Just so you know

As of Wednesday night I am officially done with this semester.

Plastic surgery made me beautiful

I have seen five plastic surgery ads in the last thirty minutes. I don't remember seeing any ads about the procedures a few years ago. Is this something new? I mean, this has got to say something about our country when there are ads showcasing multiple clinics that do the same job. Plastic surgery is a big deal. I guess I never really noticed it before. I always thought it was something only the "elite" were accessable to. Nope. I could hit up one of those clinics and getter breasts and a new chin if I wanted to. Thanks for making that a possibility?
It's great for some, I suppose. But I just wish we valued everyone's natural beauty more. I like plastic surgery for the fact that women and men can come out of a surgery feeling better about themselves--I'm all for people having confidence. But wouldn't it be wonderful if we could wake up every morning with our "small" breasts, "undefined" chin and say I like the way I look. That will never be, no matter how much I hope.

How it's Made

They will never run out of things to talk about on How it's Made. I just counted thirty things in my apartment that I've never seen on that show. Smartest move television has ever made.

What the kids are watchin'

I was walking through the neighborhood Target, looking at things to get my nieces for Christmas when I noticed the twenty fifth anniversary edition of The Last Unicorn (1982). Since it came out before I was born, some of my peers may not have gotten to experience the cult classic; my older brother and sister gave me that opportunity. I see the movie as almost a token of my childhood--I watched it all the time. So, when I saw the new packaging and digitally remastered, first ever DVD version of the movie on Target shelves, I was overjoyed. But when I watched again, I realized how incredibly dark that movie really is. My God. I asked myself how, at my young age, I wasn't scared of the spooky forest or the decrepit, wart-ridden gypsy woman. And I frankly have no idea how I survived it.
But, I realized also that this "my parents let me watch this?!" revelation wasn't the first I've ever had. The kids in my generation were exposed to some weird stuff. Really, I'm not complaining. These movies are very entertaining. Sure, there are no CGI robots or ogres; and the "passe" animation didn't even use a computer for help... just hands.
It's classic. It's a memory. And I plan on having my kids enjoy the simplistic, non-realistic, slighty frightening movies that I gazed upon when I was their age. I can't wait for the "ughh.. mom what is this crap? It's only 2D"

And the Cowboys take the field. Up next, the Jonas Brothers?

Wake up at ten. Cook until three. Say a prayer. Give thanks. Feast and then watch some football. This is my family tradition for Thanksgiving Day. But this year, something threw that tradition off.

The half time show, usually bombarded by country singers or American Idol contestants, was polluted with the frolicking new age Brady Bunch: the Jonas Brothers. Ten year old girls swooped to the stage to try their luck and touching the virgin, guitar playing fingers of one of the Jonas boys. My thirteen year old niece sprinted to the remote to turn the volume up full blast. Through the squeals you could slightly hear the catchy beats of the teen bop-ular boy band.

My dad and I glanced at each other, knowing full well what each other were thinking.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Are pre-teen Bonne Bell boy band fanatics really the type to be watching a football game? I could have sworn the target market was slightly more masculine. Not that I wouldn't love to have my nieces enjoy football with the rest of the family on Thanksgiving, but not at the expense of tradition. When I watch grown men chasing after a "pigskin" I'd rather the Jonas clan stay out of it.

Oh Reeves. Please.

See that face? Nothing.

"Where'd you learn to act? The Keanu Reeves school of acting?" Reeves is a bad actor, and you may take this blog as simply a reiteration of that. Really, it is. Because guess what? He did it again.

I'd like to say I have some respect for the man since he's been able to rise to the stardom he has, but with every movie he makes I end up punching myself in the eye because, though I can't stop watching, I'd rather be blind. Now, I have a background in theatre, so I'm partially biased, but honestly, my high school chums could not only out-act the man, but get a higher score on a math test. And Ol' Keanu is bringing agony yet again with his newest action/adventure flick: The Day the Earth Stood Still.

The film, about an alien and his robot counterpart, has a trailer that closely resembles a film that he's done three times before. The same gloomy atmosphere, the same bright green fluorescent lighting, and even a female counterpart that looks just like Trinity! And, of course, there's that face. The "what? Oh.. my.. god... I don't get it" face that Keanu has made famous.

I just wish.. I really really wish he would just stop.

Either that or make a movie with Sylvester Stallone. They would be brothers.

Oh that's her name: Emily Blunt

Any nine to nineteen year old female has at least caught a glimpse of the scene The Devil Wears Prada. The movie, a chick flick no doubt, launched an unknown actress to stardom.

Emily Blunt played the role of "Emily" in 2006's The Devil Wears Prada. From that role, she earned nominations for a Golden Globe and two MTV movie awards and won a London Critics Circle Film Award for "British Supporting Actress of the Year" and Women in Film Crystals Award for "Face of the Future".

Blunt also made an appearance in the 2007 film Dan in Real Life (which is what inspired me to write this blog about her) as a red convertible-driving date of Dane Cook. She had no lines, but it brought upon an "oh! It's that girl! The one from ... oh you know" moment.

It's no doubt that Blunt has made a name, or face, for herself, and has made herself quite a catch. The British actress has been dating jazz crooner Michael Buble since 2005.

The starlet's newest role is Sunshine Cleaning: alongside Enchanted's Amy Adams, Blunt plays the role of Adam's unreliable sister who starts a bio-hazard removal/crime clean up service to pay for her son's tuition. The film, which debuted at the 2008 Sundance Film Festival--it was purchased by Overture films and should hit national theaters soon.

Video blog

I made a video blog. Having a history in Broadcast Journalism, and being in love with Final Cut Pro, I thought I'd edit it a little. A little too much, I suppose. I broke my blog I think.

Imperative Internet

Cell phones have had access to the internet for a few years now, but the trend has only just begun. With everyone and their mother.. and daughter.. and grandma clutching a cell phone, internet access has crossed the fence from trend to necessity.

It was not too long ago that cell phones were emergency use only. In early nineties movies, it was always business that carried around the mobile--making them look hurried and busy. Of course now every twelve year old and up has got a cell phone somewhere on their person (and if they don't have it, they're probably undergoing a panic attack because of it).

And ever since the internet became accessable through our wireless talking machines, having an internet ready phone has been desired. But, it's only been recently that, because of their availability, internet phones are not just a want--they're a need.

Verizon Wireless, along with most other cell phone companies, allow you to upgrade your phone every two years. A friend of mine, ready to upgrade, refused to get anything other than a Blackberry, one of the internet ready phones available today. Her parents didn't want to pay the extra thirty dollars a month for the internet, so my friend left with no phone at all. To this day, three months later, she still has her old phone; waiting for her Blackberry.

Why are we so concerned with have internet at our fingertips, when internet became available only a few decades ago? It could be that a necessity for some was intensified by the consumer driven society we live in. Now, a twenty something girl NEEDS to get on the internet any time of the day--we can't live without facebook for more than an hour. So what's next then, I wonder? I can only hope, whatever it is, it comes after we all have our internet phones.

Statesman newsroom adventure

The smooth white columns were the first to greet me. The door swung with me--escorting me through.
"May I help you?" he asked.
I signed in and waiting. The newest issue of the Statesman, of course, layed quaintly on the coffee table in the lobby.
"You found it ok?" Mr. Barnes stood there by the elevator. I was surprised he had so swiftly come down to take me to the newsroom.
Once the elevator doors opened, the newsroom exploded with energy. The desks scattered in a seemingly non-sensical pattern filled the floor. The room, though small, kept going.
The courtyard at the center of the building welcomed a tranquility that the newsroom failed to give off. Busy, rushed atmosphere was quieted by just a few trees. The green also was in keeping with the Austin way--nature is a necessary part of life--it's at the center of everything.
Pinatas and cheerful signs comforted me. Stress that had initially consumed me upon walking through those elevator doors disappeared after seeing a brick labeled "aggie bowling ball" and a "Sue Crossing" sign on the desk where I sat.
A fortune too, from a chinese restaurant trip in the past, by Sue perhaps, was pinned to the cubicle.
Laughs circulated through.
Cheerful people were there and they chattered away.
"Did you hear Rachel Ray was coming in?"

TV-Change for the better?

If we're not taking off someone's unsightly fat or tearing down and rebuilding their house, we're sticking a camera in their face and documenting their every move. "Oh what a shame." "Oh poor guy." "Makes me grateful for the life I have."

It seems everything gracing the television screen these days is in need of help.

And it sells! We love to watch others overcoming odds. Americans can't get enough of the heartwarming sob-fests that have taken over televison. Extreme Home Makeover is raking in millions every week for doing a good deed. It's easy to fall in love with the host, Ty's, ADHD charm, the weeping, the crying. And, we're part of the action. We saw their lives change for the better.

When some people cannot be helped so dramatically like on Extreme Home Makeover, we find thrill in watching them try and function.

TLC is notorious for "oh how do they manage" documentary style shows. From Jon & Kate plus Eight to their sporadic specials like Tree Man or The Littlest People in the World or The World's Heaviest Man, TLC finds a way to incorporate modern day circus-like curiosity into cable television. We admire their will to live and how they function so unlike the norm.

But why is it so interesting? Does our society find it exciting to document lives unlike ours--or bring them into the circle of normality?

5 Entertainment Trends

1. TV-Change for the better: we're either fixing people's lives or highlighting lives in struggle.
2. Get on line on your phone. Internet is imperative.
3. Documentaries are wedging their way in.
4. Get moving--Wii, Dance reality shows, etc. Let's stop being known for our weight and start looking great. How we're getting fit today.
5. We're so popular that even the earth likes us: green is going commerical.

Taped Journals

Research papers. Blogs. Articles. I have my entire life written down.

I stumbled upon a LiveJournal I had my sophomore year. It was silly--rambunctious banter about who was dating whom, who was in a fight with whom: "I hate Jillian. Hilary's a liar. Sean! Brandon! yadda yadda yadda".

I blushed when I read it. I mean, how embarrassing is it to not only see your horrendous grammar in action but think about the relationships you have with these people now and how ridiculous you were being then. In a LiveJournal, you of your past is preaching about how they are right--you of today is realizing how wrong past you is. And yet, it's sweet.

At nineteen, because I've had my life written, I can reminisce about things that happened less than five years ago. So about that debate: "to blog or not to blog?" I say, why not. It will bring you joy in the end.

Nostalgia and porn

(Caution: I use the word "dick" in this... a lot)

On a weekend getaway in my hometown, my very best friend Hilary and I reminisced about experiences we had in Highschool and College. There were the cute tales of who dated whom, or who had a crush on what, etc. But my favorite of all of my encounters over the years was an adventure a college friend and I had last year.

I went over to my friend's apartment to spend the afternoon. No homework, nothing to study for. I wanted to just chill out. His roommate was a bit of a weird-o, but I considered him a good friend as well. Good enough that I could have fun with him. His roommate was very funny about his things; one of those people who would freak out if anything was out of place. So, out of jest, I decided to change the background on his computer.

It was then that the fun started.

I went into his My Pictures folder. There, I found four sub folders: Me, Girls, Washington, My birthday. I went with My Birthday--nothing good. I overlooked Washington--boring. Girls--well, duh. It was porn. But it was the Me folder that ruined my life. When I opened the folder, the computer exploded with images of dicks. Big dicks, long dicks, black dicks, white dicks. I screamed my friends name. He came running over and we both, then, sat huddled in a corner on the floor. Where did they come from? Who's were they? WHY WERE THEY THERE? And then to add to the shock, at the bottom of the page of genitalia, was the lone picture of a redneck holding a prize trout (no dick included). To make matters worse, in my shock I had accidentally clicked on a picture of one, making it the background to his computer.

Once I peeled myself from the floor to change the picture back to the original background, of course, I couldn't find it. I found the most similar one I could. Yet, his roommate came home and asked me if I had been tampering with his things. I said no. I mean, how could I tell him. "Oh yeah, I tried to change it back but there were too many dicks in my way."

What!?

I forget, being in Austin, that in Magnolia, Texas there is NOTHING TO DO at nine in the evening.

Get ready for some FOooooooozzzzballlll

The leaves are turning colors, there is a notable chill in the air, football season is in full swing and surprise, surprise I'm a fan. Being the self respecting Texan I am, of course im a Dallas Cowboy follower. However due to some recent events taking place within that team, I have been turned off to tuning in every Sunday to root for my boys. Most notably with quarterback Tony Romo, who due to a recent fracture in his left pinkie finger missed a few games and seriously jeopardied the Cowboys contention for a playoff spot. This, in my opinion, is completely unacceptable for two big reasons:

1. He is paid millions upon millions of dollars to play this game and win, and though he is still paid that sum while caressing his boo boo, it simply isn't fair. Play for the love of the game--not the love of money. And.. actually play.

2. It's just a pinkie. Play through the pain. Tony's hands may be important, but a broken bone the size of, well, my pinkie, is no excuse.

Players in the past have played through far worse pain and for much less money than you Mr. Romo. For example Ronnie Lott, a linebacker in the mid 80's for the Fourty Niners had his left pinkie finger ripped off in a game. He then had it hastily wrapped up and finished the game.

The same finger you had a small fracture in, Tony, this man had violently detatched from his hand and still played instead of opting to sit out a few games. I guess that doesn't say a whole lot about your commitment to the game, but now that your back and we're winning again I cant stay too mad at you. Afterall the Cowboys are still my team and your still my quarterback, and no matter how big a girl you are I still promise to have your back. I pinkie promise.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas: A review

It's Nazi Germany. Swastika's are scattered over buildings, they accompany posters heralding Adolf Hitler, but the violence that is so synonymous with the Nazi era is missing. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas opens by leading you to believe that nothing, really is wrong.

In fact, it's quite picturesque. The people are happy. Bruno, the son of a commandant in the German army, is a happy child of eight that could spend his days reading adventure novels. His world of fantasy is shaken, however, when his father is given a promotion: to be stationed on the outskirts of Germany and put in charge of a concentration camp.

Bruno, being an eight year old boy, with no comprehesion of the created societal rules and regulations, befriends a boy his age from across the fence of the camp. After several offerings of leftover sandwiches and chocolate, and a internal struggle on their boundaries as friends, a final choice is made that will change their lives and the lives of Bruno's parents, forever.

It turns out that this perfect life is an illusion that only a young boy can have. It is all sunny skies, until the end when realization hits and thunder strikes. The message is not that Bruno is confused, but that the adult actions are too difficult to understand--or rather, should not be understood to be right.

The film is not for the weak at heart. But it does send a beautiful message boiling over with irony: the kids seem to have to best understanding of love.

Text fight

With new phones comes texting, and with texting comes text fighting. The worst of all fighting, texting leaves the victims two steps away from eachother, stripping them of face to face interaction, and voice inflection. The fight can come from anywhere. It lurks, waiting for you. Your friend texts something that is interpreted as one way, but meant another--fight ensues. Your friends texts you out of the blue to tell you something you did that made them mad--fight ensues. The latter comes from social courtesy--it's hard to be mean when someone's looking right at you. A phone creates a barrier. Texting creates time. Both equal a deadly combination that leads to disaster. I, in fact, got in a text fight last night. I was blindsighted by it. I thought I was in the clear. But when that phone jingle went off--I knew something was wrong. I flipped it open, read it. I was in peril; social doom was knocking at my door. I texted back. Text fight.

Christmas Favorite: A Cajun Christmas

My dad used to go away on business in New Orleans. One holiday season, while he was there, he picked up an Orleans take on the holiday favorite: On the Night Before Christmas. Ever year since then, my family has gathered around the my dad's big red chair to hear his all-to-perfect cajun accent sing out the Cajun night before Christmas. As my dad places the santa hat upon his balding head, and his white beard begins to glow fro the fire, he tells us about Boudreax and Tibideaux--in true Cajun fashion--trying to catch Santa coming in on his sleigh being pulled by alligators. The tale tells of swampy Christmas traditions, and brings giggles from even my five year old niece. It's the family aspect, though, that makes it joyous; how my quite large immediate family can sit for just ten minutes and laugh at something we've heard millions of times before. This Christmas, I hope, is no different.

Christmas Favorite: Dad's holiday bread

Once a year, my dad walks into the kitchen and cooks something. And truth be told, it's worth the wait. In his memory is his grandmother's recipe for pumkin bread and cranberry bread. He spends the day by the oven: mixing ingredients and baking about thirty loaves--half of which are gone by the end of the day. Family friends crave it and hope that they get a loaf. My brother and sister and I are sent several through the mail; making that day the best in the world. I can't give out the recipe, because, well, I don't know it. Right now, it's a secret. But as long as my Dad makes one loaf for me once a year. I don't care.

The Santa Clause strikes again

Last night was a marathon of The Santa Clause on TV. Yep. One, two and three. I only partook in viewing the first one--it was all I could handle at the moment.

I forgot about Tim Allen, honestly. What happened to that guy? Sure, he pops up every once in a while to make a castrophic mistake (Shaggy Dog--enough said), but what about Tim "the Toolman" Taylor, who everyone adored for years? Even jolly old Saint Nick, who comes in every Christmas on ABC Family.

I can't lie. That movie brings back memories. What nine year old didn't love that movie? And now? It's a joke. Not quite a cinematic classic--it falls underneath the shelf until November-December. It comes back and we laugh at how Tim Allen is best known for putting on a hundred pounds and festive red robe. It's sad, don't you think? In a month I'll tuck it away in my memory, along with all the made for TV movies and Christmas themed comedies, until next year when I can relive this experience all over again.

Fetch?

My dog doesn't come when you say her name. She does come, however, when you flail your arms and say loud, uncomprehensible noises.

Who doesn't love some TLC

But in order to have a show on TLC, you either have to be extremely overweight, have an external abnormality, be a little person, or have more that eight kids. I don't qualify--I've never been so disappointed.

The Woodlands

The Woodlands, Texas has an air about it that I can't fully describe. You drive onto FM 2978, turn onto Gosling and it's just... charming, elegant, rich, woodsy? The people are close enough to earth that you can walk into a store you can't afford and feel welcomed, but at the same time, you still can't afford the store, so why walk in? It's a land where Wal-Marts are still sprinkled ever so slightly across it, but houses over a million dollars greatly exceed their numbers. It's a place where it is cool to do theatre in highschool AND cool to do sports. It's a melting pot of classes and systems. And... it's where I grew up.

The general understanding of Twilight

I haven't seen the movie. I don't think I want to. From what I have heard, it's a twelve year old's wet dream and a twenty year old's nightmare. Girls love it/guys hate it. A friend of mine said "bad acting, bad script, hot boys". Exactly.

I'm not going to see it.

It is disappointing though. Though I missed out on the book craze as well, I admire the author. Stephenie Meyer, who I saw on Ellen about a month ago, I found out was just a housewife raising her three children. It was a dream that inspired the book--that is now, no doubt, a hit.

It inspires me; I've always wanted to write a book. But it's amazing that how much you write is the opposite reciprocal of how much you have to write about. I'm going to take a nap I suppose.

YouTube Phenomenon

Cake Farts, Muffins, Shoes, Two Girls; One Cup, Leave Britney Alone!

YouTube has created it's own generation: one that has been broadcasted all over the internet. We (because I'm part of this generation as well) identify with these videos. They join our conversations as events that all of our peers witnessed as well.

Where the sixties and seventies had Woodstock--the defining moment for the era, we have YouTube and all the moments that come with it.

Everyone knows somebody who had a video on YouTube. My best friend had to do a contest that circulated around YouTube to win a scholarship: person with the most views/comments gets two thousand dollars to go to school.

There were even YouTube awards!

Our generations defining moments can be viewed over and over--unlike any one in the past. They're record. In history. Our children can look back and go "that's disgusting" just like we did the first time.

Laudry

I have a LOT of clothing. It's great whenever it comes to doing laundry; I can go over a month without having to wash one thing and without wearing anything more than once. However, a months worth of laundry is staring me in the face right now. It's the most viscous, frightening bundle of dirty clothes I have ever seen. And it's size only keeps me from actually doing the laundry. 

I'm still good for a few days. 

"Nananananananananananana"

Open the door. Get in the driver's seat. Put in the key. Start the car.
Now, adjust the seat, the mirrors and a/c. Turn on the radio.

And even before the trip begins, Pink ruins it for everyone.

For the past three weeks, ninety percent of the time, Pink's So What has been playing on the radio. The song, that has an uncanny resemblance to every other song by the artist, is like herpes on my car stereo: it's great when it's not on it, but when it is... painful, putrid, misery that you can't get rid of.

I cannot get past the adolescent song lyrics like "Waiter just took my table, gave it to Jessica Simps; guess I'll just sit with drum boy, least he knows how to hit". Why is that even in a song about divorce?

And this sort of writing is evident in almost every song: lyrics filled with obvious hatred towards the bleach blonde "pop" idols and so-called "hot chicks"--portray Pink as jealous instead of empowered. The immature approach to serious subjects like anorexia and bulimia also make Pink's talent debatable.

I don't deny that the woman has catchy beats that are easy to "totally rock out" to. But, I will not go so far as to say that talent is what keeps her on the radio.

The virtual experience: Second Life

It is required for one of my classes that I download Second Life--a virtual world that serves as a learning tool, meeting place, chat room, you name it. The reasoning behind why my class must acquire a second life is that currently big name companies are using the program to hold meetings with employees scattered across the actual world. All they need do is login, teleport to the location and type away. I see the program's advantages: it's convenient, you get to build the world around you, build yourself from scratch--the word that comes to mind is second life is just "cool". But, what's cool isn't necessarily what's right for our society. Look at what is lost with Second Life: there is no physical interaction, there is little reality, there is no full communication. The advantages don't seem to outweigh the disadvantages. The gap between people is continuously growing further and further apart. Even if it means getting up an hour earlier to have a meeting at the office instead of online in your pjs, something is gained by interacting face to face with people.

Why don't you grow up!

I began looking at houses this week to get an idea of what I can expect at the end of next semester. But when I stepped back and thought about what I was doing: looking at houses, I wanted to spread Dawn on a slip n' slide and run full speed, drop belly first, and coast. I'm so focused on growing up that I'm missing out on things that I won't be able to do in thirty years. Today, I start having fun. 

Dinner with Amanda

A fresh Alaskan salmon coated with an honey, apricot, teriyaki glaze accompanied with wild rice pilaf and battered asparagus. I, Mandy Odgers, have made this dish. And it was good. Typically I fit in with the "harder on yourself than anyone else" group, so me saying that something I came up with by myself was good--I'm not kidding. I'm making it for everyone in class. 

Hurricane Kona

I strongly believe that all pets should be spayed or neutered. Not just because I work at an animal hospital and I grew up watching the Price is Right, but because it's sick how many animals are without homes. With puppy mills cranking out disease ridden inbred dogs like they were trying to break a record, the innocent money making machines are left anemic in the back of a pick up truck. Truth comes out when the potential purchasers of these six hundred dollar pups can't balance cute with cost--and here we are. And on top of that, pet owners not getting their pets spayed or neutered, letting them loose to get pregnant and add to the hungry puppy population. I get it, we all make mistakes. But what if that mistake can be prevented? Dogs don't have sex for pleasure, they have sex to procreate. By spaying or neutering your pets, you are eliminating the problem and still giving a happy home to a pet in need. 

Keeping with this belief, on Thursday I went in to work with my Kona Bear to get her spayed. Though the operation was a successful one, there were some "complications". Now, don't let my story sway you from getting your pet spayed or neutered; what happened with Kona is very rare. During the surgery, she was fine. But right when the doctor was closing the incision, there was blood everywhere. Kona went cold. And the worst part was that not one of the three doctors (after two of which rushed to aid the one performing the surgery) could find where the blood was coming from. I work at the front desk at the clinic, making appointments and such, and it is absolutely horrifying having to pull people from the exam rooms and tell them to come back another time because the doctors are busy--saving your dog. By the time my shift was over, Kona was out of surgery laying on a heating blanket while her anesthesia wore off. They kept her for the next five hours watching her slowly awake from slumber. When I came back to get her that evening, I couldn't stop hugging her. Sure, I mean, she's just a dog, but if you've read my previous post about her, she really brightens up my life. The incision line went from two inches to six, enclosed by thirty staples. She is laying next to me now. Asleep. And alive. And I'm grateful. 

Christmas Favorites-Campbell's Soup

As we approach the holiday season, miniscule additions to everyday life are making everything feel Christmas-y. The piney smell of winter, the cool breeze, red noses. But I have my own holiday favorites that make the season so special and unforgettable. 

Several years ago, Campbell's Soup began airing a holiday-theme commercial for Chicken Noodle Soup. A snowman, chilled to the bone quite literally, makes a long trek through the winter weather and walks through a door of a cozy home. He sits at the kitchen table where a piping hot bowl of chicken noodle soup awaits him. As he slurps, the snow melts away, revealing a young boy, drenched but now warm. And happy, now that Campbell's rests in his belly. I'm sure everyone's seen it; it's been playing every holiday season for the past several years. But the warmth it gives off helps welcome Christmas and kicks off the long-awaited tidings and cheer. 

Ignore this

Sitting here, I came to write a blog. There is nothing to write about. Nothing. The more I think, my head beats louder than my heart. The ringing song of the computer fills my ears. The beat. The song. A voice, my classmates. We're talking about something. The more I think... This noise kills me. There are no words that are here for me. I need them to blog. Jibber jabber. Jibber jabber. And it keeps going. Half of them, God, they're about nothing. There has to be something to write about. No crickets, no flip-flops, no nonsense. I've had enough. We've all had enough. This is done.

Austin, TX - Hornsby Bend's fight against Global Warming

Austin, Texas is not taking the issue of global warming lightheartedly. Since 1988, the Hornsby Bend Biosolids Management Plant (off Highway 71, across from Austin Bergstrom International Airport) has been host to a waste management facility and research center. Engineers, scientists, and geologists are devoting their days to discovering environmentally friendly ways of coping with modern issues such as plumbing and crop growing. The land that the plant is now on was founded by Texas's first Austonians: the Hornsby colonists. And though much of the area was cleared when they first settled for farming purposes, today a lush variety of plants and trees cover the area. Staff at Hornsby Bend use the regrown plant life to describe the carbon cycle to visitors and that change is possible. The facility, open seven days a week to all visitors from dawn till dusk, is committed to highlight greener, more efficient practices. Located on the site is a bird observatory built from compacted straw and clay and held up by cedar trunks from the Austin area, trails that showcase the area wildlife, and a picturesque view of the Colorado River. The research that is currently being compiled is how to use biofuels effectively to reduce carbon emissions. The Hornsby Bend staff is taking Methane gas and processing it with algae to create what they call "Dillo Dirt"--a soil that's nutrients enhance the flourish of plant life without adding excess carbon or methane. The dirt is then used to foster growth of plants which work to consume carbon and emit oxygen. The major theme at Hornsby Bend is carbon sequestration: keeping greenhouse gases out of the atmosphere, and reducing the ones that are already there. Their Dillo Dirt does just that. Researchers there hope that their facility will be carbon negative within the next few years. Though the work of the Hornsby Bend researchers is only a small step in reducing Austin's carbon footprint, with research like this in the works, there is hope for a cleaner, greener future.

A true mother

My mother turns fifty nine on wednesday. All she wanted from her youngest daughter was proof that she got a flu shot. 

It started out innocent

It's odd that I detest being a student, when I could watch informational television all the time. I'll tell people it's my calling: watching TV. Unfortunately, I think I've learned more and remembered more about history from the History channel than I have in my almost sixteen years in educational institutions. Perhaps I'm taking it the wrong way--I'm not meant to learn this way. Or the schools are. Or maybe we should be able to create our own curriculum of classes that truly interest us. And college should be free! And teachers should be paid more! This is an example of a blog which gradually turned into a rant. 

Odgers '08

When I'm president, everyone's getting a free teeth bleach. White teeth make everyone happy. 

Mel Brooks is the best thing that ever happened

If anyone has ever watched a movie, it should have been directed by Mel Brooks. Everyone of his films, and believe me I've watched every one, is something beyond "what the hell?" and into the stratosphere of "awesome". The curious characters, witty remarks and sarcastic parodies of almost everything are what makes his movies something different. And watching Mel Brooks himself, you are not too surprised by how his movies turned out. If anyone has every heard of the two thousand year old man, you get what I'm saying. His spunk has lightened my mood for as long as I can remember. My mom even sent me a quote yesterday. It's perfect. 

"Look, I really don't want to wax philosophic, but I will say that if you're alive, you got to flap your arms and legs, you got to jump around a lot, you got to make a lot of noise because life is the very opposite of death.  And therefore, as I see it, if you're quiet, you're not living.  You've got to be noisy, or at least your thoughts should be noisy and colorful and lively."

Mel Brooks

He's going to be one of those celebrities for me that I don't know at all, but I still find myself weeping when they die. 

My wish

I'm going to win the lottery and buy a blue house in Michigan. That's all I want. 

Kona

This piece of shit dog is the love of my life. She drives me nuts, she eats my shoes, she runs and plays and smiles bigger than I've ever seen a dog smile. When she was five days old, she came to the clinic I worked at. Her leg was cut open. The owners didn't want to pay for her. She was abandoned. At six days old she took a dump on my arm. At six weeks old, I took her home. Though I think I hate her, I truly love her. In a time where I feel most vulnerable to unhappiness, her ambiguous affections are what keep me laughing. 

Mandy and Entertainment Journalism

Why I feel I'm not right for this profession:

-I write as if I'm talking to myself

-I blog about moments, things, that aren't of relevance to anyone. They're just a brief second of reflection on something obscure.

-I use I too much.

-I can't blog every day.

-I don't have anything entertaining to blog about. 

Ironically enough, I am taking a class on entertainment journalism. It has taught me a lot. If I plan to be a journalist I have to change. 

Texas Renaissance Festival 2008

A cult-like obsession some, a tradition for others, the Texas Renaissance Festival opens it's gates for a thirty-fourth season.

The Festival, held for eight weeks every fall in Plantersville, Texas, takes you back to the sixteenth century for mirth and merriment. The set-up is this: King Henry VIII is visiting New Market England, and the town scurries to open their finest shops, cook their most decadent foods and provide the most exciting entertainment. It just so happens that people from the modern world can walk into their world to be a part of the excitement.

For three years I was a part of this celebration--portraying a French princess. I laugh about it today, but admit that though the festival is pure illusion, there is a sort of magic that looms over it. It was by far the best job I ever had.

Keeping up with the created tradition of the Renaissance Festival, I made the yearly visit over Halloween weekend with my family. The shows were all there, the food was accounted for, the shops were full, but there was a difference this year: no magic. I was disappointed.

The performances by both sidewalk and stage performers, which I hold dearest to heart, were far below the standard I uphold. There was no mirth. No merriment. What was once a place for escape--leaving your century for another one that held so much fantasy--was replaced with something out of a brochure. The performers were mannequins for well-sewn costumes; their job seemed to be leading you to the nearest shop to buy memories, instead of having them. Honestly, I was heartbroken.

The Renaissance Festival emits a sort of joyous feeling: you are in a different place, allowed to be a different person, and immerse yourself into another century. But when the performers aren't helping you along, it makes it harder to differentiate a moment from just an hour at a theme park. Compared to the years I spent there, it just wasn't the same.

photo taken by Greg L. Jones-Texas Renaissance Festival 2005
http://www.pbase.com/wyojones/image/102783947

Motivation

School is becoming more of a challenge than I ever anticipated. Though I am a good student, the lack of motivation I have is making me struggle to keep up. I hate to sound too over dramatic, but what's the point? I study a field without focus, I pursue a career I don't care for (nor do I excel at). Every day I wonder the same thing: why am I doing this? I've stopped trying. 

More like learn to stink

Thank God that I was able to learn how to write, because one thing my broadcast journalism class has taught me is that I do not have a voice for radio. My ears have apparently altered my voice so that when I heard a recording of myself, I couldn't... I still don't believe that it was me. The voice I heard was a mousy redneck. Now that I have that knowledge of myself, I have gone into a deep depression. I wish this University would stop telling me that I certain things I want to do, well, I can't do them. It's not inspiring. I'm learning to think that I suck.

House of Torment. and horror and terror and on and on

The premier scream, a shocking shriek. And from that moment, terror lurks. That banshee's bawl that brought them out. All will be hell now. The senses wail. Vision fails. And all that's heard is that beating heart. They're there. And there. They're up and down. They're in front of you. They're everywhere! And you never saw them once. Until it was too late. There's three now. There. And a corner behind. Your legs melt. Your thoughts are raped. And feeling falls away. Your mind is haunted now. Three become more. Comfort drifts. Too fantastical to grasp. The whispers, the screams, the beating heart rain over you. Your sanity floods with fear. Breath is heavy. Peace is breaking. Palms are sweating. I can't take it. I can't. I can't take it. Get away from me! And you run.

Two ideas for House of Torment

My ticket was in my pocket waiting patiently to be released. My conscience wasn't so lucky. It twitched in curiosity and fear. My shaking hands gave the ticket to the gentleman at the entrance. He ripped it in half. My ticket, my security blanket, was broken. There was no going back. I'm fine. I'm fine. It's fake. The door lurked toward me like an omen. I wasn't ready for this.
"No Touching"
"If you need to leave, let one of the monsters know"
I approached the door. Oh my god. My heart was racing. They swung open.

My stroll with Clown man.

I thought the actors were supposed to be designated to certain rooms, but for the last mile and a half (or so it seemed) through the House of Torment, Clown Man was right there with me. You would think that his stalking would bring more fear out of me, but IT was more of a backup, a security blanket. A homeboy, if you will. That clown had my back. Once he was there, warding off zombie children with his toothy, never ending smile, and that small-country sized carnival hammer that he occasionally swung towards my face, I felt safe. His soft, breathy "oobie doobie"s that fluttered into my ear were like a gentle whisper. In half-dead clown language he was saying "everything's gonna be alright". He even escorted me to the end. I should have given him my number. We could have had something there.

This Texas blood isn't meant to be frozen

Write right now. Right write now. I can't write right write now. I can't write right now, right? Right, I can't write. Write? no... right. My jumbled mind is dancing. I blame it on air conditioning. Sixty degrees inside flushes my face, transforms my nose to a cherry red, hunches my shoulders, changes the skin on my arm to the chicken variety, and I shake uncontrollably. It makes my mind wander but not in the typical elegant way, where words come easily to express the flow of thoughts... instead I ramble and shiver. Is it necessary to have the temperature this low. Am I write? Right. My god.

It's all about Cuba

Perhaps the worst decision I've made this year is choosing to take a class surrounding the relation of Globalization and Global Warming. The name should be changed. "We're all gonna die" is better. Obviously, the class is filled with discussions of less food and water, massive warfare and bloodshed, environmental destruction, etc. This week we specifically talked about the option of localized economy once the world inevitably comes to an end. The poster child for local economy: Cuba. That's right, the country with citizens raring to swim across an ocean to join retirees in Miami, is the most likely candidate to survive the impacts of global warming. After Russia, their only trade partner, endured a catastrophic economic breakdown in the eighties, Cuba decided they had enough with trade altogether. From then on, the country relies on their own towns to produce food and not other countries. The island is over 80% independent. And nutritionists love it! Protein from fish and chickens instead of cattle. Vegetables. Fruits. So not only are Cubans going to survive a potential Apocalypse but they'll do it in great shape. I envy that idea. I can only imagine what America would be like if we relied on only ourselves. Who am I kidding? The grain belt can't make enough pancakes for frequenters of the IHOP.

Replacement umbrella

I got out of my 2-3:15 class today at 2:15, leaving an hour to sit around and wait for the rain to pass. Though the rain drizzled slightly when I first entered Fleck Hall, fifteen minutes later, just my luck, it had transformed into a hurricane. Amazing how that happens. As I sat surrounded by enormous windows showcasing the dreary visage of a rainy day, all I had to indulge in was the last remaining copy of the Hilltop Views. I knew I could join the rest of my peers and hold it over my head as a replacement for my forgotten umbrella but, instead, I took it in my hands and read it. Ever since the internet, the physical newspaper seemed archaic and rudimentary. I had begun to overlook the simple joys that came from the paper--what the internet fell short on. As the pages turned I inhaled the distinct smell of that thin and easily tear-able paper. A smell as if you were walking through a library: scholarly, historic, and woodsy. I noticed my fingertips had become a light gray, highlighting words and phrases that they had happen to be placed upon. The internet, I thought, took those things away from me. The minds of journalists are less tangible. The blaring screen cannot not leave their words on my fingertips to be remembered. The rain ceased and the sullen cloud let a little sun peek through. I stood with my newspaper. I placed it back on the stand. I left remembering that what had brought me joy on a rainy day was the intentional form of a replacement umbrella.

Facebook chat is the new way to argue

Arguing is only easy when it's with your mother. For your peers, arguing is a little bit trickier. Unlike your mother, your peers can decide not to like you anymore, so when it comes to a tiff, altercation, confrontation, etc. one must go about the right way of handling it: facebook chat.
Face to face discussion offer you the chance to screw up. You could make an angry expression, sigh in frustration--this opens the door to a huge argument. Facebook chat allows you to hide those expressions. What was once, "ugh, ok Carol" becomes ";) k carol". Perfect. Bad argument avoided.
In the case where you want to express your thoughts without being trampled on there's a simple solution: type faster. Facebook chat wins again.
Finally, say you want to make a point but usually your too nervous. With facebook chat, there's no one looking back at you, just their words. Sure, you may never see them again, but hey, you won!
Facebook chat is more than just a way to stalk; it's the way we communicate.

A review of sorts

It is the second largest major on the St. Edward's University campus. With four focuses: Organization, Media/PR/Advertising, Rhetorical Studies and Culture, communication majors are easy to come by. The practicality is evident. But with the university popping out Comm Majors like Orville Redenbacher, are there going to be enough jobs out there for all of them?
Communications is a versatile major that leaves endless opportunity for exploration. Speaking as a communication major at St. Edward's, I share my own advantages and disadvantages to the choice of study.
The advantage of pursuing the major, like I mentioned, is that Communication doesn't tie a student down to one particular way of thought. Unlike business or psychology or biology, etc, Communication is versatile enough to prepare you for law school or put you on the nightly news.
However, because of its versatility, the major can create confusion for those wanted to pursue it. Where do they go after college? What focus do they have? And in regard to the particular focus of Media/PR/Advertising, there is a steady decline in these areas of work. What's a student to do?
Communication prepares a student for exploration and invites intrigue, but at the same time creates an excessiveness of possibility.

The worst time of day

Eleven sixteen. 11:16. I'm hungry! I'm tired and there's nothing to do. Because, it's eleven sixteen. It's too late to sleep. It's too early to eat.
I made a wish on 11:11 that I would get out of class early. It's eleven sixteen. I'm in class. There's no hope to eleven sixteen except for it's end. The longest minute.
It won't end. Eleven sixteen!


...

Eleven seventeen. 11:17. I'm hungry! I'm tired and there's nothing to do. Because, it's eleven seventeen.

The point of ACL is...

I went in Zilker park this weekend with no apparent knowledge of the attending bands or music in general. I bought my tickets six months ago fully aware that six months later I would be walking in to Zilker park with no apparent knowledge of the attending bands or music in general. I did not prepare. I did not study. And, now, I'm in love with N.E.R.D.
You see, the point of MY ACL is that I am able to see firsthand what people have fallen in love with days, months, years prior. I'm not stealing their bands; I'm realizing why their so loved.
And while I was dancing my heart out while Pharell sang "all the girls standing in the line for the bathroom", I said to myself "I get it".
I bought their CD and I have not taken it out of my stereo. I still uncontrollably shake my shoulders every time I hear them. And so what if I'm late; I'm not a true fan. I'm on their side now thanks to ACL.

Love story for something higher

The sky is vast. She is temperamental and ambiguous. The sky is one of my favorites because, like people, she is constantly changing. In the morning she is clear as if it is open to starting over again: she welcomes the world with another chance for a good day. The blue hue makes the world calm. She is relaxed. But at any given moment her mood can shift releasing a dark, tumultuous cry. Why does she cry, I wonder? Is it that she cannot be seen by the bright lights created by those whom she towers over? Is she sad? Or is she just a sky. Imagination, perhaps, makes "she" from "it". Whatever. Whoever. Today, there is beauty above.

Austin City Limits: weed, bikinis, and music

My very first ACL. Hopefully not my last. Though I stood out like a sore thumb: jeans, straightened hair, and a brain filled half empty of musical knowledge--I had one of the greatest times in my life. At one moment I laid on a blanket in the grass, looking up at the cloudless sky and just let all the music from all the bands envelop my entire person. The dust and smoke consumed me. I listened. I danced. I stood in the back and watched people experience this same thing: a consumption. An overdose of music. The way the eyes lit up when a band took the stage and played their favorite song. It was amazing. Music has been described as having a "scene"--at ACL, it was an entire act. ACL was a show in itself, one that I hope I can see traditionally.

What a degree gets you.

A career, respect, friends. Maybe even a wife! There are countless things a degree can get you. But one thing that grows with the number of degrees you have (at least for some) is an attitude. Now, I've had many professors with who knows how many diplomas and they've been respectable, intelligent people who I truly enjoy learning from. But... there are some that stretch my sanity with every ounce of their being. I don't blame their degrees, they're "oh so many" degrees. They're "I'm so much smarter than you peons" degrees. I blame them as professionals. Since when did college become an institution that makes you look smarter but makes you feel more stupid with each passing semester? To those professors out there who not only fail to teach appropriately but fail to give respect to those who are paying for the education they can provide, I give you a "D".

St. Edward's University

It's small and private setting give Austin a charm typically unseen. But as far as an educational institution, how does St. Edward's University rank?
The campus looks like someone took a chunk out of a quaint northeastern town, cranked the heat up thirty degrees, and killed some grass. But the overall look is rather appealing. The century old buildings portray some history and offer credibility.
It is small, only a few acres with buildings sporadically placed amongst it. But I believe the students find the size an endearing quality, if not one of it's selling points.
St. Edward's University excels academically. It's MBA program ranks as one of the highest in the nation. And though the bachelor's program falls short of the list, students gain a knowledge that is respectable.
One of the best qualities of the university is it's focus on real-life knowledge rather than textbook knowledge. And unlike most catholic institutions, does not focus heavily on religion.
Overall, the University has both educational and aesthetic appeal.

Seventeen: not just a magazine but a culture!

They have spunk, and they dress totally rad. They're seventeen and they're just about to go to college.
Seventeen year olds are at the top of their game. They're seniors in High School: their the big guys, the older kids, the upper-class. And all too soon they will be thrown to the sharks in the life-changing experience known as "getting a degree". So, they must live it up while they still can!
I think that's what makes them so... annoying? They create a culture of sorts: self-conscious, but they hide it by saying "dude, look how totally RIPPED I am!"
When they finally get here, they are the Napoleon Bonaparte's of the university world. Small and vicious. Like ferrets with rabies. Losing their mind because unlike the last semester of high school, this takes work.
They do the work though. And find time to party. Which then creates a co-culture: next generation seventeens. Seventeen year olds don't grow up, they get older. So now, they are buying stocks, can drink till they puke, and they still dress totally rad! The seventeen year olds of today are not taking life like a challenge, but a party. My rating of this culture: B. Not too shabby on trying to make everything fun, but, seriously, don't help me do my taxes.

Austin Tea Party

Tea parties are something that should have never left our generation. It's as if the youth of America, aside from three year old girls, missed out on the opportunity to gather in mid-afternoon to delight in conversation with the ladies of the town. Even when writing about it I feel that I have to be from Savannah. The voice in my head has gradually shifted to southern belle. Why is it though? For my thirteenth birthday, me and my closest friends had a tea party (an ACTUAL tea party) at the Ritz in downtown Houston. I had a great time. But, unfortunately, because of the standards my peers have placed upon me, if I go to a tea party now, or mention that I plan to attend one, I will be scoffed. If you are one of those who feel that way... you are not invited to my tea party.

Ice-ka klick klick-cream

Sure, Amy's is notable for their interesting flavors, some even including alcohol, and who doesn't like that? But also what must be mentioned about Amy's Ice Cream is it's character. Amy spared no expense on making this little ice cream shop pure Austin. Even the employees are entertainers.
On my good friend Lindsay's twentieth birthday we hit up Amy's for some celebratory treats. We of course mentioned the fact that it was her birthday and, being overtly confident and most likely annoying, demanded a birthday song and dance. We all laughed and went to have a seat.
It was then that Amy's became not just an ice cream shop. One of the employees straps on his tap shoes, jumps on a piece of ply wood and goes to town. I went into Amy's ice cream expecting two scoops of chocolate and I got a show! And Lindsay received the best birthday present ever: a personal tap dance accompanied by delicious ice cream.
The ice cream at Amy's is great, but the atmosphere is now the selling point. Only in Austin can you find local entertainment and desert all in one, and at no extra cost.

The best question

Today I was asked "which road sign describes your sexual life?"

Now I can't help but laugh when I see "road humps ahead".

What's yours is mine

People come up to my dog and just assume that it is theirs. One woman today literally got in her face and said "you wanna come home with me?" then turned to me and said "looks like she's going home with me!"
Excuse me ma'am, that would be theft.
People don't do that with babies! You don't touch a baby with the hand that just picked your wedgie.

Shades of joy

I bought a lampshade and it is quite possibly the best purchase I've made in a while. It's deep raspberry shines onto the wall from my lamp with elegance and passion. I love my lampshade. The beauty it gives my bedroom is awe-inspiring. People will walk into my bedroom and think "oh my, this room! It has such warmth. How does such a room give off such majesty?!" I will cooly reply with "my lampshade". This lampshade is my ticket into a better life! A better home! A better room! Twenty five dollars has bought me more than I ever thought it would!

Or I just watched a show on wine tasting and thought that I could apply it to a household object.

Success.

WTF?

If today's generation gets it's way, future conversations will consist entirely of acronyms.


I really hope I'm dead by then.

Thanks cold front!

Wavering Ike finally hit landfall in the Houston area. Though businesses across Austin worried that rain would drown upon them, creating floods across the hill country, sure enough, they didn't come. Hardly a sprinkle hit Austin.
Last second a cold front came and saved us, and, ironically enough brough amazing weather. Look outside! There's a chill in the air, a soft wind: it's beautiful. The cold front fought off the bad weather and gave us great weather.
I'm thinking it's my new BFF.

Happy balloons

My roommate and I joke that the song "99 red balloons" is actually a metaphor for life. Let me explain. Upon birth, you are given 99 red balloons which resemble happiness and stability. If something bad happens a balloon pops; if something good happens a balloon inflates. The point is to remain at a steady 99 balloons. Not excessive: you're not the weird girl that can't stop smiling. And yet, you are happy.
Obviously the balloons are imaginary; I'm not walking through life surrounded by them. But the thought of having so many happy things, even if something bad happens, makes me a little less inclined to think that my life sucks. So if you wake up with a zit on your face, it's OK. You still have ninety-eight left.

Invasion

I found five crickets in my apartment today. If there are more crickets than inhabitants of the household, that's far too many. Why is it that Austin has so many? I don't like it

Take care of your pets.

The nickname "man's best friend" doesn't go without saying. Dogs, or pets in general, can make us healthier, happier people. After all, we aren't lonely; we have something that will unconditionally love us until the day they die. You'd think after all that our best friends give us, we could give them a little something back.
I've worked at a vet clinic now for a few months and I'm still left speechless. I can't count the number of times that I've heard "can't I just put it to sleep?" or "I don't wanna spend all that money on him, I'll just take him to a shelter". Your pets are your responsibility. They alter your happiness and you control theirs. I will never understand the inconsiderate actions we take upon living things.

We're losing sight of shoe

I've noticed a decrease in foot coverage. Everywhere I go there are toes. Painted, stinky, fungus-ridden--I've seen more toes than I can count. But, it's all as of recent. Have our feet become so suffocated that we must let them breathe? Do they feel they're missing out on the world? It's SOLE, not SOUL. My shoes have a purpose: to shield my delicate toes from the evil, dirty world. How can a flip-flop win the battle?

Journey Haiku

It's who you go with
Traveling can be magic
Or a big migrane

He's young, he's singing, he's Frankenstein... on Broadway

It wasn't too long ago that Mel Brook's highly acclaimed film The Producers became a Broadway mega hit. After winning Tony Awards and spawning a movie turned musical turned movie-musical, it is no surprise that another one of his multi-generational hits, Young Frankenstein would soon take the stage.
The movie was a comedic masterpiece when it hit theatres in 1974. "Walk this way": the memorable line said by Igor to Fredrick even sponsored the popular song by Aerosmith. With all this acclaim the Broadway version would be a huge hit! Right?
Truth be told, it's fame kicked it square in the face. The movie just can't seem to be beat. When you get to the theatre expecting to relive the memories the movie created, watching with anticipation as the dialogue nears your favorite scene, all to find out that they've turned "Would you like to have a roll in zee hay" into a catchy broadway jingle... it's disappointing. Better luck next time Brooks. Maybe your fans will love the idea of tap-dancing cowboys for Blazing Saddles.

The next few blogs

I spent this last weekend in New York City: a town driven by fashion, business, and technology. Ironically enough, I didn't have access to internet so instead I wrote my blogs in a journal to be later inputed into my online journal.

Cinematic Feminism gathers St. Ed's students

There is no greater way to spend the summer, in my opinion, than going through the Everest-size rack of movies in your living room and watching each and every single one. Movies, for some, can stir up all kinds of memories. You got your first kiss during Zoolander, you cried the hardest during Million Dollar Baby. Whatever the story, movies have an overwhelming hold on our emotions.
One movie that stuck out in my collection this summer was Iron Jawed Angels. I ended up watching it three times.
The film didn't stir up any memories but it did put into perspective the memory some women had over eighty years ago: getting the vote. And yet, the strong beats of the music, the nature of the characters, and the angles of the camera which gave off a modern flare, made it seem that women today just received it. That I just received it. A woman my age can watch and feel empowered, even if we've had the right to vote our entire life.
A small group of St. Edward's University students are celebrating women this week and gathering to watch the movie. It's a small gesture for feminism, but it's comforting, I'm sure, to know that even those who didn't have to fight, are still grateful of the outcome.

Carrot Top VS An Olympian

America is by no doubts a fame-driven society. Our culture is obsessed with people who we imagine to be just like us, only better. They have what we want: talent, money, and a fan base, and we're fascinated by that. But what at one point was expressed through a gentle, applauding nature has now gone down the drain.
Thanks to "journalists" at TMZ, celebrities are comparable to sideshow freaks.
Even Shawn Johnson, who took home the silver medal in overall gymnastics no more than three weeks ago, who rose to fame and adoration, who accomplished far more than almost anyone her age, has since been ridiculed for what else? Her looks.
TMZ of course snapped back with "No one complained when we made fun of carrot top." Which floors me because, well, who wouldn't want to have what carrot top has.
What I wonder is if the motive behind making people who have what we desire is to make them look undesirable.
What drives our obsessive nature with things we want to have and people we want to be is the self-conscious way of life that is so inescapable. It fuels our economy, it fuels our decisions, and it fuels TMZ.