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Sometimes, when I'm browsing facebook, I gain very wise insights into our generation. To use the term "our generation" is to seriously shove everybody born in the US between 1982 and 1988 under an umbrella and hope for the best. However, for better or worse (WORSE!!!) this is our generation.
Facebook has created a kind of community network catering directly to this ultimately lazy gang, wherein we may access the personal info and photos of nearly anyone, and observe the people that declared as "friends"...again, umbrella.
So, here are my observations regarding this cultural phenomena.
1. If you have 401 people listed as friends, I'd be interested to see how many of these 401 you would call if you got into a car accident/legal trouble and needed help. Maybe 22...but I'd go with 6.
2. If nearly all of your friends look strangely similar (yourself included) and many of you own duplicates of the same clothing/albums/purses/shoes/movies/bedding/toothbrushes/cell phones, you might want to consider expanding your social horizons to include people who DON'T remind you of that thing in the mirror...what's that word again...YOUR REFLECTION!!!
3. If nearly all of your pictures and your friends' profile pics include the following:
cleavage, alcohol, cell phones, kissing, grabbing, licking
again, take a close look at your social circle and realize that perhaps, somewhere along your college path, you took a wrong turn and have tragically found yourself in one of the dirtier episodes of the OC.
4. If your "About Me" or "Interests" include kissing someone, get a new hobby...or, at the least, spare us the details.
5. If all of your favorite movies star one or more of the following:
Julia Roberts, Reese Witherspoon, Meg Ryan, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Ashley Judd, Sandra Bullock, or Diane Lane
you may consider renting something foreign (yes, with subtitles) or even something that never made it to an Abilene theater. Seriously, after watching a certain number of "cereal box" romantic comedies, any intelligent woman could eventually write her own.
6. If your "Favorite Quotes" or "About Me" section runs the scroll box to the bottom even once, either there is just too much going on with you to even begin sharing on facebook, or you really need to learn to edit your crap down to a readable amount. No one cares that much. Not even your own mother.
Well, there you have it. I'll close, because no one cares that much, afterall.
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| Yeah, so I'm not dead.
My life is still in transition. Uncertainty is my middle name...which actually kinda fits me well. Christina Uncertainty Weathers.
This uncertainty has led me to a lot of erratic behavior and random thinking. Yes, and I've been reading with occasional devotion, "Waiting for God" by Simone Weil. She was a very interesting, supremely educated woman who converted later in life, but refused to ever become a part of "the church," fearing it would hinder her spiritual growth and ability to minister to the secular world. She died in 1943 after restricting her diet to the quantity government ordered rations allowed to the people of France during the time.
"In that case, why should I have any anxiety? It is not my business to think about myself. My business is to think about God. It is for God to think about me."
"And my greatest desire is to lose not only all will but all personal being."
"Christ likes us to prefer truth to him because, before being Christ, he is truth. If one turns aside from him to go toward the truth, one will not go far before falling into his arms."
"The most beautiful life possible has always seemed to me to be the one where everything is determined, either by the pressure of circumstances, or by impulses such as I have just mentioned, and where there is never any room for choice." (this is MY FAVORITE).
I hope you've been encouraged by these words. | | |
| Occasionally in one's life, a young woman must strip her doubt like a binding bathing suit and dive head first into that shockingly cool pool: the suspension of disbelief. Goosebumps rising to the surface before her own misty exhalation, she places her blind faith in her own powers of concentration. With the focus of a sharp-shooter and the trust of a dreamy child, she stares with deep intensity, her pupils expanding, the possibility of psychic kinesis an imminent option.
Her mantra, a simple three word assembly of idyllic hope: He will call.
Repeated as the lusty liturgy of a priestess in heat, these words prove all consuming, her physicality only realized with a hand waved in mock blessing over her ailing cellular.
Purging this technological conduit of communication from mothers, brothers, and others, "He" becomes the ultimate result of all her most noble aspirations. He will call.
For how could such undistracted desire be hindered by the powers that be? How could Aphrodite, in all her lovely divinity, not deign to fulfill the request of her mortal sister? If all things were possible, such an act, on the part of a son of Adam must be laughably plausible.
And so, with every cell configuring to shape each letter of each word, with a pulse thumping out a Morse code of absolute urgency, she waits and watches...
her wish, her will, her final testament: He will call. | | |
| and when i'm not browsing for new cd's to order with money that i earn one staple at a time,
and new clothes to buy that look like they came from anywhere but here,
i'm browsing cities to visit, with hotels that seem nice, next to restaurants with unique food, served by people from different countries, who listen to music at venues that you'd never know about till you asked, where the musicians sound smoky and the seats are ashy.
and after, i'm lying on the floor pretending to paddle out, arms pushing, legs kicking, always ending up in the same bedroom spot,
with carpet lint stuck to my belly and the pattern of shag written all over my knees.
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