This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn’t. You get to decide what to worship.
David Foster Wallace — Commencement Speech at Kenyon College

I’ve had a hard time being a fan of David Foster Wallace. I mean, I’m supposed to, right? He’s the intellectual’s intellectual. But I have a hard time with his writing, much in the same way I have trouble with theorists in my field. They go on and on and on, never quite reaching their point. They talk in circles about their ideas, and we are to bow down before the alter of this philosophy. Why? Well, because–these are brilliant philosophers (dead white men, most of them).

I can’t. I keep trying to believe that what I read is important, that maybe if I understood it more it would make more sense. It doesn’t. Not only do I not find so much of the theory incomprehensible, but I also find it steeped in a belief system that I don’t hold, don’t follow, and won’t be converted to.

Perhaps this is the real meaning of my college education. It’s to give me the voice to say I don’t like this person’s theories, or that I don’t believe in what this person has to say, and to stick to my guns.

It’s hard sometimes, especially when it seems that everyone around you worships this philosopher or that, and you haven’t bought in. Or maybe, just maybe, I trust my own instincts more than I do people who write to an audience that didn’t include me in the first place.

This pretty much left me speechless. Can’t add much more to her words.

found via feministing

On this eve of the United States’ Thanksgiving Day, I wanted to do something a little different.

In the spirit of giving thanks for the bountiful life I have, I want to make a list of some of my favorite words and why they are important to me.

In no particular order:

• love
  Why wouldn’t this be a favorite? When I think of the people in my life that I do love, I’m overcome with the absolute joy it brings me. And getting love back – especially from soft, cuddly kids – is enough to send me over the edge. There are so many levels of love but each one of them is important and treasured.
• heart
  Sure, it’s a muscle. But the fact is that this word holds so much more connotation than we can ever guess. If I say that someone holds a piece of my heart, they don’t literally (I hope!). But what I mean when I say it and what they infer from that can be the beginnings of something beautiful.
• friend
  I don’t use this word very often. Friends are few and far between. When I do, I mean it with all that I am. I treasure my friendships. They mean the world to me.
• family
  I write enough about family for anyone to know how strongly I feel about my family. Some of my family members have been through all of the thick and thin in my life. I know how fortunate I am to have that.
• eccentric
  It has been used against me as a derogatory term to say that I’m odd, strange, aloof, and undesirable. I like it, though. It means that I march to my own drum and that I don’t give in to the pressures of society. That can’t be all bad.
• laugh/laughter
  It’s like music, especially coming from a child. There is nothing better than full on laughter and enjoyment.
• peripatetic
  I just like the word. It’s a good word.

That’s it for today. For those of you who celebrate, a very happy Thanksgiving to you tomorrow.

What a colorful world we live in. When spam can inspire writing, the world must be amazing.

Really, it’s just that I was looking at my spam and chuckling and couldn’t resist. The spam is italicized.

Hi, neon lamp,

You don’t know me but Veronica reffered me to you. Did she ever tell you your size is insufficient? No? Maybe she was just being polite?

I know, I know. This isn’t something you discuss with perfect strangers. But really, neon lamp, I feel your discomfort and I worry about your plastic container. If you keep the lid on tight, it may explode.

ha!

You know about the meeting on the 15′th yeah? I think it will help with your “little” problem. If not, there is always the opportunity to buy Vaigrra from $139.95. Oops. Was that too personal again? I meant to say, Louis Vuitton Handbags, Chanel Handbags, Hermes Handbags From $99. I know that a good handbag can change your entire perspective on an issue.

It will even make you Become fit and happy again. Really. You don’t believe me? Come on. Every person knows that a good handbag makes an ensemble. And, I even believe that you may be able to Find it on MySpace. I know. Crazy. Handbags on MySpace. Who woulda thunk it? The lowest prices possible are found there. Really.

you still workingon it? I know it’s a big leap and the concepts don’t always seem to go together. But buying medication and handbags are very similar. They both may make you feel better in the short term. Really. Trust me on this. I know these things.

In the meantime, Increase calorie-burning energy of your body – get out and shop!

let’s keep in touch,

PHajrARMA (Pharma – easier to pronounce)

While reading Karen Walrond’s post on writing to her 19-year-old self, I started thinking about what I would say to my 19-year-old self. What have the last twenty years taught me?

Dear dawn,

Right now you won’t be believe me but you are more beautiful that you will ever realize. You are at your thinnest, your most active, your most jubilent self than you will ever be at again. Take advantage of that and live life happily. Don’t dwell on those things you can’t change. Don’t worry so much. Don’t take on the weight of the world.

Make changes where you can and realize that you can’t fix everything.

Sex does not equal love. Sex is sex and it doesn’t mean the same to the men you sleep with that it means to you. They won’t stay with you just because you give them something that means a lot to you.

Being told “I love you” does not always mean what you hope it means (and probably not even what the sayer hopes it will mean). Sometimes people say “I love you” because they don’t know what else to say but sometimes those people just don’t know how to love. Learn to recognize the difference.

That cute guy you meet in a restaurant in Chandler who seems charming and wonderful is dangerous for you. Run from him. He will hurt you. Badly. He will hit you. He will try to kill you on more than one occasion. He will make you think you are so much worse, ugly, stupid, fat, and horrible than you are. You are better than that. Run fast. He will change the way you look at yourself and the world and will affect the relationships you get involved in for the next fifteen years.

Those trips you take, searching for love, wandering the world, hoping love is finally coming your way will be difficult. Turn them into good experiences. London is a beautiful city. Cherish it. Missouri, Texas, Ohio, Colorado, and California have so much to offer you. They are much, much, much more than the men. Enjoy the trips and the stays as much as you can. Vancouver will turn out to be a city that reminds you of two men and an entire family but remember that it is a place that resides in your heart, too, because the city turned out to give you strength. It turned into a place that made you realize just how much you have to offer and that you shouldn’t settle.

The jobs you take and leave quickly should be lessens. Learn what you like and what you don’t. I can tell you that you will find a job you love. I can tell you that all of the things you learn along the way will add up to a job that will make you happier than you’ve ever known. So learn from them. Enjoy them.

Think before you speak. You wear your heart on your sleeve and sometimes blurt out more than you should. People won’t understand this and it will get you into trouble.

DON’T sell your camera in Boulder. Even though you’re hungry and need money, do not sell it. You will regret it for years.

The night your first niece is born, don’t leave the hospital. Even though a man threatens to hurt you if you don’t come home, your niece is so much more important and will be in your life long after that man is gone. She will become more to you than you will realize. Stay to see her. It will be worth it. I promise.

The afternoon your second niece is born, leave work early. That job won’t be worth the time you spent on it to miss her birth. You won’t regret leaving.

Those brothers you fought so hard with as a girl will turn out to be your best friends and your biggest cheerleaders. They will save your life on more than one occasion. Cherish them. Tell them thank you. Appreciate them for all they do and all they are. They are human. They are beautiful and flawed and amazing. They are your brothers. Tell them you love them often.

In fact, tell all of the people you love that you love them. This is something you will never regret.

Mostly, be kind to yourself. You deserve that so much more than you realize. You are strong. You are resilient. You are a beautiful woman. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.

All of my love,

dawn

How closely do you consider the words that you use in your blog? Or your e-mail? Or your IM? Or in your handwritten letters?

I think that in each of these cases, you might consider your word choices a bit differently.

I know that I think about what I’m going to write in a handwritten letter because it takes time. I don’t want to mess it up and have to start over, wasting a piece of paper.

In IM, I shoot things off and then think later. In e-mail, depending on who it is going to, I may shoot it off – but if it’s a serious work situation, I think about it carefully, usually letting it sit in my draft box for a little while before sending it.

I usually contemplate what I’m going to write in my blog for a day or so and then put it down here.

I am thinking about this subject this morning, though, because of something I heard on NPR.

I heard 2 different reporters talking about the shake up in the Blair administration. One reporter said that Blair was bringing trusted people home to be closer to him to assist him. She said that Jack Straw was coming home from foreign service to help Blair with the Parliament.

The next reporter stated, “Straw Replaced!”

They are two very different connotations. They mean very different things.

People were moved around. Straw’s position is now different than it was yesterday. Was his role as Foreign Secretary filled by someone else? Yes (Margaret Beckett, btw, the first woman to fill that position). Was he ousted? Not in any way. He has a new position. That’s not being replaced. That’s being moved.

I think it’s important to think critically about the way we use words. We may say one thing and mean another entirely.

It’s a lot harder to write about my childhood than I thought it would be. There are things that I don’t necessarily want to remember or to even talk about.

I think, though, that the exercise of writing white trash girl will be a good one. It will allow me to explore some things that I’ve needed to explore for a very long time.

Maybe it will help me understand why I don’t have a good relationship with my parents (which hurts my heart nearly every day of my life). Maybe it will help me understand why I am the way I am. Maybe it will help me understand other people better.

I don’t know if it will do any of these things. And maybe that’s why it is hard.

–

On another note, it seems funny that I’m saying all of these things in a public space. I tend to keep things close to me and only share with those I trust.

I didn’t want this blog (or any of mine, for that matter) to turn into a person diary. That’s not what it is about. And I don’t want to perpetuate that notion that blogs are personal journals.

To me, they are so much more. They give us the ability to connect with others, to share like experiences or to learn of another way of looking at life.

They allow us to educate. They allow us to venture into new realms. They allow us to learn.

I think they are so much more than personal journals (or diaries – what an icky word to me – it makes me think of being 12 and having a locked diary that held secrets only 12-year-olds understand).

What is a blog to you? What does blogging mean to you?

Recently Sage said he would be interested in hearing more about my adventures (if you call them that) in growing up poor.

I am working on setting up a separate blog to be able to do this.

Why another blog, you may ask.

Well, for me, this blog is about what is going on in my life now. It allows me to talk about school, family, work, the color of the sky, my issues with authority, what-have-you. I have a photoblog that is for my daily photo. I have my flickr account as a gallery of my photography (all of which does not make it to my photoblog). I have a blog for my school papers – but since I write only sporadically, it gets updated only sporadically. I have the Flagstaff Daily Photo blog that I recently started to share a photo a day of my lovely town. Some photos are new, some are not. I also have my Xanga blog where I cross-post entries from here.

I also have some other projects that are school related and not publically released.

So, yeah, I have a lot going on but if I compartmentalize, I’m able to keep them all straight.

Soon to be released: white trash girl. Watch for it on computer screens near you.

Erin, who is a co-worker and someone I like very much, used the term “literati” the other day when I wrote about the movies and writing.

She said that she wasn’t sure if she’d be a part of the round table literati crowd or if she’d be one of the people they made fun of.

I know that I’d probably be one of the people they made fun of. I’m never one of the “in-crowd” but always looking in, wondering how I’m always looking in but never a part.

Erin and I were talking yesterday and I realized that I am a part of some “in-crowds.” They just never seem to be the ones I strive to be a part of. The grass is always greener, you know.

I work with some really intelligent, witty, and incredible people. We throw barbs and witticisms just as fast and furious as the Vicious Circle ever could have. We enjoy one another and play off of that enjoyment. We tease. We cajole.

If an outsider were to hear some of the things we say, I’m sure they would wonder what kind of personal hell they had just walked into.

It’s funny…these same things coming from someone else would hurt. You know the kinds of words I’m talking about. They poke. They prod. But when said in the right context and the right situation, they are funny and don’t hurt at all.

This “in-group” speak is unique to each group. The only people who probably aren’t offended by it are the ones who are involved – and that’s only because they understand that nothing offensive was meant by the exchange.

Ours just happens to be geeky and revolves around technology.

I may not have belonged to Round Table. But they would never really belong to the Oblong Geek Table either.

It is 2:35 in the afternoon, on a Sunday, and I’m still in my pajamas.

Hell, I’m still lounging around in bed.

I’ve gotten up, straightened a few things, done a load of dishes, and eaten, but I’ve come back to bed.

When I’m stressed or tired or bored, I watch movies. They please me. They take me away.

My sister and brother-in-law recently traded me a 48″ widescreen HDTV for a laptop. So now I have the perfect television for movies – and it’s parked in my bedroom, along with my TIVO.

I’m watching movies today. I don’t know if I’m stressed. Or bored. Or anything. I know I’m tired. Mostly because I fall asleep during the movies and wake up, pause, then fall asleep again. When I awake, I rewind and watch until I fall asleep again.

Today’s movies are full of artists. And they are making me think.

I’ve read in all of the blogging “how-tos” that you shouldn’t blog more than once a day. That you should keep to topics. That you should do this or that or whatever. Well, heck, my audience is so dang small and y’all pretty much know me that I’m guessing you’re okay if I don’t follow the “rules” of blogging.

So what does this have to do with movies? Writing, my dears, writing.

The first movie had nothing to do with writing but it was about an artist wanting to break free. Double Happiness (1994) stars Sandra Oh as a would-be actress growing up in a traditional Chinese home but in a very progressive Canadian life. She is trying to come to terms with being true to herself and her family.

The second movie, Bright Young Things (2003) is about a writer who is trying to save up money to marry his sweetheart. In the process of saving money, he becomes a gossip columnist, a down-on-his-luck writer, and a soldier. It is set in 1930s London and has all of the appeal of the decadent ages – lots of drink, money, witty repartee, and covert happenings.

Finally, I just finished watching Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle (1994). It is about the vibrant, amazing Dorothy Parker and her friends of the Algonquin Round Table, set in the 1920s.

And this is what is making me think. If I were alive during that time, would I have been writing and being witty with all of them or am I just not brave enough to do that? Do I live too far from where things are happening to make things happen? Am I not good enough to be recognized for the things I love doing? How do you start? How do you break in? How do you meet the people who do these things and how do you become a part of that inner circle so you can do them, too?

It’s not just about writing or photography or art, in particular. It’s about anything. What is your passion? What have you always wanted to do? Do you wonder how to get that “big break”? Do you wonder how others do it?

It always seems to happen in New York or Chicago or Los Angeles. Do I *really* have to live in a huge city to make it? Aren’t there other ways?

I’m blaming this post on Erin who has gotten me to think more about movies lately. While I’ve often thought about them and their messages, I haven’t often written on that. So I blame her. Heh.

And because it’s Sunday and I always post poetry on Sundays (and there is one directly below, if you haven’t already seen it), here is another. From the formidable Mrs. Parker:

Symptom Recital

I do not like my state of mind;
I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I’d be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men….
I’m due to fall in love again.