nothing promised, no regrets, voulez vous

Today, I went to see the dance recital for the group I used to dance with and it made me sad.

I really miss the group of friends I had in dance because it was different from my group at school or the people I hung out with often and I've missed that this year.

I really, really miss dancing. It was something so unique because so few of the people who surrounded me on a daily basis knew anything about it. Ballerinas in Fort Atkinson is fairly uncommon, I'd say.

I miss performing. I've never really been much of a scene stealer. I don't crave attention and I'm rather shy. I am slow to warm up to dancing in front of people at weddings or dances. But ballet was different. I can't totally say why but it was like showing off in this really cool way...maybe because the audience didn't know much about ballet so they would ooo and ahhh at pretty basic moves.

Anyway, moral of the story is that I miss ballet and will be taking it up again very soon.

just a quote i liked

The greatest mystery is not that we have been flung at random between the profusion of matter and of the stars, but that within this prison we can draw from ourselves images powerful enough to deny our nothingness.
- Andre Malraux

I'm on call, so be there

Sorry for the lack of blog-age as work has consumed my soul.  Also, I thought working in liquor would be fun, surrounded by cute little glass bottles and things...but no.  The number of lonely old men buying a case of Keystone light at 6:30 on a Monday evening are not so few and far between.  I also cannot reach the cigarettes so stop fucking smoking.  Sorry.  Smoking is okay.  Secretly, I think its a little sexy in a James Dean kind of way, but don't tell.  

Random thought:  Apparently Merv Griffen slept with James Dean!  This really disappoints me.  Don't get me wrong, I love a good gay; I really do.  But James Dean is the classic bad boy.  He's supposed to be this dark and troubled ladies man who drives a fast-ass mustang into the moonlight in Rebel Without a Cause, one of my favorite movies ever.

This brings something to mind; the subject of sexuality.  I've heard a ton of theories about sexuality, more so lately.  I've heard a lot of good friends (Megan Fox, Angelina Jolie, Billie-Joe Armstrong from Green Day) talk about bisexuality.  I used really not believe it existed which may be a little hypocritical because I'm all for brain chemistry theories about being homosexual.  

But hearing these new ideas about hypothesis ranging from all girls are bisexual to everyone is bisexual has really got me thinking.  Isn't it possible that everyone is bisexual but pushed one way or another by society?  I think it could be, though I'm not set on what I believe.  Maybe one day I will be, who knows.  

Oh P.S. I always title my blogs with lines from whatever song I have stuck in my head.  This title isn't an invitation for the subject of this blog, its from my favorite Kings of Leon song, On Call.    Just making sure

oh, P.S.

i'm going to quick explain the context of the below excerpt. The story is about a girl driving from atlanta to detroit to see her father to invite him to her wedding. along the way, she recalls stories from her past and this is one of the first memories she talks about.

you've painted up your lips and rolled and curled your tinted hair

I have been a bad blogger lately. But i've struck gold with this new story I'm writing. AND since i'm lazy i'm just posting a little bit from the beginning. Sorry, it's not very intriguing so if you skip it, I won't tell.

The wind blew Margot's curly blonde hair over her eyes.
?Come on, come on, come on!? Cameron yelled toward her sister. ?Mar, come on! Taddy's gonna getcha!? Cameron's voice was high and Margot knew they were in danger of being found in the long grass by her older and much faster brother. But the girls possessed immense speed and their young legs ran with little rest.
Margot followed Cameron's dress as they ran through the golden field. She felt a sharp jab on her bare foot and quickly tumbled to the ground, bursting instantly into tears. Cameron skidded to a halt in the dirt clearing and turned quickly to face a wall of tall prairie stalks.
Tad was the first to arrive at his little sister's side. He was tall and skinny, fresh off the high from his twelfth birthday spent, as usual, on the shores of lake Michigan with his family.
?Marie,? he started, smiling warmly at her. She looked up with her soft, innocent eyes, still blurred. Tad reached toward her and wiped a tear off of her cheek.
?Marie, look,? he placed a gentle hand on her petite toe and softly stroked it. ?You're fine. There's nothing here.?
?What happened?? Cameron asked breathlessly, bursting into the sunny patch of grass the siblings were seated in. She was still two years younger than Tad, but had a competitive and fiery spirit that rivaled that of her brother. She was dressed in a white sundress, speckled with patches of dirt and grass stains. She had messy light brown curls hanging to her shoulders and a hard face, still full of girly cuteness, but with a rough exterior. She, too was barefoot and began examining her own skin searching for a possible wound similar to her sister's.
?She's fine,? Tad said, standing up and thrusting Margot onto his back. ?She just tripped.?

There's a lot of depressing subjects in the story including abuse, incest, and death. Sooo be thankful i included a semi-happy piece.

go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch

I don't feel like being all deep and stuff tonight.

I started rereading the awakening today. I really like it I think. It is tragic. Started writing book number three today. I love it. haha, oh, modesty.

The shadow on the wall tells me the sun is going down

I want to start by saying that this is not at all meant to be offensive. I do not judge anyone involved in the events to be mentioned and I think that what occurred is absolutely tragic.

Natalee Holloway. Who doesn't know her name? Laci Peterson. Audrey Seiler. I could go on forever. All of these ladies (minus Seiler, who I'm pretty sure kidnapped herself?) were victims of tragic events. Mostly, I'd like to focus on Natalee Holloway.

Young girl goes on trip to Aruba and disappears. Sad. Sixteen months of continuous coverage. Necessary? Maybe. Fair? Absolutely not.

Natalee Holloway got the media coverage she did because she was rich, white, and american. Which demographic has the highest number of missing persons? African American young males.

I can remember one story about missing african american males. Those two little kids in Zion, Illinois. Remember the Runaway Bride? She got coverage for about seven months. The woman kidnapped herself.

Natalee Holloway has a lifetime movie. The news can't even devote five minutes to the countless men reported missing. The lifetime movie is all about the struggles of Holloway's mother and how strong she is. Do other missing persons' mothers somehow miss them less? Struggle less?

I choose not to blame news media. It's the fault of viewers. Why are we so obsessed with people's looks and status' here? Would Holloway have gotten as much coverage if she wasn't pretty? White? Rich? If you argue no, why don't any young men who've grown up in an apartment in south side chicago get coverage?

Again, I am by no means trying to say that the Holloway or any other case isn't tragic, it is. But what the hell justifies its coverage more than that of any missing person in america?

They say I need some rogain to put in my hair

The purpose of bloggers, at least those with substance unlike much of this one, is to keep a check on news journalists. Things that are not on the news agenda get there through amateur blogs. While it is important that viewers can distinguish between amateur and professional blogs, I think this shows how much power citizens actually do have in our society. And how the internet empowers us.

Dear news agenda,
I would like to see more stories about the tragedies of Native Americans on the news. In an earlier post, I wrote about a reservation called Pine Ridge in South Dakota. Read it. I know it's long and people usually don't have much patience when searching around blogs, but i promise it's important.
I have this strong connection and sympathy for Native American culture. I don't really know why. It would make sense if I felt responsible for their demise, but I don't really, even though I probably should. I'm too quick to point my finger. THEY did it. Great Britain (well, let's be serious, England did it while the rest of us were still slaves to them ourselves).
I'm not one to let England off the hook. I still hold a grudge against queen Elizabeth for killing my queen, her own cousin...bitch. Whatever, she had her troubles.
Back to the point, I'm not one to let England off the hook. But I don't think pointing fingers at past events helps anything. Actually, it's rather hypocritical, especially for a citizen of America, a historically tyrannical empire, as most empires are or "must be."
But what are we doing? Pointing fingers at our government? That doesn't help anything. Step one: awareness. Step two: ACTION

My heart beat beats me senselessly

Today I watched the movie State of Play online. I had really wanted to see it, I just never had the money to do so when it came out.
I thought this movie was awesome. It had a highly developed plotline, though perhaps not the most intriguing or surprising twists and turns.
First of all, the cast is the Departed-esque type that you know is going to be winning before the film even starts. Russell Crowe, Helen Mirren, Rachel McAdams, and Ben Affleck; all the among the best in their respected categories.

I won't even begin to try to cover the whole conspiracy plot because I'd probably screw it up anyway, so I'm just going to look at one part of the movie: its focus on the newspaper industry and the role of journalism in society.

Journalism is the "fourth estate" of our government. It serves as a check on the other three branches and is meant to play a role in informing the public, though it can be argued for many reasons why this role is not met.

Anyway, in the movie, Russell Crowe is the old dog who has all the informants in every area of the city (Washington, D.C.). He fact checks, gathers sources, puts himself on the line, etc. etc. Rachel McAdams is a young, hotshot reporter who writes a blog for the online site of the newspaper. Immediate clash of old ways and new ways. Looking past this chemistry of anti-chemistry though, this is a highlight of the future of print media; obsolete. Skip this sentence if you wish to not hear a secret about the movie's end: She ends up letting him print the big story in the print newspaper. Why? Because newspapers are integral. They set the news agenda (thanks J201), but more than that they have a deep root in american society. They're part of history (extra, extra) and have been classically known as what breaks the shocking news...the morning edition.

Apart from this, the editor of this paper (Helen Mirren) is eager to keep her paper afloat after it is bought by a corporation. It's no secret that corporations seek money and newspapers need to catch attention to gain readers--this isn't a positive thing. What captures attention? "Families of twelve year old somalians mourn" or We got them! We got those Nasty Pirates!"? What's the truth? Are they both true? Does anyone care? In the movie, they almost have to print this story before they've uncovered what it's actually about- they need to sell their paper now to please corporate, not to mention the media conglomerate's distaste for a story that bashes a major US company...connection? Lobbying? They never really say in the movie but it's possible. Say they did print this--the actual story could never be revealed. See the danger?

Okay, this went into a lot of deep subjects which I'm sure I'll come back to later. Peace

i'm climbin up the walls, oh

Day off tonight as my brain is heavy from studying for so long for my calc...and i still think it sucked.

News of the day: My sister in law is having a girl. I think my sister's having a girl too, but it'll prolly end up being a boy.

Books to read this summer:
Snow Falling on Cedars
I buried my heart at wounded knee
Tuck Everlasting
There was one more but I can't remember right now.

You make me lose my buttons, oh yeah, you make me spit.

I effing hate when people say "ha! i was right!" Really? Is it third grade and is everything a competition? I hate when people make everything into an "i'm right" competition. Possibly one of the most obnoxious things a person can possibly do.

I mostly hate when these things come from what I call "grade whores." I hate when people are so concerned with grades in a class that they only learn on the surface. People who don't take in information and analyze its meanings and applications for themselves aren't learning anything.

Let's try thinking a little deeper than definitions and quiz questions and who can beat whom on a test.

It's annoying and you're not learning anything. Anyway, back to comprehending this spanish book.

I love her too and all of this has got nothing to do with you

I have passed the point of procrastination and am onto the point of being absolutely terrified of my calc final. Why am I so scared of doing poorly?
1. I will have to retake it.
2. What if I retake it and still fail? Then I can't continue with my chosen major. That blows.
3. I don't want to waste money failing a class.

It is extremely frustrating when I don't understand a problem and, unlike in high school, have nowhere to turn but the teacher's typed up notes and ask.com. P.S. ask.com...not so helpful when typing in long-winded equations.

I am a little excited for my journalism final today. Easily the most interesting class I've taken so far and after finals, when my actual blogging begins, I will probably write many's a statement relating to things I learned in it.

Sorry for still not showing any substance...stick with me.

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup.

I want to introduce one issue facing our country that is closest to my heart: the tragedy and richness of native american culture.
Wounded Lives
When asked to imagine a place where the average yearly income is less than $4,000, the unemployment rate is at least 80 percent, and the average life expectancy is around 50 years old, most people imagine a place far away from their own pleasant suburbs of the USA. Some may picture Afghanistan or Sudan, torn apart by war, famine, and disease. The reality is, however, one does not even need to cross an ocean to find this place. At Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, in Western South Dakota, around 49 percent of the population lives below the national poverty line, yet the area rarely makes headlines. Two of the top ten poorest counties in America are located in the reservation.
Pine Ridge is home to the Oglala Souix Tribe of the Great Plaines. It was originally part of the Great Souix Reservation, a result of the Fort Laramie Treaty. This treaty, signed in 1868, divided the area that is now Wyoming, South Dakota, and Montana, granting the Black Hills of South Dakota to the Native Americans, and the remaining land to the settlers. When increased number of white settlers moved to the area, the Great Souix Reservation was broken up into smaller reservations, including Pine Ridge, established in 1889. The reservation was jolted in 1890 during the transportation of a group of Souix people from Pine Ridge to Nebraska, which resulted in the Wounded Knee Massacre. The Lakota Tribe was ordered to be arrested for its members not turning themselves in to live on a reservation as the government had commanded. While camping at wounded knee creek, the Seventh Cavalry of the United States Army discovered the group and asked them to turn in their weapons. More than 300 men, women, and children died at Wounded Knee Creek, in the southeastern corner of Pine Ridge, after a misunderstanding on the part of one tribesman caused a chaotic discharge of the Cavalry's weapons.
The current condition of the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation is one by which most Americans would be shocked. Vast improvements are needed in the areas of healthcare, employment, and housing. The wellness status of residents at Pine Ridge is far below the country's average. More than half of all adults living on the reservation are afflicted with disease or addiction. The two most common are diabetes, which has a rate eight times that of the national average, and alcoholism, which effects eighty percent of families in the area. Other preventable and curable sicknesses are prevalent, including tuberculosis, which also has a rate eight times the country's average. Perhaps more shockingly, many residents suffer from malnutrition and diseases stemming from water contamination from pesticides, mining, open dumps, and buried hazardous materials in the area.
Many citizens on the reservation struggle to find steady employment as there is no industrial or commercial infrastructure on the reservation. Farming provides a few seasonal jobs, most of which inadequate salaries for the farmers. Pine Ridge's agricultural production in 2002 generated nearly $33 million, but less than one third of this profit went to tribe members. Lack of employment opportunities lead to an increase in criminal behavior, especially among young people, who are often overcome with feelings of hopelessness.
Housing conditions at Pine Ridge is unfathomable to most Americans because of how extremely substandard most homes are. Almost 40 percent of homes on the reservation have no electricity, and one third of all homes have no running water or sewage systems. Due to the lack of livable housing and employment, many families must live with multiple generations in one home, resulting in an average of 17 people per family home built for four to five people. Little funding is provided for the countless homes in need of repair. The homeless population is massive, but due to cultural practices and beliefs, most families will not turn away a relative in need of a place to stay. Those unable to squeeze into a home of a relative sleep in barns or cars. Of these overcrowded homes, 60 percent are likely infested with Black Mold, which can damage immune systems and cause lung hemorrhaging in babies and cause cancer in adults.
Of all the citizens living at Pine Ridge Reservation, women and young people show the most dismal statistics regarding health. Cervical cancer in women in the area is five times the national average. Abortion is completely outlawed, even in cases of rape and incest, and the health risk of the mother is not an exception to the rule. The infant mortality rate is three times the country's average, mostly due to lack of technology in the health field. Teenage life on the reservation is far from that of a typical suburban teen. Seven in ten kids will drop out of school before ever graduation. Because of such low opportunity in education, the area ranks in the bottom ten percent of amount of school funding given by the Department of Education. The teen suicide rate is one of the highest in the country at 1.5 times the national average. Suicide makes up just a small part of the prevalent violence at Pine Ridge.
After violent protests in the 1970s surrounding the American Indian Movement's overtaking of the historic site, the murder rate on the reservation skyrocketed. In 1974, Detroit was named the murder capital of the world, with just over 20 murders per 100,000 people. Just two years later, the murder rate at Pine Ridge was 170 per 100,000 people.
Most Americans turn a blind eye to the tragic results of conflicts instigated long ago by the first European settlers in the United States. Multiple Native American tribes currently live in similar conditions to those at Pine Ridge. Run-down areas like this, however, can be turned around.
Research into harnessing useful wind and solar energy could not only provide jobs on the reservation, but allow citizens an affordable way to upgrade their homes efficiently. With funding, a community college could be established to train citizens for jobs in technological and science fields to be used on the reservation. Development of the historical site of Wounded Knee could provide income from tourists. This income can then be turned around to better hospitals or houses in the community. These ideas would be a major step in correcting the mistakes of the past and making Pine Ridge a productive, flourishing community.

Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun...

Went to the SoHE fashion show today. It was extremely exciting and once in a while I pretended I was a big star who gets photographed in the front row of Zach Posen or something. No i didn't. Yes I did.

I like how you come to a certain point in your life where you're not afraid to admit things that once seemed very loserish. Maybe I'm just more comfortable being a loser. Though I think I'm just more comfortable with myself.

In middle school everyone had to keep embarrassing secrets and were chastised for being different. By senior year of high school, everyone was "sick of school" and "people" and wanted to "be different." But that wasn't really true, they just wanted to sound cool. I still can't see a lot of the people from high school who said this admitting that they sometimes pretend they're in the opening sequence to a movie while walking down the street listening to their iPod. It's a shame because its rather liberating.

For those of you who ever wonder, Fifi Rae is my pseudonym. Fifi is what my sister calls me because my middle name is Fiona and Rae was my great grandma's maiden name. If I ever had a clothing line, it would be called Fifi Rae.

I talk a lot about fashion on here. I promise, I have quite a bit of substance and will get around to its presentation.

Title.

I promised myself that I'd write everyday even when I have nothing to say. I considered cheating and posting a story i have saved on here from long ago but I will refrain.
I accidentally sent all my finals notes home today. I am angry. The end.

hermit note

I found this on my computer today. I wrote it last august, in reference to the summer in which i spent very little time with my friends. It is a sort of explanation, i suppose, but i think it's another thing i left unfinished:

The things I am learning while being a hermit for an entire summer.

1. Your dreams are much easier to recognize when they are not coming true and you are doing nothing than they are when you still think they are attainable.
I've always had this crazy dream of being a fashion designer. Yep. I feel like I'm 12 when I say that but it's true. Now, here I go to UW already enrolled in engineering school. An engineer? Really? Oh my god, the more I say it the less plausible it sounds. I don't want to go to Madison...never did really. I was told that is where I am headed since I was 6. I worked really hard because Madison is such a hard school to get into. And after so much, you know what? I got into BETTER schools than Madison. And now that has made going to Madison all the harder.

2. My siblings have partnered off...and everyone knows so it's okay.
I think Neil has always secretly been my favorite. I'm just now realizing that I'm his too. Mark and Leigh are partners too. They are each other's favorites. I don't know why this has happened. I've always spent a lot longer on the phone with him than with the others. Even when I was really little. My favorite part of it is I feel like Neil looks a lot like Grandpa even if Mark has more of his nature. I am told I am starting to look a lot like Neil which means maybe I have a little of my grandpa in me.

3. High school drama has been misnmed...it does not stop at high school. I have heard so much talk about people behind their backs this summer even though I really haven't hung out with anyone more than about two times. Perhaps, I stuck my nose where it didn't belong too much this summer. But boy, have I learned a lot. Really, my objective to gossip this summer was "To hell with it, I don't care." I did, for once, what came naturally and what was not influenced by mob mentality. Mob mentality is dangerous. Anyway, I told people what I saw and I thought and I will not apologize. It was honesty in its purest form. And it felt fine, not painful.

4. People are naturally motivated to be

pretty sure the last word is mean, but i can't remember why.

Don't stop, don't stop now, just keep on going...

I always wished I could paint. My mom is a beautiful painter and really has skills in all areas of art. Even doodling. My mom makes the most beautiful doodles I've ever seen. I unfortunately never got this gene.
This semester I took a class called "Intro to Design" mostly to keep alive this crazy notion about wanting to be a fashion designer, even though I know it will not happen. This class was the most fun I've had since coming to college.
This wasn't just because it was simple and the lectures were the type to play bubble spinner during. I discovered something that gave me a little hope; if I do things in a simplistic manner, I'm actually not half bad!
I love painting and just turned in my final, a previously mentioned painted poster for Brazilian Girls and a fake concert they'd be doing in my area. Looking at everyone else's, mine wasn't the best. It didn't really stand out and it definitely wasn't the the cleanest work. Most other people used photoshop and obviously had an advantage over my hand painted work. The thing is though; mine could compete in its own.
This is something I never thought I'd be able to do; compete with others in an art class. So even though this class will give me no credits toward my degree or help me for practical purposes in life, i'm glad i took it. I found something out about myself and my insecurities.

from all the unborn chicken voices in my head

One of my friends often talks about her persistent fear of being forgotten by all her friends.  I never understood nor shared that fear so much, but, as of late, i am certainly beginning to share this fear.  My friends plan nights together to hang out and watch TV and such, yet I am not invited.  I am not particularly upset, nor do I feel like whining about it.  I guess I just don't really understand why...

Maybe they thought I would hear it from someone who was directly invited and just figured I'd come that way.  Maybe I don't like the TV show.  Maybe they need a night away from me.  All perfectly understandable.  So why am I thinking so much on it?

I guess I just don't want to be replaced.  My friends now hang out with my other group of friends.  They're not even friends without me!  Oh, god, I sound so high school.

But don't give up yet, dear reader.  There is a point to my Dawson's Creek-like, thirteen year old bitching.  It doesn't bother me.  

Perhaps there was a time when an event like this bothered me.  But now I have a larger grasp on life and things like this just don't really affect me, nor should they ever have.  I got plenty of work done, ate a delicious dinner, didn't feel like I wasted the night, and still love my friends as much as I did yesterday.  

Please, would you stop, I'm trying to get some rest...

Sometimes collecting random thoughts makes them seem not so random.  

So I often write for fun outside of classes even when I have enough inside class work to do.  I like to begin writing novels, but I tend to get very excited about how they will all turn out then my excitement digresses, hence the three unfinished novels I have stored within the confines of my open office program somewhere on this computer.  So I figure that blogging seems like something I would enjoy.  A combination of bitching and logging.  My new definition.  I will probably not do a whole lot of either, but rather use this as an outlet for my creative voice.

I have finals in exactly five days.  Five days to cram a semester's worth of information into some tiny brain part I learned two years ago in psychology but fail to remember at this moment.  That, in itself, is a failure of this brain part.

Why, you ask, if I have finals so soon am I on this sight doing some self-indulgent composing of useless jargon?  Well, dear friend, I don't really love calculus.  Sometimes I do, but only when I do really well.  Pretty sure that if that's the only time you love something that means you don't really love it.  The final that I am loving, however, is for my art class.  I am making a poster for one of my favorite bands in the world, Brazilian Girls.  It's a fake concert poster promoting their (I wish) appearance at the Union Terrace.

Speaking of the venue, I went to the terrace for lunch last week and realized how much I love that place.  Sitting and looking out of the water brought to me a familiar feeling of nostalgia.  I'm not sure if it was nostalgia for being young and going to the terrace for different concerts with my parents or for my beloved homeland, 44 Saltburn, Invergordon, Scotland, IV18OJY.  "Saltburn by the Sea" if you will.  Either way, the feeling brought about some good memories, a success for that part of my brain which often fails at remembering, although long term memory is probably the product of another part of my brain.

Ah well, I've done enough collecting for the day.  I promise my following posts will be a little more exciting.