I saw the movie Jennifer's Body last night, and I was not really expecting something huge. I was a fan of Juno and Diablo Cody's quirky articles she writes for Entertainment Weekly, so why not give her new comedy/horror-flick a try?
The movie opens and what is the premise? A girl, in a mental institution is telling how she got there. After that, I didn't give one care about the movie.
No no no no no no no! Diablo Cody, even I thought you were better than that.
Allow me to explain...
It is my belief that whenever someone writes a story, play, movie, whathaveyou, that focuses on a character in a mental institution, it is just a half-assed story. It is a cop-out. Crazy people are easy to write about because you can give them their crazy flaws without explaination. The characters aren't deep, they just provide something to write about.
What I hate more about these easy characters is the fact that writer's have probably never set foot in such a place, and they build it to fit whatever torture these "characters" are set to endure.
I know that by now you are asking me, "Wait, Rebecca, didn't you write a play set in a mental institution?"
My answer: yes. I did. And I am ashamed of it. I live in agony over it every day! While The Mentality Club was funny, it was a quick production. I needed a play for school and that was easy to come up with. It is, sadly, my cop-out play. It is my bastard child. I just kind of have to put up with it until it's old enough to live on it's own.
I'm confused about my feelings for Diablo Cody now. I know why she wrote this movie, she had a hit with Juno, and she's looking to create her sophomore script. I understand it. I can sympathize with it. But that doesn't mean I will forgive it.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
When The Movie Ends
She stands behind the counter, dressed as you would expect she would be dressed. Holding a stack of books in one arms she adjusts her glasses. A gentleman walks up to the counter and hands her a book he would like to check out. She informs him he isn't allowed, as he has past due books.
"Sir, you have other overdue books, I can't let you check out this one."
"There must be some way I can pay the fine..." he offers suggestively.
She responds with a snap, "We accept most credit cards."
"Whaddya say we go to the back..." Music begins to play in the background, she is confused. She realizes now just the situation she's in. She tries to shoo him away.
"Really sir, just the cash."
"Well..."
"SECURITY!"
A security guard rambles over.
"Well, well, well....what seems to be the problem?"
The music swells again. She sighs an exasperated breath and gathers her things and leaves the library, not bothering to punch her time card.
"Sir, you have other overdue books, I can't let you check out this one."
"There must be some way I can pay the fine..." he offers suggestively.
She responds with a snap, "We accept most credit cards."
"Whaddya say we go to the back..." Music begins to play in the background, she is confused. She realizes now just the situation she's in. She tries to shoo him away.
"Really sir, just the cash."
"Well..."
"SECURITY!"
A security guard rambles over.
"Well, well, well....what seems to be the problem?"
The music swells again. She sighs an exasperated breath and gathers her things and leaves the library, not bothering to punch her time card.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Cruelty
"It takes years to build up trust, but only seconds to destroy it."
There are some days I don't feel human. Other times, I feel so overwhelmingly human, and it's painful. What makes my humanity painful at times is witnessing the outside world, humanity at it's "best" and basic form.
Faccets make a diamond beautiful. Faccets make people imperfect. Place a person you hold dearly on a pedestal and you've created an illusion of this person you would like them to be. However, discover one flaw, whether it be a past action, a secret, or future intention, and that illusion is shattered. It happens to me constantly. I will hold a person in high regard and keep a strong opinion of them, but it only takes one action to destroy them.
People are, as a rule, facceted. Nice and kind to some, cruel and tortuous to others. It is painful to witness what goes on behind other's backs. Backstabbing and gossiping is used to turn others against you, and it is the worst crime.
I wonder how? How can humans be so evil? We study for years, even lifetimes, to be good and how to do what is right. How, then, can one cruel action pass freely? Is it not our nature to be kind?
Cruelty is subtle, but ever present. Witnessing such harshness makes me strive to be a better person, one rumor at a time.
There are some days I don't feel human. Other times, I feel so overwhelmingly human, and it's painful. What makes my humanity painful at times is witnessing the outside world, humanity at it's "best" and basic form.
Faccets make a diamond beautiful. Faccets make people imperfect. Place a person you hold dearly on a pedestal and you've created an illusion of this person you would like them to be. However, discover one flaw, whether it be a past action, a secret, or future intention, and that illusion is shattered. It happens to me constantly. I will hold a person in high regard and keep a strong opinion of them, but it only takes one action to destroy them.
People are, as a rule, facceted. Nice and kind to some, cruel and tortuous to others. It is painful to witness what goes on behind other's backs. Backstabbing and gossiping is used to turn others against you, and it is the worst crime.
I wonder how? How can humans be so evil? We study for years, even lifetimes, to be good and how to do what is right. How, then, can one cruel action pass freely? Is it not our nature to be kind?
Cruelty is subtle, but ever present. Witnessing such harshness makes me strive to be a better person, one rumor at a time.
Penalty
The leader's fist hit his desk a strict three times, calling for order.
"The death penalty! Who's first?" he boomed with authority.
"When a child throws a rock at you!" a gentleman called.
The leader pondered this for a moment. He knew he hated children, especially rock throwing children.
"Stoning is the only justice for any rock heaving child. Next!"
"When someone pees in the community pool!"
Collectively, it was decided the appropriate penalty would first be torture by waterboarding, then death by electocution.
"NEXT!"
"When a really good idea is rejected and disregarded!"
The group laughed as the leader pronounced, "Don't be stupid, Richards!"
Richards sulked, yet imagined the leader's limbs being torn apart by rabid dogs. A proper justice.
"The death penalty! Who's first?" he boomed with authority.
"When a child throws a rock at you!" a gentleman called.
The leader pondered this for a moment. He knew he hated children, especially rock throwing children.
"Stoning is the only justice for any rock heaving child. Next!"
"When someone pees in the community pool!"
Collectively, it was decided the appropriate penalty would first be torture by waterboarding, then death by electocution.
"NEXT!"
"When a really good idea is rejected and disregarded!"
The group laughed as the leader pronounced, "Don't be stupid, Richards!"
Richards sulked, yet imagined the leader's limbs being torn apart by rabid dogs. A proper justice.
Into The Wilderness
I've always fancied myself a camper. While I may have woken up cold, clammy, and sticky, I've made a habit to tell myself, "Yeah! Camping! This is great!" Hiking up dew covered hills? "Neat!" Upon seeing rodents, bugs, and snakes, I would shout, "How exotic!"
I grew up living close to "the canyon" which, being me, I had no idea what canyon people were talking about. To my knowledge, northern Utah had more canyons than I cared to count and only one I knew I had driven through for sure. Now that I am older, I feel I am able to distinguish landmarks in said canyon and recognize which campgrounds I have been to.
One weekend, my boyfriend recommended we go for a night-camp, we'd arrive early, leave early, and enjoy the scenery. I agreed and he was thrilled. I figured I was the ultimate girlfriend--I would be the girl who goes camping and enjoys it, who enjoys living by firelight and sleeping in a sleeping bag outside. I was, needless to say, awesome.
After driving through "the canyon" for a few hours, I grew weary and I lost hope that we'd find a campground at ten in the evening. To my chagrin and his excitment, we settled on one and set up shop. I realized we had nothing. Just a grill, some lamps, and an air mattress that we wouldn't even inflate. It was dark. It was more than dark, it was a purgatory where nothing existed outside my five foot light-radius. We grilled hot dogs, I staggered to find the camp-toilet, and finally climbed into our sleeping bags in the back of the truck. We watched a movie on the laptop he brought, my only glimpse into the life I've left in the valley, where technology is my security blanket.
I woke up to the sounds of squirrels screaming at each other. Birds cawed only to annoy me. I was, of course, cold, sticky, and clammy. I was ready to go home and sleep on my bed at home. It was an uncomfortable mattress and at an angle where I would roll off if I slept a way my bed didn't like, but it was still a bed with blankets and a roof. Leaving the campground felt like leaving a different world where we could see the road and the signs.
A sign that read "Evanston 48" flew past us. We were headed the wrong way towards Wyoming. The awesome girlfriend in me said, "Why not? A fun day trip." The valley-girl in me said, "Why, God, why?" It was this forty minute trip to Wyoming that made me realize, as we passed lakes, golden fields, trees with bands of light breaking through to illuminate the roads and deer hunters, this simple fact: camping blows.
I grew up living close to "the canyon" which, being me, I had no idea what canyon people were talking about. To my knowledge, northern Utah had more canyons than I cared to count and only one I knew I had driven through for sure. Now that I am older, I feel I am able to distinguish landmarks in said canyon and recognize which campgrounds I have been to.
One weekend, my boyfriend recommended we go for a night-camp, we'd arrive early, leave early, and enjoy the scenery. I agreed and he was thrilled. I figured I was the ultimate girlfriend--I would be the girl who goes camping and enjoys it, who enjoys living by firelight and sleeping in a sleeping bag outside. I was, needless to say, awesome.
After driving through "the canyon" for a few hours, I grew weary and I lost hope that we'd find a campground at ten in the evening. To my chagrin and his excitment, we settled on one and set up shop. I realized we had nothing. Just a grill, some lamps, and an air mattress that we wouldn't even inflate. It was dark. It was more than dark, it was a purgatory where nothing existed outside my five foot light-radius. We grilled hot dogs, I staggered to find the camp-toilet, and finally climbed into our sleeping bags in the back of the truck. We watched a movie on the laptop he brought, my only glimpse into the life I've left in the valley, where technology is my security blanket.
I woke up to the sounds of squirrels screaming at each other. Birds cawed only to annoy me. I was, of course, cold, sticky, and clammy. I was ready to go home and sleep on my bed at home. It was an uncomfortable mattress and at an angle where I would roll off if I slept a way my bed didn't like, but it was still a bed with blankets and a roof. Leaving the campground felt like leaving a different world where we could see the road and the signs.
A sign that read "Evanston 48" flew past us. We were headed the wrong way towards Wyoming. The awesome girlfriend in me said, "Why not? A fun day trip." The valley-girl in me said, "Why, God, why?" It was this forty minute trip to Wyoming that made me realize, as we passed lakes, golden fields, trees with bands of light breaking through to illuminate the roads and deer hunters, this simple fact: camping blows.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Worth
Cold, flat. Cold and flat. How else to describe it? The morning, especially. Nothing but cold and flat. It will gradually get loud. Much louder. The ground will shake, too. Thunder, actually. I will remain still for quite some time. Other times I will slide, roll, and spin to a stop, where I'll feel a sudden drop. A drop much like the time I was abandoned.
Not abandoned, set free! I just wish it wasn't so painful. I bounced and bounced and finally landed flat, my face down in the pavement, hoping I'll see the sun again.
The sun...bright and warm. It really brings out my color. I've almost forgotten what the sun felt like on my face, although my back has definitely enjoyed the rays. Maybe one day my glint will catch the attention of my next owner, and I will finally travel once more!
The day has grown hot and the ground thunders, as promised. It's almost torturous, but I am hopeful. Suddenly, I am picked up! A voice sweetly rings in my ears as she holds me up to catch a better glimpse of my face. Can I help you? I would love to help you!
She sets me back down on the ground, grateful and satisfied. I am face-up.
"Now someone who needs you will find you," she chimes, and continues her journey.
I am thrilled to feel the sun on my face! I wish I could thank the girl who helped me. I can finally fulfill my purpose and change someone's luck, if only for a day.
Not abandoned, set free! I just wish it wasn't so painful. I bounced and bounced and finally landed flat, my face down in the pavement, hoping I'll see the sun again.
The sun...bright and warm. It really brings out my color. I've almost forgotten what the sun felt like on my face, although my back has definitely enjoyed the rays. Maybe one day my glint will catch the attention of my next owner, and I will finally travel once more!
The day has grown hot and the ground thunders, as promised. It's almost torturous, but I am hopeful. Suddenly, I am picked up! A voice sweetly rings in my ears as she holds me up to catch a better glimpse of my face. Can I help you? I would love to help you!
She sets me back down on the ground, grateful and satisfied. I am face-up.
"Now someone who needs you will find you," she chimes, and continues her journey.
I am thrilled to feel the sun on my face! I wish I could thank the girl who helped me. I can finally fulfill my purpose and change someone's luck, if only for a day.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Rebecca Goes to Washington pt. 1
Fun fact: I hate flying. There is absolutely nothing fun about it. Turbulence is a nightmare. I know just about every way a plane can crash. Most of all, I loathe take-off. Zack and I were invited to visit his family one weekend in the July of 2009. I was excited to revisit the place I would future call home--until I found out we were flying.
“My dad offered to fly us up,” Zack said.
“Oh…that’s cool.”
He noted I lacked enthusiasm. What enthusiasm could I muster when I kept thinking of all the things I would need to take care of before my demise? At least my bed was made.
As was customary, Zack and I arrived as close to the minute as possible, being part of the last ten people to board the plane. We got to choose our seats, which meant all the people who had boarded before us had chosen seats with a buffer seat in between, leaving no place for us to sit together. I took the last seat in the back of the plane while Zack had to ask a woman to hold her baby instead of giving it a personal floatation device (you know, in case of emergency).
I was seated between a sports-nut who read Sports Illustrated the entire flight and a woman who, put delicately, left me half a seat. She had chosen that seat to be less of a burden, which I can admire, and I felt bad for imposing on her space. After the death riot I call take off, she pulled out a Cosmopolitan magazine, one I happened to carry also. I figured it would be a nice way to bond with her, an unspoken friendship, a way for me to say, “hey, we’re all in this together.” I’m sure she thought it said, “I’m going to stay on each page you do to freak you out.”
Later on in the flight, a flamboyant male flight attendant took our drink orders.
“Diet Coke,” the woman next to me ordered.
“D-Sprite. I will have a Sprite,” I blurted. I didn’t want her to think I was that creepy.
At last, at long last, we arrived at SeaTac. Landings I actually enjoy. The thrill of a controlled hurtling to the runway gives me reassurance I will live to die another day. I met up with Zack who described to me his flight, in which he sat next to a three-year old who sang the latest pop songs. I told him I held my arms at ninety degrees in front of me for two hours.
Since I had to settle for less-stalky Sprite, I darted to the bathroom. I settled into my booth and proceeded to, well, booth. I heard a woman walk in with her young son in tow. I normally don’t have a problem with mother’s bringing their little boys into a public restroom, but I do when said little boy takes a peek through slats in the door while I’m boothing. Zack found it hilarious, of course. I found it violating and annoying.
Later, at baggage claim, I saw the boy with his good-parenting deficient mother and, surprisingly, father. I pointed him out to Zack and swore vengeance.
The offer still stands.
“My dad offered to fly us up,” Zack said.
“Oh…that’s cool.”
He noted I lacked enthusiasm. What enthusiasm could I muster when I kept thinking of all the things I would need to take care of before my demise? At least my bed was made.
As was customary, Zack and I arrived as close to the minute as possible, being part of the last ten people to board the plane. We got to choose our seats, which meant all the people who had boarded before us had chosen seats with a buffer seat in between, leaving no place for us to sit together. I took the last seat in the back of the plane while Zack had to ask a woman to hold her baby instead of giving it a personal floatation device (you know, in case of emergency).
I was seated between a sports-nut who read Sports Illustrated the entire flight and a woman who, put delicately, left me half a seat. She had chosen that seat to be less of a burden, which I can admire, and I felt bad for imposing on her space. After the death riot I call take off, she pulled out a Cosmopolitan magazine, one I happened to carry also. I figured it would be a nice way to bond with her, an unspoken friendship, a way for me to say, “hey, we’re all in this together.” I’m sure she thought it said, “I’m going to stay on each page you do to freak you out.”
Later on in the flight, a flamboyant male flight attendant took our drink orders.
“Diet Coke,” the woman next to me ordered.
“D-Sprite. I will have a Sprite,” I blurted. I didn’t want her to think I was that creepy.
At last, at long last, we arrived at SeaTac. Landings I actually enjoy. The thrill of a controlled hurtling to the runway gives me reassurance I will live to die another day. I met up with Zack who described to me his flight, in which he sat next to a three-year old who sang the latest pop songs. I told him I held my arms at ninety degrees in front of me for two hours.
Since I had to settle for less-stalky Sprite, I darted to the bathroom. I settled into my booth and proceeded to, well, booth. I heard a woman walk in with her young son in tow. I normally don’t have a problem with mother’s bringing their little boys into a public restroom, but I do when said little boy takes a peek through slats in the door while I’m boothing. Zack found it hilarious, of course. I found it violating and annoying.
Later, at baggage claim, I saw the boy with his good-parenting deficient mother and, surprisingly, father. I pointed him out to Zack and swore vengeance.
The offer still stands.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Stranger Secrets
Some days, I'll see a person on the street and wonder what their agenda is. I want to know where they are going, where they were before, and if they are enjoying themselves.
What saddens me sometimes is there is another side to people that I will never get to see. Whether it be family, friends, or strangers, they have a part to their life I don't know about. It frustrates me, not because I'm nosy, but because I want to know how they're doing.
Yesterday, I saw a woman walking down the street with rolling backpack trailing behind her. My first thought was, "why do people still use those things?" But it got deeper. What was in there? Where was she going with it? I continued to think about her relationships, wondering if there was any drama in her life. If she was in love with anyone and if they had a nickname for her. What if she wasn't in love, was she suffering?
Today, I saw a man sitting alone in a deli, eating and gazing out a window. I imagined he was thinking of how hard his life was, how he hated his job and was anxious to get home. But, for the moment, he focused on his lunch, letting everything else fall by the wayside. I was probably completely wrong in my assumptions, but I will never know.
My thoughts have spread to everyone in my life. I will never know the true nature of my parents relationship and the small dramas playing out in their lives. I'll never fully understand the lives and emotions of my friends, if they are happy or if they are longing for something more and different. I'll continue to wonder about the strangers I pass and their secret lives.
Every Sunday, a website I follow posts secrets of people who anonymously sent them on postcards. The testimonials usually read how liberating it is to share a secret with the world, and some leave little notes and secrets in books wherever they go, feeling glad that they have a secret shared with a stranger. How great it would be, I think, if everyone shared a secret with a stranger and a little bit of you was revealed.
To all strangers and non-strangers alike, whatever the destination and whatever happens in your lives, I hope you are happy and someday willing to share a part of yourself with the world.
What saddens me sometimes is there is another side to people that I will never get to see. Whether it be family, friends, or strangers, they have a part to their life I don't know about. It frustrates me, not because I'm nosy, but because I want to know how they're doing.
Yesterday, I saw a woman walking down the street with rolling backpack trailing behind her. My first thought was, "why do people still use those things?" But it got deeper. What was in there? Where was she going with it? I continued to think about her relationships, wondering if there was any drama in her life. If she was in love with anyone and if they had a nickname for her. What if she wasn't in love, was she suffering?
Today, I saw a man sitting alone in a deli, eating and gazing out a window. I imagined he was thinking of how hard his life was, how he hated his job and was anxious to get home. But, for the moment, he focused on his lunch, letting everything else fall by the wayside. I was probably completely wrong in my assumptions, but I will never know.
My thoughts have spread to everyone in my life. I will never know the true nature of my parents relationship and the small dramas playing out in their lives. I'll never fully understand the lives and emotions of my friends, if they are happy or if they are longing for something more and different. I'll continue to wonder about the strangers I pass and their secret lives.
Every Sunday, a website I follow posts secrets of people who anonymously sent them on postcards. The testimonials usually read how liberating it is to share a secret with the world, and some leave little notes and secrets in books wherever they go, feeling glad that they have a secret shared with a stranger. How great it would be, I think, if everyone shared a secret with a stranger and a little bit of you was revealed.
To all strangers and non-strangers alike, whatever the destination and whatever happens in your lives, I hope you are happy and someday willing to share a part of yourself with the world.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
King of The Castle
Roxy spreads out his favorite blanket, even places his favorite pillow under it to provide plush. She straightens it out, and goes upstairs to retrieve him. He was sleeping when she got home, however when Dan arrived he was all over the place with excitement. Rubbing against his legs, making unnatural noises, Dan had to slightly kick him away.
That's fine, Roxy thinks to herself, I'll have you tonight.
She grabs his favorite toy and leads him downstairs, unaware of the trap set for him. She lays the toy on the couch, he wanders around, exploring like he's never been downstairs before.
"You know where you are," she says, and picks him up. He stands uneasy on his pillow, wide-eyed. He spins around and lays down...suspicious. She too lays down and smiles to herself. Tonight, the couch was theirs.
Upstairs, Dan walks through the kitchen. He jumps up and dashes upstairs.
"Fine," says Roxy, dejectedly, "I would have treated you like a king!"
She sighs. A friggin' king.
That's fine, Roxy thinks to herself, I'll have you tonight.
She grabs his favorite toy and leads him downstairs, unaware of the trap set for him. She lays the toy on the couch, he wanders around, exploring like he's never been downstairs before.
"You know where you are," she says, and picks him up. He stands uneasy on his pillow, wide-eyed. He spins around and lays down...suspicious. She too lays down and smiles to herself. Tonight, the couch was theirs.
Upstairs, Dan walks through the kitchen. He jumps up and dashes upstairs.
"Fine," says Roxy, dejectedly, "I would have treated you like a king!"
She sighs. A friggin' king.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Future Ethics (or WTF is a Vulcan?)
Ethics in the year 2009. Was there such a time?
Were I writing in the year 2009, personal and moral ethics would be much more simple. However, in this year 2309, things have changed.
Abortion is completely legal. That is, if the courts say so. Every abortion applicant is surveyed, tested to see if their situation is improper for a child. Then the paper work goes all the way to Congress and by the time it makes it's way off the floor, approved or not, the baby is born anyway. At least there are no debates about the legality of it anymore.
Marijuana is also legal. It's sold in every corner market. It's a popular spice in the most common foods, actually.
Alien marriage? Debatable. While I, myself, see no problem with an Earth human marrying an I.E.T. (Immigrant Extra Terrestrial), others think that it is a disgrace and marriage should be kept between an Earth human and another Earth human. As long as they didn't find a hole in the O-Zone layer and land illegally, go for it in my opinion. My best friend is even Martian, and it's disgusting the rights he is denied. I look forward to the day we have a Venusian-American president! They are, of course, the most intellectual species of the universe.
Viva la S45Hlam
Were I writing in the year 2009, personal and moral ethics would be much more simple. However, in this year 2309, things have changed.
Abortion is completely legal. That is, if the courts say so. Every abortion applicant is surveyed, tested to see if their situation is improper for a child. Then the paper work goes all the way to Congress and by the time it makes it's way off the floor, approved or not, the baby is born anyway. At least there are no debates about the legality of it anymore.
Marijuana is also legal. It's sold in every corner market. It's a popular spice in the most common foods, actually.
Alien marriage? Debatable. While I, myself, see no problem with an Earth human marrying an I.E.T. (Immigrant Extra Terrestrial), others think that it is a disgrace and marriage should be kept between an Earth human and another Earth human. As long as they didn't find a hole in the O-Zone layer and land illegally, go for it in my opinion. My best friend is even Martian, and it's disgusting the rights he is denied. I look forward to the day we have a Venusian-American president! They are, of course, the most intellectual species of the universe.
Viva la S45Hlam
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Island Reveries
"Hello....hellooooo..."
The sand, soft yet gritty. The air, cool but salty. The sun, hot, yet really hot. He opened his eyes to a brown mass hurtling at his face. He messily deflected it and stood up. He picked the mass out of the sand and found himself staring at a coconut. It all came back to him.
Their raft, made of makeshift materials from the wreckage, the island, the storm...
He was afraid to ask, "Are we on a different island?"
"Yep, but this time there's no plane parts for us to make another raft. We're stranded."
A moment of panic struck him. He would never get home. His family, his friends...
He turned around to take in his new surroundings, "home" he tried to call it, but found himself confused. Buildings, birds, screaming children, sunbathers, and a banner exclaiming "Welcome to Hawaii!" Rick was laughing behind him.
"What's so funny?"
"I've thrown, like, six coconuts at you."
A child ran by, following Rick's example and throwing a coconut at him. He missed the island.
The sand, soft yet gritty. The air, cool but salty. The sun, hot, yet really hot. He opened his eyes to a brown mass hurtling at his face. He messily deflected it and stood up. He picked the mass out of the sand and found himself staring at a coconut. It all came back to him.
Their raft, made of makeshift materials from the wreckage, the island, the storm...
He was afraid to ask, "Are we on a different island?"
"Yep, but this time there's no plane parts for us to make another raft. We're stranded."
A moment of panic struck him. He would never get home. His family, his friends...
He turned around to take in his new surroundings, "home" he tried to call it, but found himself confused. Buildings, birds, screaming children, sunbathers, and a banner exclaiming "Welcome to Hawaii!" Rick was laughing behind him.
"What's so funny?"
"I've thrown, like, six coconuts at you."
A child ran by, following Rick's example and throwing a coconut at him. He missed the island.
Pyramid Scheme
I typed "I love you" into the phone and hit send. I was half-awake and, because of my half-conscious state, I worried I had sent my text to the wrong person. I double checked it and tried to go back to sleep, relieved.
I got to thinking, though. What if I had sent my text to the wrong person? What would happen if I had sent that text to the wrong person? What if I had sent those three words to every number in my phone? My parents, my friends, my family members, ex-boyfriends, friends I don't even talk to anymore, a local pizza place, all those people would recieve a text, "I love you."
I can imagine my friends and family getting a smile on their faces, feeling flattered. Opposingly, I could imagine my exes (friends and boyfriends alike) thinking, "who the hell does she think she is?"
My mind wandered deeper. I'm sure our world could be a better place if we took the time to send "I love you" to everyone in our contacts list...
Reality brought me back with an aggravated voice careening doing the stairs, "get your helmet off the table and back into the garage!"
I remember groggily thinking that's not an "I love you" text.
I got to thinking, though. What if I had sent my text to the wrong person? What would happen if I had sent that text to the wrong person? What if I had sent those three words to every number in my phone? My parents, my friends, my family members, ex-boyfriends, friends I don't even talk to anymore, a local pizza place, all those people would recieve a text, "I love you."
I can imagine my friends and family getting a smile on their faces, feeling flattered. Opposingly, I could imagine my exes (friends and boyfriends alike) thinking, "who the hell does she think she is?"
My mind wandered deeper. I'm sure our world could be a better place if we took the time to send "I love you" to everyone in our contacts list...
Reality brought me back with an aggravated voice careening doing the stairs, "get your helmet off the table and back into the garage!"
I remember groggily thinking that's not an "I love you" text.
Philosophy Class
He stands before the class and points to the board. He poses a question from the text.
"What is wisdom?" he asks, pointing to the big, purple word. The students are quiet for a moment.
She comes up with a quick, silly answer in her mind. Street smarts. Everyone calls out quick guesses--knowledge, beliefs, justifications, but her mind wanders to the wisdom within street smarts. She imagines old philosophers as street urchins, hobos, and pictures them fighting over a can of beans. One of them whips out a shiv. A philosopher, Plato in her fantasy, falls to the ground as Socrates stands above him, smirking, and greedily snatching up the can of beans.
Refocusing on class, the teacher makes a remark, "can you justify your beliefs and are you wise enough to hear others?" She realizes that in the midst of her daydream, she's missed a crucial part of the lecture. What is wisdom?
Yeah, she thinks decidedly, street smarts.
"What is wisdom?" he asks, pointing to the big, purple word. The students are quiet for a moment.
She comes up with a quick, silly answer in her mind. Street smarts. Everyone calls out quick guesses--knowledge, beliefs, justifications, but her mind wanders to the wisdom within street smarts. She imagines old philosophers as street urchins, hobos, and pictures them fighting over a can of beans. One of them whips out a shiv. A philosopher, Plato in her fantasy, falls to the ground as Socrates stands above him, smirking, and greedily snatching up the can of beans.
Refocusing on class, the teacher makes a remark, "can you justify your beliefs and are you wise enough to hear others?" She realizes that in the midst of her daydream, she's missed a crucial part of the lecture. What is wisdom?
Yeah, she thinks decidedly, street smarts.
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