Real Talk (cliche as hell)

Do you ever feel like a complete fraud? Like the person you tell the world is you couldn't be further from the truth?

I do.

On so many levels.

Since high school I've been describing myself as a "hippie" who is anti-war, pro-love, against violence and prejudice. I truly am against war and killing; such acts are plagues on our race.

But I am filled with such anger at times. I can't pull off the serene, ethereal, go with the flow attitude. There are times when my anger feels like it's going to rip me apart. Not only do I feel hate and rage (directed primarily at specific persons) but years of battling with my brother who has always expressed his anger physically has trained me to instinctively react physically; I have been taught by example that fighting (whether offensively or defensively) is the only way to get the message across (or survive).

This sounds a lot darker than anything actually was. Granted there were times when my brother's rage frightened me, but ultimately we simply rough-housed, as siblings do.

But how can I sit here and condemn violence when my own anger wants to lash out?


On another point, I've been believing myself to suffer from self-diagnosed depression for a few years. Granted "mood disorder" is technically on my medical record for the doctors to check up on, but nobody has diagnosed depression officially. There's a familial history, so it's not exactly a stretch, but how do I know that I didn't just make it up? Obviously everyone knows the power of suggestion. Ever since high school I've had this sneaking feeling that I wanted to be edgy or something so I took some sign of feeling "down" and mentally amplified it causing symptoms that wouldn't have shown up if I hadn't decided I was going to be depressed. That sounds like a terrible attention-getting stunt doesn't it?

I've been rejecting the suggestion of talking to a counselor for awhile now even though it would probably help unscramble my head. Part of this is because I had a counselor in grade school whom I loved dearly that passed away a few years ago; it took me awhile to get comfortable with her as it was, I didn't want to start all over again. Plus I'm weirdly part prideful in the sense that I should be able to handle my shit and it's nobody else's business. (and yet I'm quick to confide in some people the sordid details as if it's no big deal). But the bigger part of why I don't want to talk to anyone is that I am secretly worried that they're going to tell me that there's nothing wrong with me: that I am in fact just a lazy spoiled young person that has made up issues to get out of taking responsibility for my life.

There are days when I feel anything but normal (of course there's no such thing, but tell my brain that) and yet they seem to be outnumbered by days where I fear that I secretly am normal and therefore there is nothing special about me. How freaking sick is that? Like having mood issue is something to be "proud" of because it makes me unique (which is statistically untrue).


Then there's the fact that I still identify myself as a writer but I write something every once in a blue moon (ironically there is a blue moon next week but that's neither here nor there). I don't feel the need to write like I used to, there's no release or catharsis in it anymore for me. That went away when I stopped feeling...or at least when my emotions leveled out...
Yeah I'm not buying that excuse either but hey, at least I'm not falling into the depths of despair. There's something to be said for numbness if it keeps you sane. It's still a pain in the ass though.


Well these have been some thoughts from the hormone-hyped brain of Bridget (yes it's that bloody week har har [unintended]) but there's a storm coming in and i better batten down the hatches not to mention get my laptop inside.

if anyone actually reads this,, don't judge me too harshly please,
introspection is hard enough

B

The Curse of Enlightenment

The unfortunate side of knowledge is that you can't easily unlearn things; the stick in the back of your head and prickle.

I love That 70s Show, Friends, and many others, but there are some serious issues with them.
This post focuses on That 70s Show.
There's overt racism and sexism, not to mention the slightly more covert homophobia.
The show is rife with "slut" "whore" and judgements about the sexuality of women. Donna presents a fairly strong female lead, but when she voices any vaguely "feminist" notions, she's either ridiculed, laughed at, or she backs off from them.
As for Fez, not an episode goes by without them making some joke about his accent or where he came from.

The show was seriously starting to bother and disappoint me, but I came to the conclusion that you'll just end up hating everything if you let it all get to you. The point is to be critical. You can enjoy things for their entertainment value as long as you recognize the issues. It's when people see something on tv and then think it's OK to emulate it where problems arise and racism, sexism, homophobia, etc are perpetuated in the real world.

The Blue Curtain Conundrum

Having survived the ordeal of my first Literary Theory class and gained further tools for my analysis arsenal, I am now on my way to becoming a fully-fledged English major. This would seem like a cause for pride, celebration, and excitement which it is to a certain extent. However, I feel like it's also hurt my writing somewhat.

I have come to the conclusion that, at least in my case, being a fiction writer/poet and an English major is rather difficult. I can hear the crickets and see the blank stares which mark the confusion of my readers.

Isn't being an English major the stereotypical "thing to do" if you plan on being a writer?
Wouldn't being and English major make you a better writer?

These questions I have asked myself. I think that being an English major definitely has benefits with regards to personal writing skills. But all the analysis that we love, argue over, relish, and hate is a confusing and daunting to my creative juices. Every time I write something, even if it's the most inane scene possible such as having a character walk down the street and see a purple house, I start asking myself about the relevancy of a purple house. (Or for that matter why the proverbial curtains are in fact blue). I have this feeling of obligation to have some sort of meaning behind every detail. This is of course completely ridiculous. But I always wonder what people might "see" in my writing after I'm gone and since at that point they wouldn't be able to ask me, I feel an odd sense of duty to infuse everything with meaning.

My ego obviously has some responsibility here, considering there is very little chance that anything I write (assuming I manage to get published at all) would ever be deeply analyzed or even recognized by the Literati.

As much fun as I had taking the Lit Theory class, I'm glad that I'm taking creative writing this semester so I can focus on the magic sparks at the tip of my pen rather than taking up the objective magnifying glass again.


~Sláinte
B

The "Quiet" One

Have you ever had someone scoff at you and say "You have no life!"

I have.

The effect of this sentence can range from mildly annoying to severely irritating to debilitating. This seems ridiculous given the regularity with which it is invoked, most often in jest or teasing. But when it is repeated over and over again in an intentionally insulting manner, it can really get to a person. Eventually you start to question whether or not it's true.

My younger brother especially likes to pull this little gem out when he's annoyed with me or pretty much just when he feels like being a jerk. He likes to tell me that I have no friends because I'm not constantly hanging out with other people. He thinks it's "sad" when I'm home on Saturday night instead of partying, and lets me know it. His repetition of this train of thought really started to make me feel like there was something wrong with me because my social life wasn't blossoming in the stereotypical college manner.

I was complaining about this to a friend of mine a few days ago, and she helped me realize there was nothing wrong, just that I was an introvert. Of course I'd known this since I was little because in grade school in high school we did activities with introverts vs. extroverts; even if I hadn't participated in these though, everyone knows the general description of an introvert is the "quiet one". However there's more to it than that. Introverts like doing things on their own. They aren't anti-social or friendless, but they might prefer doing activities with close friends rather than in large groups. For example, I wouldn't have much fun at a stereotypical college party because there would be too many people and overstimulation.

 Introverts also find interactions more taxing and need to recharge on their own. I know this is definitely a characteristic that I have. Last year I lived in a dorm on campus. While I loved certain aspects of it and found it a good experience, I began to understand that if I didn't have time to myself without other girls around, I became moody and not fun to be around. I find that this can become the case even after a couple of hours being around certain people. Mostly I just put in my headphones and listen to music which can be seen as rude, but is often better than the alternative.

It's hard living in an environment and even a society that values extraversion. Extraverts don't understand how introverts work and think they are just shy and so try to force socializing on them. I'm not saying that introverts understand extraverts any better, but it's just been my experience that the people I know who are extraverted don't really get why I don't talk all the time. It's funny because I love to talk; I'll talk your ear off and have literally talked at my mom for an hour at a time on multiple occasions because my brain just jumped from one topic to the next and I kept going. But this only ever happens with certain people. I also don't feel the need to talk all the time; I'm comfortable with companionable silence which a lot of people are not. I think in this society there is too much of a focus on constant activity and outgoingness that results in the introverts falling through the cracks.

It is also difficult when you're an introvert that dreams of being an extravert. In some ways I really love being an introvert and don't get why people want to be loud and exuberant all the time. However there are so many times when I wish I was the kind of person to go out and party on the weekends or go to the clubs etc. to be around people. I'm really not; if I were by some miracle to go to a party, I would end up sitting in a corner by myself most likely daydreaming.

I'm also shy, which is different than introversion, and am pretty bad at small talk because I don't see any real point to it, but once you get me going on a topic I'm fine, full steam ahead.

Wow that was a lot of commas.
Power to the "quiet" ones. Unite!

Slán go fóill

The Socratic Question

Once, I went wandering in a Hemlock grove.
Socrates came up to me
And asked me what my deal was,

And I replied, "It's hard for me to explain:

I cannot untangle myself from the words.
They are in my tears and
The pounding of an artist's heart.
The words are all I know;
They are the very air I breathe,
My anchor to reality
And the crystal barrier keeping me from it.
Without the words I die;
I die a death of black and white forgiveness
For the world that I glimpsed once
Through the looking glass.

He nodded and went on his way,
And I wandered lost in the Hemlock grove.

Day is Done, Gone the Sun: How Gettysburg Opened My Eyes

I have been meaning to write this post ever since I got back from my east coast adventure, which was over a month ago. I guess it never really seemed like the right time and place. That time is now.

On July 3 of this year, my parents and I set off on a road trip headed east toward the 150th memoriam of the Battle of Gettysburg. The original battle took place between July 1 and July 3 of 1863. The reenactment however took place from the July 4-7.

It is interesting looking back because I built up my expectations so much for the event. I remember hearing about it last fall and begging my dad to decide to go. That's about nine months of high hopes. This doesn't sound in any way as if it could be in keeping with the post title, I know. I do just have to say at the get-go that the event itself was almost shamefully Farby, don't I look all posh using technical terms? For those of you (most of the world) who don't know what "Farb" is, it's a slang term that reenactors use to describe someone who is amusingly, or just ridiculously, anachronistic. In some ways it wasn't much different from Pipestone in that it's touristy for the spectators. They kind of overdid it with the grandstand seating around the battlefield however. As one of the members from our group put it, it was pretty much like an outdoor fair except with people in costume walking around. Unfortunately I didn't get the chance to walk through the Yankee or Confederate camps; I think they would have been a nice relief. We knew to an extent that this event was for the spectators when we set out; the reenactor-only event was the weekend before and extremely hardcore. However it just seemed exaggerated.

In terms of reenactors however, it was pretty cool. There were a couple thousand soldiers that were present, with representatives from twelve different countries. When we were in the town itself at one point, we heard some Scotsmen talking...it was amazing! The reenactment was held a couple of miles out of town in the opposite of the actual battlefields. The first day was ok; it was ungodly hot and humid so we actually left the site in the afternoon to go explore the town, but we made sure to return for the camp dance that night which was pretty awesome. I came to the conclusion that Minnesota soldier reenactors need to learn how to dance and come to the balls, because the other states are showing us up. There were so many attractive soldiers that were dancing!! (There were so many couples that wanted to do the Grand March that it took over half and hour and we never even finished all the figures O.O) Ok I'm done.

The events of Sunday July 7th are the main reason behind this post.
Sunday afternoon was the reenactment of Pickett's Charge, the final skirmish of the Battle of Gettysburg. For this reenactment, nearly every soldier that was present onsite participated. For those of you with imaginations, (although I'll post some pictures), think of the sight of masses of gray and blue uniforms moving as one and intermingling. For a girl who's only seen small reenactments with 50-100 soldiers with was quite awe-full.

 

Although we had been to the previous day's reenactment, not to mention probably a hundred other battles in my lifetime, for some reason this one caught me. Part of it was the commentary. They have commentary at Pipestone as well, but I think the sad retelling of the events of Pickett's Charge coupled with the sheer magnitude of the soldiers on the battlefield was what really got to me. In Pickett's Charge, the Rebs tried to charge up a hill that was strongly guarded by the Yanks. Due to narrow breakthrough points and the resultant bottle-necking of the troops, the Confederates were essentially slaughtered. There were unbelievable losses on both sides, but to watch one gray uniform after another go down brought tears to my eyes. This is when it truly hit that this was really a spectator event. There were people behind me who were not so much laughing I guess as saying things like "Ooh ow, that's gotta hurt" in reference to one of the soldiers dying. It genuinely made me mad the reactions of the spectator; to them it was entertainment to me it was history. I felt bad because this time last year my brother and I were voting on who had the funniest way of going down once shot at Pipestone. But like I've said, this was so different from Pipestone.

I think the eeriest part of the afternoon was that not only was it the same weather before the Charge as it was on the actual day 150 years ago (humid, hot and 87 degrees), it started raining cats and dogs about ten minutes after the reenactment ended. Apparently just after Pickett's Charge ended the first time around (originally) it started pouring and the humidity finally broke. It was a fitting, if spooky, end to the whole event.

After we left the site my mom and I went to visit the actual battlefields and the cemetery. We drove part of the way around the 10-mile loop of sorts that hits all the sites of the skirmishes with memorials everywhere. One of the ones we made sure to hit was the Eternal Light and Peace Memorial. It was still sporadically raining and windy so the flame kept going out, relighting itself and going out again, but I managed to get one shot of it lit. We also found the memorial to the 1st Minnesota.

 

 



We ended up at the cemetery at sunset and by that point I couldn't take it any more and I started crying. to see row after row of markers. I mean I've seen my share of grave markers having grown up rambling around cemeteries with my dad, but all the unknowns was just heart-breaking. This is my favorite shot from the whole trip:



I've rambled on for ages and now I'll come to the point.
Gettysburg changed my perceptions completely. As I said, I've been going to battle reenactments since I was a wee one, canon smoke is actually one of my favorite smells, and they don't phase me; this one did. And it was because now the soldiers had names and faces. At Pipestone the soldiers are never reenacting a specific battle, as none were fought in Minnesota, so it's easier to disengage from the fact that you are watching people die. That was what was so hard about Gettysburg; each person that fell represented someone in that cemetery. I mean sure any battle reenactment could be said to be memories of fallen soldiers buried everywhere; but it's not the same thing. Sitting watching the reenactment and then again at the cemetery I realized that although we immerse ourselves in history, it is still all too easy to forget that we are re-living a war. I think this is especially hard for civilian reenactors because typically we deal in etiquette, dancing, tea-drinking, and fashion. But even for soldiers it can be difficult to remember.
When we were at the cemetery my mom and I met some men who had participated in the reenactment earlier in the afternoon and they were commenting on how strange it was. Even more so they told us about how they had practiced for the reenactment earlier that week actually on the original battlefield. On the anniversary of the charge, on July 3, they were out reenacting a battle that had taken place on that same spot 150 years earlier. I'll never forget one of the men talking about how he got goosebumps when he was trespassing on the soil that still holds the blood of thousands of men. He said it really hit him.
History is a beautiful thing, and objectivity is essential in some aspects of its study, but when we forget the pain and loss and don't allow ourselves to empathize across the centuries, we become desensitized. It's like when I was looking out over one of the battlefields on the way to the cemetery: all I was fenced in meadows pretty much covered in brush and sometimes various livestock. I had to stand there for a few moments and picture the noises and smells of battle as well as the scenes of fighting men for the importance of such an innocuous field to really sink in.

So basically what I'm trying to say is that Gettysburg changed how I perceive reenacting. In a somewhat convoluted way it's become even more important to me because of the depth in meaning and emotion that (should) go into it. No longer will I go to a battle purely for entertainment (although strictly speaking there were some spectators to early battles during the Civil War); no longer will I think only of teas and balls and hoops, with only the vague mention of  "the war".

I recently read a line from a poem written by a fellow Katie in 1968 (the poem is all about being a conscientious objector)

"As peace lovers, as dissenters, we are perhaps spared warfare

But never spared war."

-Penelope Suess   "Noncombatant"

Although the poem is about the Vietnam War (despite Congress never declaring it so, people hundreds of thousands of people died, thus it is a WAR)..anyway...even though it's about events a century later than I have been discussing, I think it still fits the circumstances perfectly. We choose to portray people living during the Civil War; we should not forget the war, it is integral to the very fabric of the lives of the people we portray no matter where they may be. Too often we forget the pain and suffering of the past, excusing this with "It was so long ago, the world has moved on". Yes the world has moved on, but without the pain and grief and struggle, how are we to portray truth?

We Are All Connected to Each Other...In a Sickening Web of Obsession

This is going to start out with a rant (and a fairly petty one at that), but I swear there will be a decent argument/one-sided discussion shortly.
A few days ago (although I just found it now) someone I knew from grade school posted a video on youtube about things he's seen posted on Facebook.
Exhibit A:

DISCLAIMER: he did point out in the comments that he doesn't think the people are bad.

Anyway as I was watching the video, expecting to laugh at some poor sod, I  heard him repeat at least two statuses that I had posted on Facebook. (One of which, the "speak always in the language of the stars" was something I wrote and am still fairly proud of). Part of what frustrates me is that I'm incredibly embarrassed that I had TWO quotes. I realize that the video was supposed to be funny, but seriously, why create a video about a status someone put up a month ago? If they annoyed you so much why in the world did you write them down for later use? And what's wrong with posting about the stars...or about having to work at 8am? It annoys the begeesus out of me that I would probably agree with him if I were not one of the ridiculed. I know that I'm ridiculous and post stupid stuff sometimes, but I don't like having this pointed out to me via the interwebs by someone whom I haven't even spoken to in ages. I kind of want to just yell at him, "I am effing unique and you're fecking lame if you aren't absurd once in awhile". Then I remind myself of my frequent lack of leniency toward people more absurd than myself, or at least those of a different brand. So I guess, Tyler, let your damn hair down.

 

Ok rant done.

Now the discussion: What is the deal with social-networking? Posting this, tweeting that, hashtagging all around...and if that weren't enough, now there's Vine where you post random vids/gifs.

Now I am the last person to be criticizing Facebookers and Twitterbugs because I check both every ten minutes when I'm bored. I know...it's embarrassing. We get addicted.  Basically my post is going to look at two things: why we social-network period, and our obsession with posting

First.
Networking used to be something that you started doing once you entered the real world and needed People to further your career. That's where sites like LinkedIn came in. You could communicate with potential employers or employees and see all their information as to employment history etc. People now use Facebook for this too, and in that case it's a good resource, but what is with the idea of "social-networking". (I do realize, you those snarks who are reading this, that I am in fact posting this blog to a social-networking site. Thank you for your concern. Shall we press on?) Myspace was one of the first sites. I had a Myspace for awhile because it was the thing to do (again, why?) and it wasn't as bad as the rumors, but still creepy. I got a Myspace to follow the activity of and to connect with the people I knew from my grade...all forty-five of them whom I saw everyday anyway. But no, I had to know how they spent their evenings etc, and even more importantly I needed to be a part of something. It was the same reason that I got an AIM and eventually a Facebook. Then Facebook came in all crisp and bright and shining opportunity. When I first got a Facebook in 2008, it seemed like the major goal was for everyone to have as many friends as possible. I know one guy who made it to 1,000 friending everyone he knew or had even heard of. In this our basic need to be included is evidenced. We want our connection with any one given person to be acknowledged by them, be it by a nod in the hallway, a smile in the supermarket ten years later, or by acceptance of a friend request.

No denying, Facebook does a good job of connecting people. It's done wonders for my family in that it's helped with the reconnection with far-flung relatives. It's also helped me stay in touch with classmates now that we're all in different schools, states, countries. But why do we care about everyone's lives? We feel like we're missing out if we don't have that tie. Or at least that's how I am. That is why I'm still friends with a bunch of kids from grade school. I don't actually really care about what's happening in their lives, but I don't want to cut the connection. (Evidence of my pathetic-ness is when there's a thrill when someone from my past acknowledges me) Because while I'm still even remotely connected to these people merely by Facebook authority, I am a part of the Class of '08 and apparently cool enough to be acknowledged. We use Facebook to stay connected to the world, and on the one hand this has, like I said,  made it easier keep in touch, but at the same time people survived for decades with just a phone and for centuries with just letters. There have been so many times when I've wanted to just delete my Facebook (partly to see if anyone would notice/care...boohoo sad Bridget) but unfortunately sometimes it's the only way to get ahold of people. I think overall we social-network because then we're not alone. We're constantly surrounded, albeit virtually, by people.

This obsession with knowing what people are doing, how they're living, "staying in touch" almost to a creepy level has led to an even greater obsession with posting things.

Second: Screaming at the Screen-World

Why the hell do we have to post EVERYTHING?!?!
The thing with posting is that started with someone posting an update. And then someone else liked it. And then the first person was like "Damn, I should post some more". There is actually another side to posting that I'll get into later. The biggest thing I think that the availability of the "Facebook status" and now more than ever Twitter has to answer for is that now everyone thinks that whatever they say is earth-shaking. Random thoughts, normal routine activities, "awkward moments", my personal bane --> song lyrics, etc. No matter what it is, the world must be alerted. It has gotten to the point, helped quickly along by Twitter, where people post for the sake of getting the most likes. I don't know about you, but I've been guilty of thinking, "Hmm what can I post that people will actually 'Like'" and then pulling down recent statuses that have gone "unliked" in favor of something more interesting, unique, attention-grabbing etc. Isn't that unbelievably sad? This kind of leads into my second theory. I think we are so obsessed with posting because we, again, want to be a part of It. By posting we reinforce or presence in the Group as well as our importance and/or validity. Going further, Facebook and Twitter have just become another platform to seek the approbation of others in order to be included in the Group and/or to solidify our position. We post stuff that no one cares about to see if people will really care, or if they'll think we're funny, or smart, or pretty, or what have you. We want to seem brilliant and unique, or we want people to share in our indignation and frustration, to feel our pain and congratulate our fortunes.


Man it is a sad, sad friggin world we live in. O.o
I'm going to hide at Hogwarts.
Peace
Sláinte