In Response to Kanye

I made a post on my facebook this week. A very tongue-in-cheek reference to Kanye which stated that "I bet Beyonce was flattered." Clearly a joke given her face in the video. However, people's responses to Kanye West have been somewhat infuriating. It speaks volumes about the gender and racial attitudes in our society.

A black man cannot cry for attention and receive an ounce of empathy - not even one who lost his mother to a lifestyle he created to support her. Kanye West experienced legitimate tragedy recently, and while he may be a little pompous, he's still a human being. Had we flipped the scenario - had Taylor Swift done this to Kanye - everyone would have been worried for her. People would have talked about her career, her struggles as a teen-age girl, whatever. For the record, she gave up her right to being a teen-ager when she became a public figure. She's also 19, so come off it, folks. As an artist, she should be able to take criticism. The point is, when Britney crashed and burned at the VMAs two years ago, people expressed concerned, yet this irresponsible lump of a human being who could not fulfill her job is a mother of two - talk about failing at the expense of others. Kanye just provided some colorful commentary. So, folks, let's step back and think for a moment. Why did Kanye do this? Why is his attitude so poor? And why can we forgive Britney Spears again and again? Why do we continue to allow women to whine and cry and meltdown on stage?
We are still stuck in a mindset that women can cry and men cannot. That women deserve sympathy and pity, and men do not. Let's remember that equality goes both ways, folks. And Taylor Swift sounded much stupider than your average 19-year-old when giving her acceptance speech. Kanye saved her dumb butt and turned her into a sympathetic figure.

It's Amazing What a Little Sunshine Can Do... Or Maybe It Was The Pittsburgh Steelers

Troy came back. Then he got hurt.
But The Invincible Superman will return. Here's hoping for three weeks out instead of six. Troy Polamalu is the Michael Jordan of football. There is something in watching him play that just inspires. He can do anything, and he makes the whole team perform better. There is just something about him - he's got a fire in him that gives him a superhuman vibe. Or maybe it's just the superman cape of hair he's got. Who knows? Regardless, despite having to watch by myself, I love watching football. It makes me feel a part of something bigger than myself.

Now that the sunshine has melted Mordor, LA looks a little better too. I had a job interview yesterday, and another job presented to me today. Here's hoping one works out for me! There are also several potential projects on the horizon, many of which I hope work out. Everything holds so much promise, espcially compared to last week.

My koala has grown substantially and currently resides on the one-liners of multicolored notecards on my wall. Slowly but surely he is coming to life, a manifestation of the power of human imagination. And his villains - the nightmares we create when we're scared of an unstable world - finally revealed themselves to me. I love meeting villains, especially when I know their demise. It's wonderful to create something only to destroy it - that pleasure of being a little kid with Lincoln Logs and some dinosaur toys. Build build build and RAAAAWR. It's a triumph all around, creation and destruction.

I need more though. A new idea. Salvador Dali has become an inspiration. Looking at his paintings - feeble online replications - is like watching Troy Polamalu. It is a talent that gives to those who can take the time to appreciate it. I found out there is a Dali Gallery not too far from here. I think I'll be making a trip sometime in the near future. I like getting lost in my head and spilling it onto paper. I need to take a weekend and immerse myself in Dali and Ginsberg and Beethoven and watch football when Polamalu gets better. I need to be inspired on all fronts. I need to fill myself up with beauty so I can make my own.

So here's to an exciting fall. I suppose I could quote F. Scott Fitzgerald, but instead I'm just going to say that I like the smelling of burning leaves and life taking a break, and I wish I could replicate those sights and smells and sounds for you, but I recommend you just get your ass to the Midwest along the Mississippi River and experience it for yourself.
Excuse the run on sentence and have a wonderful night.

Living in Mordor

One does not simply walk into Mordor. It's black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The great eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.

One does not simply walk into Los Angeles. One drives. And badly. While there aren't orcs, there are plently of orc-like Armenians who would rather kill you than tip you for any service. There is an evil here that does not sleep - traffic. It is a barren wasteland with skinny squirrels, no rivers, drought, in addition to the standard fire, ash, and dust. Taking a deep breath any morning this week is like breathing in a poisonous fume. Tens of thousands of people come every year, only to watch their dreams crushed. It is folly.

The only difference is that LA lacks any sort of great eye. Instead, everyone is invisible but massive. We run into one another, but not in a Whitman-esque sphere-of-the-soul way. We run into each other as invisible duffelpods like the creatures in the Chronicles of Narnia. Single-minded, sad, and living in some mass status quo that not only crushes dreams, but manipulates those that survive into something even Langston Hughes could not have imagined for his deferred dreams.

Yes, I live in Mordor. And I have no Frodo to my Sam, and nothing vice-versa. I entered the black gate alone, so no one will know if I survive or not.

Perhaps I should figure out what the proverbial ring is in my life, that way I have, at the very least, a goal for its destruction. As it stands right now, I'm wandering the wasteland, breathing in the toxins, and all I think of is the home I may or may not see again.

But then again, the hobbits made it out alive, so why can't I?

The Man-Hating Entry

This week, I think I hate most men.
If anyone says anything more about how I look, I will proceed to tell any and every man I know everything that is wrong or unattractive about his physique in the most emasculating way possible.
I'm serious.

Between working at the bar and existing as a woman in Los Angeles, I want to punch someone in the crotch.
Sunday, at church, I met a friend from Bible study. Dinner after church - a pretty normal occurence - turned into a date. I'm sorry, but I am not a fan of public displays of affection with even my friends - why would ANYONE possibly believe that they could hug me or - better yet- attempt to kiss me while downtown. Seriously. This happened. And I left. At first, I was too much in shock to bother. Now, I'm just mad. And I have Bible study tonight. Should be interesting.

Yesterday, at work, I had one man tell me I needed to grow my hair out - that I was too cute to try that artsy crap. Again, no joke. Another guy sat behind the hostess stand and offered me a few compliments on my rear end. And yet another called me sugar and kept winking at me while he played pool. Go die. All of you. Curl up in a ball and atrophy. Become the object you seem to think that I am.

That's my venting session for the day. I'm pretty angry, and I miss my Chicago guys who didn't care how I looked as long as we could play guitar and xbox and wander around the city.

This is poorly written and angry, and I'm sorry, but it is what it is.