The old cliche: "never judge a book by its cover". This is a perfect analogy when it comes to people. Everyone has a story, it may not show by the cover thought, not everyone comes with a self-explanatory title descibing what they've been threw & what they're about. I am 18, I am tall, thin, smart, and funny. This is what people see as they look at me, what they dont see is my story.
Can you guess which one it was?
My perspective is changing about the recent raid in Texas on a religious sect after a young girl may have reported being abused. Now that the mothers of the children who have been taken away by Child Protective Services have spoken out and voiced their side of the story, I am reminded that we as readers rarely get the whole truth.
The other night I watched the documentary Bowling for Columbine. It was suprisingly good. I think Michael Moore does a stapedius job of reasoning out the causes of violence in America. He is also a hypnotic editing genius. I had to watch the film to critique the editing and man does he know how to use it.
Part of me loves those little ranking stars... Part of me hates them passionately. Of course I like them when I get lots of them; but not when I only get one or two. Maybe that's a message? People aren't liking what I have to say? Or maybe I'm just not saying it in a way that's clear enough? Either way... I'm not liking the ranking thing.
The question is: Do we really care what other people think about us?
I woke up at 4:00AM this morning. I was disoriented and confused. I had no idea where I was and I started having hot flashes. Disturbing images were haunting me from the hellish dreams I had been having. I got out of bed and paced around my house in a desperate attempt to reclaim my sanity. I turned off the heater because I was sweating uncontrollably. My head was pounding and my throat was sore.
So, let's face the facts. Everyday we all hear things that are raunchy, gross, and sometimes just wrong. It's apart of being our age. It's a part of life, experiencing the morphed,, disgusting, and sick. Yet, in all the perverseness, we find humor. Why?
