I have been neglecting this blog again. I doubt anyone besides my mom has noticed. Still, I figured it’s about time I get into the rhythm of things again.
I’ll be redesigning the website at some point, and there’s not much point in doing that without new content.
So what have I been up to? A lot.
I just saw the new Pixar movie, Inside Out. As to be expected of any Pixar venture, the lesson of the movie was poignant. Joy, who spends most of the movie being an unintentional (yet enthusiastic) bully to Sadness, ultimately learns a mix of emotions are important for leading a balanced life.
That’s all well and good for the fictional world of Pixar, but out here in reality there is a different set of expectations. Our culture expects Joy to be in the driver’s seat. The other emotions are only allowed to drive under extreme circumstances, and to let them take over, especially when you’re a female in public, often leads to dire social consequences.
The movie aptly demonstrates the unfortunate results of this expectation. When Joy and Sadness are attempting to return to “Headquarters,” we see Joy steamroll Sadness multiple times. Any time Sadness recommended a solution or gave Joy a warning, Joy would ignore it in favor of optimism. Her denial delayed their return to headquarters to the point where a solvable problem ballooned into a dire crisis.
Much like Joy was fixated on keeping her charge, an 11-year-old named Riley, happy all of the time, American culture is fixated on relentless optimism. From the way we run our businesses to the way we run our government, we have effectively removed constructive anger, worry, and fear to the point where the only voices we’ll listen to are the ones who have positive things to say.
Yet we don’t live in a world where only good things happen. By embracing positivity to this degree, we are effectively lying to ourselves and each other.
Symbols have power. I won’t deny that. But removing a nail doesn’t remove the hole. Filling holes, healing wounds, takes more time and effort.
Still, after yet another terrible mass shooting, we search for a quick fix– a bandaid we can slap on to make people feel better.
So we call for a flag to be removed from a government building. We suggest roads be renamed and that we relegate Confederate leaders to the trash heap of history. Our leaders hear us. They join the cause. Because they believe it’s the right thing to do and because it lets them off easy.
We’re not asking for dialogue. We’re not asking for reform. We’re not asking for frank conversations.
We’re asking for a piece of fabric to be moved.
I just learned today that the Girl Scout camps I went to as a child are being sold. Camp Tohikanee has been shut down for a while–so long that the grass is nearly a foot high by the dining hall. Camp Tweedale held its last flag ceremony this past weekend.
There were songs sung, games played, and adventures had in the night. There were fires, s’mores, banana boats, and a grill cheese sandwich fire that forced the counselors to order out for pizza. There were letters written, crafts made, and early morning icy-cold polar bear swims.
There were pranks. Oh boy were there pranks.
I spent my entire academic career on the Honors track. Aside from math, which seems to be the one subject my brain processes at the speed of paint drying, I took the Honors and AP courses available in every subject. Yet I never really thought of the implications of separating out the smart kids until I read this editorial by Judy Jones.
The advantage of Honors courses was we could drive dragsters while everyone else puttered about in sedans. We could blow through material faster than the regular classes. When teachers knew everyone in the class could absorb material quickly, they could cover more ground and still fit in time for the students to explore their own interests.
At the same time, I recall being in those classes with a lot of the same people. The “gifted” students stuck together because, let’s admit it, it’s very fun to hang out with people who are at the same geek level you are. It’s great to be able to crack jokes about math or physics and have people laugh so hard that soda rockets out of their nose. Everyone else would just give you a look that asked “so what Star Trek dimension are you from?”
But that environment doesn’t reflect the working world.
Dear Customer,
We at Local Business Inc. appreciate receiving the feedback you have so graciously shared with several of our cashiers, the shift manager, and the delightful homeless veteran who plays the banjo across the street from our establishment. We have also enjoyed receiving your emails and Facebook posts. They are a daily dose of joy for all of our staff.
We understand you’re a working American with a 9 to 5 job, and that you cannot frequent our establishment as much as you would like because we close our doors promptly at 6:00 PM on weekdays and traffic just sucks. We are sorry these hours inconvenience you, and we know how enthusiastic you are to patronize our business. So we have put together some suggested steps you could take to assist us in keeping our doors open late like the Walmarts and the Targets.
By now, most of the Internet has likely seen the music video for Stromae’s “Carmen.” The singer doesn’t mince words when it comes to his perspective on social media culture. He aptly captures the affect of the pull of social media and how it encourages us to consume information to the point at which we are consumed by social media itself.
Watching the video reminded me of the mostly empty Twitter feed I have sitting on the side of my blog. Other than some appeals I’ve made to support some worthy fundraisers, I haven’t paid attention to Twitter for more than a year. Stromae’s video definitely hits on why I’ve allowed my Twitter account to stagnate.
I just turned thirty. I’m single, female, and have no kids. A generation ago, folks would have slapped me with the “old maid” label and made tart comments about how empty my house must feel without a husband and children crammed into it.
But I live in a time when I can tell anyone who tries that bullshit to stuff it right back in the hole it came out of. The only “Old Maid” I intend to associate myself with is the card game.
There’s no point in freelancing unless you take advantage of some of the perks.
So when it was freezing, rainy, and miserable in Chapel Hill yesterday, I headed to Wilmington. Not only was it twenty degrees warmer in Wilmington, but my friend and teacher Matt White opened for Orlando Jones at TheatreNOW.
Leonard Nimoy spent a good chunk of his acting career hating Spock. For an actor, I can see why being typecast as Spock would be frustrating. Why would any actor want to play a character with no emotions? From an actor’s point of view, Spock was a dry psychopath who had a few good quips. I can see how that would get boring.
Yet Spock broke boundaries. Here was this character who, despite his lack of emotional intelligence, wasn’t a mad scientist or a mass murderer or any of the other stereotypes Hollywood shoved introverts into back in the 1960s. He was a hero.
