Used-Up Words

I can't write. 

I've reviewed and reread and revised some of my most recent work and it's official: I can't write today. Even as I write this blog I'm upset at its quality. But that could just be hubris.

Today has been a full day of flip-flops between bursts of inspiration and hope for my near and distant future brought crashing down by self-indulgent thoughts of apathetic despair. Accented, of course, with arrogant crying fits while prostrated on my bed. Melodramatic, hyperbolic, pompous, jealous, and full of self-retching ego. Oh, did I mention verbose?

I miss advanced English class discussions. I miss big words strung together in an attempt to clarify a metaphor that finds meaning only through its complexity. I miss mental exercise. 

I currently work for a call center where I spend four, ten-hour days repeating the same script, several parts verbatim, approximately thirty-five times. While on the phone, I have to take notes on what the caller is saying so I don't accidentally think I'm on the previous call. It's deadening. 

http://www.flixya.com/photo/2263651/smile-while-talking-with-customer-call-center-girls

And I think that I have lost my brain. 

Words, heavy, multi-syllabic words, keep assaulting me at work. On more than one occasion I have slipped in a "unilaterally" or "unmitigated" into my freestyle portions of the call. I've alienated a lot of my callers by using words they don't care to understand. And I don't blame them. 

But I've got to use these words. They roll around in my head that's used to thinking and make me bad at my job. They pop up when I'm trying to express my feelings, making communication all but impossible. 


I want to read. I want to write. I want to play videogames. All in my pajamas and all in the same day, if possible. And I DON'T WANT TO GO TO WORK AND REPEAT THE SAME CONVERSATION OVER AND OVER AGAIN WITH THE SAME USED-UP WORDs! 


And that's why I can't write . . . today.

Sim Life: a Modern Barbie to Help Me Avoid Reality

I played 4.5 hours of Sim3 today alone. Yesterday was a bit more productive, I only played for 3.

In this 8-hour chunk, I hosted two weddings, one child birth, and witnessed three of my prodigies get imaginary raises at their imaginary jobs. A Sim has never died under my watch and I am close to achieving my biggest hirrah yet: in three more Sim-days ALL six of my Sims will have achieved their Lifetime Wishes. I, on the other hand, am exactly one step FARTHER from achieving my own Lifetime Wish: I did not get the job for Writer Assistant-ship ("assistantship," by the way non-employer, is NOT a word!). And yet, I feel a small sense of achievement even in this wake of professional failure.

http://www.thesimshub.com/the-sims-3/console/the-sims-3-ps3/

What is it, you may ask, that causes me to push my own life-tasks to the side and play with virtual dolls? It's a coping method I've used since childhood.

I don't like to fail. For a long time, I was able to either avoid failure or to avoid my failures to be public. Academic or "adult-noted" failure, I should correct. Socially, I have been failing for years. There was even a time I lied so successfully about portions of my life to my everyday peers that I had to quit my jobs and move to avoid finishing my death shroud. At the end of it, I vowed never to lie so big again. And I've kept my promise and returned to socially inept. 

For social satisfaction I go, as I did as a young girl with few friends, to my dolls and their perfectly color-coordinated reality where interaction is almost always successful. 

http://xbox360.ign.com/dor/objects/61011/the-sims-3/images/the-sims-3-20100520002203727.html

My husband made an acute, as always, observation today: in the total time spent playing Sims over the past two days, I could have written a complete story or revised something ready for publication. And I could have, it's true, but not without risk of failure. With Sims, I'm just one re-load away from a redo. With Sims, I puppet my dolls to love and hate and forgive all in five minutes. With Sims, I cannot fail. 

And so, I'm one more job away from my dream of writing without want of comfort. And 7.5 hours older with nothing tangible to show. But at least I'll still go to my dead-end job tomorrow. I've staved off total despair by disappearing for a day into a world I can control. Too bad all I've got to show for it is 100,000 simolean dollars and head empty of stories. Ugh.

How College is Ruining My Mental Faculties--Part I

My husband thinks about whatever he wants too. He's probably at home right now, thinking freely about the broken washer or maybe the Sun's affect on Global Warming, or even conspiracy theories regarding the "true" Paul McCartney's death in 1966 (covered up by the Beatles with a double and extensive facial reconstruction). He may be reading something fascinating online right now with only the whim of interest to guide his thoughts, unhampered by the prospects of writing a term paper later. He, uneducated and unemployed, has the freedom to wander with his thoughts: his brain is his own.

I am not so lucky for I am being educated: I am being taught how to think.

You may think I am ungrateful (my husband does) and you may find my complaints nothing more than the incessant and dispassionate whining of the educated bourgeois. And you may be right. But you are, unlike myself, entitled to your own thoughts.

Perhaps you need only to know my major to understand that I will be no better off than the uneducated in terms of livelihood. I am a Creative Writing major, five-year senior. I stayed in school an extra year to avoid the economic recession (like it was going to get better in a year) and am being educated with a full-ride, merit and need-based scholarship. I work 23 hours a week and am the sole provider for my family's (dis)comfort. After May, I must subject myself to the mindless duties of hourly-wage to maintain the level of life we are accustomed too. With all these wonderful prospects on my horizon, is it too much that I own the majority share to my brain?

I came to college with two goals. First, to learn how to think. Second, to then have a safe environment in which to test out my new skill. 

I have not been disappointed on the first front: I have successfully had three classes through which I have, more or less, learned how to best use my most valuable asset: my brain. These classes are, in order of my enrollment: PHIL 100 Critical Thinking, PHIL 206 Knowledge and Existence, and E20-something Theories of Literary Criticism. 

For perspective, let's look at the amount of total hours I've spent in all the classes I've taken as required to obtain my degree: 129 credit hours. That's 2,451 total actual hours I've spent in classes. Now, since I'm a good student and actually pay attention in class and do the homework (well, that is, up until this semester) we need to add hours I've spent doing homework. We'll say, conservatively, 3 extra hours each week per class, which doubles the amount of time I've spent thinking about the topics covered in my classes to 4,902. 

4,902 hours of brain-power taken from me by higher education. 

Of course, not all of this was time ill-spent. I have had several class sessions enthralled in learning the topics and theories presented. However, all of this time has been spent in guided and specified study. At the the end of my degree, I'm beginning to wonder when I get to explore something of my complete choice. When will my brain be all mine to use as I see? When will this machine be used for my cognitive musing?

STAY TUNED: next post, I tackle the question of a safe place to think . . .

www.bestweekever.tv

 

The Crucial Fumble:
How the National Football League’s ‘Crucial Catch’ Campaign Fails Women

Feminist supporters of breast cancer awareness might argue that the “pink-presence” both on and off the field of the National Football League’s ‘Crucial Catch’ campaign is ultimately empowering for women. This is especially understandable when breast cancer early detection is coupled with the political message to make mammograms more accessible to lower income-level women. What these supporters fail to give proper attention, though, is both the substantial corporate gain and “other-ing” result from painting “pink” all over the NFL. When these supporters fail to recognize the monetary line of their spending, they risk celebrating an effort that uses gender and cancer for increased sales unrelated to the early detection message.  Likewise, when feminists allow a color to represent a largely engendered disease in a male-exclusive sport, they risk supporting a patriarchal ideal.  Rather than seeing the “pink-presence” of the NFL’s ‘Crucial Catch’ as progressive, it is important to recognize both the capitalistic and patriarchal motives of the NFL conglomerate by using “pink” to coalesce women into a gender-specific, increased-spending strata.

The Undeniable Good:

For many, the “pink-presence” on and off the National Football League fields achieves exactly what it claims: increased awareness for early breast cancer detection. And, in many immediate ways, it does. Not an NFL chat-room online can be found that didn’t discuss the “pink-presence” felt during the October onslaught. In this way, the conversation-starter worked: at least it got NFL fans, announcers, and players talking about breast cancer during Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The NFL Players Association even formed “One Team for the Cure,“ as an avenue for players to get more personally involved in promoting breast cancer awareness/research. No player was more visible than Arizona Cardinals’ wide-receiver Larry Fitzgerald Jr., who went so far as to sponsor signature gift-cards with Coldstone Creamery, donating five percent of all proceeds to the National Breast Cancer Foundation.  He went further to donate $1,000 for every one of his catches completed and $5,000 for every touchdown he made in October. Also, all of the pink items seen worn by NFL players and coaches during the games were available for auction on nfl.com. According to nfl.com, “all NFL Auction proceeds during the month of October will benefit the American Cancer Society and team charities,” (nfl.com).

Cost of the Woman’s Dollar:

Although these initiatives and the acts of the individuals involved can be commended, it is important to remain vigilant of what such campaigns allow, especially when in the hands of multi-million dollar industry conglomerates such as the National Football League. In the September 30th press release, the NFL defined its 2010 ‘Crucial Catch’ as “ a national breast cancer screening-reminder and fund-raising campaign,” (nfl.com). The rest of the article details the on-field pink-ifications and auction-promises. Although there are several links to buying Breast Cancer Awareness merchandise, the article fails to name the percentage of donation given from non-auction, profitable sales. The article states plainly, “special pink merchandise will be available. . . with a portion of proceeds going to breast cancer charities,” (nfl.com). I was unable to obtain any further information regarding percentage or actual figures received by any breast cancer charities from the presumably high proceeds earned during October. The hitherto lack of transparency leads me to wonder if the NFL ‘Crucial Catch’ is an example of a large corporation using a breast cancer awareness “pink-presence” campaign to spur women, one of their highest merchandise demographics, into spending.   
    Pink, although relatively infant in the National Football League, is by no means new to the world of breast cancer fundraising and awareness. Concerns of corporations abusing breast cancer campaigns is no less common. According to Pink Ribbon International, their “Think Pink! is a consumer awareness initiative, which anticipates the growing concern regarding the staggering number of pink ribbon products and promotions being marketed,”(pinkribbon.org). This serves as indicator that “pink” has been used as a capitalist spending promoter before. NFL’s use of the ‘Crucial Catch,’ would not be deemed “Pink Abuse,” however, even by Pink Ribbon. “Pink Abuse,” is defined as “companies who promote pink ribbon campaigns, but also manufacture products linked to the disease,” (pinkribbon.com). Although I agree with the need to police such companies first, I feel there is a place in “Pink Abuse” for mismanaged cause-marketing like that found in the NFL ‘Crucial Catch’ campaign. 

The Feminine Touch:

The National Football League is the United States’ most competitive level of professional American football. Nowhere is it necessary to delineate according to gender; the NFL has always been a male-only league. That is not to say that it does not hire many female employees, but none of them are hired in an athlete-capacity. The closest “female-presence” on the field resides in the professional cheerleaders, paid not by the NFL but by the team owners. However, women retain a sizable percentage of overall viewers. In 2006, the latest data released, Sports Business Daily reported women fans created 37% of the overall fan base. Women are by no means absent from football but their “on-field” presence is almost non-existent.
    Pink is the official color for breast cancer awareness and fundraising. It is the color adopted by the American Cancer Society’s “Making Strides Campaign,” the Susan G. Komen for the Cure, Pink Ribbon International, and no doubt all other major and minor breast cancer organizations. Pink graces an unlimited number of merchandise dedicated in varying capacities to a breast cancer awareness/research campaign. In American society at large, pink is also representative of the birth of a female baby (just as blue celebrates ‘boy’). It is no great wonder how pink became the color to represent a cancer afflicting and killing mainly women; although men do get breast cancer, according to Pink Ribbon, women remain 100% more likely to be affected. Pink, the most characteristically effeminate hew in America, thus has both feminine and infantile connotations as well as a strong connection with breast cancer visibility.
    The most visible effect of the NFL ‘Crucial Catch’ campaign was the on-field “pink-presence” this October. Pink was seen on game-balls, accenting player’s uniforms, on the coins used for the toss, the entirety of the official’s whistles, and on the goal-post padding. For the first NFL game in October, a pre-game announcement of the campaign was ended with a pink glow: from fans’ pink glow-sticks and lighted JumboTrons. In the October 17th game between the Denver Broncos and the New York Jets, hundreds of pink balloons were released at half-time, literally filling the stadium with pink. Although early detection may be the message of the campaign, the language is definitely color-recognition. With the hitherto mentioned societal connotations of pink, coupled with the male-dominated on-field presence of the NFL, the pink invasion of October served as an infantilizing reminder of woman’s “other-ness:” at best a guest color used to accent the games. From a feminist perspective, this gender representation, even under the excuse of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, proves deeply problematic.

Standing Questions:

The National Football League’s Breast Cancer Early Detection Awareness campaign, ‘Crucial Catch,’ placed heavy emphasis this October with the largest on-field pink-presence ever. In some ways, the color change did exactly that: brought Breast Cancer Awareness to football. However, undefined corporate gain from online and in store merchandise purchases as a direct result from hosting such a visible wardrobe-change leaves important questions unanswered. How much money was earned from the supposed increase in sales (unrelated to the early-detection message) propagated, no doubt, by female “supporters?” It also raises questions of females and football. Making up a large percentage of fan base (and thus purchases), are women as a whole being represented as an infantilizing accent color on a boys-only sport? In all, the NFL ‘Crucial Catch’ campaign becomes highly suspect when patriarchal ideals come to the forefront, coupled with the cause-marketing revenue run-up.


Sources:

http://www.sportsbusinessdaily.com/article/106148

http://www.pinkribbon.org/ThinkPink/ThinkPink/tabid/336/Default.aspx

http://www.nfl.com/pink

http://www.nflplayers.com/Fantasy-Promotions/One-Team-for-the-Cure/

http://www.nfl.com/news/story/09000d5d81af0979/article/nfl-supports-breast-cancer-awareness-month-with-crucial-catch-campaign

http://www.nflauction.nfl.com

http://www.nfl.com/photos

http://www.businesswire.com/news/home/20090727005294/en/Cold-Stone-Creamery-NFL-Icon-Larry-Fitzgerald

http://makingstrides.acsevents.org/site/PageServer?pagename=MSABC_FY11_reus_CauseMarketing

To the world: my body.

My body is not my own.

Partial ownership goes to my parents. Part to my employers. Part to my society, my friends, and the random people I meet. Part goes to my dead ancestors. Part to my cats. Part to my future generations (well they, at least, may not get any!!). Part goes to my husband, to possessions, and to the processed food industry.

My mind, however, is all mine.

None can hear my thoughts, my musings, the songs stuck in my head. None can guess my opinions, my favorites, my dislikes. None can make my thoughts sit down in one place. None can kill my mind but myself. My mind, MY mind. You can give me ideas, but what I do with them is entirely up to me. You may not have more than dim reflections of my inner summits and sky. You may not have a piece of my mind.

So you all, congested world, may have my body.

You may make love to or infuse carcinogens into these cells unowned by me. You may cut my skin or patch my wounds. You may force my actions or liberate my limbs.

But,

deny me my thoughts, and this body will cease to serve even the meanist of your tasks. Deny me my thoughts, and I will leave you all as quickly as I came.

A Lonely Tree In the Woods

We all know the adage: if a tree falls in the woods, and none are nearby to hear it, does it make a sound?

Firstly, this situation is seemingly improbable and definitely anthropocentric. I can hardly imagine a situation in which a tree would fall outside of the auditory range of every single squirrel and magpie in the forest. But, nevermind: let's assume it really is all about us, and it only matters if a sentient human acknowledges the tree. And that there is some pristine part of the forest hitherto untouched by humans. (Ha--you know what they say about assuming.) So, does it still descry its descent?

My definitive answer: yes. And here's why.

My husband has been out of town for almost a week. Since the moment we became seriously involved with each other, we have spent nearly every night together in the same bed. Sure there has been a night here or there spent somewhere else, but extended stays are far and few in-between. As I leave to go to work and school each day, I can almost guarantee he will be at home when I return. In my forest, there are only two trees, but we're rooted together like aspens beginning their colony.

But now, my forest is diminished to just one tree. The other tree has been temporarily potted and relocated, while I remain on home soil. And, as pathetic as it sounds, I feel like I'm falling. Like my roots are pulled, stretched across too far a distance to keep me vertical. In case you're wondering, no one hears my crash as I timber towards rock bottom. But that doesn't mean I don't cry like hell.

So, does the proverbial tree still bemoan its quick, fatal fall although none are around to hear it? Hell ya, it cries its freakin' leaves off! What it may lack is definition: other surfaces to cast resounding echos to places where people might actually inhabit and hear.

Mystery solved. The lonely tree falls. It cries. The sound fails to carry, so none hear it. But it still makes a loud crash as it's uprooted. Q.E.D.

--Penny Hastings