We will.
Let there be a repeal.
Let us look toward the future - NYC, let's legalize
Let the dialouge continue, grow stronger, change the minds of the close-minded
Let our country embrace love, in all its outlets, expressions and forms
Let us not discriminate. Let us not hate.
Again, this isn't just about California...
Arizona, Florida, Arkansas - ignorance nationwide,worldwide - we're looking at you too.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A couple of things left unsaid…
Well, first, let’s start with the beautiful… all the things that are being said (and should be said) -
“Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King could walk. Martin Luther King walked so Obama could run. Obama’s running so we can all fly,” – Jay-Z
1955-1963-2008…
That our children might fly. That we all can fly…
“Tough days lie ahead. But it’s a moment to dream. Americans have earned that right, along with the renewed respect of the world.” – “Perfecting the Union, Nov. 5, 2008, New York Times, Roger Cohen
“Americans never quit. We never surrender. We never hide from history. We make history.” John McCain, Nov. 4, 2008
We elected, as our 44th President a black man with the middle name of ‘Hussein’.
“The most conspicuous clichés to fall, of course, were the twin suppositions that a decisive number of white Americans wouldn’t vote for a black presidential candidate — and that they were lying to pollsters about their rampant racism.” – Frank Rich, “It Still Felt Good the Morning After,” New York Times, Nov. 9, 2008
“There are two skinny guys from Illinois who made a difference. Abe Lincoln and Barak Obama.” – Charles Ogletree, Harvard Law School, Indecision 2008, Nov. 4, 2008
There is such beauty in this election, so much to be proud of – but, I fear there are things I’ve left unsaid – so now I give volume to them:
Giving birth to a baby with a disability is not, and should never be, proof of one’s pure commitment to a Pro-Life stance. My commitment to pro-choice stands unwavered, and let me be clear, aborting disabled children is not a segment of a pro-choice commitment. They are not one and the same, and it is irresponsible and quite svengali to suggest otherwise.
And, if we’re in a morality powerplay, might we discuss the morality (or complete lack) of leveraging your newborn baby for your own machavelian political gain? Political capital is complex and ever shifting. The lines of right and wrong blur in a quest to rule – but, this to me was, in a word, despicable…
And, on to the devastating passing of Proposition 8 in California. Of all places in this large and diverse country, California passed this proposition? An indecent proposition at that. Consider me let down. No, consider me devasated, furous and in shock.
How could California allow $38 billion to think for them? Lies should never be able to purchase their way into truth and then into law. For a country so willing to step up and demand a change, to vote in record numbers for racial barriers to fall and equality to prevail - how could we, not only in California, but in Florida and Arizona too, and Arakansas, deny any subset (minority or otherwise) of the American population their own basic rights?
As I sit in shock over the passing of Prop 8 – well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for me, I’m sorry for you, I’m sorry for our country. It is an obvious truth that a country that limits the ways in which we can express love to one another is a troubled country.
But, the fight doesn’t end here, it only begins. Let the dialouge begin, let the rebellion begin, let’s really begin to see the change we all believe in. For us, for them, for all.
“Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King could walk. Martin Luther King walked so Obama could run. Obama’s running so we can all fly,” – Jay-Z
1955-1963-2008…
That our children might fly. That we all can fly…
“Tough days lie ahead. But it’s a moment to dream. Americans have earned that right, along with the renewed respect of the world.” – “Perfecting the Union, Nov. 5, 2008, New York Times, Roger Cohen
“Americans never quit. We never surrender. We never hide from history. We make history.” John McCain, Nov. 4, 2008
We elected, as our 44th President a black man with the middle name of ‘Hussein’.
“The most conspicuous clichés to fall, of course, were the twin suppositions that a decisive number of white Americans wouldn’t vote for a black presidential candidate — and that they were lying to pollsters about their rampant racism.” – Frank Rich, “It Still Felt Good the Morning After,” New York Times, Nov. 9, 2008
“There are two skinny guys from Illinois who made a difference. Abe Lincoln and Barak Obama.” – Charles Ogletree, Harvard Law School, Indecision 2008, Nov. 4, 2008
There is such beauty in this election, so much to be proud of – but, I fear there are things I’ve left unsaid – so now I give volume to them:
Giving birth to a baby with a disability is not, and should never be, proof of one’s pure commitment to a Pro-Life stance. My commitment to pro-choice stands unwavered, and let me be clear, aborting disabled children is not a segment of a pro-choice commitment. They are not one and the same, and it is irresponsible and quite svengali to suggest otherwise.
And, if we’re in a morality powerplay, might we discuss the morality (or complete lack) of leveraging your newborn baby for your own machavelian political gain? Political capital is complex and ever shifting. The lines of right and wrong blur in a quest to rule – but, this to me was, in a word, despicable…
And, on to the devastating passing of Proposition 8 in California. Of all places in this large and diverse country, California passed this proposition? An indecent proposition at that. Consider me let down. No, consider me devasated, furous and in shock.
How could California allow $38 billion to think for them? Lies should never be able to purchase their way into truth and then into law. For a country so willing to step up and demand a change, to vote in record numbers for racial barriers to fall and equality to prevail - how could we, not only in California, but in Florida and Arizona too, and Arakansas, deny any subset (minority or otherwise) of the American population their own basic rights?
As I sit in shock over the passing of Prop 8 – well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for me, I’m sorry for you, I’m sorry for our country. It is an obvious truth that a country that limits the ways in which we can express love to one another is a troubled country.
But, the fight doesn’t end here, it only begins. Let the dialouge begin, let the rebellion begin, let’s really begin to see the change we all believe in. For us, for them, for all.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
I think...
...that chocolate chocolate cupcakes and red wine are absolute proof that it's good to be alive.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I say, BaRACK the vote
And we did…. We did.
Thank you United States of America, thank you. I'm so thankful to be able to finally say, with absolute sincerity, I’m PROUD to be an American.
We did...
(Yes we can)
Thank you United States of America, thank you. I'm so thankful to be able to finally say, with absolute sincerity, I’m PROUD to be an American.
We did...
(Yes we can)
Saturday, September 20, 2008
....and sometimes, sage
Descriptions, depictions, … self-induced afflictions
An endless search for self enlightenment
Youthful and tautological,
falling, down, down into the veritable rabbit hole...
Stolen words to fill the silence, seems everyone else is saying exactly what I’m thinking
Giving articulation to my own block and so, words, I steal.
Stolen, something old, something new, something borrowed, feeling so, so blue.
she's immediately likeable for her color
contagious, dynamic, absolute essence of fun…
haunting, haunted, stirring
…and, sometimes sage
A stolen description, depiction. Chopped, taken, sampled, if you will. A mashup
Hell, just call me hip.
Leaving it up to you.
Find me, seek me. Hiding in this world, just waiting to be found.
Tellmeallthosethingsineedtobelievesaysomethingtosurprisemefindmesaysomethingnewboredomboresmeandi’malwaysboredsoiguessthatmakesmeboring
Don’t mind me. I’m spiraling.
All of you, so transparent, provoking, faking
Throwing stones, the hypocrisy reflected in the lack of self reflection. Laugh at them, but, careful, you're just laughing at your own desires. Everything you're not, everything you are. Unwittingly, admittedly, but true. So transparently provoking, and so now I’m Revoking. Revolting. No, you’re revolting. Ick.
leaves me lifeless.
Your self-indulgence is oh so terribly common
and I wonder when I’ll be provoked to believe
in hope again.
Empty words on an empty podium. What's left to believe in? Bombs over Baghdad, didn't end there, hasn't ended there, still, how terrifying self-involved I've remained. I still want a pony.
Though I'm in good company.
Too busy noticing themselves to notice you.
Laugh out loud, yell to be heard, all the time hiding away what it is that is
Everything you don’t see is everything I wish you would.... isn't it complicated ... and, sometimes sage?
An endless search for self enlightenment
Youthful and tautological,
falling, down, down into the veritable rabbit hole...
Stolen words to fill the silence, seems everyone else is saying exactly what I’m thinking
Giving articulation to my own block and so, words, I steal.
Stolen, something old, something new, something borrowed, feeling so, so blue.
she's immediately likeable for her color
contagious, dynamic, absolute essence of fun…
haunting, haunted, stirring
…and, sometimes sage
A stolen description, depiction. Chopped, taken, sampled, if you will. A mashup
Hell, just call me hip.
Leaving it up to you.
Find me, seek me. Hiding in this world, just waiting to be found.
Tellmeallthosethingsineedtobelievesaysomethingtosurprisemefindmesaysomethingnewboredomboresmeandi’malwaysboredsoiguessthatmakesmeboring
Don’t mind me. I’m spiraling.
All of you, so transparent, provoking, faking
Throwing stones, the hypocrisy reflected in the lack of self reflection. Laugh at them, but, careful, you're just laughing at your own desires. Everything you're not, everything you are. Unwittingly, admittedly, but true. So transparently provoking, and so now I’m Revoking. Revolting. No, you’re revolting. Ick.
leaves me lifeless.
Your self-indulgence is oh so terribly common
and I wonder when I’ll be provoked to believe
in hope again.
Empty words on an empty podium. What's left to believe in? Bombs over Baghdad, didn't end there, hasn't ended there, still, how terrifying self-involved I've remained. I still want a pony.
Though I'm in good company.
Too busy noticing themselves to notice you.
Laugh out loud, yell to be heard, all the time hiding away what it is that is
Everything you don’t see is everything I wish you would.... isn't it complicated ... and, sometimes sage?
Saturday, August 2, 2008
It all started with a word...
I have no idea how to start a blog.
No clue.
They’re just so hip these days. I mean everyone else is doing it. And, really, it goes without saying that if everyone was jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, I would too. So, here it is: my first blog. Ok, ok, my second. But, the first was just a school assignment, and as far as I’m concerned what happened in college stays in college.
Agreed?
Well, I guess I’ll start blabbering about my life and hope this thing gets better with age. Like fine wine and cheese... or something. Though let's be fair, eventually cheese is just moldy.
There are all these philosophical ideals about how to start a brilliant work of writing (which, unquestionably, this will be. I heard The Old Man and the Sea orignially started as a blog, by the by):
Philosophical writing belief numero uno: “It all started with one word…” which sure, is genius in its fine simplicity and all, but, what’s my word?
A book I just read – one of those happy-n-tears-a-go-go chick lit novels that makes you cry in spite of your better judgment (on the freakin’ rush hour train, no less! These pink little packages of yarn and estrogen should come with warning labels, I tell you!) – Friday Night Knitting Club, aka Steel Magnolias with a Manhattan Cosmo and lime twist… - used that very sentence, “It all started with a word… “
And that word was knitting.
Somehow, I don’t think that’s my word. Knitting.
I don’t know anything about knitting. Not exactly the floodgate of inspiration I’m searching for.
In fact, I think I know less about knitting than about how to begin a blog. So that’s really no use at all. I do know, however, that knitting, like blogging, is rather trendy these days and all my friends are totally into it. I'm totally not.
Yes, so, maybe I’d jump off the Bklyn Bridge if everyone else was doing it, but I wouldn’t pick up a knitting needle. Guess that’s my line. Bridge jumping = fine. Knitting = too far. But, my friends, man, they love it. I just got my 73 scarf this summer. Not that I’m counting or anything.
Summer, it seems, is prime homemade scarf-giving season. I'm merely guessing here, but I do believe these talented knitter friends of mine start their artistic endeavors in the winter (when a scarf seems like a perfectly pragmatic and endearing gift), but seemingly seem unable to put the final, finishing touches on it until summer hits. Then, it suddenly becomes the perfect August b-day gift for a girl like me.
I still remember the first time I received a scarf for my birthday. I’d just moved to Japan a few weeks earlier and was really starting to believe that the heat mixed with humidity and lack of air conditioning, really, honestly, literally, just might kill me. Awaiting my sweat-soaked arrival was a little care package from the States. And, it cost a mere $43 to send over.
I remember with an intense clarity, standing in my kitchen sick from the heat, my apartment roughly 107 degrees, and finding inside that “care” package a wool scarf (read: Japanese summer torture device) enclosed with a birthday card. I almost passed out from heat exhaustion just by looking at it. In fact, the mere memory of it makes me hot.
“What next, a freakin’ string bikini for Christmas?” Oi
And, that concludes pretty much everything I know about knitting – that wool scarves make inappropriate gifts for mid-August birthdays in hot, humid climates.
Let’s see other philosophies on getting started writing…
Philosophical writing belief dos: “Let it start at the heart and it shall flow from there…”
Well, instead of writing, I had to make my way to the toliet to throw up a little. Who thought that up? How do you expect me to ever keep writing if I’m too busy getting myself sick off shots of fluffy truisms such as that…
Huh, well, take a look at that, for someone with nothing to say, looks like I just babbled on for about a page and a half…
And so we have it, one blog entry down. And, I guess it did all start with a word… I. And, let’s be honest, that’s what this whole blog is about: I, I, I… me, me, me. All Jaclynn all the time. It’s the Tyra Banks of blogs…
Welcome friends, welcome.
Hot, naked cupcake.
No clue.
They’re just so hip these days. I mean everyone else is doing it. And, really, it goes without saying that if everyone was jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, I would too. So, here it is: my first blog. Ok, ok, my second. But, the first was just a school assignment, and as far as I’m concerned what happened in college stays in college.
Agreed?
Well, I guess I’ll start blabbering about my life and hope this thing gets better with age. Like fine wine and cheese... or something. Though let's be fair, eventually cheese is just moldy.
There are all these philosophical ideals about how to start a brilliant work of writing (which, unquestionably, this will be. I heard The Old Man and the Sea orignially started as a blog, by the by):
Philosophical writing belief numero uno: “It all started with one word…” which sure, is genius in its fine simplicity and all, but, what’s my word?
A book I just read – one of those happy-n-tears-a-go-go chick lit novels that makes you cry in spite of your better judgment (on the freakin’ rush hour train, no less! These pink little packages of yarn and estrogen should come with warning labels, I tell you!) – Friday Night Knitting Club, aka Steel Magnolias with a Manhattan Cosmo and lime twist… - used that very sentence, “It all started with a word… “
And that word was knitting.
Somehow, I don’t think that’s my word. Knitting.
I don’t know anything about knitting. Not exactly the floodgate of inspiration I’m searching for.
In fact, I think I know less about knitting than about how to begin a blog. So that’s really no use at all. I do know, however, that knitting, like blogging, is rather trendy these days and all my friends are totally into it. I'm totally not.
Yes, so, maybe I’d jump off the Bklyn Bridge if everyone else was doing it, but I wouldn’t pick up a knitting needle. Guess that’s my line. Bridge jumping = fine. Knitting = too far. But, my friends, man, they love it. I just got my 73 scarf this summer. Not that I’m counting or anything.
Summer, it seems, is prime homemade scarf-giving season. I'm merely guessing here, but I do believe these talented knitter friends of mine start their artistic endeavors in the winter (when a scarf seems like a perfectly pragmatic and endearing gift), but seemingly seem unable to put the final, finishing touches on it until summer hits. Then, it suddenly becomes the perfect August b-day gift for a girl like me.
I still remember the first time I received a scarf for my birthday. I’d just moved to Japan a few weeks earlier and was really starting to believe that the heat mixed with humidity and lack of air conditioning, really, honestly, literally, just might kill me. Awaiting my sweat-soaked arrival was a little care package from the States. And, it cost a mere $43 to send over.
I remember with an intense clarity, standing in my kitchen sick from the heat, my apartment roughly 107 degrees, and finding inside that “care” package a wool scarf (read: Japanese summer torture device) enclosed with a birthday card. I almost passed out from heat exhaustion just by looking at it. In fact, the mere memory of it makes me hot.
“What next, a freakin’ string bikini for Christmas?” Oi
And, that concludes pretty much everything I know about knitting – that wool scarves make inappropriate gifts for mid-August birthdays in hot, humid climates.
Let’s see other philosophies on getting started writing…
Philosophical writing belief dos: “Let it start at the heart and it shall flow from there…”
Well, instead of writing, I had to make my way to the toliet to throw up a little. Who thought that up? How do you expect me to ever keep writing if I’m too busy getting myself sick off shots of fluffy truisms such as that…
Huh, well, take a look at that, for someone with nothing to say, looks like I just babbled on for about a page and a half…
And so we have it, one blog entry down. And, I guess it did all start with a word… I. And, let’s be honest, that’s what this whole blog is about: I, I, I… me, me, me. All Jaclynn all the time. It’s the Tyra Banks of blogs…
Welcome friends, welcome.
Hot, naked cupcake.
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