On Americans and Such Things

So it's time. Time to blog about a specific person that forces untold are pressuring me to blog about. Whereas she may not be "my bestest estest friend ever," I will begin to proceed to blog about someone who has greatly impacted my life: Reagan Hartley. The first questions that come to a person's mind when they think of someone impacting another person is influence in political values, economic, physical, or mental support, or a model for inspiration. Hysterically enough, and with NO offense to her, Reagan has provided me with none of these things, although she has brought me delicious treats to school (and is scheduled to give me pancakes tomorrow). :) No, Reagan has provided me with something much more valuable. Reagan and I are two completely different individuals; she is a classic "American" girl who does "normal" things and lives a "normal" life. I am a cultural relativist who challenges societal pretenses and is constantly pursuing xenophilic endeavors. She is a staunch Conservative and I am a subversive moderate who squeezes out of political boxes. She listens to "regular" music and I have everything from North African Rebel Rock to Alternative Country on my Zune. According to society and common friendship patterns, we should not be friends. As a matter of fact, we should repudiate each other's presence. Yet this does not happen. Reagan's friendship is something i value greatly because it has taught me great lessons about life. No matter how much she says that she's part of the group, Reagan is, inevitably, different. Now I don't believe she would like for me to discuss those differences on my public blog **coughclayaikencough**, but she has her own unique quirks about her that put her in a category of her own. Thinking upon this, if the classic, normal, American girl is different form everyone else, then is everyone else the same? The answer that was bequeathed to me by our friendship is one that I will never forget. No, everyone is not the same, in the sense that everyone everyone has their own mannerisms and attributes that set them apart. Initially, I thought that i was a freak. "Maybe I am out in left field because of my diverse interests?" was my initial thought. But with this newfound revelation, I realized that I was not a freak, and that EVERYONE exhibited their own oddities in some form or the other. For Reagan, it was Clay. For me, it's my relativism. For everyone, it's different. In order to truly see this message, one must think outside of his/her self and reflect on what he/she likes to do. Is what he/she likes to do all that normal? Take baseball for instance. American sport, right? Nothing too fancy or strange, right? Normal, right? Wrong. Who would have ever thought that people would waste money to scream and jump up and down gorging on slender slabs of animal flesh wrapped in baked grain all because a guy on a field hit a ball with a stick? Sounds like they let the freakos out of the Wacky Shack to me. Which brings me back to my original point. We are all unique, no matter how "normal" we try to be. So it's best to just embrace what you like and don't worry about what others think because they're just like you in the sense that they have weird likes. People are people, and I'm glad that I had such a great person as Reagan to help me realize that. :)

The Dress

A yellow and orange sun dress.

That's what Saturdays are meant for.

And that's how they spent them.

He and she.

Him and her.

Them.

They were together,

but never for a second

was it the kind of together one

might expect.

No, the two would stay plural

as singular people, separate.

But that's just how they liked it.

These not-so-lazy, crazy days that they had

were moments in the rough.

They loved sharing.

Glances. Laughter.

The crease lines around their cheeks became

prominent with excessive use.

And they understood the rules they had with each other.

Yet none were explicit. None had to be said.

All was well.

On those crazy Saturdays.

They were in school

on the weekend.

Not the dull, placid institution

where an unjust plethora of work

was tossed about unduly.

No, the world was their classroom.

The earth their desk,

experience their teacher,

their souls their pens.

And neither of them would give one Saturday

for anything, for their time was their own change to spend

for themselves.

They threw away their pennies

and tossed them into the wind

as time slipped by.

But they didn't bother to catch him,

for their feet were fine where they were.

And they picked and prodded at each other's brain

to see what was around the corner.

What's in this crevice? Why that's something new.

What a fine

specimen.

I do believe I'll add this to my collection.

They could have invested their time

in something that would have reaped extreme

monetary benefits

and bought millions of sun dresses.

But it wouldn't have been the same dress.

Or the same day.

Or the same at all.

For they invested in something much better than

pretense could provide.

The heart. The soul. The life.

This bank account

was never empty.

Because they didn't want dollar bills.

They wanted change.

Change colored with a yellow and orange tablet.

That's Life!!!

The purpose of this blog is to effectively document the various occurances that happen in the life of a subversive, beatnik xenophile. At some points in the future, the blogspot may appear to be dry or even mundane; however, each and every moment documented in this blog is one that has a certain bittersweet importance because it is moments like those that comprise the lives of people. Not just normal people, but people everywhere. Through these commonplace instances, we are all connected in a way that surpasses our own understanding. Unfortunately, some people refuse to broaden their intellectual spectrum and continue to fail to realize this. These people, regrettably mentioned as "the ignorant masses," will be frequently referenced in the future. So this is my attempt to document my life, and the life of others around me, so that others will finally be able to realize the importance of people. Here we go on this adventure through a lifetime.

"There's just stuff people do. It's all part of the same thing." -Grapes of Wrath

Sitting here with my fam at my mom's 51st b-day. Loveliness... :) Last night I had to pull an all-nighter to get some homework and crap done. I wake up and go to school only find that my "Reading is Sexy" bumper sticker (the one so amazingly purchased at The Reader's Corner in Raleigh) has been removed. One might ask, "Could it have fallen off?" Unfortunately, no. It was extremely adhesive and fairly new. "Well then, are you absolutely sure you put it on?" Unless I am going crazy, which most likely I am, I am sure that I placed it on my car with the distinct memory of justice, for this was no the first time the same bumper sticker was placed on my bumper. There is a certain group of rednecks at my school who have it in for me. They've been this way since middle school, and they've carried their juvenile nuances into high school, much to my dismay. The first time my property was defaced was when they carved into the sticker with a pen, engraving their ignorant ideas into my educated stand for all things learned. However, they lacked imagination in their senseless ridicule. I mean come on, writing "No it's not!" at the bottom is absolutely and irrevocably stupid. If I had my preference, I would MUCH rather be ridiculed in a clever, imaginative way as opposed to some punitive phrase comprised by ignoramuses. I had a friend to witness this and stand up for me, (futily, however, since they continued with their shenanigans) and I insisted that she turn them in. We both got busy, and in a matter of days, the pen marks wore off. But this nefarious caper returned one day when I observed that the sticker had been completely removed. Again, we got busy... nuff said. I went back to the store to purchase some books, and when I engaged in idle conversation with one of the owners (it's a relatively small store), I told him the story, and he gave me another one for free. He told me if I needed, I could get a bunch of bookworms to beat em up in the middle of the night. I got connections. :D So I stuck the sticker in the EXACT same same spot in defiance and mentally dared any of them to touch it. Well, I found out this morning that they did. I walked around my car in my parking spot this morning and observed the back of my car at the blank space where my sticker used to be. I stared. Since the parking spot beside me is a redneck mecca, some of them were there. I KNOW they saw me. I told my friend that we had to report it immediately. We went directly to the school police officer and recounted the story, and he said that he would get on it as soon as he could. The wheels of justice turn slowly, but they do turn indeed...