Life, Death and Everything Else

A couple of days ago, my mom called me with some terrible news: two guys that I know -- knew -- died. They, along with two other people, were the victims of a head-on collision between a car and a semi truck. The only one to survive the accident was the driver of the car. Two of the passengers killed were the driver's brothers; the fourth passenger was a close family friend.

Apparently, the car the guys were driving crossed the median and slammed into the truck, killing the truck driver. The driver of the car is now in critical condition; he faces up to four counts of manslaughter, if my "sources" can be trusted.

The news of their deaths devastated me. I only knew two of the victims, and those vaguely. Still, there's just something about someone close to my own age dying. That's not supposed to happen. People are supposed to die of old age, if at all. In my ideal world, no one ever dies. And what is the point of only living to be 18 or 19 years old?! There is so much left to do, to be; why end it now? I know it wasn't their choice, but it all seems so unfair.

In junior high and my first couple years of high school, I welcomed death. I think everyone reaches a stage where life just doesn't seem worth it anymore; at that point, death was my life. I spent entire class periods planning my funeral: pallbearers, songs, readings. I wanted to make things simpler for my family. I contemplated various methods of suicide -- bleeding to death versus a bullet to the head versus suffocation versus overdosing. I knew overdosing was unreliable and suffocation would be torturous; the others were too messy.

Now I am so glad I managed to get through that horrific period. I can't imagine putting my parents, friends and family through that. I see how I react to the death of virtual strangers; how would my little brother feel about my self-inflicted murder?

I'm sorry; this is kind of meandering from one topic to another. Death is not something simple; it is so multifaceted and confusing that it is impossible to explain in any form. I am not even sure what my reaction is to the thought of my own demise. Of course there is a measure of fear, along with curiosity. My religious beliefs say I will go to Heaven, but that is a matter of faith. . . and what if that's not what happens? Life is never easy, even when it ends.

Distorted Fairy Tales

Whenever a celebrity does something stupid, it's a big deal. I've never been able to figure out why (I mean, really, it's not exactly a shock), but the press jumps all over it -- and rightly so, as that's all anyone can talk about. Ok, I'll quit trying to be general about it: I'm talking about the Michael Jackson case. I won't quibble about whether or not he was guilty; the jury knows more than I and they declared him innocent. Besides, my opinion doesn't matter, anyway.

What bothers me more than anything is that this man, an international superstar, could face a camera and calmly admit to sleeping with young boys (in, of course, a nonsexual way) as if that was not out of the ordinary. And everyone accepts this. Michael Jackson has never been a "normal" guy; he's always been a bit eccentric. He must just be pulling another strange publicity stunt or something. WHAT?!

Okay, let me get this straight: a strangely-deformed white-skinned black man who lacks a nose claims that sleeping with children is healthy. Right. I wish I had a kid or two to send to a sleep-away at Neverland Ranch. Who knows, Peter Pan himself might show up (for those unaware, Michael once claimed to be Peter) with his "Jesus Juice". Must be a fairy dust of some sort. You know, "Think happy thoughts!" Seriously, though, maybe he could teach my hypothetical kids some cool dance moves. Every young boy needs to know the "crotch grab" if he ever wants to get a girl. And a friend who never grows up could be a good mediator between a child who wants everything and a parent who has to provide for the said child. We've all seen how well he's done with his own kids. . .

I hear a rumor from a very reliable source (CNN) that the "King of Pop" may be planning to move to Europe or Africa -- places where his talent is more "appreciated". Great plan, I say. I really don't care where he goes, just as long as he follows his own timeless advice: "Beat It". Please do.

Teen Drama

As an update to yesterday's blog I did finally get a hold of two of my friends from home. The first was quick to inform me that "nothing is really going on here". She then proceeded to catch me up on the latest in her life. After approximately 3 hours (ok, maybe just 45 minutes. . .) of listening to her love and life issues I was struggling to maintain that fragile balance between commiserating and encouraging her questionable choices. When she finished venting on me, she apologized. "I feel so bad. I mean, you call me to see what's going on and I just unload all this drama on you." I assured her it was okay. Nothing says "home sweet home" like high school drama. And nothing makes me happier to be beyond it all.

Procrastination

I don't know about anyone else out there, but I am a procrastinator. I say this in the same way I might announce that I have brown eyes or am female. It's not good or bad; it just is. If I didn't put everything off until the last possible second, I wouldn't be me.

I got on this train of thought because I am (finally) finishing my graduation "thank-you"s. Yes, I graduated May 15th and no, nothing tragic has happened to me. Like I said, I just like to put things off. My theory goes something like this: why put off until tomorrow what you should have done yesterday when you could wait and do next week, anyway? Consequently, I am sporadically stressing about things I need to have done now.

Will I ever stop? Probably not. Would I like to? Ummm. . . that would mean getting organized and that would take too much effort. It's much simpler to just stay up all night finishing a project than it is to do it little by little. It takes lesss time that way. Besides, I am usually busy with something I was supposed to have done before this new task came up. Speaking of which, I should probably finish the letter I started. . .

Don't Speak

Most people are familiar with the No Doubt song, "Don't Speak". Tonight, I offer a better suggestion to the general public: Don't sing. My aunt, uncle and I watched the new "reality" show, "Hit Me Baby 1 More Time" this evening. The show featured such former stars (the term is used loosely) as Tiffany, Arrested Development and -- my personal favorite -- A Flock of Seagulls. (Okay, I lied; A Flock of Seagulls makes me think of a group of performing birds. This would probably sound better, anyway.) Each group performed their former smash hit before putting its take on a new song. Listening to some of these has-beens made me wonder, why are they torturing me like this? Why are they humiliating themselves like this? I was thoroughly confused.

My baby cousin, Connor, gazed at the TV suspiciously as Loverboy took the stage to perform Ryan Cabrera's trash hit, "On the Way Down". When the lead singer began to ask why he couldn't be my lover, I replied, "Because you're old and balding and can't sing!" Poor little Connor wailed in agreement. His big blue eyes seemed to wonder, who is this guy and who told him he could sing?

To be fair, some of the performers weren't that bad. Tiffany was decent and I thoroughly enjoyed Arrested Development, the show's ultimate winners. I much preferred "Hit Me Baby. . ." To "American Idol". At least these artists have some modicum of talent; otherwise, they wouldn't have been signed in the first place. But still. . . The thought of a Vanilla Ice comeback is quite disturbing. Just the thought of it makes the room too cold, too cold. . .

Seriously, though, nothing is more annoying than a person who believes he or she can sing when he or she cannot. I personally know a couple of these people, and try to avoid them as often as possible. It is one thing for someone with talent to sing; it is another situation entirely when someone belts my favorite song out -- off-key and out of tune. That is where friendship ends and frustration begins.

Since this seems to be a growing trend, however, maybe I should try it. I mean, I'm staying in a suburb of Minneapolis; the Mall of America isn't that far away. I could sing there. And no one has to know that my choir director once told me to "just mouth the words, okay". You know, this could even end up getting my a record (if not with a label, certainly with the police. . . ).

The Naked Truth

I just watched the movie "Selling Innocence" on the Lifetime network. Okay, so Lifetime can be cheesy, but in this case it was awesome. There is a scene in the movie where he main character, Mia, is with her boyfriend, kissing in his car. He tries to take it a little further and she becomes angry. She sums up the ultimate female quandry nicely: "If I dress like this [short skirts, low-cut tops] and put out, that makes me a slut. But if I don't, then I'm an evil tease."

It sounds strange when put so bluntly, but that is exactly what our culture has done to women. Every little girl grows up knowing that sex sells. The biggest compliment a high school girl can get is to be called 'sexy'. But playing up that angle automatically makes her a "slut" who will obviously do anything with anybody. I hate to break it to the male world, but a girl's clothes don't tell all that much about the person inside. Yes, some "easy" girls dress that way. Some don't. It's like everything else; everyone is different.

I was raised to believe that I live in a free country, but the mental and emotional bondage I am forced, as a female, to wear restricts that freedom. Every morning, getting dressed creates a conflict within myself. I was raised in a strict Christian home where modesty was everything and I personally feel self-conscious in overly skimpy clothing.

But I am an 18-year-old girl who wants the approval of her friends and, yes, guys. And wearing "revealing" clothing gets that approval -- along with catcalls, lingering stares at my chest and frustrating come-on lines. So I have to make a choice: do I have the confidence in my body to wear this shirt? Do I have the emotional confidence to deal with the assumptions that go along with it? Usually, I decide it isn't worth the compliments.

I have heard the lectures about women tempting men and understand where they are coming from, but assuming that all men are depraved sex monsters is an insult to many men. I'm not naive; trust me, I know how the male mind works. I also know that most men aren't driven into a sexual frenzy by the mere sight of a shoulderblade and if they are, they need help.

The other ones who need help, are the women who perpetrate this insanity. Whenever I turn on the TV to watch music videos I am assailed by images of barely-dressed women gyrating across the screen. What message is that sending to the little girls who watch it? I don't want my little cousin to grow up believing that she has to live in a string bikini to be liked. And I don't want to waste my time worrying about the conclusions men will draw about me, based on my clothing choices. America is a free country; why can't I wear what I want?

"A woman has a right to walk around naked

and not be raped or murdered."

-- Dr. Marcella Fierro, Chief Medical Examiner (VA)