The Power of One: Pedro Zamora and the Real World and Me

When I was a teen, nothing was bigger than MTV.  It was the end-all, be-all of television.  It was THE cultural touchstone for Gen-X’ers and some early Millenials.   And if you grew up in Nowhere, Kansas (where the tumbleweeds roamed free and the nearest city with a decent mall was 3 hours away), MTV was the gateway to the rest of the world.  I watched world premier music videos from Madonna and Michael Jackson.  I got to see spring break be wild before I even knew what wild could be.  Kurt Loader told us when Kurt Kobain died.  Yo! MTV Raps, Headbangers Ball, and 120 Minutes showed me that there was music beyond country and easy listening.

 

A Sorta Fairytale

Once upon a time, not very long ago . . . in fact happening right now, there lived a girl (okay, a woman of a certain age range that we will not address here) named Erin the Slothful.  

From Debt to Shining Debt: Adventures in American Healthcare

I had to make an evening visit to the hospital a few nights ago due to persistent symptoms of gaucheness.  Or to put it another way, I was clumsy and hurt myself.  I was making myself a salad and cutting up some green leaf lettuce with a fairly new knife.  I hadn’t had a new knife set in over a decade so sharp knives are still a bit new to me.  I was being a bit quick and careless and I hit my thumb.  I laughed at myself after it happened and just tried to get the bleeding to stop.  It hurt a little but it wasn’t the first time I’d done that (persistent symptoms of gaucheness) so I wasn’t too alarmed until my thumb didn’t stop bleeding about 20 minutes later.  I called my parents to see what the time limit is on when you should call it and just go get stitches – as it turns out the time limit is 20 minutes.

 

 

I Am Mine (Some of the Time)

The shirt from days long past.

I was in 7th grade and wearing a new Pearl Jam t-shirt (even though all I knew of Pearl Jam at the time was what I’d heard on MTV).  It had a little girl with paper and crayons on the front and on the back it said “9 out of 10 kids prefer crayons to guns.”  Super edgy and smart, right?  I was so excited to show off my alternativeness (hipsters didn’t have anything on 90’s grunge attitude).  No one anything to me about the shirt until I left math class later that morning.  We had just been dismissed and were flowing out of the room into a crowded hallway when I heard two guys laughing behind me.

No Matter What Others Say, Love is Still Love

The following is in response to Larry Phillip’s Opinion column, “No Matter What Movies Say, Gay is Still Gay” published on Leader & Times Online.

 

What exactly are “traditional Christian values?”  Are they to judge and devalue others?  That doesn’t sound quite right to me.  And how much of Christianity revolves around sexuality and sexual behavior?  It seems to me that some are very focused on it.  But what does Jesus say about sex?  In the Bible, He talks about divorce and adultery (Matt. 5: 27-28, Mark 10: 11-12, Luke 16:18) and we know He frowns upon those things.  Jesus also talked about lusting after others so be careful with the temptations (Matt. 5: 27-28).  Outside of those things . . . well, there isn’t much else.  That isn’t to say that Jesus would or wouldn’t be alright with homosexuality (given when and where he came of age, he probably wouldn’t be).  But his teachings tell us nothing on the subject.  

Oops, They Did It Again

Two years ago, around the same time this year, I was laid off from my job.  I had worked at the same company (albeit in several different roles) for 15 years when it happened.  I started when I was 19 and at the time I told myself it was only temporary.  Years down the line I was making decent money and had a good house and a nice car.  I lived very comfortably even if I wasn’t doing what I thought I wanted to do.  I liked the team I was with at the time;  we gelled so well and enjoyed working with each other.  I wasn’t even thinking of next steps for a career, really. 

I Wish You Love

So the holidays (or holiDAZE, amirite?  Hahahahaha, I’m sorry) are rapidly approaching and in the past I’ve been blessed (#blessed) to have this be a happy, cherished time of the year.  I’ll admit right out that I’ve never really celebrated the religious aspects.  It’s never been the big draw for me. 

Justa Hunka, Hunka Burning Rage

I’ve spent most of my life swallowing anger until it fermented into a unique blend of sad, bitter, and isolated – suggested pairings are spoonfuls of Nutella straight from the jar and wearing pajamas for over 24 hours.  

What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)

It should come as no surprise to anyone who has read anything I’ve written that I have a regular appointment with a therapist.  Well, in one of these recent regularly scheduled appointments I had a bit of a revelation.  I am not good at love.  I don’t love people the way you should and I don’t let them love me back (don’t make that dirty).  I don’t suppose I ever really learned how or tried to learn.  Honest, open love requires vulnerability and that is terrifying.  So much can go wrong when you open yourself completely to someone.  There are so many ways to hurt someone or to get hurt by someone in this world.  

Out, Damned Spot!

There’s a spot on my hand.  It’s not a mole, I have plenty of those and I know how they look.  I had one on the same hand as the spot.  It isn’t a freckle either, it’s too weird looking to be a freckle.  It isn’t a pockmark or a scar or a scab.  I know exactly what it is.  There isn’t enough denial in me to pretend.  I could scrub but it would still be there and even if I scrubbed it off my skin I would still know that spot existed on me.  And this damned spot is a problem that won’t let me be.