Two Weeks' Notice

Torn down and there’s nothing left to tell who she was before. She carries her head low, mumbles the answers to questions and smiles without soul. She’s lost something and everyone can tell. She’s different and silent and still.

She glides across the floor in small blue shoes, taking orders and delivering food. Her tips reflect a real loss of personality. People who used to pay for a smile or a laugh now pocket an extra dollar almost sadly. Her trips to the kitchen are short, in one door and out the other just long enough to place the order. No one asks her questions or tells her jokes, not like they used to. She doesn't laugh anymore, she doesn't know how to.

Tell her you need a coffee and she pours you a cup. Tell her you’re bored and she sighs. Her feet are sore from standing, her eyes are deeply red, her tongue is swollen from disuse and her mind is ready for bed. It’s been a long week and the year is longer still. If she just makes it through today, she thinks tomorrow will be the same. If she makes it through the month her mind will be made. She isn't staying long she decides, not long enough to be noticed. Everyone here will forget me after I put in my two weeks’ notice.

Postmodernism

Today, Postmodernism is defined by Google as, "a late 20th century style and concept in the arts, architecture and criticism that represents a departure from modernism and has at its heart a general distrust of grand theories and ideologies as well as a problematic relationship with any notion of "art."" Now, what does that mean?
My interest came from a reading I did for my Pop Culture class today, at the University of Pittsburgh taught by Professor Glover, a great lecturer. The reading was "Stam, "The Poetics and Politics of Postmodernism." I don't have a first name to give you but I'm giving credit where due as best I can. Stam calls postmodernism, "the decline of the radicalism of the 1960s" in such a way that we are more interested in a representation of something than its reality. How much time do you spend reading your friends' opinions on issues, how much time do you spend reading about those issues yourself? Media has become so biased and controlled that it's no longer a trusted source for real news. Even the word real has taken on a new meaning.

Because I'm a struggling college student I can't afford cable. I read articles online but most often I miss major issues as they hit breaking news. When I do see them it's at work on the televisions at the bar as I'm bussing tables or taking orders. When there's a lull at work we all sit around and watch tv, talk and generally pass the time. So often we say to each other, "I can't watch the news, it's too depressing." For years I would agree. The news is so depressing that we skip it in every form whether it's on tv or in the paper or on the internet. We shouldn't! It's been too bad for too long to let it go any further. My generation is not alone when we look around and say, I can't possibly do anything about the problems because no one is doing anything. It's too hard, so I choose to not care.

We don't know where to get the facts anymore. We don't trust the biased media. We don't like being pushed around and told things are getting better without seeing the facts for ourselves. We simply can't keep up. News that was relevant and important today will be old news next week, not because it isn't still relevant but because we got tired of it. Global climate change, world hunger, wildlife preservation, just three examples of things that are still problems that we just don't hear enough about anymore. We push it to the back of the pile and hope someone else will take care of it.

If you can do one thing to help this world become a little bit more real just search out the facts and don't blindly read what someone else thinks. This is just my opinion piece, you go read about postmodernism and tell me what you think.

To Mom, on her 50th Birthday

Thank you for holding me when I cried.

Thank you for listening when I tried.

Thank you for believing me even when I lied.
For being there when I was scared, 

For pushing me and for making sure I was prepared.

You molded me into doing right,

You held my hand through every fight
Although you love me too,
No one will love you more than I do.
From a daughter to her mother on her 50th birthday.
Thank you for the lullabies you sang, even after I was much too old.

A Piece From My Upcoming Short Stories

I felt the summer wind against my arm as I grabbed the hood. Watched and counted the streetlights feeling closer to God, feeling alive. We knew every troublemaker in town and nothing was going on that night. Causing mayhem and exploring the city was what we did. Now, graduated from high school, my friend Vance and I were exploring what it meant to be adults. Two years ago we were kids set loose on the world with no direction and no idea. Tonight, like most nights, we were just looking for an experience. Scott, Vance asked me, what are we doing tonight?

As a kid you'll make friends with anyone. Alex was the kid across the street. From a broken home with an abusive dad and no attention: Alex was a wildcard. Some days we'd sit home and watch movies, play games and other days we'd be outside climbing mausoleums and walking to the waterfront. Sometimes we'd pay and sometimes we'd steal. One particular night Alex called me up on the house phone and told me he wanted to go for a walk. We ended up in the cemetery under the stars.
Ten years old and our parents never worried about kidnapping. My parents had their hands full with my four other siblings.
Ten years old and Alex asks me; does it ever get better?
I had nothing to tell him. I didn't know. I was neglected in my own way with four siblings I could easily get lost in the shuffle. Instead I chose to enjoy my anonymity.
If my parents grounded me I'd spend a week sleeping at friends' houses. I thought I was being rebellious.
I went to school, I didn't do homework. I did the dishes but my room was a mess, you couldn't tell me to clean something that was mine.
One time in middle school Alex, Vince and I were at this new thing called a 'game cafe' and we were playing a demo game that had just come out,Vince mentioned he was thinking of getting the game and Alex said, "Why? You can just steal it." Alex grabbed the disc and darted out the door before we had time to think. Sprinting down the street, an employee yelling after us, it was the most fun I'd had yet in my life. Running down the street with my heart pounding I remember thinking I wanted to be young forever. Young, with my two best friends, there could be no doubt what life was.
Now, at 22, I can say for a fact that I'm made by the friends that I spent those days with. Inside I'm still running down the street from the cafe, still sleeping under the stars.

How Did We Ever Meet

We're sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette that we share between us. You run your hand through your black shaggy hair and exhale as you pass the cigarette from your hand to mine. I put it to my mouth and suck but don't breathe. I'm tricking you into thinking that I like to smoke with you on my porch swing that looks like it came from IKEA.

"Not bad," I say, "I prefer Camels."

You nod your head, "I take what I can get."

I hand the cigarette back to you and we sit in silence just a few seconds more. Long enough for both of us to think of something to say. As we both try to start a topic at the same time we stop, look at each other and laugh. "You go first," I say.

"I was going to say you shouldn't hold your breath."

I inhale. "What do you mean?"

"It works much better if you breathe it in." You're looking at your shoes.

"I just--" I don't know what to say. "I don't like smoke."

"You didn't have to lie to me."

I guess I thought I did have to lie. It just wasn't a big deal in my mind. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you said, "just be yourself. I like you for you."

"Thanks." My breath catches in my throat, "I was going to say that I really hope we're more than friends." We exchange a look before I continue, "Because with all that we've been through, I just don't think that I could go back to the way things were."

There's silence for what feels like forever.

"Do you remember how we met?" you ask me.

"It was Rocky's birthday and we were all at the bar." I laughed, "I remember."

"I bet you don't remember me staring at you all night," you said, "and how I tried to walk you home."

"No," I said, "I don't remember that at all. I remember you talking to Christina all night until Rocky got totally hammered and you called him a cab. That's when I left."

"I really wanted to walk you home." I can hear the longing in your voice. If you could go back would you have done anything different? Would you have talked to me all night instead?

"I don't regret anything," I say, "I wasn't capable of making any good choices that night anyway."

"At least you didn't make a wrong choice." You're looking down the street as if you can see the ghost of me walking home alone that night. As if you can see the whole event taking place and it is only just out of my line of sight. I wish I could read your mind. I wish you would share what you're thinking with me.

"What if you had walked me home?"

"I would have--" You look at me, think for a moment and then answer, "I would have regretted it."

We don't look at each other for a while. The time passes silently and your cigarette is almost ash. When we finally do look at each other it's you that talks first, "Don't feel like you have to walk on eggshells with me."

"I don't."

WALL-E drinking game rules

Anyone says "walle" or "eve" bedsides themselves.
Plant is shown on screen during a scene
"Foreign contaminant" is said
"Rogue robots" is said (two sips)
"Directive" is said
There is a moment of insight for a character
This game is guaranteed to get you hammered.

Our Unique Wants and Needs

How do you gauge what you should be doing from what you shouldn't? In a society where almost all things are accepted where do you draw the line, or do you?
Sure, some things have laws preventing them but besides those bad decisions what is frowned upon?
Nothing is bad unless you make it bad. There is an emotion that we humans feel called "shame" that keeps us from doing wrong. Actually, normally it doesn't stop anyone from doing anything just makes them regret it.
In this world of "shame" and "regret" are the same principals as the old world where a lady's worth was dependent on her reputation. A spotless reputation was marked by a lady who caused no trouble at all and was the picture of piety and accomplishment.  A woman who had to watch her every word and show nothing.
Today we can do anything we want but we still feel that old world "shame" for having sullied our reputations with the shameful act. So can we truly do whatever we want, or is it an illusion?
I believe that if you want something that breaks no laws and harms no one, despite the way society sees it, you should feel no shame. Our wants and needs are unique and we can't all hope to be satisfied by the same "vanilla" lifestyle.
Walking around pretending to be perfect does more harm to society than good. Imagine a world full of clones each one the same as the next.
The next time you are facing a decision take a look at your options. There's always an easy and a hard option. Think about what you want the most and do it without shame. Regardless of how hard it is to be yourself, accomplish your goals or make the right decision for you, the right road is often the one that you want to take.