So this is a slightly more personal post but true and hopefully therefore not nauseating...but just in case it could be construed as such let me just reiterate that there is a very very good chance I would ditch this person to canoodle with Jon Stewart, I would do it. But only for one night, and only if Jon Stewart wrote me a letter of recommendation to, like, the whole world.

Anyways...what I wanted to say is that

This kid is graduating
and I couldn't be more amazed at everything he's accomplished and how hard he's worked to make it happen. I also couldn't be more excited
for all the amazing ways
he is going to change the world.

Congrats dude, way to rock the socks off.


That's all for today folks.

Mixed Messages

If Nicholas Kristof is really trying to change the world and alter perceptions from his cushy spot at NYT with his feel good stories about former prostitutes and women political agitators (sex sells baby) why must one pay at least $15 USD a month to read them?

Who is he trying to kid and why is his shit so socially acceptable?

And is it exploitive that Kristof makes so much bank off of telling poor and marginalized people's stories?

Who knows, just a wondering

(I'm also secretly hoping someone at NYT magically comes across this post and is inspired to take Kristof's shit (which I never get to read and thus probably can't denounce as shit) off the damn Times Select menu online)

I'm Blowing this Popsicle Stand...

It all started innocently enough. I was walking home from an advising appointment when my mom called. I mentioned that I only had five credits left to finish for my two majors without really thinking about the repercussions for such a trivial statement but I should have.

"Wow" my mom said with a nervous laugh, "So you could actually graduate this summer right?"

Oh, shit, yea. Suddenly graduating a semester early in December seemed wasteful, why stick around for another six months and spend thousands of dollars on rent, books, and tuition when I could simply finish up my lease, take some classes and leave Madison with my degree in August.

Scary but exhilarating.

Despite the pained looks on the my friends faces when I tell them I'm going to leave behind all the homework and papers and parties and friends, despite my boss's warnings about trying to find health insurance, despite my parents telling me not to go too far away for too long, too fast, I'm so fucking excited about this recent life-altering change of plans.

So I'll be here this summer hanging out on the terrace, working, having a fabulous 3 month good-bye to Madison that I didn't think I was going to have and then I'm out.

I'm blowing this Popsicle stand for God knows what and even though I know that I will most likely be terrified or miserable or homeless at some point in the near future, I can't help but feel like its absolutely awesome and absolutely perfect.

And relatedly, I think this means I get to start my senior slide...yessssssssss

More evidence for my case against vegetables

This woman is my hero...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/manchester/6584479.stm

Running off the Bullshit

There is something about running that simply doesn't let one hold onto bullshit

Countless times I've headed out on a run determined to "use it" to revise a thesis for a paper, figure out what I'm going to say to someone, figure out why I feel something other than good or justify to myself why I should feel that way. I always assume that running, the time spent solo running "away" from "everything" will bring me solutions or clarity, or vindication.

It doesn't quite work like that though.

I start out, thinking hard, running without even thinking about what my body is doing, trying to stay focused on the "problem" that needs a "solution." Inevitably though, it starts. My legs strain, my lungs heave and my breath comes faster, sweat prickles pleasantly, uncomfortably near my temple and the pounding of my joints jolts my brain in a cadence that turns my "thinking" into senseless bullshit mantras. Half thoughts lost with each jolt of my stride, thoughts which I exhaustingly pick up again in the next step down the road until finally, at some point in between exhaustion and lethargy my mind finally has to say "oh hell" and shut off, leaving me with only the sensations of strain, pain, or on good days-exhilaration as my steps grow lighter having cast off the weight of my bullshit.

And soon-I'm back, back to my house, back to my computer, back to my cellphone, back to the "bullshit problems" that I couldn't find a "solution" for on the run

Except most of the time, the problem, the writer's block, the feelings of doubt or insecurity or rage that seemed so concrete no longer really exist. They were all just bullshit anyway, bullshit pounded out on the run, bullshit my body couldn't afford to hold onto and my mind even less so. Anything that's left in the aftermath, after my legs are done shaking, after my breath slows to normal and after the sweat has dried on my skin-those things are the things to hold onto.

Realizing these things makes me wonder,

are we ever supposed to think ourselves into the circles we do? Overanalyze, hypothesize, criticize to such a point that it actually takes real energy to hold onto that shit? And how do we know when we are thinking deeply, constructively, importantly or simply over analyzing for the sake of enjoying a few moments of self-pity or stagnation? What happens when good things and bad things come out of both? Because they do and its complicated.

Maybe its time for another run

Tipping Point

I think this means I blog now...Allah save us all...