Generation GAP (TM)

Clothes. They keep us warm. They cover up our naked skin. Pretty basic.

Not at all. Clothes have represented our status for centuries. Having nice clothes has always been important, be it flaunting the color purple, wearing ten-foot wigs, or tights for guys (both in Elizabethan times, and apparently, today, with the dawn of skinny jeans. :) And it's constantly changing. The first picture I have is from the 1970's and the second is from the 2000's. The only similar thing about them is the parents of all of the kids probably aren't very pleased. It's a form of discovery, deciding who we are. When we're little, our parents dress us, and most of the time, we all reach a point where we say we want to shop for ourselves. And our parents aren't necessarily going to be happy with our choices. Now, I am of the belief that parents should have some say in clothing choice, since they are more aware of how image is perceived. A girl shouldn't be allowed to parade around all her parts just because she wants to, if clothing could potentially endanger a person, then, by all means, parents, make the kid mad and do something about it.

Clothes change with our personalities. Like, I said, when we're little, our parents decide what image they want us to have. We won't always share that. We want to create our own image. Especially in the modern era, the options are endless. Skater, prep, goth, emo, classic, high design, retro, grunge...it's a visual tapestry walking in a mall people-watching. We choose our clothes based on the people we admire. If we like a certain rock band, we might dress like them. If we read a lot of fashion magazines, our choices may be more on the trendy, high-spending side.

It's hard to describe the connection between humanity and clothing at 11:30 at night with a cluttered brain. However, my point is: clothes aren't who we are, they represent our changing nature. Especially as teenagers, we need the freedom to try things out, and clothes are the perfect avenue. Parents, encourage clothing and not something more dangerous, like drugs, experimental sex or gangs. Set your guidelines, but be flexible. Just because you don't like it, doesn't mean it's bad, or even that it'll be this way forever. How many people still wear the clothes that they loved 10-20 years ago?

It's not a matter of life and death, for parent or teen. Teens, if your parents don't like your clothes, just remember it's not YOU they disapprove of, just the cut of fabric over your skin. Parents, your kid is going to have wacky styles maybe, YOU did, in the day. Don't forget what you were like at that age.

Jon & Kate + 8 - A Marriage = Tabloid Feeding Frenzy

I started watching Jon & Kate + 8 in the summer of 2008, I think. I never was a huge fan of TLC, I watched What Not To Wear, of course, and sometimes the following Ten Years Younger atrocity, but I was hardly a devoted follower of TLC's program schedule. Then this show popped up with eight adorable children and a hyper-organized mother with a voice like Ellen Degeneres. I never thought Kate was crazy, just overwelmed. As the show progressed into the year, Jon became more and more tired-looking, more distant. His eyes got more bloodshot while Kate began to turn into a orange-skinned, crazy-looking haircut. I never imagined that the affair rumors would develop into anything. It happened all the time But new information kept coming up. Kate was traveling a lot more in this most recent season, for her book, leaving the subjects, her children, behind with Jon. People were saying the whole show was a charade - the couple hadn't even lived together for two years. No one knew what was true. They started doing their interviews seperately during the show. The children began to show signs of stress.

Then the long-awaited divorce announcement, accompanied by slow montages of the couple standing apart and Kate, only Kate, narrating their desire for peace. I don't know if they would have lasted without the pressure of the show. All I know is that fame and attention affects people differently. Kate rose to the occasion, becoming aggressive for whatever reason, maybe she truly wants to create a perfect life for her children, or maybe she is selfish like the media paints her to be. Jon, who seems shy, couldn't handle it. It's a tragedy. And the world doesn't appreciate it. After the announcement, the viewership went down by 77%. Kate said they would continue the show ,but I don't know who'll watch it. I know I won't.

Michael Jackson: A Father

Since Michael Jackson's passing this June, the world has responded in dramatically different ways. While most weep the loss of a musical icon, others spew out their contempt of the star, calling him a "pedophile" and a "freak." I never was a huge of Michael, by the time I was born and then started listening to music, he had stepped out of the limelight. Now, since I study music, I cannot deny his brilliance as an artist. His dancing was beautiful, no one will ever be able to recapture that, and his music reached millions of people. His talent was marred by a disastrous childhood that seemed to poison the rest of his life. He was accused of being a freak, changing his face until he was hardly the gorgeous young star people had fallen in love with, and of molesting boys at his famed Neverland Ranch. In my eyes, he was a tragic figure. I fully support his innocence, I cannot believe that a man so sensitive, so frail would ever harbor sexual feelings for young boys. Sure, he may have been socially inappropriate, but Michael Jackson was a man who craved love. His children have been a mystery for many years, and when Paris gave her 20-second speech at his memorial, I found myself brought to tears.

Michael Jackson was more than a star, more than the freak people like to label him as. He was a father, and his children adored him. He can't possibly be a pervert and still love his children so much. His children don't care that he was a star, and they know the accusations and the courtroom trials don't mean anything. They just want their dad back. Michael was a person, like you or me, and his death IS a tragedy because of the people he's leaving behind. I would rather judge a man based on what his children say of him than the tabloids and juries. Those children see him for who he really was.

Tormented in the Temple

Is the Church, the body of Christ, is it a resting place or a courtroom? In my experience, it has been a courtroom, where Christians judge Christians on their salvation based upon their views on theology, politics, and more. If I do not measure up exactly to the expected order, I am at risk to burn in hell.

If Christians are attacking their own so viciously, what are they doing to the non-believer? This question has plagued me for a long time as I suffer persecution at the hands of extremists, those who limit the saved only to Republican, conservative, and non-controversial people who vent their personal convictions for the world to see, and in actuality, are spewing hatred.

Since when is Scripture used a weapon against fellow Christians who are different? Since now. Since when is cruelty justifiable by a “spiritual calling?” Since now. The word truth has become as common as the vague political terms “liberal” and “conservative,” and everyone suddenly thinks that they personally are the Mouth of God on earth just because they have an opinion.

Everyone asks “What has happened to America? How have we fallen so far?” I am more concerned with the question, “What has happened to the Church that we would rather make a point than save souls, or even nurture souls?” We’re not trying to win the hearts of the non-believers, we’re discounting those which have already been saved! And for what, I ask? For what? To be right. Apparently that is more important than love and compassion and patience and prayer. There’s a quote by Ghandi I saw on a friend’s Facebook page and it sums up exactly what I feel at this point in my life. “I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

The Egg: An Essay on Depression

Depression, unless it is experienced, is almost impossible to define. For some, it’s merely a chemical imbalance, the result of hormones mixing into a sort of poison in the brain, resulting in the worst type of thoughts and a comatose mood. For others, it’s a warped reaction to situations we find unpleasant or difficult, and when those chapters in our lives come to a close, we rise above our emotions and are free. Depression is not nearly so cut and dry. It’s a state of being, both mental and physical, chemical and spiritual, that brings out the best and the worst in people.

Depression feels like boxing with God – impossible to win. And it is. Depression isn’t a war that can be won or lost, it doesn’t work with the terms humans are familiar with. It’s like distilling the complex concept of “time” down into numbers like twelve or seven. When we spend every waking moment fighting, we are left angry and exhausted. Why can’t I move on from this? Why am I so alone? Why won’t anyone fight with me? That’s another thing about depression – we are alone, but not alone in the sense we’re used to. There are those who understand fragments of the complex puzzle, others with depression, people who love people with depression, trained professionals, doctors, etc. It’s like we’re inside an egg being looked after by an entire coop of chickens, all our mothers and brothers and sisters and fathers, but we’re the only ones inside the egg, we’re the only ones who know what it’s like to be inside.

So what is the inside of an egg like? First of all, it’s a whole entity. In the introduction, I explained how depression can’t be put into a box, it’s not chemical or physical, spiritual or mental, it’s complete, like how a person is complete. When only one area is treated, whether by medication alone or therapy alone, our recovery is lopsided. It needs to be treated holistically, because just as every area is affected by depression, every area is the source of the depression.

Another thing about an egg is that it’s very cramped inside. We’re surrounded by our own emotions, drowning in a sea of confusions and frightening thoughts. We forget about our loved ones outside of the egg, watching over us, and we are terrified that a fox or a dog will come and destroy us when we’re vulnerable. That fear alone can drive us off the edge and leave us hovering in hopelessness. What hope is there? We’re never coming out to the open and live like everyone else. We’re not going anywhere.

Humans, more than any other creature, have been given a talent for hope. Deep inside, we know we will come out of the egg. If we look at our lives like a story or a movie, suddenly, things become clearer. We can see themes and patterns. Our lives aren’t really spiraling out of control; it’s the fear and pain of depression that tricks us into believing it is. We’re in the egg for a reason, and when our time comes, we will emerge fully developed, strong, and full of wisdom. We know what it was like inside the egg, and lived to tell the tale.

A Fascination With Darkness

1897 - Irish Bram Stoker published his masterpiece "Dracula." First of all, I never knew he was Irish. Thanks, Wikipedia. Anywho, this book single-handedly brought vampires to Western culture. Stoker had to go deep in Eastern Russia and Transylvania where he recorded all the superstitions surrounding these creatures: crosses, garlic, shape-shifting, blood-drinking, transformation, holy water, etc. The book is what I like to call "pure horror." The main characters live in terror of Dracula, a demonic force with powers seemingly impossible to curb except by Christian symbols such as holding a cross before him or splashing him with holy water. There is nothing forgivable about Dracula, he is 100% whole-wheat evil. At first glance, it's really hard to see how we could go from the green-faced, elf-eared demon Dracula to the sparkly, wild-haired Edward from the extremely popular "Twilight" series.

I think it all begins with the girls. Who doesn't love a little danger in a relationship? From just reading "Dracula," the danger is so extreme there's no way a woman could be attracted to the classic vampire. However, what with "Twilight" and the legendary vampire novelist Anne Rice (who recently hung up the stake and is now Catholic writer), the vampire has been redefined from a insatiable monster to a highly sexualized, restrained figure of immortality and adventure. These characteristics feed into an ancient desire for women. I found an article online:

“Women are attracted to the unknown. The man who is not normal — who needs our blood to survive. There is no deeper intimacy than that. Many women long for an extraordinary romance rather than the normal one they might have in their real lives,” she says.

Ok...this is where it gets disturbing. It seems to be this attraction is the same for a man who is violent and beats his girlfriends. Sure, that's dangerous, too, but society is horrified by this. Maybe if he was immortal, had fangs, and was buff that would make him forgivable. It sounds absurd. Because it is.

And THEN it encourages the boys to try to be like these quiet blood-thirsty creatures. They could kill you with one swipe, but they won't. Because they're RESTRAINED. Oh, goodie. Girls go nuts over what they can't have, apparently, so keep your sexual tensions tense and don't give into the call of the vammmmmmpire. Pathetic. I'm sorry. But it really is.



What happened to the classic love story? A prince with strong morals like honor, goodness and patience who would come and respect a girl, respect her family, and who could always be trusted to do the right thing? Apparently we've traded him in for this:




Images: Cartoon
Hugh Jackman in "Kate & Leopold"
Don Henri "The Emperor" - real modern vampire

On Envy

I've always been a perfectionist in that I want to be the best at whatever I do, or at least, a strong threat. There's been one aspect in my life that is the illusive treasure: music. I've always wanted to perform, ever since I was a little. I learned to read music at seven, when I was ten when I started taking lessons and thirteen when I started playing guitar. My love for music was crippled by a crushing stage fright, but I still struggled on. When I got older and started meeting people interested in performance, envy entered my life.

The hardest thing was that it seemed so easy for everyone else. They were careless with it, they had fun with it, and I cut my wrists over it, practicing for hours only to have my voice crack and my fingers slip in rehearsal and performance. I stopped guitar lessons. I told my voice teacher I couldn't come see her anymore. It was a while before I tried picking up my guitar and singing seriously again. Then I opened a Youtube account and overcame my fear of recording and exposed myself to the public. I waited. Nothing. I didn't know what I had to do to finally get noticed. I got smart with my song choices, choosing mainstream hits I otherwise wouldn't have touched. While everyone else around me was praised, I felt like I was slowly turning invisible.

I think envy is one of the hardest things to admit we have. We insult the people we are intimidated by. We develop excuses for ourselves. I'm slowly beginning to learn that you really can't compare yourself to other people. It's about doing what you love, no matter what people say, good or bad. 'Cause if what we want is attention, it'll never be enough, we'll never be satisfied.