Hey, I’ve Never Met You, And This Is Crazy, But Can We Be Friends Maybe?

A friend died in a car accident.

The first night was the hardest. I couldn’t sleep, so I wrote a blog post about it. The next few days were particularly difficult as well, as there wasn’t a lot of time spent not thinking about it. It was strange and surreal, and most of all it was terrible. This man that I’d only met a couple times, who lived across the country from me, who I only knew for a year… his death upset my whole life. Even now, when I really stop to think about it, the sadness can be overwhelming.

At first, though, my my family didn’t understand why it affected me the way it did.

“Yeah, but I mean… you only knew him online, right?” My brother asked me.

“No, I’ve met this guy a few times. We just interacted a lot online.” Was my answer.

There was a general shift in the room as everyone more or less seemed to empathize a little better with my feelings on the subject. I see. They thought I only knew Spencer online. And why would I ever be so upset over someone who I didn’t “really” know?

Gather round, friends… because this, I believe, is a very relevant topic to our generation.

What if I had only known Spencer online?

I’ve given some thought to the idea. Mostly I’ve come to the conclusion that it all comes down to what your personal definition of what a “friend” is. When does someone stop being just an acquaintance and become someone that you could see yourself regularly chatting with over a beer at the local pub? And is there even a real difference between those two things? Is the real measure of friendship how much you care about a person, or how many times you’ve hung out with them? Because if it’s the latter, then a lot of the people who I consider my “friends” are, well, not.

So, really, the idea that friendships can only be marked by a physical presence is completely ridiculous to me.

It’s already a blurry line to begin with. I mean, what constitutes a “physical” presence anyway? If I’ve met you once, does that mean I’m allowed to call you my friend for now on? If I’ve met you twice, does that mean I’m now given leave to cry when we lose you? If I’ve never met you at all, am I really not allowed to be sad? Am I, indeed, seen as weird for being sad? I can think of one person in particular who I’ve only ever talked to online, but I know I would be devastated if something happened to him. He’s my friend. I know his interests, I know his humor, I know his personality. I know he’s a great guy. I was happy for him when he entered in to a relationship with his new girlfriend; I feel bad for him when something doesn’t go his way. In effect, I care for him. I didn’t need to first look at his face and shake his hand to form those emotions; I only needed to know what kind of person he was. And, wouldn’t you know it, when physical avenues are taken out of the equation… it’s actually very easy to get to know someone. I, myself, knew I was falling in love my my boyfriend before I ever set eyes on him in person.

Funny how that works.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for bonding over a cup of tea and then skipping merrily through a field of wildflowers with your friends, because physicality does have its place… But it’s not the only place.

The world is changing. There still seems to be a stigma surrounding online friendships, dating, gaming, etc., but I can’t help but feel like this is nothing but opposition to the change. Some people don’t want to accept the idea that you can form real relationships with people you’ve never technically “met”, simply because it’s different from how things have traditionally been done. Which is fair, because it certainly is. Look around you. With social networking sites like Facebook and twitter, our online presences are becoming a big part of who we are.

This is all just part of the so called ebb and flow of life. Things constantly change, progress runs up against opposition, people cling to what they know. There are certainly cons to beginning to live so much of our lives online, but opening our worlds up to new people that we never would have met otherwise is not one of them.

And I, for one, welcome our new online overlords friends.

For Spencer

Just hours ago, a friend in Michigan lost his life in a car accident.

In this past year I met and fell in love with the best guy I’ve ever known, and he introduced me to a whole world full of brand new people: a web based community called Icrontic. Being the  incredible community that they are, it wasn’t long before I called them all friends. They were warm and welcoming, and the sense of family that they’ve built is not just overwhelming, it’s beautiful. I’ve never known such a wonderful group of people. They cheer for one another when something great happens, and they rally behind one another when tragedy strikes. I saw that tonight.

Having just met Spencer a year ago, I didn’t know him as well as a lot of the other members of Icrontic, but I do feel a strange sense of emptiness that was not there yesterday. There is a place in my heart that I didn’t even realize was filled until I realized it had lost someone. I had grown to love Spencer just as I’d grown to love all the other Icrontians I’d met, but it had been so natural and so organic a transition, that I never really thought about it. I didn’t know how bad it would hurt if he was suddenly not here anymore. I never realized that I would miss him, because I never thought I’d ever have to miss him. I thought he’d always be around to help me out with Guild Wars, to run Dungeons with Dan and me, to make painfully corny jokes, to be… Spencer.

Suddenly missing something that you didn’t know you would, I think, is the very epitome of understanding that you’ve taken something for granted.

In a lot of ways, this is the saddest thing that’s ever happened in my life. Not in the sense that it happened to me, or even because he and I were close, because we weren’t… but it’s a tragedy. He was young. He had his whole life ahead of him. He wanted so many things that he’ll never get to have. He won’t get to meet the next great love of his life. He’ll never travel the world. He’ll never get married. Actually, you know? It’s more than that. Dammit. It’s the little things, too. He’ll never enjoy a beer again. He’ll never see snow again. I’ll wake up tomorrow, and he won’t. It’s so incredibly unfair, and I can’t seem to make sense of any of it. Not for him, and not for any of the many people that are grieving for him tonight.

God, Spencer. I’m so sorry.

The strangest thing, for me, is that I feel like I just talked to him. I can hear his voice so clearly in my head, that it seems impossible that he could be gone. I can still hear him laughing. How could he be gone?

And now, night has faded in to day. This happened last night. Next week, it will be last week. It’s true what they say that time just “marches” on… It supposedly heals all wounds, too, but I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that I understand my love for people a bit better today. I understand now, really for the first time, that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed to any of us. This is about that time when I’m supposed to get weirdly inspirational, I think, but I don’t have that in me. I just think that life is a harsh and fickle thing sometimes, and all we can do is hold on tight to the people around us, as hard as we can for as long as we can. I woke up next to the man I love this morning… and I’m never taking that for granted again. Ever.

As for my new Icrontic family, for those of you who ever find your way to this post, I love you guys. Never doubt it.

Goodbye, Spencer. I really am going to miss you.

But I’m Not The Only One

I find myself writing this from my very favorite green chair, a chair I’ve had since I was 17, that is stationed firmly up against a wall in Dan’s room. It’s weird seeing my things here, because this place is so familiar, and my things are so familiar… but together they are different. Together my chair, my paintings, my tea box, and Dan’s room all make up something new. I’ve been here so many times, but tonight I’m not just visiting… and I can feel it. As he set his desk up in a different corner of the room to accommodate my life inside of his he asked me, “how am I going to set up this microphone?”, and I answered with “we’ll figure it out.” Earlier today he told me he doesn’t like “We’ll figure it out”, because it may sound nice and reassuring, but it really just means something hasn’t been figured out yet. I like it, though.

I figure this is significant in some way, but I’m not quite sure how to go about analyzing the evidence.

 

I’m comfortable not having plans. I’m comfortable having plans to eventually have plans. Most people want to map everything out, be in control of all the variables. Me? I more or less operate my life with a vague outline of what I want and how I want to get it, rather than taking that extra step and fleshing out a draft. I don’t believe in 5 year plans, nor do I believe that you can plan for everything. This keeps me optimistic, I think, since it allows me to believe that everything is still possible… even if it isn’t. Maybe I still want to be a princess when I grow up. I haven’t thought about all the reasons why it could never happen, or everything that could go wrong along the way, I’ve only thought of all the reasons why it would be awesome.

I guess… you could say I’m a dreamer.

In fact, I would say I have more dreams than goals. The difference between those two being that dreams are the things people usually give up to achieve their goals. The sad thing is that the world that we live in is designed to let people do that. My freshman history professor once said to my class that the world is full of dream killers, and it’s resonated with me through out the years. To me, this doesn’t necessarily mean that there are a bunch of people out there who are actively trying to keep others from being what they want to be, but there will always be people around to tell you why you can’t do something. Sometimes it’s someone as close to you as your best friend, sometimes it’s someone you barely know, and sometimes it’s yourself.

You see, we were told that we could be or do anything, but life isn’t actually set up that way.  They send us to school for 16 years, and somewhere between learning to drive and throwing your tasseled hat in to the air, you have to decide what you’re going to do with the rest of your life. There’s never any real time to sit down and actually think about the decisions we’re making; we’re just rushed in to making them. I didn’t know what shoes I wanted to wear when I was 18, let alone what productive role in society I wanted to fill. We spend our whole childhood preparing for our life to start… but when is that exactly? Does it start after high school, after college, after you get married and buy a house, after you have a baby? I’ve come to realize that the answer is relatively simple. Life isn’t some big grand thing that we have to be on a list to get in to. Life is apparently what happens when you’re busy making other plans. This is it. Lion King had it right. Life starts “the day we arrive on this planet.”

I don’t want to be too busy making plans to realize that I’m living.

So yeah, we’ll figure it out. Assurance may be safe, but it’s boring, too. I don’t know where I’m going to be in my life next year, but I know that I’m out here taking real risks for the first time in ever. I’m young, I’m in love, and I’m not going to bother with noticing the dream killers anymore – not even the one in myself. Looking back, that’s probably what my history professor was hoping we’d get out of that lecture. The truth is that the world is actually full of possibilities, but it’s only as full of them as you let it be.

It occurs to me that I’m writing an unintentional homage to John Lennon, and though I’m not the biggest fan, it’s okay. I suppose the guy said some cool things from time to time.

Life, The Universe… And More Vegetarianism

Goodness, me. It has been quite some time since I have taken my computer and sat down with the express purpose of writing a blog post. I’ve thought about it from time to time, but it’s generally always when I don’t have anything particularly special to say. I’m not even sure if the phrase “generally always” makes sense. Something about it rings a little wrong, but I’m going to leave it anyway… as a testament to just how imperfect I am. Now, please, if you are so inclined… pull up a chair, and have a read of the post that is going to set the tone for all my future posts to come.

I’ve been spending quite a lot of time musing on the qualities inherent in what we think of as an “adult”. Does being an adult mean eating all of your vegetables and feeling good about it, or does it mean living on your own and taking care of yourself, or does it (perhaps as Dan would put it) mean being able to have chicken nuggets and ice-cream for dinner? I honestly don’t know. I have no answers to this question of what makes a person a real grown-up. I have only conjecture and postulation, all of which I have arrived at with little experience in the field.

You see, I am not an adult.

I will break this down in to 3 sections for you, for your perusing convenience:

1) No job for you… I mean me.

Recently, I’ve been coming against some rather difficult challenges in my road to self discovery. I’ve decided, finally and for good, that psychology is not for me; that psychology was never for me. I started off wanting to be a doctor, and then a nurse, and then a doctor again, and then just a psychologist… I knew I wanted to help people. I know that sounds all manner of cliché, but I really did want to do something that made a difference on a scope larger than just the frames of my own glasses. It still hurts just a little that I’m giving this up, because I’ve put so much time and effort in to it, but I’ll find some other way to give back. It just can’t be this way. The thought of having that kind of “normal” career made me miserable. My dad once told me that he could never imagine me working a job that didn’t allow me to be weird and creative, that I wasn’t meant for it. I agree. That’s all well and good, I suppose, except that now I am left with an almost education and, well, nothing much else. If I were a real adult, I’d have finished that degree and I’d have gone to work. The kid in me couldn’t bear it.

Let’s face it; the Terin in me couldn’t bear it.

So, I’m going to bake. I’m either going to go to culinary school or I’m going to apprentice at a bakery – a choice I am holding off from making due to my crippling paralysis when it comes to making any kind of life altering decision. I am going to do it, though, and I will chronicle my progress here. My ultimate goal is to own a tearoom/bakery where I can live out a rather specific dream of mine… which is to own a tearoom/bakery. The next few weeks will be spent looking for an area that Dan and I both can stand to live in. We’ve talked about everywhere from Culver City, CA to Detroit, MI. That, I think, would be some kind of adventure. Adventures, though; aren’t they for adults?

2) Being on my own… sort of.

Speaking of moving; I’m moving. Dan and I have been together for a year next month, and we’re celebrating by moving in together. Yep. This will be the first time I will be living with a boyfriend. In my mind I’ve imagined the whole thing as one giant slumber party complete with staying up all night playing video games, and then making each other laugh until we can’t keep our eyes open anymore. Mostly I think this, because this is what my experience with Dan thus far has been. I’m sure there’s going to be more to this whole living together thing that I couldn’t possibly fathom at this point, but I’m more or less looking forward to figuring it all out.

Does that make me an adult? Probably not, considering that Dan’s primary concern seems to be “taking care” of me. Sometimes when he says that I want to stomp my foot and say “I can take care of myself!”. Then I think over the fact that I can’t take care of myself, and I decide to just let him for a while.

3) Vegetarianism… why hast thou forsaken me?!

Speaking of not being able to take care of myself, I don’t suppose you recall me going on about how vegetarianism is quite dangerous if you don’t do it right? Well, dammit if it wasn’t the truth. Turns out that I suck at life, but more specifically at vegetarianism. I thought that taking a daily multivitamin and not stuffing my face with crap all day long was good enough. Sure, I might indulge in the extraneous potato here and there, but otherwise I feel that I’ve kept to a pretty healthy diet. Fruit, vegetables, complex carbs for the running. That’s all good, right? I mean, nothing wrong with only eating stuff that is supposedly good for you…

False. It is exactly that kind of non-adult thinking that has sunk me deep in to a sprawling abyss of vegetarian regret. Long story short, my doctor says I’m malnourished. Not only that, though, I am severely malnourished and have to actually get vitamins injected in to my body every two weeks. For those of you not familiar with injections, they’re less than fun. Turns out that eating things that aren’t bad for you isn’t exactly good for you. I thought I was compensating for the things I wasn’t getting, but I was living in a vegetarian fairy tale. I’ll tell you another thing, too; I hate my brother. Sure, it was all fun and games that fateful Thanksgiving when he told me I was eating someone’s pet turkey… but this isn’t funny anymore. I’d even go as far as to say it is decidedly unfunny.

But, you know, my advice still holds true. Vegetarianism can be awesome if you’re not me, and you can learn how to do it right. Apparently I’ve failed spectacularly at it. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying. I’m too committed now. Being a vegetarian is as much a part of me as is the color of my hair. Unfortunately.

4) Conclusion: The 4th part of a 3 section post.

So, what have you learned from this? I’d venture to say you’ve quite probably learned nothing, but my hope is that you’ve gained something. I think I’ve finally figured out what I’m doing with this blog. Who wouldn’t want to read about a vegetarian would-be baker trying desperately to find a middle ground between being who she is and becoming an adult, with various unnecessary social and political commentaries thrown in for color? Sounds a tad specific, but in the end, I suppose we’re all just trying to find our way.

…Or  at the very least trying to figure out what to make for dinner.

Conjunction Junction, Serve That Function!

Throughout my life, I have loved different people and things, and I’ve gone through phases and trends like any other normal person my age. Now that I’m older, though, I have whittled my passions down to only four. That isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy other activities or people, but I know what is nearest and dearest to my heart. Those things are, in no particular order: my family, Dan (Boyfriend Scott unveiled), tea, and writing.

For those of you who haven’t noticed, writing is sort of a hobby of mine. Ideally, I’d like to channel my love for writing in to a career, but opportunities in that field are few and far between; especially for a long suffering college student who still hasn’t managed to pick up her degree. In any case, it’s something I love to do and happen to care a lot about. Also, to clarify, when I say “writing”, I actually mean an all encompassing arena that includes both reading and researching. It’s all part of the same package. To write well, you have to know your subject. To know your subject, you have to research it… which means a lot of reading. Even if it’s not something a person enjoys or is good at, I believe that writing in general aids tremendously with intelligence and vocabulary.

Unless, of course, you refuse to acknowledge the importance of our language.

If that sounds a little silly to you, congratulations. It should. Language is certainly important. It’s how we communicate; it’s how get our points across. It effects how others perceive and understand us. It may not be as universal as math or science, but if it weren’t for words, we’d be reduced to grunting monosyllabically and drawing pictures in the dirt. Which is fine, I guess, if you’re in to that sort of thing. Also, by fine I actually mean “sad”.

As with most things in life, English comes with its own set of rules. I know it’s part of human nature to rebel against rules and question authority, but when it comes to writing, I ask you this: What exactly is the point? What is the point of spelling words like a child inclined to scrawl his letters backward? What is the point of leaving out punctuation when punctuation does, in fact, help people to understand what the hell you are trying to say? I promise to whoever is reading this that I am not big on judging, and I am by no means a grammar snob. If someone doesn’t want to take the time to write well, or if they have not received the kind of education that would lend itself to their writing savvy, it is certainly not for me to condemn. When someone decides to publicly insult those of us who do take care when penning even trivial things (such as “status updates”), however, I believe the topic becomes fair game.

No, Facebook updates are not “research papers”. In that, at least, the anonymous Facebook user to which I am referring is correct. As to his other claim that people who use proper spelling and punctuation are douche bags, though, I must disagree.

You see, I love my language. English and I go way back. This is why you will never see me abbreviate “you” to a one letter ambassador of its former self. You will never see me abbreviate whole phrases to unnecessary acronyms (i.e. “OMG”). That’s just not me. As a matter of fact, since I am so accustomed to writing things correctly, it would take more thought not to. Muscle memory and habit being two reasons for that. I fail to see how this makes me a douche bag, and I am left wondering if this Facebook user is acquainted with the guy who thinks I’m an asshole for not eating chicken even though I’m a vegetarian. It doesn’t make much sense to me. It just so happens that an appreciation of grammar does exist outside of school. It is less and less common, though, which I feel is kind of a dismal social commentary. Personally, I am proud of my skills and of my education. If my parents don’t yet have their daughter’s degree to show for all the billions they’ve spent on my schooling… well, at least they can have this. I can write and speak well, and I can represent myself and my family with graceful aptitude. Since I can, I figure I might as well.

That doesn’t make me a douche bag. That just makes me awesome.

Now, the truth of the matter is that my opinion on the subject is much harsher than I’m really willing to voice on a blog.  I will say that I think writing is becoming something of an old world art, and that this is having a profound impact on how we interact with one another.  It’s beginning to translate to other areas of our lives, and it’s exactly forums like Facebook where the break down starts. We stop taking care with little things, and then the bigger things don’t seem as big. Messages are getting shorter and less personal. People are forgetting the importance of presenting themselves with class and poise and, to be honest, I find it to be a bit tragic.  I will always believe that eloquence and cleverness recommend a person better than most anything else. I’m not perfect at this, but I do put in an effort every day.

If you are not like me and happen to not take these things to heart, I am not trying to put you down. Like I said, I really don’t judge. Different people do different things, and not everyone is passionate about writing like I am. It’s perfectly acceptable for it not to be your cup of tea. I will never get on your case for it, much the same as I will never get on anyone’s case for eating meat. As is often the circumstance, it’s not my place or my business. So, for those of you who feel similar to the Facebook user who thinks people like me are douche bags, fine.  Just keep quiet about it and let me do my thing, and I’ll let you do yours.

Just don’t pick a fight with me about it, because I’m better with words than you are and will likely come out on top.

Come For The Games, Stay For The Awesome

Today, I have not a blog… but rather a link to one. Don’t get too excited, though. It’s still just me.

Click here for awesome.

 

The One Where I Decide To Give Up Vegetarianism Forever…

Oh, yes. You read the title right. Unless you didn’t… in which case, do that real quick and meet me back here.

Oh, yes. You read the title right.  I’m giving up vegetarianism forever.  With Thanksgiving having just passed and Christmas quickly approaching, a few things occur to me. One is that I just missed out on mostly everything on the dinner table on Thanksgiving. Again. Just like last year.  My aunt made some yams which smelled like what amazing might smell like if it had the inclination to smell like anything.  I was pretty excited about that until, of course, she poured an obscenely sized bag of mini marshmallows on top of them.  I watched as my beautiful orange dreams disappeared under a mountain of harsh white reality.

Now, if you’re not a vegetarian, you might not understand why those marshmallows had ruined my life.  It’s because they’re filled with animals.  Specifically, gelatin.  Gelatin, as we all know, is hydrolyzed animal collagen. Putting aside the food holidays for a moment, let’s consider ALL the other things that are rendered inedible to me because of that cheap and readily available product: gummy bears, gummy anything, starbursts, cheesecake, yogurt, pop tarts, jello (duh), and basically everything else ever made that I want to put in my mouth when I’m angry, PMSing, or sitting on the bed watching Boyfriend Scott play League of Legends when it’s cold and I want to cuddle the heat out of him.  Don’t get me wrong; I like watching him play, and if I was able to power down some pop tarts, maybe my body could manage the energy to make its own damn heat.

But that’s just gelatin. There are also the enzymes. Oh, the dreaded enzymes.

Now, I always knew cheese was not vegan. That only stands to reason seeing as how it is made with a substance that you have to coax out from a cow by rather unseemly means, but I didn’t know until two years ago that cheese was not even vegetarian.  You can credit a very special episode of Jeff Corwin’s “Extreme Cuisine”, wherein he was describing the ingredients of cheese, for my realization of this one.  I believe his exact words were “enzymes from the lining of a cow’s stomach”.  It makes sense, of course.  Enzymes catalyze chemical reactions, and in this case the product is cheese.  Which, thanks to Jeff “has no business being on the food channel” Corwin, I can no longer eat.  Milk bothers me enough as it is, but I’ve always been able to muscle through the knowledge of what it is and where it comes from.  As a vegetarian, however, I can’t actually go around consuming cow parts, no matter how small they may be.  That meant that cheese was out.  It’s only after you can’t eat cheese that you realize it’s in everything.  It’s in your bread, it’s in your crackers, it’s in chips, it’s in your toothpaste*, it’s in your dreams, and more importantly, it’s in your nightmares.  It’s everywhere, and once you know something, you can’t un-know it.

Enzymes showed up one  fateful day on my TV, and have haunted me from then on… because, as it turns out, they are also used in the production of countless other tasty things that I had to resign myself to an empty life without.

Until now. This Christmas, I am headed out of my little corner of the planet and off to Boyfriend Scott’s corner in Iowa, and I know everyone he’s ever met in his life is going to offer me food. The prospect of having to turn everything down, and worse – having to to explain to a brand new batch of people my vegetarianism, makes me sad and tired. I want to say, “yes!”. I’m eating pie and cookies, and I’m not asking what’s in them. By God, I’m eating everything.

Why, yes, Boyfriend Scott’s Mom, I would like a piece of that honey glazed meat-stuffed animal piece of art. What’s that, Boyfriend Scott? Would I like some of that macaroni and cheese? Yes, I would. Thank you for asking. Oh, hot chocolate with marshmallows? Of course!

And while I’m at it, I’m going to eat a cheeseburger, chilli fries, a burrito, a meat sandwich with EXTRA meat, every starburst on the face of this world (and other worlds if I can get my hands on them), teriyaki chicken bowls (SEVERAL BOWLS), a horse (I hear they’re good for when you’re hungry), and, I don’t know… some orange juice or something. BACON orange juice.  Then I’ll sit back and enjoy the inevitable psychological torment, the first time I’ve been full since I was a little girl, and Boyfriend Scott’s arms as he gently carries me off to the hospital.

Which is an interesting segue to the actual point of this blog post. I’m going to quickly debunk a common myth: that vegetarianism is always better for you. Vegetarianism is not necessarily a healthy choice for some people because most people don’t know how to be a vegetarian.  As I’ve exhibited rather theatrically above, it’s difficult to find things to eat. I was once told by a doctor that he considers vegetarianism an eating disorder, because it is about restriction to a certain extent. Either people will restrict too much, or they won’t be able to find ways to make up for the lack of protein, iron, vitamins, and various etceteras in their diet. It can be a little on the unsafe side.  I’ve been a vegetarian for decades (sounds so much more official than “20 years”), and I still suck at this sometimes. Boyfriend Scott routinely hides walnuts in my food to aid in the matter.

Sigh. Vegetarianism, you cruel and beautiful mistress. I owe it to you to keep trying.

Aw, you didn’t really think I was going to give up being a vegetarian, did you? Hell no. I’d have to change the name of my blog. I’m much too lazy for that.  I just like to fantasize about being a normal person sometimes.  Which brings me to the second point of this post… Meat eaters, go easy on your vegetarian friends during the holidays. Especially if they seem extra angry, because what you’re mistaking for grumpiness is actually just jealousy and hunger.  I’m just glad I won’t be home this year to be asked, yet again, if I want every meat product on the table by my father, and be forced to do that thing where I’m half playfully annoyed and half actually annoyed. Anyhow, if you want to be a vegetarian, do the research and be safe. Which hipster-vegans aren’t, because they’re still doing everything exactly wrong.  It’s definitely a healthy life style choice if you’re doing it right.

Or just eat meat like a normal person.

*There’s no cheese in toothpaste. As far as I know.

Wherein I Apologize To A Chicken For Being A Vegetarian

During my tenure as a human being, I discovered rather early on that people don’t seem to like people who are different from them.  Even when they accept your differences, well, they still have to make it known that they accept you even though you’re different.  In fact, you’re not just yourself, you’re actually just a sub-classification of what everyone else is.

I recently witnessed an internet argument wherein someone decided it’d be a barrel of laughs to bash vegetarianism publicly.  The argument had started when a man had posted a link to a captioned picture that basically called any vegetarian who wouldn’t eat a piece of chicken that accidentally ended up on their plate an “asshole”.  Now, I’m not one to get easily offended or back off from things so quickly, so I kind of chuckled to myself and decided to read on to find out why, exactly, I was being called an “asshole” by  someone who’d never met me or most of the people he was insulting.  You see, I would not eat that piece of chicken.

Well, internet, it turns out I am being termed as an expletive, because that chicken would have died in vain because of me.  I preach for the animals, and then I let them go to waste. Apparently.

Firstly, no. No, I don’t preach for the animals.  I keep my thoughts mostly to myself, especially lately in this weird hipster-vegan vegetarian climate.  I don’t want to force my views on anyone, but here I am being called an “asshole” by someone who wants to label my sense of conviction as “hypocritical”.  If I were to eat every single piece of animal that ended up on my plate, I wouldn’t be a vegetarian. I’d be a meat-eater who ate meat very selectively.  Your argument, whoever you are, that it’s my fault that chicken is going to waste is just your way of forcing the issue that, for some reason, you don’t like vegetarians.  We can’t do anything right because you don’t like what we believe, and since you can’t understand why we wouldn’t eat that piece of chicken on our plate… we’re hypocritical assholes.  It’s not my fault that there’s a farm out in the middle of nowhere slaughtering animals, nor is it my fault if some waiter accidentally slips me a piece of chicken or even the completely wrong order filled with meat. I don’t eat meat for an array of reasons, and some of the less important reasons include the fact that the idea of putting that in my mouth makes me want to gag.  So, no.  I wouldn’t eat it.  That doesn’t make me an asshole, that makes me a vegetarian.

Or, you know, just an omnivore who’s choosing not to eat meat… according to some people.

So, after having been called names for sticking to my belief system in times of trial, I went on to read the comments to the aforementioned post.  A woman who seemed to agree wholeheartedly with it, remarked that vegetarians are all ridiculous.  We’re not born vegetarians, we choose to be. Remember how I said that “you’re not yourself, you’re just a sub-classification” of what everyone else is? Yeah, that gem belongs to her.  Apparently, there’s no such thing as “vegetarians”.  Humans are omnivores by nature, and “choosing” not to eat meat doesn’t change that fact.  I would like to address my next paragraph to this woman.

Darling, you see… “choosing” does, indeed, change the fact.  Just having a choice changes the fact.  I have a mind of my own, and I have free will, and I will never eat meat again. You cannot call me an omnivore, because you would be incorrect.  My body may be built to process meat, but I, as a person, am not.  I’m myself, and not a sub-classification of what you are, just because you think what you are is right or better, or the way people are “supposed” to be.  I can think of quite a few other things that would help me along in this argument, but I’ll keep them to myself seeing as how the majority of this rant has been about vegetarianism.  I’ll just leave it at: it must be hard being your friend if that’s how you think.  Let’s hope it doesn’t translate in to every facet of your life, or you must be a very closed-minded and bigoted person.

I am a vegetarian because I choose to be, but that doesn’t make it any less valid… and since I choose to be, I choose to stick with it even if, every so often, it means a chicken has to die in vain because I refuse to eat it.

By the way, I’m sorry about that, Chicken.

How Much Are You Worth, Anyway?

It has been pointed out to me quite frequently over the past 2 months (by Boyfriend Scott, an Iowa native) that I have spent my whole life living in a tiny corner of the world which, though true, has never really occurred to me so much.  I’ve been surrounded by the same street names, the same antique stores, and the same parks and sidewalks the whole time I have been on this planet.  I know only what I have seen, and I suppose I haven’t seen much.  I’ve been sheltered, and to be honest, I still pretty much live like a teenager.  So, in that way, perhaps it makes a little bit of sense that I am still always surprised by the depth of pure disgusting to which people can sink.

Now, I’m just going to throw this quick question out: When you imagine a struggling family packing their whole lives away in to boxes and having to leave perhaps the only home they’ve ever known because the bank has taken it away from them, is your first instinct to laugh? It really shouldn’t be, and you want to know why? Because, hi there… it’s not actually funny.  Now, the cynics in us may want to rail away and exclaim, “well, they shouldn’t have bought a house that they knew they couldn’t afford!”.  Which, all right, wouldn’t be a completely unfair assessment. There is a level of irresponsibility involved when it comes to people trying to have something for which their budget will not allow.  It’s kind of the law; you can’t have what you can’t pay for.  Unfortunately, there is a very human face to this problem.  Not to mention its variable nature, wherein sometimes unforeseeable things happen (like, say, a homeowner losing his/her job) and a once payable molehill becomes an overwhelmingly daunting bill mountain.  We can’t really blame these people, can we? And in situations where we can blame, who are we to judge or laugh?

Steven J. Baum law firm, can I admonish thee enough?

There are certain professions of which I am convinced that the desensitization of the people working within those fields becomes necessary.  Healthcare, for instance.  Crime scene investigators, for another.  These men and women need to get past various emotions that most of us have the luxury of being able to feel, because if they didn’t… these emotions might break them down.  I can understand a doctor trying to dismiss a death on their table, consoling themselves with the idea that they’ve saved countless others… but lawyers? Lawyers making light of people losing their homes?  This doesn’t actually make much sense.  People don’t need to be desensitized to that, and we certainly don’t need to make fun of it.

Which is exactly what Steven J. Baum and company did at their cute little halloween party.  The employees thought it would be great fun to dress up as homeless people… as in,  people who had lost their homes. Not only is that not funny, but it’s terribly cavalier if not almost a little sadistic.  I’m fairly certain that “kicking people while they’re down” isn’t actually in the dictionary, but if it were – there might be a picture of this party next to the entry.

Which, anyway, brings me to my point.  It seems like we’re living in a society where simple human decency has become null and void.  We don’t need to be decent to people anymore, guys, because apparently it’s not cost effective.  It won’t make you any money.  The important thing, now, is to learn how to be as inconsiderate and cold hearted as we can be… otherwise, we’ll fall victim to those who have already learned.  Think I’m joking? Maybe we should talk to the guys over at that airline who spent money on research to find out if it’d be more expensive to fix a defect on their planes, or pay out to the families of the victims if something were to go wrong. For the record, they fixed the defect. Because their research showed it would be cheaper.

Scary, isn’t it? Our lives are in the hands of people, every single day, who don’t look at us as human beings… they looks at us as numbers and bottom lines.  What’s a couple laughs over kicking someone out of their house when it got you that huge paycheck, anyway? Nothing. Just like voting one right away is nothing.

It’s always nothing until it’s something.

Which makes sense, don’t you think?

You Have The Right Not To Like This Post

All right, Internet… Please affix a pair of steel toed boots to your feet, because I am about to step on some toes.

Putting aside the current mess that is our economy and the never ending ditch that patriotic morale has somehow found its way to the bottom of… there are, in fact, a few things that still make this country pretty great.  For instance, I can come online and write pretty much whatever I want, be it mean, racist, ugly, wrong, or what have you.  People may get mad, yes.  People may not like it… but, in the end, do I care? Maybe.  I might care.  But jeeze, at least I had the right to say it.  I can read what I want.  I can watch what I want.  I can wear what I want.  I have a wondrous cornucopia of rights that I probably take for granted every single day of my life.

But you want to know something? Those rights are not guaranteed to us.  We may think they are, but take a closer look at all those fancy ancient documents our country was founded on.  The fact of the matter is that it’s extremely possible to lose our rights one by one.  Is it a conscious thing?  I really don’t know… but is the loss of rights a gradual process? A process that we can actively participate in every step of the way, and not even realize it until we’ve backed ourselves up in to a corner that we have no right to walk back out of?

Yes.  Yes, it is.

There was a law passed in a city nearby me not too long ago, in which was stipulated a nice and long list of places where people were no longer allowed to smoke.  I don’t smoke.  I never have, and I never will.  Personally, I think it’s a gross and unhealthy habit.  Does this law benefit me? Yes, I suppose it does.  It means I don’t have to breathe in someone’s disgusting smoky air.  If I had had the opportunity to vote on this law, however, I would have firmly punched “no” on the ballot.  Ask me why now, Internet.

Because, as small and insignificant as this may seem, it would have been voting someone’s right away.  Somewhere along the line someone, or some group, gets angry enough about something that they take options out of our hands.  We’re left with one option, and it’s their option.  Like I said, the smoking issue may seem inconsequential, but that’s the point.  It’s a small enough issue now, and we let it slip under our radar.  It’s when this becomes the norm, that it becomes a problem.  When we get used to something, bigger and bigger issues seem smaller and smaller.  Our radar gets more and more blurred.

Now, we live in a strange social and political climate.  It seems that you can’t get away with kicking a damn pebble down the street without someone getting up in arms about how that pebble didn’t want or deserve that kind of treatment.  Personally, I think people take themselves too seriously.

Like you, Sasha Houston.

So, you walked in to an Urban Outfitters and were upset that they didn’t honor your culture?  It’s a clothing chain.  They don’t honor anything, or haven’t you seen the way people dress these days?  Somehow furry boots go with shorts, and tights are now considered pants.  They don’t care about you, they don’t care about me, and they don’t care about the Native Americans. Why should they?  It’s a free market out there, as well it should be.  They make money off this stuff, as is their right.  Do you have to like it? No.  Do you have to shop there? No.  Do you have the right to complain about it?  Yes, you do.  Do I have the right to call you out on your crappy, self-indulgent, “poor me, poor us” attitude? Yes, I do.

No one is going to go around saying that the American Indians didn’t draw the short straw.  We all know what happened to them, and yes, it was terrible.  Having said that, I don’t think that slapping a synthetic feather on a plastic dream catcher was Urban Outfitters’ way of flipping the Native American culture the bird.   This is not something that they did personally to anyone, nor did they do it to purposely make anyone mad.  This is something they did to capitalize on the fact that, today, teenage girls like feathers and fringe.  Tomorrow, it’ll be something else.

People will keep complaining though.  People will keep playing race cards, and culture cards, and comfort cards, and I-have-this-so-I-may-as-well-use-it cards… and pretty soon, no one will be allowed to say or do anything for fear of being sued, being picketed, being boycotted, being arrested, etc…

There’s that corner again; it’s getting closer and closer.

Anyhow, keep complaining, Sasha.  That’s your right.  My advice, though? Get over it, and shop somewhere else.

Or keep shopping there.  Did you know you could get a dream catcher for five dollars at Urban Outfitters? How can you afford not to buy that?

Link to article:

http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/beauty/urban-outfitters-under-fire-for-navajo-collection-2582797/