Segway Into Irony

I believe many of you are aware of the two-wheeled stand-up scooter trend that has swept the nation, making way for Segway tours of every major city, Scooter races, and a litany of regular Joes wanting to look 'hip', 'green', and draw attention to themselves. I personally feel that one looks ridiculous riding on a Segway, and I really don't understand the difference between riding a Segway and simply walking (especially since walking would a far 'greener' option). However, that's for another day, another time.

Though it hit international news, many people have not heard about the most ironic thing to hit the newswire in a very long time: the owner of Segway recently died on one.

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Okay, don't get me wrong. The last thing I'm trying to do is poke fun at someone's death; however, this story really lends itself to some analyzation. His name was Jimi Heselden and he was a 62 year old millionaire (the article made sure to point out his recent charitable contributions, as well as the fact that he was rated 395th on the Sunday Times Rich List).

(I hope that when I die in a tragic accident the most important information that the paper wants to make sure everyone knows about me is NOT the fact that I had a lot of money).

He bought the Segway company less than a year ago; he was apparently off-roading in a new "rugged, country version" of the Segway, when he rode off a cliff into a river and died.

I want to start with this, how great was the demand for a "rugged, country version" of the Segway? It just seems like the last thing one would use in outdoorsy situations. Not once on any of my perpetually unsuccessful camping trips have I said, you know what would make this easier?? A segway. I'm hard-pressed to understand the reasoning behind such a product.

Though I always say, there must be a demand for it to be in development, right?

Secondly, why would this seemingly intelligent man (it takes a certain amount of smarts to be able to take yourself from a dirt-poor working class guy to a multi-millionaire) be riding so close to a cliff on such a machine? Was he attempting to cheat death on a Segway? Was he not paying attention? An even more intriguing concept would be- what if he were pushed?? Though the police ruled his death an accident, part of me was thirsty for the intrigue of a scandal. Maybe a spurned lover or ungrateful daughter- or even the butler (gasp!)took him on a little outdoor excursion with intent for revenge...

(These are the types of thoughts that keep me awake at night).

While it's terrible this man died, I commend him for going out not only with a bang, but an ironic one at that.

That Felix guy....the LUCKY one!

I was Facebook stalking one of my best friends, and his status was "really needs to stop being idealistic and needs to start being realistic". This saddened me.

This friend was one of the most optimistic people I knew. He was who I went to when I wanted unconditional love and to just be happy and have fun. Don't get me wrong, he was great at serious and in-depth conversations, as well. I just knew I could count on him for the brighter outlook on life.

What happens to us? One moment, we're looking around and everything has this Wonderland-sheen to it. Flowers are bright, honeysuckle is strong in the air, and the sun feels nice on our skin. The next minute, everything appears grungy and broken, flowers go unnoticed and untamed, all we smell is car fumes, and the sun gives us a first degree burn.

When does this happen? When does the world go from being this place with flaws we could not see? When did we wake up and become unblinded, disenchanted, and jaded? I used to believe in true love, that everyone had someone. The idea is a laughable concept at this point. I used to believe that all humans were good on the inside, and when given a choice, would always do the right thing. That, I know, is not fact.

I don't want this friend to become a realist. I admire his bright outlook and ability to see the best in others. Those are both qualities I will never possess, but I want him to. I want there to be at least someone on this earth that has a smile on their face instead of a taught, lifeless look. I guess this makes me the world's biggest hypocrite, but I guess that young, naive child that live so happily in Wonderland is still inside me, and maybe that's why I'm so drawn to this friend.

I don't know.

This Time, Baby, I'll Be Bulletproof

Do you ever get so carried away by music it feels like it's washing over you and you're in this crazy vortex of emotion? No? I'm the only crazy person out there?

Well, then. Fine. I like being a little crazy- makes every day an adventure.

That blinking cursor is so rude. It's reminding me that I don't have a lot to say anymore. It's so demanding, not only does it follow along while you write, but it sits there and dares to BLINK, just to show you how impatient it is. Rude.

It must be related to my mother. It feels the need to constantly remind you what time you were supposed to arrive at the wedding, and to further worsen the problem of your lateness, it's going to sit there and tap its foot, nagging about how your lateness is why you're single.

Don't get me wrong, I know I complain about her a lot, but I love my mom. In fact, as much as a I hate to admit it, but I'm a carbon copy of her. In the midst of a nag-fest at Randall for not lining his shoes up, I'll be thinking "Geez, Lor, shut UP"- but I can't stop my mouth! It's like nagging is a knee-jerk reaction- I can't stop! I'm a nag junkie! Oh, Lord. Watch me pop out of my casket at my funeral and start bitching at the funeral director because the flowers were not arranged according to color and height. You watch. It's going to happen.


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Does anyone else ever make up music videos to the songs they're currently listening to? I used to want to be a music video producer. I can't dance to save my life, but I would come up with this complex dance numbers that would be absolutely insane, I would have to end up writing the description. I would come up with color themes and symbolism I could insert into the context. I loved it. I actually miss working on video making. TV productions was the only class I actually liked in high school, and certainly the only reason I showed up the few times I did senior year.....

I'm weird.


So...I've started a post about frats and sororities. Who wants to see it?

How Does Gaga Like Her Steak? Raw, raw, raw, raw, raw....

There are things on this earth that I feel truly blessed by their presence: Pandora, the Home Shopping Network, Lady Gaga...I could go on. I can't help but consider this: what if I had been born in a different time period, like the Industrial Revolution? All I can say is homegirl would not be applying at the Triangle Shirt Factory- that's for sure. Better yet, what if Lady Gaga had been born in the early 1900s? Would her fashion sense manifest itself in different ways- wearing men's bowler hats (gasp!) covered in rotten fruit found outside some rich banker's house? Wearing those bathing suits to work??? Or worse...showing ANKLE on a daily basis? Would she still have those cigarette glasses? All questions to ponder when going to sleep at night....

I read an article about Lady Gaga's new video today. It said that there are all of these groups protesting its very existence, saying that it will taint America's youth, it's vile, and a whole litany of other complaints. Curious, I watched the full 'explicit' version. Overall, it was no more sexual than a typical pop song video, and no more violent than a common rap video. There was one part where she had x's over her nipples and a vag shot, but it was all blurred out. We saw more at a particular Super Bowl....

I feel like people make her a target because of her being such an enigma. People relentlessly make fun of her choice in clothes, hair, makeup, music- everything. And yet, she continues to do what she wants, wear what she wants, sing what she wants- whatever. She's completely unphased by what they say. People hate that- especially tabloids. They feel as if people should bend to peer pressure and either be visibly bothered by what they say and/or do what they say they should. The fact that she doesn't is a bee under their bonnet.

I say, you go, Lady Gaga! True, half of the stuff you wear is outlandish- but it's fun and it's you. I wish I could channel a little Gaga everyday- to be able to go about my day not caring what other people thought and doing what made me happy no matter what....

I'll try- when things get bad I'm going to take a breath and channel the powers that be- Lady Gaga, of course. Oh...and God. Lady Gaga and God....yeah.....

Thoreau, Shakespear, Plath, Dickens, DUFF?!

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.

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.

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....