for hours.  Nothing moved in the forest that night.  Nothing moved in the valley, in the hills, in the sky, in the lakes, or in the ocean.  The blood moon was gone, eradicated by the being that lurked inside the unconscious boy.  Just a few minutes before sunrise, as the sky was getting lighter, the being turned and dimmed its radiance.  It walked back over to Andrew and sank inside of him.  The forest breathed again.
https://images.nonexiste.net/popular/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/The-Blood-Moon-Rises.jpeg

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Pro-Choice and all of it's Implications.. I mean ALL of them

I am not afraid to admit that I am pro-choice.
No, I am not going to debate with you as to whether or not the Bible says abortions are evil.  I am not going to listen to you when you call me a baby-killer or a slut-enabler.  I am not going to pay attention to anything you have to say regarding my belief because it is MY belief and I will respect your right to YOUR belief even if I do think you're an asshole. Which I don't, because I'm sure you're actually a pretty fantastic person.
Hi, my name is Sara. I'd like to be your friend.

I'm sure I've posted on this before, in one of my women's studies blog-rants, but when we talk about being pro-choice, we usually talk about a woman's right to an abortion. We hear, "Well, it's her life and if she is not able to keep the baby or if she and the father don't think they are ready for it, or even if she doesn't think she's ready to handle maternal responsibilities, then she should be able to have an abortion."
We hear "She should be able to have an abortion."
We hear "Abortions should be legal in all states."
We hear "It would be better to give her a safe abortion than for her to try to do it on her own."

But all of these things talk about a woman's right to an abortion, not her right choose whether or not she wants to keep the baby. And sometimes, we must celebrate her decision to keep her fetus instead of her decision to terminate the pregnancy.
The entirety of the implications of being pro-choice and fighting for reproductive rights of women is to not only ensure that they can get an abortion if they want one, but to also ensure that if they would like to keep the baby, that they are provided safe and sanitary birthing conditions and the means to raise their child with adequate access to food, water, shelter, and education.
Recently, a pregnant teenager in Texas was awarded by the court the right to have her child even though her child's father and her parents were coercing her into having an abortion.  According to this news article, (http://news.yahoo.com/pregnant-teen-wins-abortion-battle-150554993--abc-news-topstories.html), her parents took away driving privileges and were verbally and physically threatening her to get an abortion. The child's father, when told, apparently said that the choice was not hers to make and that he himself would drive her to get an abortion.
First off, let me just say, uhhh...no? No, that's not how human beings behave.  That's not how you treat your daughter or the mother of your child.  What kind of acid are you tripping?
Not the point. The point is, I am so proud of this girl for saying, "Hey, I've had a lot of time to think about this. I think I want a kid. I think I can handle it." (Now whether or not she'll actually make a good mother? Well, that's unknowable at this juncture. But here's taking the optimistic approach.)
I want you to consider everything closely, the costs, the benefits, that weird gray area in the middle, and I want you to make a decision.  And even if I disagree with that decision (barring most illegal behaviors and self destruction) I will support you in it.
Voltaire said, "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."  This is the very essence of the 1st amendment of the Bill of Rights in the United States of America's Constitution (which I've actually been to see, by the way. Fun fact.).  I may disagree that becoming a parent at 16 years old is a smart choice, but ultimately the choice is not mine. It's hers.  I cannot see into the depths of her heart and mind and soul and know her limits, her strengths, her weaknesses, and her passions.  What I, what we, can do is to respect her decision and then get the hell out of her way.
So, R.E.K.  Good for you. Defend your right to your body.  Take care of your child and good luck to you and him/her in the future.
Love,
Sara
http://www.devon.gov.uk/contrast/more_choice___control.gif

Cheers!

Update: A Facebook friend of mine commented on my link that I posted. She is "fervently pro-life"and in our discussion, she said something very insightful that I'd like to share. "I'm all for people standing up for themselves. I think both positions are hard to judge from an un pregnant woman's perspective. (Not to say that we can't have an opinion.) Neither of us knows what it would be like to wrestle with not wanting to be pregnant, or to feel a baby's kick and feel like a mom."  Thanks for your input Heather!

Friday, February 8, 2013

1000 Pageviews and A Regretful New Years Resolution

I HAVE GOTTEN 1000 PAGEVIEWS! (not including my own) So thank you everyone who has visited multiple times. You make me feel validated. :)
As you may have noticed, I posted absolutely nothing in January.  This is not because my life has been uneventful. As the new philanthropy chair for my chapter of Alpha Delta Pi (woo!), I have been coordinating with other chapters and within my chapter. Spring recruitment was an enormous success with 10 new members. Classes have been super busy (I'm taking calculus, genetics, a genres class on utopias, organic chemistry, choir, and wildland fire behavior which happens to be a class where I learn to fight fires. I know. Be jealous.) and all the things that usually sweep along with the start of a new semester are going full tilt.
Also, I am currently in withdrawal.
Withdrawal from what, you ask? No, not from something interesting like alcohol, heroin, or meth.  No, I am in withdrawal from something far more boring yet devastating.  I am in withdrawal from candy.
Hi. My name is Sara. I am addicted to candy.  I love Twizzlers, Snickers, chocolate bars, Red Vines, Smarties. Basically everything except for black licorice. But really? Who likes that?  For New Years, I have given up candy (with the exception of conversation candy hearts because I can't live without those and they only come once a year anyway). Unless the candy is embedded within a dessert, I am not allowed to touch it. M&M cookies? Can't do it. Chocolate chip cookies? Totally OK.  Candy decorations on top of cakes and cookies? Not allowed.  Death-By-Chocolate pudding-dessert? Well...probably not, but I'm totally down for pretending I don't actually know what's in it.
Yes, I regret giving up candy for New Years. But at the same time, I have done so well so far. There's only once that I ate 1 disc of Dove but in my defense I was really really hungry and I didn't know when dinner was going to happen.  But besides that! I have done super well! Yay!
Anyway, let me know your New Year's Resolutions that you're keeping and the ones you've already given up on! (I tried to exercise for 5 minutes everyday. I didn't even last a day. Whoops!!!)

Cheers!
http://www.mscareergirl.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/Halloween-candy.jpg