So Hilary Duff is supposed to write a young adults book series. Yes, the girl who brought you songs such as 'Boom Boom Bang Bang' and 'I Want to Blow You Up'- songs which I just realized, together, make her sound like a terrorist threat- is going to be writing novels for our enjoyment.
I don't know about you, but I'm personally thrilled. I can't wait to see what her bubblegum-pop persona and perfectly manicured hands 'write' for us. (As if she's fooling anyone- shadow writers are becoming more and more popular, Hilary! We know there's one in your pink, bejeweled Blackberry right now! I mean...did you really think those songs were written by her?)
I can see it now, the main protagonist- a blond, waif- like teenage girl, desperate to find the perfect pedicure. But alas, all of the good places are swarmed with the smelly paparazzi- what will she do??? Then, a magical assistant pulls up a Bing listing of local in-home spa specialists and orders one straight to our heroine's door- the day is saved!! Her tootsies never felt or looked better. In the end,she learned the value of having people wait on you hand...and foot! (Oh yes, see how I went there??)
I digress. I actually kind of like Hilary Duff in a weird 'You're not Miley Cyrus' kind of way- you know? I feel like I'm not alone in this. I mean, Hilary tries to exert her individuality by painting her once petal-pink nails matte black, starving herself, and extricating herself from the tabloid scene (SO passe!). I can respect this; I was once a teenage girl, and the normal thing to do is paint your nails, dye your hair, eat only celery while hating your thighs, and carry a copy of The Feminine Mystique with you everywhere.
Little Miss 'Sweet Niblets' herself (Miley), chooses to express HER individuality by pole-dancing, dressing thirty years beyond herself, and randomly making out with everyone and everything with a 'chastity ring'. It has to be exhausting.
As a person who wants to one day become a parent, I don't see how someone like good ol' Billy Ray can let his daughter tumble down this rabbit hole. They should know better. Let us refer to the Gospel of Child Stars, book Lindsay: Chapter Two; book Britney Chapter 4; Book Haley Joel; book Macaulay; etc etc etc. I would be terrified to let my child join the top ranks of black tar heroine consumers, sex fiends, and attention whores. Call me crazy.
All I can hope for is that my children will one day look at these people with as much disdain as I do. By then, these peoples' children will be the new crop of spoiled, mindless, shells of people....with driver's licenses....and the ability to vote....I'm getting more and more terrified by the minute.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Building Myself Anew- A Vintage Post
I feel as if I've lost all inspiration. I used to attack writing with a certain ferocity that could not be matched. I write to entertain myself (narcissistic, I'm aware), and I feel as if I've lost the ability to give biting commentary and overly descriptive, dramatic interpretations of commonplace occurences- things that used to make me laugh and reassured me that, even though I've chosen this highly-structured lifestyle, I haven't completely lost a part of me.
I used to love spontaneity and freedom. I'm scared of that now, I guess. After looking back and realizing that I wasted a semester of college for being 'too free'- I'm scared if I go back I'll ruin everything again. There's so much I want in life- kids, a husband, success, my mom and dad to finally look at me with something other than disappointment in their eyes. He says I care too much what people think...and that's true. But isn't it important, what others think? Especially in the career I want to go into?
I grew up, desperate for attention and approval from anyone who would give it (we weren't the most affectionate family...). I let myself into toxic friendships and relationships, and I've been hurt and abondoned accordingly. Now, I've started trying to control everything around me, pushing people away before they have a chance to abandon me.Except, I've found the one person who tried the hardest to stay by me and I'm pushing them harder than most before them.
I used to lock the door to my room and sit and listen to music and let myself get carried away by the harmonies and melodies. I used to let the notes surround me, taking me to another place. I would get to a certain level of clarity and inspiration I would write for hours. Feelings, thoughts, observations poured from my hand to the paper below. I wrote poems, stories, quips, songs, everything. And it was fantastic. When I finally let someone read them, they were moved to tears, laughed, and kept looking at me, incredulous. "I had no idea you could write like this. It would be a shame for you not to share this." It was the best validation I could have ever received.
Shortly after, I moved from my parent's house. My mom found my box of journals, dating back to when I was five years old (yeah, seriously). She went through and read them, cut the pages out that I wrote on and burned them. All of them. I was devastated. She said I was a horrible, evil person because of what I wrote. I wrote my feelings. Some was very angry, some was very sad, and some was down right tawdry (I went to a highschool with an obnoxious pregnancy rate. Of course I was going to give blazing commentary as to the idiocracy I was surrounded with). I used curse words, talked about how I considered hurting myself, and talked about my drinking. But that was only parts of it, and she burned it all. All of my memories and my writing went up in ash because of her. I have always had serious privacy issues because of her, but they became much worse after that day.
That was the only other time I felt as uninspired as I do, now. I'm in a rut. Classworkhomeworksleepclassworkhomeworksleepclassworkhomeworksleep. I know it will pay off, but it's also costing a lot.
I have to figure out how to get back to where I'm inspired. Where maybe I'm not completely disillusioned. Listening to the Owl City station on Pandora is helping. The songs are usually cheerful, and make the simplest things so fantastic. I want to get to that point. I want to appreciate the little things. I've taken for granted how supportive my parents really are (NOW) and that they really do mean well; that I have really great friends that worry about me, and love me, and want me happy; and finally, that I have a really great thing going and he loves me completely.
I'm coming to realize that nothing is certain. Someone could be taken from you at any moment- be it death, change of job, breaking up, whatever. I need to show them (especially him) how I feel, while they're still around. I don't know what I would do without Justin, Kassy, and Hutchy (among others, but these are the main ones). I would have no one to talk to, no one to really have fun with. I don't let myself become friends with just anyone, and my circle is usually pretty small. I don't trust anyone (I was raised by a man who taught me my first full sentence, his official motto- 'Trust no one'- not kidding). And without him? It feels like my torso is empty. It hurts physically almost everywhere just knowing I've hurt him. I don't want to be the reason he's hurt, I want to protect him from it. I have to show him this.
***Soul Meets Body by Death Cab For Cutie***
He might be moving quite a ways away, and it's killing me. But I think he really wants to do it. I want to cry out and say 'NO! You're leaving me, your girls, and going FOUR HOURS AWAY! You're leaving a great job you've laid roots at!' It's like being abandoned all over again. But I can't say anything. It's like duct tape over my mouth. It's eating me away inside, but I put a smile on and say 'I want what makes you happy, and I think this will.' Because I think it will. If I say I don't want him to go, he'll get mad, but when I go with it I feel like a liar. I think if he moves we won't be together. I've done long distance. It doesn't work. And I get jealous easily. We'll never see each other, he'll get used to living the bachelor lifestyle- not having to clean up, the freedom to go out whenever, and getting to go out with whoever. I guess it just boils down to the fact that he'll do what he wants, and I just have to sit back and watch as it all goes down.
***Hey, Soul Sister by Train***- officially cheered me up.
Belated New Year's Resolution: become a better version of the old me. Become inspired. Appreciate what I have, and show them that I do.
Now...I believe I have a date with a terribly uncomfortable, prison-issue dorm bed.
I used to love spontaneity and freedom. I'm scared of that now, I guess. After looking back and realizing that I wasted a semester of college for being 'too free'- I'm scared if I go back I'll ruin everything again. There's so much I want in life- kids, a husband, success, my mom and dad to finally look at me with something other than disappointment in their eyes. He says I care too much what people think...and that's true. But isn't it important, what others think? Especially in the career I want to go into?
I grew up, desperate for attention and approval from anyone who would give it (we weren't the most affectionate family...). I let myself into toxic friendships and relationships, and I've been hurt and abondoned accordingly. Now, I've started trying to control everything around me, pushing people away before they have a chance to abandon me.Except, I've found the one person who tried the hardest to stay by me and I'm pushing them harder than most before them.
I used to lock the door to my room and sit and listen to music and let myself get carried away by the harmonies and melodies. I used to let the notes surround me, taking me to another place. I would get to a certain level of clarity and inspiration I would write for hours. Feelings, thoughts, observations poured from my hand to the paper below. I wrote poems, stories, quips, songs, everything. And it was fantastic. When I finally let someone read them, they were moved to tears, laughed, and kept looking at me, incredulous. "I had no idea you could write like this. It would be a shame for you not to share this." It was the best validation I could have ever received.
Shortly after, I moved from my parent's house. My mom found my box of journals, dating back to when I was five years old (yeah, seriously). She went through and read them, cut the pages out that I wrote on and burned them. All of them. I was devastated. She said I was a horrible, evil person because of what I wrote. I wrote my feelings. Some was very angry, some was very sad, and some was down right tawdry (I went to a highschool with an obnoxious pregnancy rate. Of course I was going to give blazing commentary as to the idiocracy I was surrounded with). I used curse words, talked about how I considered hurting myself, and talked about my drinking. But that was only parts of it, and she burned it all. All of my memories and my writing went up in ash because of her. I have always had serious privacy issues because of her, but they became much worse after that day.
That was the only other time I felt as uninspired as I do, now. I'm in a rut. Classworkhomeworksleepclassworkhomeworksleepclassworkhomeworksleep. I know it will pay off, but it's also costing a lot.
I have to figure out how to get back to where I'm inspired. Where maybe I'm not completely disillusioned. Listening to the Owl City station on Pandora is helping. The songs are usually cheerful, and make the simplest things so fantastic. I want to get to that point. I want to appreciate the little things. I've taken for granted how supportive my parents really are (NOW) and that they really do mean well; that I have really great friends that worry about me, and love me, and want me happy; and finally, that I have a really great thing going and he loves me completely.
I'm coming to realize that nothing is certain. Someone could be taken from you at any moment- be it death, change of job, breaking up, whatever. I need to show them (especially him) how I feel, while they're still around. I don't know what I would do without Justin, Kassy, and Hutchy (among others, but these are the main ones). I would have no one to talk to, no one to really have fun with. I don't let myself become friends with just anyone, and my circle is usually pretty small. I don't trust anyone (I was raised by a man who taught me my first full sentence, his official motto- 'Trust no one'- not kidding). And without him? It feels like my torso is empty. It hurts physically almost everywhere just knowing I've hurt him. I don't want to be the reason he's hurt, I want to protect him from it. I have to show him this.
***Soul Meets Body by Death Cab For Cutie***
He might be moving quite a ways away, and it's killing me. But I think he really wants to do it. I want to cry out and say 'NO! You're leaving me, your girls, and going FOUR HOURS AWAY! You're leaving a great job you've laid roots at!' It's like being abandoned all over again. But I can't say anything. It's like duct tape over my mouth. It's eating me away inside, but I put a smile on and say 'I want what makes you happy, and I think this will.' Because I think it will. If I say I don't want him to go, he'll get mad, but when I go with it I feel like a liar. I think if he moves we won't be together. I've done long distance. It doesn't work. And I get jealous easily. We'll never see each other, he'll get used to living the bachelor lifestyle- not having to clean up, the freedom to go out whenever, and getting to go out with whoever. I guess it just boils down to the fact that he'll do what he wants, and I just have to sit back and watch as it all goes down.
***Hey, Soul Sister by Train***- officially cheered me up.
Belated New Year's Resolution: become a better version of the old me. Become inspired. Appreciate what I have, and show them that I do.
Now...I believe I have a date with a terribly uncomfortable, prison-issue dorm bed.
Gratuitous Ranting
Exhaustion. You never realize how far you’ve fallen into a rut until you’re at the bottom. Your body feels like you’ve carried an 80 pound backpack up Kilimanjaro. And back down. It’s really made me stop and look back and ask, ‘Is this all really worth it?’.
I’m in a clichéd situation. I’m a poor college kid, attending class full time and working a part time job. I have to have the job to pay my car insurance, phone bill, money to go out, etc. I have to go to school because for some reason law firms look kindly on someone with a degree. I think they’re just being picky.
I realize I’m being whiny. I have student loans to help. And my parents did pay for my beautiful Cutlass Ciera (all jokes aside, while looking like it could be driving Ms. Daisy, Chico is a great car).
But when I look over to Greek Hill and see the glittery Miatas and shimmering Navigators I think, ‘Why not me?’. My parents probably make twice as much as most of their parents. Why is it my parents are so stingy with this money??? They always give me some bull answer about wanting to retire early and experience life or something but this is ME we’re talking about, isn’t MY happiness more important??
I hope to God you were able to translate my irony from there. I do think it’s superfluous to give your kid everything on a silver platter, send them to college without making them get a job, let them join a Greek organization where they’ll probably contract more STDs than Courtney Love, and never ask for anything in return. What does that even teach them?
These kids, in turn, become narcissistic, co-dependent douche bags that can’t see past their noses. Then, because of their ‘fraternal upbringing’ (one of my favorite phrases coined by the Greek organizations to put a pseudo-positive spin on things-I translate it to mean ‘we spank each other and then have orgies but we swear we’re not gay’) they somehow get a job in the ‘real’ world. This blatant act of nepotism was only acceptable in Medieval England or in areas of home repair (and even then Ms. Manners would probably suggest you not hire cousin Vinny to work on your sink).
I had a Greek guy once tell me that his organization teaches him to be a gentleman and respect women. I laughed. He glared. I'm sorry, but when the basis of your social gatherings revolves around a keg with an wet t-shirt contest to follow I hardly find that to be a very respectful activity. If anything, the objectification of women is (or should be) written into their charter. That, and homophobia. More on this subject later....
I’m in a clichéd situation. I’m a poor college kid, attending class full time and working a part time job. I have to have the job to pay my car insurance, phone bill, money to go out, etc. I have to go to school because for some reason law firms look kindly on someone with a degree. I think they’re just being picky.
I realize I’m being whiny. I have student loans to help. And my parents did pay for my beautiful Cutlass Ciera (all jokes aside, while looking like it could be driving Ms. Daisy, Chico is a great car).
But when I look over to Greek Hill and see the glittery Miatas and shimmering Navigators I think, ‘Why not me?’. My parents probably make twice as much as most of their parents. Why is it my parents are so stingy with this money??? They always give me some bull answer about wanting to retire early and experience life or something but this is ME we’re talking about, isn’t MY happiness more important??
I hope to God you were able to translate my irony from there. I do think it’s superfluous to give your kid everything on a silver platter, send them to college without making them get a job, let them join a Greek organization where they’ll probably contract more STDs than Courtney Love, and never ask for anything in return. What does that even teach them?
These kids, in turn, become narcissistic, co-dependent douche bags that can’t see past their noses. Then, because of their ‘fraternal upbringing’ (one of my favorite phrases coined by the Greek organizations to put a pseudo-positive spin on things-I translate it to mean ‘we spank each other and then have orgies but we swear we’re not gay’) they somehow get a job in the ‘real’ world. This blatant act of nepotism was only acceptable in Medieval England or in areas of home repair (and even then Ms. Manners would probably suggest you not hire cousin Vinny to work on your sink).
I had a Greek guy once tell me that his organization teaches him to be a gentleman and respect women. I laughed. He glared. I'm sorry, but when the basis of your social gatherings revolves around a keg with an wet t-shirt contest to follow I hardly find that to be a very respectful activity. If anything, the objectification of women is (or should be) written into their charter. That, and homophobia. More on this subject later....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)