Hot Naked Bodies and Dollar Dollar Bills, Y'all

I have got to get out of this country. And I mean that exactly the way it sounded in your head – with a nasally decorated “ugh” followed by a pompous “I’m better than this” snort.

There’s a nasty little rumor (that happens to be true) floating around about a bill that’s being pushed by some woman (Pam Dickerson) in Georgia (state, not country) that clearly does not appreciate the beauty of the naked human form (no parenthetical addendum needed).  

Said bill will make it illegal for me to take Ye Olde Balle and Chain’s head and photoshop it onto Johnny Depp’s hot, naked body. Something that I would never, ever do – at least not in Georgia (country or state).  

Actual bill is linked here for your perusal. Read it, internet, and laugh at the pure, delicious hilarity of it all. (Also, visit www.techdirt.com. I'm learning a lot from this corner of the internet.)

Moral of this story, internet? Our elected officials have way too much time on their hands. Because they’ve solved our deficit issues, paid back our debt to China, fixed the oh-so-fair tax code, ended our never-ending wars, and…oh, wait...

Yes, absolutely, please spend time on this bill Pam Dickerson of Georgia (state, not country).

In other news, I’ve now officially been put on drugs to lower my blood pressure after learning about how much Mitt Romney pays in taxes. If you haven’t heard by now, just avoid the story altogether. Or, read it and then sue Mitt for emotional distress. He can afford it.

It just amazes me that the rich blame the poor for being poor, claiming that they have all that money because they “worked” for it. Meanwhile, they benefit from a tax code that takes more money out of my pocket and puts more money into theirs.

I guess they only like “spreading the wealth” in their direction.

What’s more, it’s not like they understand the tax code any more than we do. They just have a shit ton of money and can afford to pay the poor saps that can.

I’m so proud to be an American.

Waaaaait! Oh, Never Mind. Carry on.

I’m long past “missing” my MLK day post. I’ve been trying to write, re-write and beautify something that I did write, but it was awful. And MLK deserves much more than that.


So, here I sit, a week later thinking about my future, my renewed course of life and what it all means. I’m having an existentialist moment, if you will. (I’m an English major now. I can say sh*t like that AND get away with it.)

I’d decided at the beginning of the year that in an effort to reduce my newfound student loan debt as soon as humanly possible, I would take a job at the start of my final semester at UNCC and go to class at night. I would forgo pursuing an MFA in creative writing and work to pay my debts down. After a year, I would revisit pursuing an MFA – saving up money, paying down debts and having what I like to call guap in my pocket.

Then I read Letter from Birmingham Jail, for my Black Arts Movement course (the only worthy course I’m taking this semester).

We all know that the famous phrase “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” is taken from this letter (If you didn’t, YOU’RE WELCOME), so I’m not going to focus on that. What struck me about this letter is the power of his words. The way his argument is framed. The way it literally shook me to my core.

Do you ever get that feeling when you read a truly magnificent work of literature (fiction or otherwise) that grips you and refuses to release you until you’ve read the last word? I get it when I read anything by Jacqueline Carey (notably anything in her Kushiel and Naamah series). I got it when I read Kenyon’s Acheron – which is one of the few books that made me cry. And I got it when I read Letter.

“We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed…For years now I have heard the word, ‘Wait!’ It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity…when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you have seen the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society…” and on it goes until King says “then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait.”

The word “chills” doesn’t even come close to what I felt when I read that. How much longer will I wait? Of course, my fight to hang on to and realize my dreams pales in comparison, is nearly invisible next to that of so many leaders of the Civil Rights Movement. But, the aforementioned words made me stop and ask myself – how much longer will I wait to be who I’ve always said I wanted to be? I’m not ready to be a starving artist, but I’m also not willing to wait any longer to write words that shake people to their cores, that make them cry, that urge them to act or even change their point of view.

So, did a U-turn. MFA it is. PhD it is. Screw a corporate 8 to 5. Screw sitting in traffic. Screw working with people that never seem to close their mouths long enough to engage in actual work. The debt is scary, and like a vicious, drug-resistant fungus – it grows. But I want to be a better writer and I want to teach. Those are the only two things I desire more than Johnny Depp naked on a silver platter for Christmas. And, now, I’m willing to pay for it in more ways than one.

People did not fight and die so I could sit around and twiddle my thumbs all day.

How much longer will you wait?

Why hello 2012, it's nice to meet you.

I've been dreading this year. I know, some of you out there are above it all and holding steadfastly to your belief that the world isn't coming to an end. BUT, what if it does? This year could be your last year to write that book you've always wanted to write, or call that one family member you've sworn off for [insert indubitably defensible reason here].  

I'm not taking any chances.  I haven't really had the time, or inclination, to write for my blog the way I used to. I've been trying, but failing, to keep up with the political rat race and learn more about controversial bills that are being signed (defense authorization, anyone?) or lobbied for (did you wash with SOPA and water?). But that doesn't matter because you're on top of these things right? 

Riiiiight....

So, rather than bitch and moan about all the political ish you are so familiar with, I just dropped in to say that I'm doing everything in my power to be bigger and better this year, because it might be my last chance.  I'm 12,000 words into my manuscript and fresh off a week's worth of writing 2-4 hours a day - a biggie for me.  I've got a busy semester planned chock full o' lit and feminism courses that I'm just bursting at the seams to begin.  Once this hell beast of a semester is over, I'll hopefully be donating my time and writing abilities to a local LGBT friendly organization.  I'm making sure that I get out and vote NO for North Carolina's gay marriage amendment in May. 

Did I mention that my bank account is as dry as the Sahara because I drained my funds to take my ass to Beijing? If the world's going to implode in December, I want to see the Great Wall before I go. I might even just say screw it, take a few weeks off and drain my account again to backpack through Europe. Who knows!

I hope you do the same. Take the time to cross a few things off your bucket list - even if it's just eating escargot or some such.  Happy New Year everyone. Embrace it...it could be your last! MUAH-HA-HA-HA-HA! 

Save the Chickens!

Why, Chik-Fil-A? WHY? [insert obnoxious wailing here]

Because I've apparently been living under a rock for the last year, I'm just now finding out that Chik-Fil-A is against equal rights for the LGBT community. If you've ever read my blog (and I'm sure you've read EVERY post), you know that I'm fiercely behind equal rights for the LGBT community. So this news, in short, pains me.

Now, people are trying to split hairs and say that the Chik-Fil-A organization, WinShape, is not anti-gay per se. They just donate money to organizations that happen to  be against equal rights for the LGBT community. 

Really, people? That's how you're going to spin this one? That's like saying the KKK isn't racist, it's just pro-white. 

I guess it's perfectly acceptable to ignore the statements made here, here, here, here and...wait for it...here. 

Fine, let's ignore the VIDEO EVIDENCE and say that Chik-Fil-A and WinShape aren't anti-gay. Let's just say they're for marriage being only between a man and a woman. That's fine. You're still not getting a penny more of my hard earned money. Sorry. 

I love Chik-Fil-A. Love their food, their service, even the cow. I go there at least once a week for breakfast, lunch, dinner, a medium to large sized Dr. Pepper with light ice. I'm so recognizable at Chik-Fil-A in the mornings, they know to put strawberry jam in the bag with my egg and cheese muffin. 

I'm really going to hate to see you go, but I can't allow my money to be donated to organizations like those listed here. It breaks my heart. Now I'm going to have to find a new place for my lazy morning breakfast AND deal with the nasty attitudes. I could just make my breakfast at home, but, dammit that's unpatriotic! Anti-American! Anti-Jobs! 

So, dear reader, I implore thee - join me in saving the chickens, won't you.  

Team Bella

So, I'll just come right out and say it.

I, Grad School Escapee, am a Twilight fan.

Don't judge me.

I like the books that the hipsters love to like ironically. I've seen all of the movies to date, and I'm firmly on team Bella, though Jasper could easily sway me.  I wasn't that excited about the wedding scene in the film, because, let's be honest - I'd already read about it. Twice.

Why is this important? It's not, I just wanted to grab your attention.

As the semester comes to a close I find myself having more spare time and doing absoultely nothing with it. I sit around, a lot, and think about how much I'd rather be sleeping.

I've gotten lazy. And the realization of this doesn't sway me one bit. It's like I'm 12 a year old boy. I just want to sit around eating and playing video games. WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?

Fear. That's what. Somewhere along the way I let the constant articles and news reports about the futility of graduate school and PhDs sway me. I let the statsitics for recent graduate employment get under my skin. I let the fact that my English prof told me she had to search for a job for two years after getting her doctorate before should could find one in academia bother me. She had to wipe the asses of small children and wait tables to make ends meet.

Wipe. Asses. Children. No thank you. This is exactly why people should approve the genetic modification of fetuses. That way - they'll come out potty trained. I'm not wiping anybody's kid's ass.

And you better pray you never get me as a waitress. Your order will be wrong, your silverware dirty. And, NO, you can't have any fresh lemon to squeeze onto a napkin to clean it off. You want clean dishes? EAT. AT. HOME.

Suffice it to say, I need to nip this laziness in the sparkling bud. If Stephenie Meyer can build a multimillion dollar empire with books about constipated, sexually repressed teenagers, dammit I can, too!

Whether I decide to return to graduate school is beside the point, because it will not get me a job. I will. The MFA, or any other technical/terminal degree only serves to make you more knowledgeable of your field. At the end of the day, you get the job, not your degree.

I never cared about all of those "once in a lifetime" opportunities before, or those "extremely competetive" programs. I applied and hoped like crazy that I would get them. But I was never so scared that I didn't even try.

The fear is getting to me now because this matters. This writing matters. Being published matters. And the fact that I might fail at something that actually matters scares me shitless. Maybe I should see if my English prof has any friends that are in the adult wipery business.

And, on that note, adios compadres!