Happy Halloween!

That's me, with the Christmas tights on.

Words

I was thinking the other day while I walked home from classes.

Why are some colleges considered better than others? Because they have better teachers, programs, students, etc., right?

And then I was thinking about those schools in the Ivy League, and they're all really old. So does being an old school automatically make it the best higher education? If so, then Harvard (if we're speaking of the States here) is the best.

So why do schools get better with time? Is that just because they keep getting better professors? People with more refined ideas and philosophies about evolution, literature, or history?

Then I began to think about ideas. How do you come up with a completely new concept and idea that is adequately expressed. And why do certain quotes that frame ideas hit us harder than others? Sometimes when I read a quote, I feel like I already knew whatever it's saying.

But in order for it to affect me so, it took the right compilation of words.

Then I thought about words in correlation with ideas.

There are billions of ideas just floating around in unused words.

And isn't it incredible that by picking and choosing a few specific words, placing them in the right order, and adding punctuation we can get the most beautiful idea?

The words just sit there, waiting to be used. Beauty, as nothing more than a word, has it's own meaning, meaning that is completely different for everyone. And then when you take that one simple word and all the connotations that go with it and add a few more words with their own associations, you get something like Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

And then by rearranging and adding and switching and redesigning, a completely different idea is born. And idea that has the possibility to really affect someone.

What does it take to know which words to use? There is rarely a deficiency of words. I mean, yes, there always will be, because words are inadequate for expressing feelings. And there are some words in other languages that I don't know or understand as an English speaker. But when I say there's no deficiency, I mean the assembly of words isn't like a game of scrabble where you only have a certain number of letters to use. It's not like when you're trying to figure out a sentence with your refrigerator magnets and you only have a limited number of words.

I can take from any word in the English language and arrange it with another to attempt to express an idea. And I can take that word again and again. And if I want to repeat a word in this idea of mine, I can. Because there's not price for every time the word "and" is used.

There will always be words begging to be used.

I don't know, I just think words are pretty incredible, don't you?

Words and Music

sometimes

there is nothing better

than reading a pleasure book in the corner of the bookstore

with claire de lune playing softly in the background.

Extro to Intro

You know, it's funny how you change as you get older.

I mean, not all that funny. Because that's sort of a given part of life. And you always hear people talk about how much you grow in college and teenage years and all that stuff. And in my head I was always thinking, "Yeah, I'll change, but I really think it won't be that much. I'm pretty much the person I'll be in adulthood."

Yeah, that was a false assumption.

I have changed immensely in the last year. In the last season. In the last 2 months. In the last week.

I always pictured myself an extrovert, mainly. A yellow. Whatever you want to call it.

And I was. Truthfully, I was.

In some ways, of course, I still am. I have no fear of public speaking, I like being the center of attention (one of my great flaws), I enjoy people laughing at my jokes, I love parties and big groups of friends.

But I think there's a possibility of have officially become and introvert.

I love sitting by myself in my room. Alone time is a necessity. Sometimes, I feel like being crazy on campus, but sometimes, I just don't. I like to get to sleep at a good hour so that I'll be happy the next day. When my roommate leaves the room, there's a sense of relief at being able to listen to my music and sing along, even though I really do think my roommate is great.

I like big groups, but sometimes I don't want to be in one.

For a while, I've been thinking this is a problem. I was disappointed with myself for not making lots of friends instantly because, quite honestly, I was comparing myself to my sister.

(Nothing personal to you, Trine.. this my fault) My sister is awesome. Really awesome. She made lots of friends freshman year, went on countless dates during her single college years, and somehow I was expecting my college experience to be the exact same. Trina and I are incredibly similar in our interests, how our high school experience played out, and the way we act.

But I realized that I need to stop expecting my life to be hers. Because it's not.

And it's okay if I'm not the incredible social person I always thought I was.

I still have that aspect of my personality, yes. But it's less prevalent than it used to be.

And I'm totally okay with that.

Because I'm not anyone else, and I don't have to be.

Flyboyz.

If you've ever seen Flyboys, you'll know what I'm talking about when I simply say

James Franco.

(let me first say that i don't really enjoy his personal self. he gives off this air of being a total jerk. and he definitely blew the incredible opportunity of hosting the oscars, thus making it a once in a lifetime opportunity)

But I digress.

The point is, he is still incredible attractive, and, when given the proper role, I'm completely smitten.

Perfect role? Flyboys.

I read a blog post about why they find him so attractive in this movie (and why the movie itself is wonderful), and thought I'd point out a couple things as well. Some the same, some different.

1. His little smirk.

2. He starts out all cocky, but ends up a legitimate leader.

3. The suspenders. For reals.

4. The love story (ahhhh. the love story.)

5. The history aspect of the story.

6. How cute he is to Lucienne and how sweetly he treats her.

7. How he talks. James just has this... way.

8. The kisses. They are beautiful.

9. The fact that it takes place in FRANCE, people.

10. Lucienne's beauty. She is truly beautiful, and not in the typical movie-star way.

Enjoy this:

Anyway. After watching this delightful movie, my friends and I decided there were only a couple things we would change. The new movie, titled "Flyboyz", would look something like this:

1. Instead of being nursed back to health by the ladies of a whore house after a crash landing, the men would be discovered by a nunnery.

2. When the religious bloke doesn't accept the alcohol because he says he doesn't drink, instead of pressuring him (and him caving in), all his friends would say, "No, that's cool, we totally respect you!"

3. The love story would end on a happier note.

....Then again, it's kinda beautiful because it's more realistic. And makes you love the times they have together even more.

But I won't spoil this for you. Go watch it. Really. Do your heart some good.

Stormy Weather.

I love it.

I mean, somedays it's terrible. When you wake up already feeling bummed and the weather is gray it tends to not be so fun.

But when you wake up in a wonderful mood and feel confident and happy and excitement as you pull out sweaters and your umbrella, this fall weather can't be beaten.

I just want to skip all over campus and sing songs.

But I won't, because that would be weird.

Speaking of which, I passed a drama class having a class outside and performing Shakespeare, and even though I definitely can appreciate Shakespeare, I was so glad I wasn't there with them. So happy to not be in that situation. It's not what I want.

Yesterday I had to take the Audio Library Tour for Freshman.

Which is code for MOCKERY OF YOUR FRESHMAN STATUS AS YOU WANDER THE LIBRARY WITH HEADPHONES.

It's required for my writing class. Boo. So when they said "Walk into the most crowded place in the library and stand in the middle, slowly turning in circles while everyone giggles to themselves and thinks, 'Poor Freshman'", I actually just stayed back by the stairs and leaned casually on the wall, trying to look like I was just an indie kid with some old headphones.

I don't think I fooled many people.

Oh well. It's over.

If you happen to live around here, feel free to come watch the Homecoming parade on Saturday at 10. You might even catch me doing some rockin Bollywood with the Folk Dancers. And I know that's something you've always wanted to see.

Oh, yeah. Fall also makes me want to be in love.

What a shame.

retard.

Generally speaking, I would consider myself to be a passive person; when presented with a frustrating situation, I can usually laugh it off. However, just because I don’t react in an outward form, does not mean that my feelings are any less passionate than another. I simply purse my lips and stay silent, because I feel that my opinion will mean nothing to others, and their loud voices will quickly override mine. Because of this, it could be surprising to know that every time I hear the word “retard”, inner turmoil ensues. Typically, I want to do one of two things: politely ask them to use some other, less derogatory term, or slap them across the face (this feeling is reserved for those who blatantly use the word in reference to a mental disability).

When I was seven, my mother had her fifth child. It was quite the affair for me; last time I’d gained a sibling, I was merely four years old, and didn’t have much to remember about the pregnancy or birth. So it was with the anticipation and excitement only a seven-year-old could have that I drove to the hospital with my family. I remember the moment distinctly. We were traveling an overpass when my dad, more taciturn than usual, told us. He used these words to describe my new little sister: beautiful, healthy, and special. In my naïve mind, I remember being confused as my dad explained how she was going to be different. I couldn’t understand what he was trying to say, much less why he was tearing up about it. Down syndrome? What was that, anyway? Slowly, it began to dawn on me. I was able to piece together what little experience I had with the mentally disabled; instances in the lunchroom where I had incomprehensively laughed along with my friends. Was my sister going to end up in a wheelchair, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, the brunt of crude jokes? Before I knew it, I was crying, too.

As the years have passed, I’ve come to understand the mentally disabled much morethan I did that January day. My sister is nothing more complicated to me than that – a sister. She is not my sister with Down syndrome, my younger sister who is different, or the sister who is handicapped. She is simply my sister - she is Cami. The love I feel for her is no different than the love I feel for anyone else. She has brought a closeness and happiness into our family that we often take for granted. It has forever altered my life and my perspective of the world around me. Now I have a strong opinion of the use of the word “retard”.

As Soeren Palumbo put it, “In such an era of political correctness, why is it that retard is still ok?” Soeren, sibling of a girl with a mental handicap, delivered a powerful speech in March 2007 to his high school regarding the word “retard”,much of what I say is inspired by that speech. He told a story of two girls in his school who saw a young man washing the windows of their school. The first remarked, “I think it’s so cute that our school brings in the black kids from around the district to wash our windows.” The second then turned and said, “Hey Negro! You missed a spot!” Tell me, does this hit home at all? Are you appalled that these girls were able to get away with such a remark? You should be. However, let me add in one important detail - the girls did not say “Negro”, and the boy was not black. Instead, he was someone with a disability, and they called him “retard”. Had it indeed been an issue or racism, the boy could have turned around and defended himself. He could have turned around and explained how wrong racism is.

As Soeren put it, “Discrimination against those who can defend themselves, obviously, cannot survive. What would be far worse is if we discriminated against those who cannot defend themselves.”

The true definition of the word “retard” is, according to Webster’s Dictionary, “to make slow; delay the development or progress of; hinder”. By the fourth definition, a slang term has been reached: “a. a mentally retarded person. b. a person who is stupid, obtuse, or ineffective”. In a simple few lines, the word morphs into something ugly. If the word retarded was associated with the mentally disabled because they develop slower than the norm, what is it then saying about using the word “retard” to refer to something stupid in general?

It is not the word “retard” itself that offends me and so many others, but the abuse of it. One could argue that the word “Negro” means “black” in Spanish, and they only refer to the color of their skin when using this term to describe an African-American. Still, the historical abuse of the word has altered it’s definition into crude name-calling. To say someone is mentally retarded is, indeed, correct; mentally, they function slower. However, history has corrupted the word “retard”.

You may say to yourself, “I would never call someone with a disability a retard. I would never make fun of their differences.” Where then, is the line?

If it is accepted that the word “retard” is a degoratory term used to identify the mentally handicapped, “retarded” must then be accepted as a word that describes such a person. Describing something as “retarded” is then the equivalent of saying “That’s autistic”.

Does it make it excusable to add a simple two letters to the world “retard”? Is the meaning and connotation completely changed when you say “That’s retarded”? Urban Dictionary is an online dictionary that acknowledges and defines the connotations associated with words in today’s slang. The definition it lends for retard is “A person born with a mental condition . . . [who] will usually suffer a lot of ridicule from society . . . Those who choose to make fun . . . tend to be complete morons.” Nice, right? Makes you feel all warm and cozy inside because you know there are good people in the world who definitely understand the delicacies of the word. Look then, at the definition they lend for the world “retarded”: “An ‘unofficial’ (not recognized by dictionaries) slang descriptor of a person/thing/action/object . . . which is more or one of the following”, going on to list literally hundreds of descriptors, such as: “a waste of time, babyish, brainless, common, hopeless, insignificant, laughable, mediocre, lame, unsatisfactory, and worthless”. Worthless.

In today’s world, the younger generation uses the word “retarded” to describe a number of things. A teacher grades a test in unfairly and the student says “It’s retarded”. A girl forgets to come to a meeting at an appointed time and hurriedly explains, “Sorry, I’m retarded.”

Of course, the incorrect use of the word “retarded” is not an ultimatum, and I am sure some people do use it correctly - to describe something that is slower than normal. Perhaps you are one of those people who do not associate the word with the mentally disabled, consciously, or subconsciously.

Remember then, that others may still associate it as such. Remember then, that someone with a personal relationship with a mentally disabled child may be standing nearby. Remember that, still worse, someone who holds the handicap themselves may be listening; someone who has heard that word used as a derogatory term against themselves. Someone who has had to endure ridicule and jokes throughout their lives. Someone who will never have the same opportunities you have because of their circumstances. Someone who’s level of love is so high you and I will never be able to comprehend it.

Historically, it was politically correct to refer to an African-American as a Negro; it was what they asked to be called. And later, when that word no longer was a simple identifier, but a derogatory reference, they asked for the term Blacks. Now, the term deemed politically correct is African-Americans. Meanings change as time passes, and history taints a word’s connotation. The mentally handicapped alone are unable to speak up. They alone are unable to ask for a correction to how they are referenced, to ask for a recall on a word that is now hateful and ugly. Instead, it becomes the duty of those who care for, love, and know these people.