I love Halloween. If it were a national holiday it would rank right behind Thanksgiving, and just in front of Christmas. It is the one weekend of the year where I get to unleash my creativity without fear of repercussions. It is a time when I can choose to be hilarious one night, make a statement the next, and make girls fall in love with my creativity at the same time.
Some people think Halloween is just an excuse for girls to dress like whores, children to eat too many sweets, and teenage boys to vandalize the neighborhood. I say it's an opportunity of expression. When the whole world pressures us to be something we are not, Halloween provides us with one weekend out of the year to give society the finger and let our suppressed personalities flow freely.
This is not to say I condone all activities that go on during this time of year. It is true that I have been known to partake in a little mischief in my younger days, but deliberately damaging the property of others goes beyond mischief. That is just being a little prick. I also do not believe girls 13 years old should be prancing around in belly shirts and navel rings. At the same time I believe young women ages 18-35 are well within their rights to dress as provocatively as possible. In fact, I encourage it.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Social Awareness, being "the white kid"
It took two years of being surrounded by people in the business world, and students concerned only with bringing in the big paycheck after graduation for me to realize that's not who I am, nor want to be. I always thought I wanted to be rich, but I became so disgusted with the greed and selfishness I was surrounded by that I wanted to transfer. Midway through my junior year I came to the conclusion that I want to do good in this world. I decided I wanted to get involved with non-profit management, and maybe eventually politics, though it was not an overnight change. It began with freshman year and my first exposure to new cultures and people.
I grew up in a small country town in Northeastern Pennsylvania. I was not given the opportunity to experience much culture beyond that of the blue-collar, white Christian kind. I can count on two hands the number of people I knew who came from a different cultural background. I was friends with most of them and thought I treated them like I treated all my friends. I never understood it when they would make comments about being outcasts, or complain about being watched everywhere they went. They would talk of racism, always being categorized, and being treated differently because of their skin color.
One issue I could never understand was the problem with categorizing. I believed in political correctness, but I could not understand the problem with recognizing differences among people. Why couldn't we call a stone a stone, or a brick a brick? I didn't see why there was a problem recognizing some people as black and others as white, but it was a big problem that resulted in a lot of racial tension in my school.
My freshman year in college I was introduced to a little more culture. Culture shock might be the more appropriate term. I lived with a Dominican from Harlem and a Haitian from Mattapan. Our backgrounds were about as different as it could get, but we became close firends and spent a lot of time together. One weekend we went to a party at an all-girls school in search of pretty. When we got there I realized it was a Black Student Union party. It was over 300 black students - and me: Mr. Hick from the Sticks. I thought about my friends from high school as I became increasingly aware of the fact that I am extremely white.
I felt like every eye was on me, like everyone was giving me dirty looks. Most importantly, I felt like "the white kid," - and I didn't like it. Even the girls who went out of their way to see if I was having a good time made me self-conscious, because I knew they were giving me attention because I'm white. For the first time in my life my race became something that made me different than everyone else, and I was treated differently as a result. At the end of the night I realized our roles had been reversed. I was categorized that night and it made me uncomfortable. Now I understand, to some degree, why it was such a big issue in high school, and remains a big issue today.
I grew up in a small country town in Northeastern Pennsylvania. I was not given the opportunity to experience much culture beyond that of the blue-collar, white Christian kind. I can count on two hands the number of people I knew who came from a different cultural background. I was friends with most of them and thought I treated them like I treated all my friends. I never understood it when they would make comments about being outcasts, or complain about being watched everywhere they went. They would talk of racism, always being categorized, and being treated differently because of their skin color.
One issue I could never understand was the problem with categorizing. I believed in political correctness, but I could not understand the problem with recognizing differences among people. Why couldn't we call a stone a stone, or a brick a brick? I didn't see why there was a problem recognizing some people as black and others as white, but it was a big problem that resulted in a lot of racial tension in my school.
My freshman year in college I was introduced to a little more culture. Culture shock might be the more appropriate term. I lived with a Dominican from Harlem and a Haitian from Mattapan. Our backgrounds were about as different as it could get, but we became close firends and spent a lot of time together. One weekend we went to a party at an all-girls school in search of pretty. When we got there I realized it was a Black Student Union party. It was over 300 black students - and me: Mr. Hick from the Sticks. I thought about my friends from high school as I became increasingly aware of the fact that I am extremely white.
I felt like every eye was on me, like everyone was giving me dirty looks. Most importantly, I felt like "the white kid," - and I didn't like it. Even the girls who went out of their way to see if I was having a good time made me self-conscious, because I knew they were giving me attention because I'm white. For the first time in my life my race became something that made me different than everyone else, and I was treated differently as a result. At the end of the night I realized our roles had been reversed. I was categorized that night and it made me uncomfortable. Now I understand, to some degree, why it was such a big issue in high school, and remains a big issue today.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Reason for this Blog
I want to be funny. I want you to laugh when you read my thoughts. In the future some of them may tickle that the proverbial funny bone, but not today. Today I explain my reason for taking the plunge into the world of blogging.
On the surface I couldn't be happier, and with good reason. I've tried to celebrate the fact that I have generous and loyal friends who would do anything for me. I've tried to show my appreciation for my brothers and sister, with whom I share a friendship and bond that sadly seems to be missing from many American families these days. I've tried to relish the love and support my parents have given me, the sacrifices they've made for me, and the example they have set for me through their continued love for one another. I've tried to be thankful for the talents I've been blessed with, and the many gifts I have been given - including early success in a job I absolutely love.
And yet for the last few years I have woken up every single day with a deep sadness casting a shadow over my heart that I continue to struggle to articulate.
My sadness stems from the seemingly incurable hatred, suffering, poverty, and pain that I see every single day. Sometimes I don't know what saddens me more; the existence of these evils, my inability to make change on my own, or my inability to accurately express my own sadness that results from these everyday travesties.
I'm not just referring to the genocide in the Sudan, the hostility over nuclear advancement in North Korea and Iran, the continued Palestinian and Israeli conflict, or million+ women and children forced into sexual slavery each year, or the famine that plagues many African nations.
I'm talking about the 300,000+ Massachusetts children under the age of 12 whose parents can't provide them with a warm coat this winter. I'm talking about our country's leaders failing to put the good of our people ahead of the good of their party. I'm talking about the war we are facing here at home. 3 innocent teens were killed in South Chicago gang related violence in the last month - the most recent, 16 year old honor student Derrion Albert, was killed on his way home from school last Thursday.
I'm talking about it. I hope you will talk about it too.
I hope you don't stop at talking. I hope you take action. This is the first step for me, but it's not the last. Come back and share in my personal struggles with society, my philosophies on life, and my ideas on how we can make it better. Hopefully some of it will be fun and make you laugh. Hopefully some of it will be thought provoking. Maybe even a little inspiring? .....that would be cool.
Share your comments and some of your own philosophies. The world is broken, and I'm just naive enough to think I can fix it. Will you help me?
On the surface I couldn't be happier, and with good reason. I've tried to celebrate the fact that I have generous and loyal friends who would do anything for me. I've tried to show my appreciation for my brothers and sister, with whom I share a friendship and bond that sadly seems to be missing from many American families these days. I've tried to relish the love and support my parents have given me, the sacrifices they've made for me, and the example they have set for me through their continued love for one another. I've tried to be thankful for the talents I've been blessed with, and the many gifts I have been given - including early success in a job I absolutely love.
And yet for the last few years I have woken up every single day with a deep sadness casting a shadow over my heart that I continue to struggle to articulate.
My sadness stems from the seemingly incurable hatred, suffering, poverty, and pain that I see every single day. Sometimes I don't know what saddens me more; the existence of these evils, my inability to make change on my own, or my inability to accurately express my own sadness that results from these everyday travesties.
I'm not just referring to the genocide in the Sudan, the hostility over nuclear advancement in North Korea and Iran, the continued Palestinian and Israeli conflict, or million+ women and children forced into sexual slavery each year, or the famine that plagues many African nations.
I'm talking about the 300,000+ Massachusetts children under the age of 12 whose parents can't provide them with a warm coat this winter. I'm talking about our country's leaders failing to put the good of our people ahead of the good of their party. I'm talking about the war we are facing here at home. 3 innocent teens were killed in South Chicago gang related violence in the last month - the most recent, 16 year old honor student Derrion Albert, was killed on his way home from school last Thursday.
I'm talking about it. I hope you will talk about it too.
I hope you don't stop at talking. I hope you take action. This is the first step for me, but it's not the last. Come back and share in my personal struggles with society, my philosophies on life, and my ideas on how we can make it better. Hopefully some of it will be fun and make you laugh. Hopefully some of it will be thought provoking. Maybe even a little inspiring? .....that would be cool.
Share your comments and some of your own philosophies. The world is broken, and I'm just naive enough to think I can fix it. Will you help me?
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