Mental Health

I am writing now what I hope will one day be a book, or better yet never need to be one. The comments I hear in common use about mental health never ceases to amaze me. The mentally unstable have very few advocates. As a society we have made mental sickness something to be ashamed of and therefore people do not stand up like they do in other communities that have demanded fighting.

I truly believe that we as a culture will look back on these years with shame ourselves, as other racial/sexual communities look back now. That is not to say that there is equality for these other people groups. Far from it. That being said I am increasingly shocked how little is done for the mentally unstable: those who often can't fight for themselves. Do we not want to take responsibility?

"Retarded" is a token comedic word. Jokes are made constantly about homeless individuals. (70% of which have a mental disorder). Those who are appalled at others use of racial slurs/jokes, easily use the words retarded, loony bin, psycho, etc. I myself am guilty of using the word crazy our of context and I am working on it.

The most common reaction in the realm of mental instability is to laugh and joke, a reaction that in any other area would easily be pegged as insecurity and ignorance. This is long and rambling and I realize I am not articulating my point well. My point is this: remember that when you talk about, refer to, compare others with the mentally instable that you are making light of someones intense and often life threatening struggle. It matters.

Quote

"Your WHOLE world needs to be rocked in order to create balance for yourself."

Commercials

I believe I already wrote about the horror which is the Centrum commercials_the ones with flashing symbols of gender: watch, chocoalte, BBQ, etc. That is right watches "were made specifically for men." Is it a coincidence that one of the longest running anti-women joke's punchline is something along the lines of....women don't need a watch, there is a clock on the stove? Anyway, obviously I am still upset, as I often get about many products, most recently, Reebok.

Have you seen it?...the commercial? If so you probably know the one I am referring to. I'd say a good 20 sec of the 30 sec commercial is spent on a womans thigh to waist. A woman wearing booty shorts that is. Well but this does makes sense, since the whole idea of this specific pair of shoes is to "make your butt and thighs look better." No, there is no male equivalent. I thought running shoes were for running, which sure makes your butt and thighs look better, but I didn't realize that women needed yet another shoe to draw men's attention to their butt. I'm not man bashing, this is not man's fault. But seriously? Seriously? The only time you do see the woman in the commercial's face is to A. notice she's pretty and needs no assistance with her ass OR face and B. for her to look embarrassed as she directs the camera man back upwards. Is she emberased or did she buy shoes with googling as the tagline?

I. Love. People.

I went to Portland last weekend to go to my lovely friend Kat's birthday party accompanied by Mac and the crew of fun people that always surround her. The day was filled, and I do mean filled, with eccentric people that cause one to pause and say, "I. Love. People."

First before I had even hit the road I stopped in at the grocery store a block from my house to grab a couple of things. Same grocery store that I met who we will affectionately call Stalker Lionel [more to come]. So on my way into the store I am met by two people, both men. Both on bikes. They are riding away from one another but carrying on a heated conversation with no sign of stopping. Thus they have to get louder and louder with each peddle, proving increasingly difficult. This is not taken into consideration so they continue for what seams to be an infinite amount of time. And this should not be a surprise because their speech was filled with pertenant philosophical discussion.
Man one: "Whatever. Why would I listen to you, you are on a girl bike."
Man two: "This is not a girl bike."
One: "Sure looks like a girl bike."
Two: Exasperated, "THIS is a classic Schwinn."
One: "Its a girl's bike."
And I could keep going, because after all, they did.

I was not quite to the Donald/Aurora exit when I hit a major traffic jam. As it turns out there had been a horrific accident involving some odd (many) motorcyclists and one car. Egh. Thankfully my dad just bought a motorcycle. I-5 closed entirely. So there I sat with thousands of other drivers and passangers. Now I would assume, most like me were just the average individual in some Sudan or SUV used to drive through traffic jams (yay global warming). But not next to me. No. Because I am surrounded almost constantly with entertaining and wonderfully zany individuals.

Pan to my left...a clown. Yep from the yellow fro' to the perched, broad, bright red-white outlined lips, to the thick ruffled collar with billowing polka dotted sleeves. And its not just that she was a clown, it was her exit strategy. So of course she was driving a clown car...or what could have been. Possibly just trying to make up for all of the soccer mom SUV's. Or maybe it was a company car. Not an earth car, but picture something remarkably similar and remarkably small. She just spun her little clown self right around and braved the grassy ditch median. (Those in SUV's might I add were not so brave.) But after all she is a clown...she may have grown up high diving into small bodies of water.

Pan to my right...mostly because I was trying to figure out what stunk. As it were it was hot, to hot to have my windows up in my broken air conditioned car. To my right, hundreds of chickens. Angry chickens, surely hot chickens, shoved into tiny cage on top of tiny cage, beside tiny cage. There they sat in the smoldering heat angry and pecking and ininvertantly (sp?) spewing grungy bits of hay from their "homes." And they may have been local grass fed beuties, but they were not fresh. Needless to say I got to Mac's smelling of sweat and poultry.

All of this to say. I love people. I just love how people are so different. Some people are passionate loyal Schwinn activists, some are clowns, some drive truck..trucks full of pecking chickens. But whoever we are we are maintained under the same laws of traffic jams, human decency (parking lot fights and such), hot weather and more. And I am SO glad that we are so different. I love people.

T.I.M.E.

I don't have as much time as I wish I did to write, but I want to keep up with my goal so can't let it go altogether. The highlights of my week in no particular order:
-The twenty-something year old construction guys I passed on Patterson today singing along to Colby Callet (or however you spell it) unaware that there was anyone walking by.
-Starting my new job! Nick is such a delight and his brother Josh such a bonus. More stories to come. But I love both the boys and get a kick out of their dynamics and how they play off one another. Nick is eleven and has autism and Josh just turned ten.
-Rediscovering tea on the cold mornings. Mm...there is just something comforting about hot tea.
-The homeless fellow who has begun eating in a cove-ish space outside my door. We WILL soon be friends.


More to come...

Yep

Yep folks, we still live in this world.....


I have not forgotten the piece on diction. I think I will work on it tonight during Art Forum, but I don't have the time now to fully establish my anger over the things said in class today. The below picture which I found on Agnes' facebook (she was also enraged), just gives a glimpse into the kind of attitude which is so winning in certain [not all] males.


Yeah, it is 2009.

Baby On Board...

I think many people have been trained to not think critically or trained to not train themselves. My generation does not question and I find this alarming.

Things that make you go "Hm.."

This is just one thing to start but I can't get over it. "Baby on Board" signs. Why? I mean besides the inevitable Road-Ragers who stop to read the sign (usually on the passenger side window of the back seat) and think, "Phew, good thing I was following parallel but slightly behind this driver I am mad at or I might have ran right into him. Now I know the poor schmuck has an inocent baby in there. I guess I won't run into the side of his car anyway."

Sorry if you have one of these signs on your car. Maybe you can enlighten me. I do realize that some of these are sun shields which makes sense. But some are simply bannars. It is just a proud proclomation of little Junior? If so in todays age, its probably best not to advertise where the baby is at all times. Just a thought. But when a burglar breaks into your house what luck if he were to find a sign dirrectly inside the front door that read, "T.V. down the stairs and to the left. Safe code under mat, safe in the back of closet under women's shoes."