I can't help it. I listened to the greatest album of all time alot over tour, hence the title of the post.
I'm slightly glad to be back in the USSR er, MBBC.
I love my home, I love my bed, and I love our totally cool bathroom (Bethany and Mom redid it over break). I love my books, I love my laundry, and I love all my pillows.
It's good to be home.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Peter the Great
Author Note: this post was originally written on March 19th, but because of no internet access, I am just now posting it. Here it is:
I want to post. I think I want to post mainly to push yesterday’s post down on the page, so it’s not the first thing people see. (And no, that’s not screwed up). The last few posts have been a little heavy on the emotions, and I can’t take anymore. So here are some nice facts for you today.
I finished reading a book about Peter the Great today for extra credit History of Civ. The book was fascinating, the stories were fascinating, and the man was incredibly fascinating.
Four reasons why Peter the Great was (you guessed it) fascinating:
A. The man started a military school when he was 11.
His sister sent him to a country home, and sent 100 peasant boys along, in hopes of distracting Peter from his studies (she didn’t want him to realize that he was supposed to be ruling, because she was currently enjoying ruling the country), Peter was left alone with no tutors, and all of these boys, who just wanted to play all day. Peter, however, favored education so much that he organized the boys into two regiments and had them war against each other. They had costumes, and drums, and Peter taught them all the signals that were used in real battle. In the end, the tutors were called in to stop the war between the boys. Peter ordered costumes and new tutors and organized the boys so that they were learning. When he was 18, he graduated from the military academy he had established. By this time, the school had been established as one of the best well-disciplined, and well-run military schools in the country. (It continued to train boys for another 100 years).
B. He went undercover for 2 years.
He created a group of embassadors (yes, the book spells it that way) to travel to other countries, so they could observe Western culture, and traditions. But then he decided that these embassadors testimony would not be enough, so he went with them undercover. He traveled everywhere, working in the shipyards just so he could see how other countries built ships. When word got out that the Czar (Tzar) was traveling undercover, the countries began to hold great parties for the group. Peter routinely sent his embassadors to attend the gathering, and he, instead, would go to the local tavern and discuss politics and complain about work with the local people.
C. He changed his country completely.
He did. From shaving everyone’s beards off in court, to cutting off all the fabric beneath the knee. He hated the old customs so much, that he ordered the jesters to ridicule those who did not accept the new fashion. He also put in place checkpoints that required you to pay a fine if your beard was not shaved, and another fine if your robe was not short. Peter changed fashion, style, and efficiency forever. The changes were not easy, people complained and grumbled, but he would not be moved. In the end, people realized how much easier the new systems were and followed them wholeheartedly.
D. He killed his son.
This one is a little hard to call fascinating, but in a way it is. Yes, I know, he didn’t really kill his son, but he did sentence his son to death. Alexis (son) and Peter always had issues. Peter wanted his son to want the monarchy, and Alexis didn’t. Peter wanted his son to show diligence and Alexis did not. Peter wanted his son to travel with him to other countries (he forcefully took him along on trips sometimes) and to appreciate other countries habits, and want to adopt them as his own, but Alexis didn’t care. Alexis, by his own words, wanted nothing more than to indulge himself in playfulness and nothingness all day. Alexis did at one point rebel against his father, (friends convinced him it was wise) by rallying people around him, as if he was the emperor. Peter was angry, and called for the group to be dispersed, (which it was) Peter then had his son arrested and tried by the court. Peter made a point of writing to the court and telling them to not look any more or less favorably on Alexis because he was Peter’s son. The court sentenced Alexis for treason, and sentenced him to death. Alexis ended up dying in the prison before the date was reached. Peter did not once intervene.
And there is your short history lesson for the day. Fascinating, huh?
168 days until the NFL Kickoff – Go Patriots
I want to post. I think I want to post mainly to push yesterday’s post down on the page, so it’s not the first thing people see. (And no, that’s not screwed up). The last few posts have been a little heavy on the emotions, and I can’t take anymore. So here are some nice facts for you today.
I finished reading a book about Peter the Great today for extra credit History of Civ. The book was fascinating, the stories were fascinating, and the man was incredibly fascinating.
Four reasons why Peter the Great was (you guessed it) fascinating:
A. The man started a military school when he was 11.
His sister sent him to a country home, and sent 100 peasant boys along, in hopes of distracting Peter from his studies (she didn’t want him to realize that he was supposed to be ruling, because she was currently enjoying ruling the country), Peter was left alone with no tutors, and all of these boys, who just wanted to play all day. Peter, however, favored education so much that he organized the boys into two regiments and had them war against each other. They had costumes, and drums, and Peter taught them all the signals that were used in real battle. In the end, the tutors were called in to stop the war between the boys. Peter ordered costumes and new tutors and organized the boys so that they were learning. When he was 18, he graduated from the military academy he had established. By this time, the school had been established as one of the best well-disciplined, and well-run military schools in the country. (It continued to train boys for another 100 years).
B. He went undercover for 2 years.
He created a group of embassadors (yes, the book spells it that way) to travel to other countries, so they could observe Western culture, and traditions. But then he decided that these embassadors testimony would not be enough, so he went with them undercover. He traveled everywhere, working in the shipyards just so he could see how other countries built ships. When word got out that the Czar (Tzar) was traveling undercover, the countries began to hold great parties for the group. Peter routinely sent his embassadors to attend the gathering, and he, instead, would go to the local tavern and discuss politics and complain about work with the local people.
C. He changed his country completely.
He did. From shaving everyone’s beards off in court, to cutting off all the fabric beneath the knee. He hated the old customs so much, that he ordered the jesters to ridicule those who did not accept the new fashion. He also put in place checkpoints that required you to pay a fine if your beard was not shaved, and another fine if your robe was not short. Peter changed fashion, style, and efficiency forever. The changes were not easy, people complained and grumbled, but he would not be moved. In the end, people realized how much easier the new systems were and followed them wholeheartedly.
D. He killed his son.
This one is a little hard to call fascinating, but in a way it is. Yes, I know, he didn’t really kill his son, but he did sentence his son to death. Alexis (son) and Peter always had issues. Peter wanted his son to want the monarchy, and Alexis didn’t. Peter wanted his son to show diligence and Alexis did not. Peter wanted his son to travel with him to other countries (he forcefully took him along on trips sometimes) and to appreciate other countries habits, and want to adopt them as his own, but Alexis didn’t care. Alexis, by his own words, wanted nothing more than to indulge himself in playfulness and nothingness all day. Alexis did at one point rebel against his father, (friends convinced him it was wise) by rallying people around him, as if he was the emperor. Peter was angry, and called for the group to be dispersed, (which it was) Peter then had his son arrested and tried by the court. Peter made a point of writing to the court and telling them to not look any more or less favorably on Alexis because he was Peter’s son. The court sentenced Alexis for treason, and sentenced him to death. Alexis ended up dying in the prison before the date was reached. Peter did not once intervene.
And there is your short history lesson for the day. Fascinating, huh?
168 days until the NFL Kickoff – Go Patriots
Conversations
Author Note: this post was originally written March 18th, but because of no internet access, I am just now posting it. Here it is.
(the conversation occurred on March 17th)
I had a conversation with someone the other day. It was long, it was interesting and it was good. I expected it to be the first 2 things but not the last. I went into the conversation expecting certain subjects to come up, (which did) and for others to be left alone (which were not). I went into the conversation willing to put some of myself out there, in return for learning something about the other person. But yesterday the conversation didn’t work that way. By the end of the day, I was tired, bone-achingly tired. And the only thing that I could think that made me this tired was that long conversation. I really enjoyed our conversation, and I really hated our conversation. I think I hated it because I can’t get rid of it, no matter how hard I try.
I am cursed with the problem of constantly rethinking conversations. I can’t help it. No matter how small, banal, large, or important the conversation is, I will think about that conversation again. I am always going back and remembering what I said, what was said, and how I responded. I remember my facial gestures. I remember what I did with my hands. I remember where they laughed, and where they looked away. I remember where we hit points in the conversation where we totally agreed, and where we sat looking at each other in confusion. Sometimes I rework what I should have said. Sometimes I rethink what I wanted to say. Sometimes I answer the question again, this time with a lot more eloquence and poise. Sometimes I never ask the question that I asked. Sometimes I figure out what I should say if the opportunity presents itself again, down to the face and hand gestures. I rethink every conversation this way, and I don’t know how to stop. Sometimes I wish I did. Today is one of those days. While I enjoyed the conversation I don’t want it to happen again, I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to dissect it. But I can’t help it. The words keep tumbling back to me, the gestures, the faces, the laughs, the feelings, the thoughts, the rhythm, the sounds, the smell, the time, the place, the people, and the words always the words. Over and over again, I can hear the words, I can hear what I said, how I said it, I can hear what they said, and how they said it. And I don’t want to remember. I want to be like other people who can’t remember what the conversation was about. I wish the conversation had been so banal, that I wouldn’t care what I said. I wish the conversation had been so full of nothing that it didn’t matter what was remembered. But the conversation was full, it was full of me, and I hate that. I wanted the conversation to be an equal exchange of thoughts, but it wasn’t. While I learned a very small bit more about the person, they learned more about me, which wasn’t fair. Towards the end of the conversation, they summed up what they had learned. They were 62% correct (I know, it’s quite the scientific number). 62% is too large of a percentage for me to feel comfortable with.
I feel vulnerable. Vulnerability is not something I deal with very well, and it is something that I try to avoid at all costs. But today I feel vulnerable, and I hate it. How can nakedness be considered the thing that makes you feel the most vulnerable? I understand now why people can have indiscriminate sex, how they can live with and move from one person to another easily. It’s not sex that makes you vulnerable, it’s not tears that make you vulnerable, it’s not pride that makes you vulnerable, it’s not brains that make you vulnerable, it’s not even relationships that make you vulnerable. The thing that makes you truly vulnerable has and always will be conversation, always and only conversation. Real conversation is scary.
(the conversation occurred on March 17th)
I had a conversation with someone the other day. It was long, it was interesting and it was good. I expected it to be the first 2 things but not the last. I went into the conversation expecting certain subjects to come up, (which did) and for others to be left alone (which were not). I went into the conversation willing to put some of myself out there, in return for learning something about the other person. But yesterday the conversation didn’t work that way. By the end of the day, I was tired, bone-achingly tired. And the only thing that I could think that made me this tired was that long conversation. I really enjoyed our conversation, and I really hated our conversation. I think I hated it because I can’t get rid of it, no matter how hard I try.
I am cursed with the problem of constantly rethinking conversations. I can’t help it. No matter how small, banal, large, or important the conversation is, I will think about that conversation again. I am always going back and remembering what I said, what was said, and how I responded. I remember my facial gestures. I remember what I did with my hands. I remember where they laughed, and where they looked away. I remember where we hit points in the conversation where we totally agreed, and where we sat looking at each other in confusion. Sometimes I rework what I should have said. Sometimes I rethink what I wanted to say. Sometimes I answer the question again, this time with a lot more eloquence and poise. Sometimes I never ask the question that I asked. Sometimes I figure out what I should say if the opportunity presents itself again, down to the face and hand gestures. I rethink every conversation this way, and I don’t know how to stop. Sometimes I wish I did. Today is one of those days. While I enjoyed the conversation I don’t want it to happen again, I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to dissect it. But I can’t help it. The words keep tumbling back to me, the gestures, the faces, the laughs, the feelings, the thoughts, the rhythm, the sounds, the smell, the time, the place, the people, and the words always the words. Over and over again, I can hear the words, I can hear what I said, how I said it, I can hear what they said, and how they said it. And I don’t want to remember. I want to be like other people who can’t remember what the conversation was about. I wish the conversation had been so banal, that I wouldn’t care what I said. I wish the conversation had been so full of nothing that it didn’t matter what was remembered. But the conversation was full, it was full of me, and I hate that. I wanted the conversation to be an equal exchange of thoughts, but it wasn’t. While I learned a very small bit more about the person, they learned more about me, which wasn’t fair. Towards the end of the conversation, they summed up what they had learned. They were 62% correct (I know, it’s quite the scientific number). 62% is too large of a percentage for me to feel comfortable with.
I feel vulnerable. Vulnerability is not something I deal with very well, and it is something that I try to avoid at all costs. But today I feel vulnerable, and I hate it. How can nakedness be considered the thing that makes you feel the most vulnerable? I understand now why people can have indiscriminate sex, how they can live with and move from one person to another easily. It’s not sex that makes you vulnerable, it’s not tears that make you vulnerable, it’s not pride that makes you vulnerable, it’s not brains that make you vulnerable, it’s not even relationships that make you vulnerable. The thing that makes you truly vulnerable has and always will be conversation, always and only conversation. Real conversation is scary.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Blank notebooks
Author Note: I wrote this Saturday night, but I didn't have internet, so was unable to post. Here it is the way I wrote it on Sat. night.
March 15, 2008
The Problem:
I bought a blank notebook today. I bought many other books also, but a blank notebook was among my possessions. The notebook is gray and it has the word “create” on the front, and then you open to a completely blank page.
The Con:
I hate blank notebooks, and yet I buy them. Blank notebooks give you a feeling of absolute uselessness. I don’t know what to do with them. Are you supposed to fill it, or leave it half-empty? Are you supposed to write in it? Are you supposed to draw in it? Should I be writing poetry? What would my poetry look like? (I’m as interested as you). However, with this particular notebook I have greater problems than finding what to do with it. The book says what I am supposed to do with it, I am now expected to “create”. It says “create” right on the front. And now I feel the need to “create”. What does that even mean? What am I supposed to create? What am I supposed to do? I don’t understand. Is this notebook supposed to inspire my artistic feelings? Is this notebook supposed to give me a place to express my feelings? Is this notebook supposed to be the window to my soul? What in the world am I supposed to “create”, and why in the world did I buy this blank notebook?
The Pro:
I love blank notebooks, and so I buy them. Blank notebooks make me happy. I am on a regular basis drawn to blank notebooks, and I have no idea why. I think it has something to do with looking at all those empty pages, knowing that you can put down anything you want, knowing that it would be completely personal and that no one could take that blank notebook away. Maybe I love blank notebooks, because really great people had blank notebooks. Maybe I love blank notebooks because diaries fascinate me, and diaries always seem to be written, in what was at one time, a blank notebook. Maybe I like blank notebooks, because when I look back at them I see what I put there. What I filled those blank notebooks with. I love re-reading written conversations. I love looking at what I scribbled out and trying to figure out what the scribbled out words are. I love blank notebooks, and of course I bought this blank notebook.
The Solution:
I will lay this blank notebook aside, and let it sit in my room. A few weeks from now, I’ll need a blank piece of paper and I’ll pull it from the blank notebook. The notebook looses some of its perfection. A few weeks from now I’ll move it to another place, and its end will get bent. The notebook looses some more of its perfection. This process will continue until I decide to do something with this notebook, and I will. I don’t know what it will be yet, and I doubt that I’ll know what it will be until its happening. I think I love blank notebooks, because they give you a feeling of true freedom. The powerful feeling that you can do whatever you want to do to that page. Whatever you put down in that blank notebook is now inescapably and irretrievably yours. It’s a freedom of a sort, and after all, isn’t true freedom what every human wants? And isn’t the ability to express that freedom all we as humans should ever need? (don’t answer that Americans)
I think I hate blank notebooks because they are irretrievably yours. You can’t get away from what you put down. Yes, you can scribble, burn and destroy the papers, but you never destroy the ideas that were put into shape and substance (no dystopian novel references please). I know that feelings and thoughts can float around in your mind, but they only become cemented once you put them down in hard copy form. Phrases and words can be moving around, but they make much more sense when you see them lying in front of you. I don’t know what I’ll put in my notebook yet. I might draw, (although all my pictures are horrible) I might write short stories, (fascinating form of literature), I might write poetry, (I’m reading all of Shakespeare’s sonnets right now, they are incredible), I might draw lots and lots of doodles (nothing suitable to stick in parentheses here), all of these fascinating possibilities lie before my blank notebook and me. And I have no idea which one I’ll choose.
March 15, 2008
The Problem:
I bought a blank notebook today. I bought many other books also, but a blank notebook was among my possessions. The notebook is gray and it has the word “create” on the front, and then you open to a completely blank page.
The Con:
I hate blank notebooks, and yet I buy them. Blank notebooks give you a feeling of absolute uselessness. I don’t know what to do with them. Are you supposed to fill it, or leave it half-empty? Are you supposed to write in it? Are you supposed to draw in it? Should I be writing poetry? What would my poetry look like? (I’m as interested as you). However, with this particular notebook I have greater problems than finding what to do with it. The book says what I am supposed to do with it, I am now expected to “create”. It says “create” right on the front. And now I feel the need to “create”. What does that even mean? What am I supposed to create? What am I supposed to do? I don’t understand. Is this notebook supposed to inspire my artistic feelings? Is this notebook supposed to give me a place to express my feelings? Is this notebook supposed to be the window to my soul? What in the world am I supposed to “create”, and why in the world did I buy this blank notebook?
The Pro:
I love blank notebooks, and so I buy them. Blank notebooks make me happy. I am on a regular basis drawn to blank notebooks, and I have no idea why. I think it has something to do with looking at all those empty pages, knowing that you can put down anything you want, knowing that it would be completely personal and that no one could take that blank notebook away. Maybe I love blank notebooks, because really great people had blank notebooks. Maybe I love blank notebooks because diaries fascinate me, and diaries always seem to be written, in what was at one time, a blank notebook. Maybe I like blank notebooks, because when I look back at them I see what I put there. What I filled those blank notebooks with. I love re-reading written conversations. I love looking at what I scribbled out and trying to figure out what the scribbled out words are. I love blank notebooks, and of course I bought this blank notebook.
The Solution:
I will lay this blank notebook aside, and let it sit in my room. A few weeks from now, I’ll need a blank piece of paper and I’ll pull it from the blank notebook. The notebook looses some of its perfection. A few weeks from now I’ll move it to another place, and its end will get bent. The notebook looses some more of its perfection. This process will continue until I decide to do something with this notebook, and I will. I don’t know what it will be yet, and I doubt that I’ll know what it will be until its happening. I think I love blank notebooks, because they give you a feeling of true freedom. The powerful feeling that you can do whatever you want to do to that page. Whatever you put down in that blank notebook is now inescapably and irretrievably yours. It’s a freedom of a sort, and after all, isn’t true freedom what every human wants? And isn’t the ability to express that freedom all we as humans should ever need? (don’t answer that Americans)
I think I hate blank notebooks because they are irretrievably yours. You can’t get away from what you put down. Yes, you can scribble, burn and destroy the papers, but you never destroy the ideas that were put into shape and substance (no dystopian novel references please). I know that feelings and thoughts can float around in your mind, but they only become cemented once you put them down in hard copy form. Phrases and words can be moving around, but they make much more sense when you see them lying in front of you. I don’t know what I’ll put in my notebook yet. I might draw, (although all my pictures are horrible) I might write short stories, (fascinating form of literature), I might write poetry, (I’m reading all of Shakespeare’s sonnets right now, they are incredible), I might draw lots and lots of doodles (nothing suitable to stick in parentheses here), all of these fascinating possibilities lie before my blank notebook and me. And I have no idea which one I’ll choose.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Are you ready to hear the single greatest quote ever?
Prepare yourself.
Are you ready?
Ready or not, here it comes.
"I object to being tactfully managed by someone who ought to be my equal"
Give it time to sink in.
And stand in awe.
Peter Whimsy ROCKS!
This may seem like a great quote to me only because I am on choir tour.
You see I live most of my days in a bus. A bus filled with boys and girls. A bus filled with college age boys and girls. A bus filled with girls who are "tactfully managing" every boy they come in contact with. (I'm sorry, let me rephrase that, "every cute boy they come in contact with)
Call me cynical, call me rude, call me angry, call me wrong. But I will know that I'm right. Let me lay before you 2 of my favorite instances:
1. Girl sitting in front of me with another girl. Gets a phone call talks on the phone for 10-15 minutes. I was sitting right behind her. I heard the entire conversation, she hangs up the phone and looks across the aisle, where "cute" boy has been standing, waits until boy gets back (about 3 minutes later) and then promptly bursts into tears. Boy is concerned, girl explains she "just" got off the phone, and explains situation, boy comforts, and sits next to girl for the next 2 hours "to cheer her up" (it only took 10 minutes before she was laughing hilariously at boy)
It's a miracle how "strong woman" can recover.
Does that bother you at all? It drives me nuts. This girl is manipulating this boy to feel sorry for her, and doing it badly. And yet he falls for it.
2. Girl 1 has forgotten a possession at previous location, this is apparently very hard. (note: left possession did not contain much of importance)Girl 2 is ready to sit down and eat. Girl 1 tells Girl 2 that she is leaving to go look for lost possession and will come back in about 20 minutes. Girl 1 leaves. 2-3 minutes pass. Boy comes in to get ready to eat. Gets in line. Boy surveys the room, and falls across girl 2. Girl 2 waits until she knows boy is watching and then says loudly, "What happened to Girl 1?" (loud enough for boy to hear) Boy perks up and looks around, no Girl 1 to be seen. Girl 2 says, "I'll be right back." Girl 2 leaves and returns with Girl 1 who is crying. They both sit at table with boy, who promptly comforts Girls 1 and 2.
Boy then tells people in general to be nice to Girls 1 and 2, because they're going through "hard times"
Girl 2 knew where Girl 1 went, you idiot.
These are only 2 instances, but trust me, there are more. So much more. Do you understand now why I love that quote?
I love being a women, it's true. But today I am angry at my sex. Very, very angry. We (women) yell for equality, we beg for it, we expect it as our right, we hate those who don't give it to us, we believe that lack of equality is what is keeping us from a Utopian society. And yet, we don't treat men as our equals. We make jokes about women being better than men, and then grow angry at men for telling chauvinist jokes.
We as women are negating our own equality by not treating men as equals. If we want to be equal, why, why, why, why, why can't we actually treat men as equals? If we want to be equal, why, why, why, why, why, do we play with men by using our emotions, and more importantly, the man's emotions. But now we come to the final question: Who loses out more in these situations? Is it the pathetic girls? Those perpetrators of fake emotions? Those humans who really have no human consideration whatsoever? Is it the boys? Who never know that they're being played? Who think they understand "women" because they notice when a girl is crying? No it is neither of those, you knew who loses out the most before you started reading this post. The people who lose out the most are of course the real women. Real women with real emotions. Real women who really want equality, in every way, shape and form. Real women who are looking for real men. We are the ones that lose every single time. We are the ones who are waiting to find a man who can say,
"I object to being tactfully managed by someone who ought to by my equal."
Blast Harriet Vane
Are you ready?
Ready or not, here it comes.
"I object to being tactfully managed by someone who ought to be my equal"
Give it time to sink in.
And stand in awe.
Peter Whimsy ROCKS!
This may seem like a great quote to me only because I am on choir tour.
You see I live most of my days in a bus. A bus filled with boys and girls. A bus filled with college age boys and girls. A bus filled with girls who are "tactfully managing" every boy they come in contact with. (I'm sorry, let me rephrase that, "every cute boy they come in contact with)
Call me cynical, call me rude, call me angry, call me wrong. But I will know that I'm right. Let me lay before you 2 of my favorite instances:
1. Girl sitting in front of me with another girl. Gets a phone call talks on the phone for 10-15 minutes. I was sitting right behind her. I heard the entire conversation, she hangs up the phone and looks across the aisle, where "cute" boy has been standing, waits until boy gets back (about 3 minutes later) and then promptly bursts into tears. Boy is concerned, girl explains she "just" got off the phone, and explains situation, boy comforts, and sits next to girl for the next 2 hours "to cheer her up" (it only took 10 minutes before she was laughing hilariously at boy)
It's a miracle how "strong woman" can recover.
Does that bother you at all? It drives me nuts. This girl is manipulating this boy to feel sorry for her, and doing it badly. And yet he falls for it.
2. Girl 1 has forgotten a possession at previous location, this is apparently very hard. (note: left possession did not contain much of importance)Girl 2 is ready to sit down and eat. Girl 1 tells Girl 2 that she is leaving to go look for lost possession and will come back in about 20 minutes. Girl 1 leaves. 2-3 minutes pass. Boy comes in to get ready to eat. Gets in line. Boy surveys the room, and falls across girl 2. Girl 2 waits until she knows boy is watching and then says loudly, "What happened to Girl 1?" (loud enough for boy to hear) Boy perks up and looks around, no Girl 1 to be seen. Girl 2 says, "I'll be right back." Girl 2 leaves and returns with Girl 1 who is crying. They both sit at table with boy, who promptly comforts Girls 1 and 2.
Boy then tells people in general to be nice to Girls 1 and 2, because they're going through "hard times"
Girl 2 knew where Girl 1 went, you idiot.
These are only 2 instances, but trust me, there are more. So much more. Do you understand now why I love that quote?
I love being a women, it's true. But today I am angry at my sex. Very, very angry. We (women) yell for equality, we beg for it, we expect it as our right, we hate those who don't give it to us, we believe that lack of equality is what is keeping us from a Utopian society. And yet, we don't treat men as our equals. We make jokes about women being better than men, and then grow angry at men for telling chauvinist jokes.
We as women are negating our own equality by not treating men as equals. If we want to be equal, why, why, why, why, why can't we actually treat men as equals? If we want to be equal, why, why, why, why, why, do we play with men by using our emotions, and more importantly, the man's emotions. But now we come to the final question: Who loses out more in these situations? Is it the pathetic girls? Those perpetrators of fake emotions? Those humans who really have no human consideration whatsoever? Is it the boys? Who never know that they're being played? Who think they understand "women" because they notice when a girl is crying? No it is neither of those, you knew who loses out the most before you started reading this post. The people who lose out the most are of course the real women. Real women with real emotions. Real women who really want equality, in every way, shape and form. Real women who are looking for real men. We are the ones that lose every single time. We are the ones who are waiting to find a man who can say,
"I object to being tactfully managed by someone who ought to by my equal."
Blast Harriet Vane
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)