This Is Not The Place We Came From

Created By TheirToys Sex Toys

Are you ever struck by the idea that you have nothing whatsoever to contribute to society?

That there is no spark in your mind nor fire in your soul, nothing your hands can do that a million other hands cannot, that your very chromosomes are so bland and generic as to be not worth passing on?

Oh. Well I do.

I mean look at me. I'm 21. In human years, that's prime life right there. That's living time. People my age are supposed to be grabbing the torch, by force if necessary, from the previous generation, dreaming up big beautiful dreams and planting them in fertile American soil and climbing up to the top of their big beautiful dream tree so that everyone will see and hear and  the world will be changed.

So what do I have to show for myself?

A cabinet full of video games, many of them un-played. A room full of fake oriental knick-knacks I don't own or want. So many extra pounds on my fat ass I might as well be genderless.

I have some nice grades to my name. That's nice. Grades earned among recovering gang members and recovering teen moms and recovering soldiers and recovering housewives and recovering drop-outs and recovering farm workers and recovering battered women. Almost everyone in my classes is running from or resting from something traumatic. The rest were too goddamn lazy and entitled to do anything worth anything that might risk trauma. It's like a little incubator room from adulthood. I'm sure I fall squarely in the latter group. My point is, my grades don't mean much at all.

My point is, I'm a goddamn English major who {that(who)} can't write. Except vox posts. Which isn't writing. It's narcissism. My point is my head is full of useless facts and theories and but not the aptitude enough to apply any of them to anything. My point is, "I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint."

See that shit right there? That was angst, son. Of the C+ variety.

I have lived in this town for thirteen of my twenty-one years. An easy majority. I am afraid that I am going to stay here, develop alcoholism here, spit out fat little babies here. I am beyond afraid that I am going to die here.

What if you planted your dream seed and you got a potato instead of a tree?

Show us the very last picture you took. No cheating!

We Are Prod of 2008!

Ahem:

Had to answer that question for sociology. Here's what I came up with. Kinda lame but seemed like a bloggish kind of thing. Which probably means I shouldn't turn it in. Oh Well. Oh god im so tired please kill me.

I absolutely consider myself a feminist. I feel as though it would be shooting myself in the foot not to. I am a feminist because I am firmly convinced of my humanity. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am just as capable, as clever, as fragile, and as worthy of respect as any of my male counterparts, and I refuse to settle for anything less. Nor will I settle for less for women in my family, for my gay friends and friends of color, or for the women living around the world in oppressive societies I can not begin to imagine coping with.

    I am a feminist because I know that I am more than the sum of my private parts.  Because I love kicking my boyfriend's ass at Mario Kart and hate Bratz Dolls. Because I have ambition and drive and refuse to be constrained by the lifestyle Desperate Housewives is so desperate to sell me. I'm a feminist because I can look around and understand that the world has been run been run by men for the last 2,000 years, and I don't particularly like what they've done with the place, so maybe I'll lend them a hand. I am a feminist because I'll be damned if my little brother or God forbid my future son grows up to believe he can exert his will over another simply by virtue of his sex. And I would sooner die– literally rather die– than live in a world where a pastor I've never met can determine what I'm allowed to do with my body. Feminism was never even a choice for me, it was just a development of things I've known to be true since I was a little girl, and my experiences as I've grown have only served to further cement those beliefs.

What was your random act of kindness today?
Submitted by Cher Cabula.

I chased a little old man so I could give him my grocery cart so he wouldn't have to wrestle with the jammed ones.

A little creepy of me.

That didn't happen.

Scary pee time

Little kids are cute, but I'm glad my time with them is over. I really think I am more suited to older kids.

I guess it's good though because now I appreciate my junior high students more. Aww.

I know that it is traditional at many high schools for the seniors to have a quote of special significance to them printed alongside their picture in the yearbook. I think most schools, however, are phasing this out, because high school seniors aren't exactly profound.

Eighth graders, however, they know where it's at. I've never seen a school that does Eighth Grade Quotes in the yearbook, but San Juan School does. And it's awesome.  I took pictures of some of my favorites:

"Say hello to my little friend"

Johnathan Roach is a bad-ass motherfucker. Johnathan Roach's teacher is probably too naive to know that this quote comes from a movie about a violence-prone drug lord who meets a fitting end. Johnathan Roach is probably too naive to know that this quote comes from a movie about a violence-prone drug lord who meets a fitting end.

"Do Work!!!"

No seriously the kid looks like a douche.

"Big White!"

Here's another impenetrable one. Either the kid's a big fan of sharks or toothpaste commercials. Oh well. I should be more forgiving of Jacob Cabral. Thirteen is still young enough to think that impenetrable in-jokes are THE MOST AWESOME THING EVER LOLZ.

"Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer."

Here's another little hard ass. They just grow them like weeds out in San Juan. I have a sneaking suspicious Krystian is the author/subject of the poem I posted earlier. Go get 'em, tiger.

"G-G-G-G-G-Generation"

Samantha Walker wants to let you know that she's knowledgeable when it comes to classic rock, and also that she has a firm grasp on the sociological significance of her peer group. I'm inclined to believe that her parents submitted this quote for her because they thought it would be totally groovy. She probably cried all night because her first choice was "I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk/ Get you love drunk off my hump." She could have at least indicated the stutters.

United States Marine Corps Rules!

Now, I know that in some ways, this is actually very sad. This kid's young. He knows nothing of the horrors of war. He probably has a cousin or neighbor or God forbid a brother or even father serving abroad right now. In a way, little Joshua Lopez is a casualty of war.

But look at him. Look at his fucking face.

In addition to being an obvious lunch-money thief, Joshua is a tool. This is the post 9-11 version of San Dimas High School Football Rules. And it's even gayer. Well, keep dreaming Joshua. And keep packing away those Flamin' Hot Cheetos with your Mountain Dew while you play America's Army.



The tragedy is, however, that I accidentally deleted my very favorite kid. He was a tiny little asian boy with the standard issue mushroom cut that all little asian boys are required to wear and big old glasses. And the words: "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." Granted, his parents could have decided to bust out the Twain. But I feel very certain that he chose it. That he felt his classmates would gain some deeper understanding of him by quoting material several years above their own reading level. But what I love best is that this shitty little know-it-all tween simply couldn't understand that the quote is about one thing only: Mark Twain being  grumpy about wearing coats at night in June." But whatever, asian boy, you've got it all figured out, I'm sure.

Why do you blog?
Submitted by littleduckling.

To remember things, to sort out ideas, to fill time. To pretend I'm some sort of writer, if not in a meaningful capacity. I'm simply not the type of person to keep a physical journal. To stroke my ego. To stake out my little bit of the intarwebs. Because it's good for your brain and spirit and because blogosphere is a funny word.

Although spellcheck tells me it's not a word at all. Neither is spellcheck.