A Bug's Life, ended

As my foot hesitatingly descended on a bug crawling around the bakery floor yesterday, I swear I saw its little life flash before my eyes. The bug's hopes and dreams, its innumerable children growing from eggs to larvae to adults, the rewarding one night stands resulting in its continued gene expression...

Thanks to a combination of bug personification in all those beloved Disney/Pixar movies and my brief stint as a Buddhist, I am generally incapable of killing anything other than mosquitoes (they attack first, after all).

For one thing, I just know I am causing years (or months, or weeks) of devastation to the creature's family. At least that's what happens in A Bug's Life, and I can't bear considering the ramifications of such a heartless homicide. Like, how will he/she save his/her entire colony and live out his/her full heroic potential if I cut his/her life even shorter?

For another, from a reincarnation perspective I am undoubtedly harming my chances of experiencing my next life as a cat. And I really need the sleep.

Embracing a "new" cultural phenomenon, or not

While millions of miscreant teenagers across the country are wrapping their arms around one another in a bold move commonly referred to as a "hug," I am still trying to wrap my head around the preposterous amount of media coverage regarding the latest trend in expressing affection.

Clearly, this story came about as an attempt to make reading the news a little more lighthearted. You know, hugs not drugs, hugs not powerful nuclear weapons being developed by our country's enemies, hugs not thousands of people dying everyday from HIV/AIDS. Yay hugs! What an excellent distraction!

Enter irony. With all the violence the media bombards us with everyday, the most nonviolent of acts is being challenged. Watching poverty-stricken illegal aliens being deported is an action I accept as a necessary evil, but I'll be damned if I ever have to watch two middle school-aged girls publicly hug.

Seeing hugs labeled as a trend is absurd enough. Seeing hugs banned from schools is a travesty. In these times, in any times, it's so important to have the support of friends as well as of family. Hugs are just tangible evidence of love--you know, the Bill Withers' "Lean on Me" mentality. I don't remember hearing about anyone having freak-out attacks about the form of human contact addressed in that song. Leaning leads to hugging, undoubtedly.

Perhaps we could first identify the purpose of school: for students to gain the knowledge that will transform them into thoughtful, informed adults. The purpose of a hug, obviously, is to express positive feelings, to provide comfort. Is that expression not part of creating thoughtful adults? I happen to believe that hugging, that affection in general, is crucial in our development as humans. And I can cite endless experiments to back me up.

So I have to wonder as this topic gains prevalence, are we moving so fast that we'll never have time to stop and embrace? Or are we regressing back to the Puritan era? Well, either way, go ahead and condemn me as a Hugger with a capital "H." I'll proudly bear the scarlet letter. (That unnecessary "H" in my name is my pride and joy, after all.)

A food forum of celebs, then one of my own

It all started when my dear friend Brittany and I began having a rather intense discussion about food, all based on this video of a panel discussion called Food for Thought:

I'm with Waters on this one, especially because I think we can derive the same visceral pleasure from food that Bourdain discusses while we also revel in its freshness--in its authenticity as an actual food. My response to her saying that a food's origin doesn't matter (and that some people can't afford to care) is as follows:

I honestly think that we ARE on the same page here, hard as it is to believe. Because you’re right; when we eat, we shouldn’t have to ask where our food comes from. We should feel comforted by the fact that the government is monitoring our food systems well enough to keep us safe. But they’re NOT.

Just look at all the recent food safety scares with peanut butter. How did the salmonella get in the peanut butter? Well, nobody will ever know for certain because the journey from inside a peanut shell to onto a grocery store shelf is so long and convoluted that tracing it has become nearly impossible. Instead, companies spent millions of dollars to rectify the issue by pulling all products containing peanut butter off the shelves. If we knew where the tainted products came from, it would’ve been a hell of a lot cheaper to fix.

The point is, most of the food we as Americans are choosing to eat has a much higher cost than the price tag. The gas used to produce the food, to transport the food, is obviously taking a toll on the ozone. The high fructose corn syrup, the hydrogenated oils, well, those are taking a toll on our health. Obesity, heart disease, and diabetes are all increasing in prevalence at astounding rates.

The food we consume may seem to provide only sustenance, while in the meantime it’s degrading our water sources, our soil, our air, and thus the produce that still has some integrity left.

If anything, we can’t afford not to care. Those of us fortunate enough to feed ourselves have to speak out for those who cannot. When we stop accepting the way America currently produces food, the processes will have to change. And when they do, that single mother can ensure that her children will never eat a tomato picked by a pesticide-sickened migrant worker who was deported the day he was supposed to be paid. That college student can ensure that his or her burger was not made from a cow slowly dying in its own feces.

On Proposition 8, a little late

Please excuse the rhyme. I just watched this video again, and I feel like singing show tunes:



How many years do you think it'll be before we look back on these hateful decisions to continue banning gay marriage the way we now look back on the Civil Rights movement?

There's probably five people left who think that ending segregation was a bad ahead, and they all live in Mississippi. I don't doubt that the situation will be quite similar with gay marriage, hopefully in my lifetime. After all, look at all the changes that have already occurred in our parents'. Ah, progress. I criticize our country at times for moving too fast, but this is one issue where I want to speed right along.

I read two great reactions to the California Supreme Court's decision that I have to share.

• "The Big Gay Shrug" by columnist Mark Morford
  
• "The Big Gay Chip on My Shoulder" by singer Rob Thomas

Quite different stylistically, though similar in their anger. And we should be angered. We should be outraged, in fact. To ostracize a group strictly based on their sexual orientation is to regress so shamefully--it's saying that a characteristic or situation that a person is born with or in is worthy of discrimination. Well that sounds awfully familiar...

I wish everyone would remember: None of us are free until all of us are free.

Memories of a Past May

I continue to be highly amused by my old Xanga posts. This one's from the last Tuesday in May, 2005. I was a sophomore in high school. And the sophomore-in-high-school version of me amuses the sophomore-in-college version of me to no end. Part of my reason for blogging is definitely for posterity's sake, but I often forget how nice it is just to look back. (And laugh, as the case often is.)

Summer is here at last. And it feels damn good.

I'll be the first one to admit that I am one of those banal people that absolutely adores this season. Sure, I'm a Yankee at heart, but I have never been a fan of cold weather. Anything below 50 degrees is just a little too chilly for me. My body temperature is always lower than it's supposed to be, so there's no need for my surrounding environment to exacerbate that sense. (Unless I happen to be somewhere gorgeous but cold. Then I'm willing to compromise.)

Plus, I love the feeling of soaking up some good old UV rays and letting the sun's heat permeate into my bones. Sure, tanning is incredibly unhealthy, but we all have our bad habits. That one has just matured into an addiction. Of course, it's only fun in the company of friends. Otherwise I get bored within 30 minutes. So thank goodness for fellow sun-revelers.

Naturally, the best thing about summer is the lack of school. Try to withhold your shock, because I know many people assume I enjoy school, if only because I do well in it. But you know what they say about assuming. At least school ended well this year. As if it ever hasn't. Endings, in this case, are warmly welcomed. Exams were easy except for Spanish 2, but I expected that. It's not like it made much difference anyway, since most people, including me, had over a 100 in that class.

Now I'm ready to face my report card. And yes I'll be seeing the same predictable letter grade I always see, but I'm in need of some decent final exam grades too. They help determine your class rank, and I need to be ranked 25th or lower so I can be a Junior Marshall. This all sounds so mediocre to most of you, but it's a necessity for me. My success in school will determine if I ever get out of A-hell. Not that it's that bad, but this whole area is suburbia, and I can't see myself spending my entire life here.

On that note, I must go and live my provincial, yet thus far adequate, life.

Lordy, I was such an overachiever. Okay, still am. But in a much healthier way, in my opinion. I choose the areas in which I overachieve, at the very least. And I am considerably less stressed-out. And I will never, ever care about getting straight A's again.

Hating suburbia, on the other hand? Well, some things never change.

In Memory

I won't lie; I generally consider Memorial Day to be a bonus day added to my weekend, rather than a holiday designed to honor our nation's military. Usually, I'm just about as grateful for the day off as I am for their services.

And, to be honest, I treated this one like all the rest. I lounged around, played Solitaire, and made progress on my epically-long room cleaning extravaganza.

Then I read this article. Thoughtfully composed and beautifully written, this piece about fallen soldiers caused me to stop and think about those who have risked (and lost) their lives so I could complete the banal task of artfully arranging my food studies books.

So thank you. I mean it. I hope to someday defend your rights as you have defended mine. (Though not with a gun, because we all know that would not turn out well.)

Also, Cheezburger

You should play this game if you have inordinate amounts of free time and are easily amused.

The LeaderShape Institute: Review

All better! Well, actually, I've managed to replace one affliction with another, trading an emotional breakdown for pink eye...

I feel relieved nonetheless. I have all these lovely pictures through which to peruse, and I'm realizing that getting off the plane to Raleigh was by no means an end, though the usually well-suppressed pessimist in me was screaming otherwise. Despite spending an entire week repeating the phrase "healthy disregard for the impossible," I had promptly discarded all that I learned.

Although the name of the program implies that one will be shaped into a leader by attending, I think I had that part under control from years of being an older sister and an overachiever extraordinaire. What I took from LeaderShape reinforced my hope in people. Remember how my first year of college did that for me? Well, I love being reminded.


Thus, I'm feeling way better about life. I can see my vision falling into place with tangible (and edible) results. I can also see myself 20 years from now still talking (and arguing) with fellow LeaderShapers.

The LeaderShape Institute: Recovery

I can't believe that this time last week, I was packing for Illinois, and now I'm back already. To be quite honest, I am utterly depressed. You know that feeling when you recognize that one of the best moments of your life has passed? Perhaps not. I get them from time to time, and I swear they suck all the happiness out of me. I think Audrey Hepburn's character Holly Golightly accurately described them as the "mean reds" in Breakfast at Tiffany's.

In any case, it's not the week that caused the mean reds. It's the aftermath. I want my life to always feel the way it did in that small town outside of Champaign. Instead, I'll spend the next three weeks working two jobs and preparing for D.C. I know this summer is going to change my life (it already has), but the waiting hurts.

I am physically and emotionally exhausted right now.

I'll post "The LeaderShape Institute: Review" when I'm feeling a little better.

Romanian Cuteness

WHY IS THIS GIRL SO CUTE? She's only three and she's already a professional singer!



She's like a Romanian Shirley Temple. Love her sunglasses.