November Synopsis

Because I don't have time for an in-depth post, here are the highlights of my life this November. It always proves to be an exciting month.

• Obama was elected
• I turned 20 and thus became a mature adult
• He called me and wished me a happy birthday, a message I promptly deleted
  
• I went on a retreat and made best friends
• Three Asians (Chinese, specifically) came home with me for Thanksgiving
• I was accepted into the Institute for Political Journalism, Summer 2009
• I am going to D.C. in 6 months!
  

It's a new day... and change has come

I thought I would add this video I just found of Will.i.am's song "It's a New Day", which debuted on Oprah Friday. I find the placement of the pictures behind him just as moving as the words themselves. I've never been a big fan of the Black Eyed Peas, but this song really is an amazing piece.



I woke up this morning
Feeling brand new
Cause the dreams that I've been dreaming
Have finally came true
Yea, I woke up this morning
Feeling alright
'Cause we weren't fighting for nothing
And the soldiers weren't fighting
For nothing
No, Martin was dreaming for nothing
And Lincoln didn't change it for nothing
And children weren't crying for nothing
It's a new day


Now let's compare that to Sam Cooke's song "A Change is Gonna Come," written in 1963, before the passage of the Civil Rights Act. He died several months after the act was passed. I won't even pretend that both of these songs don't give me chills.



I was born by the river in a little tent
And just like the river, I've been running ever since
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die
I don't know what's up there beyond the sky
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

I go to the movie, and I go downtown
Somebody keep telling me "Don't hang around"
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

Then I go to my brother and I say, "Brother, help me please"
But he winds up knocking me back down on my knees

There've been times that I've thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

Appropriately enough, Obama quoted this song in his victory speech Tuesday night:
"It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America."

Oh Yes, We Did

Well, I'm a little delayed in my response, but better late than never.

Even as I was experiencing the present tense on Tuesday night, I already felt like I was living through a moment in history; like we were all there as actors, recreating a defining election day for our country.

It is as though the mental picture I took of the immense crowd on Franklin Street has already been immortalized in U.S. History textbooks. I don't know, maybe it has.

I'm looking forward to seeing what the future holds. There will be little room for error, but there is also so much room for hope. We lost that hope for awhile, but here it is again. With Obama lies possibility and opportunity, the thought that "if we can do this, than we can do anything."

Already, our president-elect has become an icon. Perhaps with time his face will become synonymous with the red, white and blue of the American flag.

It's time for us to accept a new color anyway.

To the tune of "The Apology Song"

I'm really sorry mom, but your bicycle's been stolen.

I've never had anything stolen from me before. I've never stolen anything before. I can't imagine taking anything that wasn't mine, though thank goodness I've never had to be in a situation desperate enough to necessitate stealing.

I got this sinking feeling in my stomach today when I looked at the empty space on the bike rack where my bicycle had been several days earlier. The lock was simply cut off. And I keep asking myself who would steal bicycle while bawling over the loss. Then again, I would prefer to lose a bicycle rather than something more substantial. Like my car or my mind, for instance.

But still, it's strange, the attachments I form with non-living objects. I have a propensity for personification. Obviously I'm aware of the fact that my bike isn't cold and scared right now. We've just shared a lot of good memories.

In any case, I'll be spending the next few days mourning.

There's Something about the South

Okay, fine. I'm ready to make a confession after oh, approximately 10 years of denial.

I like the South. I might even love it. And I don't resent my parents for moving us below the Mason-Dixon line.

In fact, I think the decision was an excellent one.

Between my trip to New Orleans and the one I took to Memphis this summer, I have come to realize my great appreciation for southern culture, and perhaps even acknowledged the existence of southern hospitality. (Isn't it funny how going somewhere else is often the only way to know where you are?)

Whether on Beale Street or Bourbon Street, there's no denying an identity unique to the South. I know that those iconic streets don't have the most wholesome reputations, but they remain unapologetic. They are what they are. Even northerners can relate to that.

And the cities themselves are a delicious combination of sensory experiences. There is more than just bright lights and traffic. The food, the music, the people... I've learned that little of it is greasy, whiny and podunk, as I'd previously perceived.

This new perception comes at an interesting period of my life. I've decided that throughout my undoubtedly privileged life, what I have always lacked has been a sense of culture.

Christmas and the occasional deli order of liverwurst. That is essentially the summation of my religious upbringing and understanding of my German heritage. That's fine. I went to the Greek festivals, to Chinatown, to several thousand Italian restaurants thus far. I know I have cultural options if I seek them out, but I feel like I'm lacking the birthright.

I'm probably being silly, because I was lucky to grow up eating out of the American Melting Pot. Sometimes I just wish my spoon knew where to rest its head at night.

The South could be that place for me. I'm not going to live on fried chicken or (ever) listen to country music, but I could definitely return here, upon spending a few years gaining a worldly perspective and whatnot. There's certainly a lure in metropolises where warmth is locally grown.

Maybe there's just something in the water of the Mississippi.

Traveling from one world to another

I am off to New Orleans!

For whatever reason, I've been listening to Randy Newman's "Louisiana 1927" repeatedly. Maybe it's just providing the strength and motivation I need for the next few days. I will undoubtedly confront a lot of social & political issues, but hopefully encounter a lot of hope as well.

What has happened down here is the wind have changed
Clouds roll in from the north and it started to rain
Rained real hard and rained for a real long time
Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline

The river rose all day
The river rose all night
Some people got lost in the flood
Some people got away alright
The river have busted through cleard down to Plaquemines
Six feet of water in the streets of Evangelne

Louisiana, Louisiana
They're tryin' to wash us away
They're tryin' to wash us away
Louisiana, Louisiana
They're tryin' to wash us away
They're tryin' to wash us away

President Coolidge came down in a railroad train
With a little fat man with a note-pad in his hand
The President say,
"Little fat man isn't it a shame what the river has done
To this poor crackers land?"

No More Singing the Bus Ride Blues

Yesterday, as I sat on the bus, headed for the chiropractor, I heard two older women discussing the many afflictions with which they were plagued. Actually, now that I think about it, I would have had plenty of complaints to contribute to the conversation, already, at my age. Mostly courtesy of my spine.

Anyway, one woman had just had her gallbladder removed. (If anybody knows the purpose of that particular organ, please let me know.) She also just underwent hip surgery. The other had just endured a particularly nasty ant attack while in the garden, which reminded the first woman that she'd recently been bitten up by chiggers while lying in bed. Who even knew those still existed?

Their conversation did it for me. Those women officially secured my complete and utter adoration for riding the bus.

There's something so rewarding about taking public transportation. It's giving your seat (to one of those old ladies) just because it's polite. It's reading the tattoo of the rider next to you and wondering what compels him to "write," as spelled out on his arm. It's overhearing a seemingly taboo conversation between two strangers.

I find reassurance in the activity. Sure, the interaction is forced, in some regard. We all have places to go and people to see. People, presumably, other than those on the bus. But for that brief time, I feel so at ease with the knowledge that we're all people, and we're all in this together. (Accidental Ben Lee reference. Good song though.)

In this digital age, I fear we are beginning to forget. Twitter and Facebook status updates keep us linked, but remotely. Can much of an emotional reaction be summoned by 10 words on the screen written by that guy you used to know and don't remember how but the relationship must be important because, after all, you're Facebook friends? But then, what if he was right next to you on the bus?

If the opportunity arose, I would still rather have my car on campus. It's convenient. It's quiet. But I'm also glad I don't have that luxury. I still enjoy being packed into a dangerously crowded bus. Technology makes it easy to hate people, just as it simplifies everything else, but learning people's medical histories on the bus endears me to them once again.

A Big Mountain & The Big Easy

Today I am exactly one month from going to New Orleans.

Let's hear it for alternative fall break trips!

As well as trips in general. I went to Montreat this weekend for a leadership retreat and it was glorious. I love the beach immensely, but I always forget how nice the mountains are, what with their significantly lower temperatures and legitimate hills.

The peak of the weekend was climbing a mountain on Saturday. How punny.

But more on that later. I have reading to do!

A small step for the GOP, a huge step backwards for ME (and all American women)

Okay, I swear I'm not making the transition to a political blog. And I'm also aware of the fact that I'm over a week late in responding to McCain's V.P. pick. But I do give myself credit for waiting long enough to learn about Palin before passing judgment. Now I feel entitled.

I am absolutely horrified by her representation of women. Actually, it bothers me that her sex is a huge deal in the first place. Shouldn't her political policies be more important than her vagina? I thought we'd moved past this discrimination, folks. Then, with all of the issues being raised about how Palin raises her children, it's become clear that sex is still ever-so-important. Child rearing is rarely called into question when male politicians are involved.

What does bother me about the way she's raised her children, however, are her hypocritical beliefs. She said Bristol had a choice about whether or not to have her child. That's funny, because while Bristol had a choice, Palin's rigid pro-life doctrine wouldn't allow others that decision. I also feel quite certain that not all young women are fortunate enough to grow up in a supportive environment with the sufficient funds to raise a child. And clearly Palin's belief in abstinence-only education failed too. If it doesn't work with the daughter she raised for the past 17 years, how will other women be more receptive?

I guess what bothers me most is how eerily 1984/Fahrenheit 451-esque the situation has become. Trying to fire a librarian for not taking books Palin didn't agree with out of the library? Believing that the Iraq war and an oil pipeline in Alaska are God's missions? I'm sorry, but I don't want that God, nor anyone who believes in that God, to run our country.

The truth is, I'm terrified of what's to come. I can't imagine living in a virtual theocracy; the very thought makes my ovaries cringe. And yet I also fear what could happen to Obama if he won. At a time when my faith in America was finally being restored, I can't say I'm optimistic.

The Mark of a True Friend

They'll go with you to the bathroom. They'll pick you up from bizarre locations in the middle of the night. They'll call you out on being a pompous jerk.

And, as I learned this weekend, good friends will not only pee with you, but also pee on you.

Yes, I was stung by a jellyfish on Sunday. I get shivers of pain just thinking about it. Due to my nonexistent experience with these stings prior to several days ago, I thought that that pee was key to recovery. (That really rolls off the tongue nicely. Perhaps I should write public service announcements.)

As one of my friends squatted over my arm in the middle of a public beach, I was struck by her willingness to wash away her sense of decorum with the tide. Then, as my other friend poured a water bottle of her own pee onto my swelling arm, I was primarily impressed with the sheer volume of her contribution. My friends are fearless and generous.

I suppose that the pee friendship test is not practical for any situation other than the unique one in which I was involved. I guess it's just the fact that they would, if they needed to, which reassures me.

As a post script, I will say that I read online that the effectiveness of peeing on a jellyfish sting is mostly determined by the pH of the individual's pee, so vinegar is still the best bet. I would also highly recommend educating yourself before becoming actively involved in ocean water sports.