Set the stage...

My science partner is on his way to my apartment.
I run around to remove my stuff and organize my work, my mess.
I set the stage; it’s all a play, a regular rudiment.

The living room! Pillows on the couch, Bible on the table. I’m content.
I fill the soap—only half way. I use it, but I’m resourceful. This I’ll never confess.
My science partner is on his way to my apartment.

Tactfully, I place Calvin & Hobbes comics on his chair, flowers by the vent.
My shoes sorted by color, and oatmeal cookies in the oven. (15 minutes or less.)
I am the master; I set the stage, a regular rudiment.

The dishes are bubbled, the toilet paper end folded into an origami tent.
I sniff my pits, run cologne through my hair, and slap on a blue dress.
My science partner is on his way, almost to my apartment.

I quickly shave my legs in the sink, and my heart pumps for the event.
I don’t want to look like I try too hard; it’s not my only stress.
I set the stage like a dollhouse, a regular rudiment.

Go time. I sit on the couch and add my earrings, a simple accent.
He’s going to see my apartment and fall in love. That’s my guess….
My science partner is knocking on the door to my apartment.
The stage is set—just a regular rudiment.

I like his roommate.

I used to but now...

I used to be a brick wall

I used to be a tattered newspaper dated October 4, 1989, but now I am a red diary full of secrets.

I used to be a Virginia soda, but now I am a Michigan pop.

I used to be a brand new roll of toilet paper, but now I am an orange traffic cone—danger!

Pensaba in Español, Aber jetzt habe ich sprechen Deutsch.

I used to build castles out of post-it notes, but now I am an ice cream tree.

I used to be a penny, heads up, in the middle of the street, but now I am a hot dog topped with mustard and ketchup.

I used to be a hot-pink polyester jacket, but now I am a black and white tweed pea coat.

I used to be a garbage truck stuffed with trash, but now I am painted with chemical-free, waterproof, GREEN paint.

I used to be cigarette ashes sprinkled on moldy bread, but now I am hors d’oeuvres served by men in tuxedoes.

I used to be an Italian art song, but now I am a German-dramatic aria. (The fat lady who sings.)

I used to be a garden gnome stuck between a dead robin and crab grass, but now I am a fuzzy lint roller—here to catch fallen morphemes from a vocal war.

I used to be a Magic 8 ball: try again later, but now I am a deck of cards: hearts is trump.

I used to be a little white dove posed on a wedding cake, but now I am a vibrant peacock.

I used to be a dismantled stove, but now I am a willow plate.

I used to be a purple helium balloon lost in space, but now I am a couple of cheetah-print heels struttin’ down the streets of New York City.

I used to be a pair of left-handed scissors, but now I have a pencil stashed behind my ear.

I used to be a crystal chandelier, but now I am a spotlight.

I used to be the wind winding between metallic house chimes, but now I am a canon used to blast through blueberry fields. I scare away the birds.

I used to be a three-pronged fork underneath a pillow, but now I am three hairs—flushed down the toilet.

I used to be the mother of a boy, but now I am a sister to a man.

if men could menstruate

A white minority of the world has spent centuries conning us into thinking that a white skin makes people superior-- even though the only thing it really does is make them more subject to ultraviolet rays and to wrinkles. Male human beings have built whole cultures around the idea that penis-envy is "natural" to women-- though having such an unprotected sex organ might be said to make men vulnerable, and the power to give birth makes womb-envy at least as logical.

In short, the characteristics of the powerful, whatever they may be, are thought to be better than the characteristics of the powerless-- and logic has nothing to do with it.

What would happen, for instance, if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?

The answer is clear-- menstruation would become an enviable, boast-worthy, masculine event:
Men would brag about how long and how much.

Boys would mark the onset of menses, the longed-for proof of manhood, with religious ritual and stag parties.

Congress would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to help stamp out monthly discomforts.

Sanitary supplies would be federally funded and free. (Of course, some men would still pay for the prestige of commercial brands such as John Wayne Tampons, Muhammad Ali's Rope-a-dope Pads, Joe Namath Jock Shields-- "For Those Light Bachelor Days," and Robert "Barretta" Blake Maxi-Pads.)

Military men, right-wing politicians, and religious fundamentalists would cite menstruation ("menstruation") as proof that only men could serve in the Army ("you have to give blood to take blood"), occupy a political office ("can women be aggressive without that stead-fast cycle governed by the planet Mars?"), be priests and ministers ("how could a woman give her blood for our sins"), or rabbis ("without the monthly loss of impurities, women remain unclean").

Male radicals, left-wing politicians, and mystics, however, would insist that women are equal, just different; and that any woman could enter their ranks if only she were willing to self-inflict a major wound every month ("you must give blood for the revolution"), recognize the preeminence of menstrual issues, or subordinate her self to all men in their Cycle of Enlightenment.

Street guys would brag ("I'm a three-pad man") or answer praise from a buddy ("Man, you're lookin' good!) by giving high fives and saying, "Yeah, man, I'm on the rag!"

TV shows would treat the subject at length. ("Happy Days": Richie and Potsie try to convince Fonzie that he is still "The Fonz," though he has missed two periods in a row." So would newspapers. (SHARK SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN. JUDGE CITES MONTHLY STRESS IN PARDONING RAPIST.) And movies. (Newman and Redford in "Blood Brothers"!)

Men would convince women that intercourse was more pleasurable at "that time of the month." Lesbians would be said to fear blood and therefore life itself-- thought probably only because they needed a good menstruating man.

Of course, male intellectuals would offer the most moral and logical arguments. How could a woman master any discipline that demanded a sense of time, space, mathematics, or measurement, for instance, without that in-built gift for measuring the cycles of the moon and planets-- and thus for measuring anything at all? In the rarefied fields of philosophy and religion, could women compensate for missing the rhythm of the universe? Or for their lack of symbolic death-and-resurrection every month?

Liberal males in every field would try to be kind: the fact that "these people" have no gift for measuring life or connecting to the universe, the liberals would explain, should be punishment enough.

And how would women be trained to react? One can imagine traditional women agreeing to all these arguments with a staunch and smiling masochism. ("The ERA would force housewives to wound themselves ever month": Phyllis Schlafly. "Your husband's blood is as sacred as that of Jesus-- and so sexy, too!": Marabel Morgan.) Reformers and Queen Bees would try to imitate men, and PRETEND to have a monthly cycle. All feminists would explain endlessly that men, too, needed to be liberated from the false idea of Martian aggressiveness, just women needed to escape the bonds of menses-envy. Radical feminists would add that the oppression of the non-menstrual was the pattern for all other oppressions. ("Vampires were our first freedom fighter!") Cultural feminists would develop a bloodless imagery in art and literature. Socialist feminists would insist that only under capitalism would men be able to monopolize menstrual blood. ... In fact, if men could menstruate, the power justifications could probably go on forever.

If we let them.

- Gloria Steinem (1978)

kraker 330

It is so that time again. ALL of my boxes are unpacked-- to my past roommates, this is a HUGE accomplishment. I unpacked my last box for the 2009-2010 school year in May. What does this say about my personality? That I am afraid of committment? That I am lazy? OR that there really isn't a place for everything? None of the above.

The apartment is fantastic. It's a nice place with A/C and a dishwasher<- woah. I have an enormous closet and a brand new desk full of fresh paper and unsharpened pencils. It's going to be a good year.

Everything seems bittersweet. I am ready for a Grad program and NEW experiences. I will seriously miss all of the friendships that I have made at Hope College, but a new journey waits. Sometimes I think I am going to give up everything I have worked/paid for and just travel around the world and eat good food. We will see ;) I will miss the liberal arts school. I love learning. I am working to be a professional musician now, but my calling could change in five years. Sometimes I am called to be a minister- other times, to be a doctor or writer. The thing is... I can do whatever I want. I am 20, almost 21, years old! Two decades in one place is just like reading the back of a really big book.

To Kraker 330,
It will be a great 9/10 months. I will love you well and probably make a ding in one of your walls. You will conclude my experiences at Hope, BUT you will also hold many parties, late night conversations, foof jumpings, tears, giggles, delicious meals, and assignments. I hope you're up for the job.

Happy first week of classes.

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living life.

It has been a CRAZY week. Hope College is almost back in full-swing. I am eager to start my new classes, lose an average of two hours of sleep every night, have mountains of homework waiting for tired mind, and everything else.... Seriously, I love college.

I have always loved school. Every year I wake up at least two hours before my alarm waiting for that moment where I can grab my backpack and leave. I come with new pencils, paper, and my planner ready for scheduling. This year will not be an exception. I had three weeks off of class and thought that break was too much to handle. I enjoy learning and meeting new people. Yes, I will still procrastinate and stay up too late the night before an assignment is due, but why wouldn't I do so? I work well under pressure :) HELLO! I am a performance major.

Each year brings new challenges, hope, dreams, and ideas. For the past three years I have explained to people my plans for the future. I kept a chant of 'I am doing this for me,' and 'my life will start after college.' The thing is-- I AM LIVING LIFE RIGHT NOW! :D :D :D SO! As this new realization hits me, I realized that I need to start listening to my inner voice and cater to my needs. It's going to be great.

New resolution for the 2010-2011 school year:

I am going to live life to the fullest!
Starting with trying new things and stepping out of my comfort zone once again as a senior in college. I watched/helped freshmen move in all day yesterday and realized that I will never move into a Hope College owned property again. Chances are that I will never sleep on a bunk bed again OR see most of these people on a regular basis. It's time to live it up. Mazel tov! Welcome to Hope College, baby!

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peace.

A lot has been running through my mind lately. I usually have one or two HUGE questions ripping through my heart at a time. I wish I had all of the answers to help the people in this world, but I don't. I am constantly reminded of the fact that we are all brothers and sisters sharing one Earth. The older I get the more I see the separation of people. What we really need to realize is that everyone must help! We need to find a balance. We need to stop killing and all of this hatred. I don't know how the human population came to the conclusion that it's normal to build barriers of hatred.

This picture, which was found on google, represents our world. It is diverse in the sense that it combines many colors. Each tone works together to create a beautiful artwork. There are no perfect lines-- aka life. The colors blend together and co-exist. What an amazing experiences a pair of eyes can get after discovering the curves and direction of each line. It is truly fascinating.

I hope that someday people stop dehumanizing one another. We have to realize that every person has a family and a heart. We need to lose words like discrimination and segregation from our vocabulary. Each person is beautiful and has a lot to contribute to the needs of society. We need to stop judging and assuming that we know everything... Just give it all to God.

I think, or at least I pray, that everyone believes in peace and life.

<3

We love because he first loved us. If anyone says, "I love God," yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen.

-1 John 4:19-20

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a day at the beach.

It's the summer of 2010 and the temperatures have soared to the hottest days that we have seen in a long time. It will definitely not be a summer to forget! Due to the current situation of sweltering heat, citizens have swarmed to cooler areas, the beach. The over-populated beaches have lead to overcrowding, too much noise, and unpleasing sights.

The Michigan beaches are loaded with a bunch of noisy quacks :) When the daily temperatures start to rise about the eighties, and sometimes even the seventies, people tend to haul out their bathing suits and jump in their wagons to the squeaky sand on Lake Michigan. Car trunks are filled with floatation devices and noodles, coolers are filled with pop, chips, and fruit, and umbrellas are tucked neatly between a set of lawn chairs. Before even thinking of laying down the prized, beach possessions, the owners cannot forget the brightly colored towels that either have an intricate pattern to describe their personality or some super-cool cartoon character's face smack in the middle of the course fabric. Going to the beach is just a simple, day's work.

On top of all the neat accessories that accompany the beach, there are also a variety of people. On a hot day at the beach you will see a pack of muscular (boys) men run around in their Hawaiian style trunks, sweaty from running around playing volleyball. If they don't kick sand in your face as they run or if they don't hit you with their ball, then they can be quite interesting eye candy. At the same time the "man group" comes to the beach you encounter many young, teenaged girls, laying in their itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow, polka-dotted bikinis. They turn more and more crispy, like rotisserie chicken, as the sun climbs to its hottest temperature. The young girls may not say anything, but the attire definitely suggests feelings of competitiveness between all women. Who looks best in a bathing suit? The world may never know.

Sure, there are the teenagers that run amuck throughout the sand, but one must not forget all of the families, with little kids. There is always the naked toddler running in and out of the water, and another child stuck in a diaper-- good thing there's a poop catcher because I wouldn't want any poop or pee falling into the lake.... Parents are constantly yelling for their kids. Worries about undertows and pedophiles take over the minds of parents who came to the beach to "relax." Sometimes, there is the occasional parent who decides to sleep in the sand or read a good book under their umbrella, but most of them are watching out for their annoying children.

The young infants and toddles have no game against the elementary and middle-school aged children. A common problem for beach is the screaming. Even on the hottest days of the year the Lake water is still ice-cold. Each new child that enters the water has to scream and remind the beach-goers that the water is, indeed, still cold. Then a feisty older brother starts to pick on his poor, little sister, and more screaming ensures. The planned quiet day at the beach turns into a carnival of crazies.

Among all of the families and smokin' babes are all of the average-Joes. This group contains all of the chubby, old men with dark, curly hairs running down their stomachs, the women of the Red Hat Society, and the group of tourist eager to see the fresh water and feel the unique sand. These people don't really contribute to anything... except for the noise and other eyesores. Occasionally, there are the runners, the treasure hunters, and the college students. The runners work extra-hard against the sand and the treasure hunters hoping to make it big while the college-aged girls jump in the air trying to get a cool silhouette combining the elements of the sun and water. These select people are not worthy to be named beach dwellers. Nonetheless, the still contribute to the beach quacks and noises.

So, after examining the array of colors, listening to the obnoxious noises, feeling the freezing water and scorching sand, and seeing all of the people on the beach, I have realized that the beach is a crazy concept. Nowhere else do people actually come together and sit, partially naked, absorb the sun until it hurts, and be uncomfortable with sand riding up to you-know-where. We insist of jumping in a lake that could cause frostbit or hypothermia-- maybe not to that extent, but lips and toes may turn blue! We put ourselves in a position of drowning and other dangerous, and extremely vulnerable, places. There are strong undertows and a risk of someone going missing. I wouldn't necessarily call this a fun, family day.

For some reason, I am drawn to this so-called beach. I love the smiles that I see on the faces around me, and I especially enjoy seeing families together. The beach brings a sense of community. I love the feeling of carrying my over sized floaties, my striped towel, and an attitude ready to have fun. It's always fun to burn the bottom of my feet and I run towards to slapping waves of the water. Normally, I stay too long and end up with red skin. My cheeks turn rosy and my hair dry and tangled from the thrashing it received in the water. Sure, there are many things to worry about... but don't we worry too much from day to day? Enjoy the sun!

<3 your beach-bum

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