Dear Anheuser Busch,

I’m sorry for throwing you under the bus after all of the good times we shared over the years.  Even though we must part ways, we’ll always have Freshman year.

Dear Reader,

If you’ve been hanging out here for a while, you know that topics can tend to get a little heavy.  And while big ideas are cool, over-seriousness is against my very being, and, well, sort of makes me want to vomit.  So for that reason, I’ve decided to, errr, not be serious today.  There.  That’s my disclaimer.  And look?  It wasn’t even in fine print.  Whoever said I wasn’t a good Samaritan?

Love,
Ashley

Top 25 Signs You Need to Make a Change, Gain Self-Respect and/or Say No To Busch Light

1. Two words: Facial Hair.   Ladies–I’m talking to you.

2. In anticipation for Monday morning, you nearly have a mental breakdown every Sunday night, as you hold your knees to your chest while calmly rocking back and forth, quietly humming the tune from Aretha Franklin’s “I will survive.”  This is not normal behavior, and if you are doing this, I strongly encourage you to:

a)  Seek counseling.  Get hypnotized.  Tie yourself to a chair covered in bombs, a la What About Bob.  Whatever it takes.

b)  Visit Steve Pavlina’s blog every single free moment you’ve got.  Memorize.  Repeat.

c)  Dramatically increase your consumption of red wine.  This may be the only thing I’m actually serious about in this entire post.  Except for maybe letter E.

d)  Banish all thoughts of slashing your boss’ tires–replace them with thoughts of how you can get his next conference call to “accidentally” dial into a porn hot line.  That should be amusing.

e)  Go to church; the office will seem so much more appealing thereafter.

f)  As a last resort, binge on fruit roll ups.  (What? I like them.)

3. You’re starting to wish that life had subtitles. Though, I think the real benefit to this  would occur in bed; you’d be able to translate all of your “ooohhhs” and “ahhhs”–and whatever else you people say in bed–into Italiano with the click of a button.  And how attractive is that?  Even better–the reverse.   Now anytime your lover says, “Are we almost done?” at least you’ll have no idea that you’re no good in bed.  See?  Self-respect pre-served.

4. If your lover actually does ask “Are we almost done?,” let that be another sign. A big one.   With neon orange and green flashing lights.

5. You mixup “their” & “there.” Actually, this isn’t a sign of anything except, well–you fill in the blank–but since this is my blog post & and it’s one of my biggest pet peeves, I only thought it right to include it.  I will only regret it if I ever do a post on pet peeves down the road and then I’ll be really mad that I already used such a good one here, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

6. You actually use the phrase “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

7. You’ve amused yourself for hours, sculpting a glazed ham into the likes of Rush Limbaugh.

8. You think Sean Ogle is the best thing since electric wine bottle openers.

9. Just kidding. Sean Ogle might very well be the best thing since electric wine bottle openers, which is a huge compliment.  But only because he’s going to purchase my plane ticket to Thailand. (Subliminal–or not-so-subliminal–messages can’t hurt, right?)

10. You’re still telling your mom jokes. Wait, I take that back.  I still tell your mom jokes, and refuse to believe that I need any self-respect.  Your mom jokes are just too much fun.  So is making out with random strangers.  But I digress.

11. You find yourself fantasizing over cheese whiz. Nice and slow, now, put down the can. (Note:  At first I wrote “cheese whip,” and knew something wasn’t right, but couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it.  Apparently I need to start mainlining caffeine, stat.)

12. You speed up when people pass you, and turn it into a personal challenge. If you do do this, be sure that:

a) The other person isn’t OJ Simpson.

b) Your car can actually go over 55 mph.

c) There isn’t a railroad crossing. That could get really tricky, and unless you’re Vin Diesel, I’m going to bet that things probably won’t work out.

13. Your bed sheets have cartoon characters all over them. I don’t care who you are–if you’re over the age of twelve, this is weird.  Especially if you are planning on inviting me over any time soon.  Or any other member of the opposite sex, with the exception of Avril Lavigne.  I just have a feeling she rolls like that.

14. The most fun you’ve ever had was watching George Bush get hit in the head with a shoe over and over again.

15.  Today, someone threw change into your coffee cup because they thought you were homeless. Do avoid all temptation to chase them down the street yelling, “You don’t get it!  I’m a rebel, man! Suits are for losers!”

16. Speaking of coffee, substituting real sugar for artificial sweetener in your coffee is the most adventurous thing you’ve done lately.  Man was it a rush.  (C’mon, everyone loves a good pun now and again, right?)

17. You make bets with yourself on who’s going to win American Idol, Dancing With The Stars & Lost.  Clearly Dancing With the Stars is the only one that matters.  *twiddles thumbs & whistles innocently*

18. Farmtown. Enough said.

19. You really want to purchase OnStar, just so you can have someone to talk to.

20. You’ve never experienced the magic otherwise known as Frank’s Hot Sauce.

21. You cry when the alarm clock goes off.

22. Facebook is the only reason anyone ever remembers your birthday.

23. Facebook is the only reason you ever remember anyone else’s birthday.

24. You regularly read obituaries so you know in advance where all of the good estate sales are going to be.  Or for any other reason, really.

25. The name of your blog is called “The Middle Finger Project.” Seriously, what kind of a person would name something that?

Here’s a little something to ponder:

Band Aids.

What comes to mind?  Perhaps a small, rectangular piece of flexible plastic with adhesive that sticks to your skin and pulls at your little hairs when you finally tear it off, bringing back unpleasant memories of your last Brazilian wax.

No?  I should leave the Brazilian wax out of this, you say?

Okay, fine.  No wax for you!

Back to Band Aids.  Visualize a Band Aid for a moment.  (Or, “adhesive strip” if you don’t care to participate in genericized trademarks.)

What color is it?

I think we can all probably answer that question without much debate.

The real question at hand, however, is why I’m rambling on about the color of Band Aids.  The answer is because something so simple holds far more meaning than we notice.  Considering that they’re named “flesh-colored” or “nude,” it’s an indirect (but bold) statement that essentially says, “White people are the standard human being.”

Coincidentally enough, based on the 2000 Census, CNN reports that by 2021, more than half of all children in the United States will be minorities. (Hence making them the majority.)  That’s in eleven years, my friends.  Not much time at all.  As a result, the common argument that the Band Aids company is merely making a savvy business decision by marketing to its primary demographic will soon be rendered null and void.  Hasta la vista, baby.

Yup, That’s Right:  Here Comes The Can of Worms.  And I’m About to Open It Faster Than You Can Say “Oh, boy.”

While we so proudly claim that racism no longer exists, the reality is that we’re surrounded by it.

It might not be overt, but it doesn’t have to be.  The technical term for this is called unearned white privilege, which essentially just means that–hey, sugar–if you’re white, the cards are stacked in your favor.

Everyday, without even recognizing it, white people–myself included–soak up all sorts of benefits from being light-skinned.  From not having women clutch their purse tighter in passing, to being able to drive a brand new car without people wondering if it was purchased with drug money, to being able to move into a new neighborhood without having the neighbors wonder if their property value will be negatively affected. . . right on down to having a “nude” colored Band Aid that are, well, nude.

Unfortunately, unearned white privilege isn’t something you can decide whether or not you want to participate in–if you’re white, you automatically get these fun little chocolate-dipped, unseen luxuries.  From this perspective, such a reality admittedly conflicts with one of my strongest convictions here at The Middle Finger Project, that of individual choice enabling us to get out there and take control of our lives.  The truth is, that’s a limited viewpoint, because to a certain extent, we are the product of what we will ourselves to be, yes, but also what the society in which we live lets us be.

Meritocracy Exposed (And It Doesn’t Look All That Good Naked, I’m Sorry To Report)

So perhaps more importantly, the concept of the United States system of meritocracy–essentially which says that everything and anything can be earned–is revealed for what it truly is–a myth that serves to boost our self-esteem, making us work especially hard and then allowing us to boastfully assume that we fully deserve whatever reward comes as a result.

The truth is, some of us have had a little help.

We really (really) hate admitting that, too.  I’m sure that many of you are getting heated inside right now, conjuring up a fiery comment that you can make, telling us how you’ve worked hard for everything you’ve ever had.  And no one’s denying that; I’m the first to say that I’ve worked my ass off for everything that I have today.

But despite things like discrimination against women or the poor, if those women or those poor people are white, they’re still drawing on white privilege somewhere.

What’s the big deal, you ask?

The big deal is that racism, in general, is (insert expletive) absurd.

It is social construct that’s based entirely on a color.  A color.  And just in case some of us missed the memo, the color of a person’s skin has no bearing on his/her feelings, thoughts, ideas, intelligence or potential.  As a matter of fact it has no bearing at all–just the bearing that we arbitrarily assign.  It is so utterly inconsequential, that I’m frankly baffled we could ever make such an issue out of it.  It’s comparable to forming a KKK to take out anyone with black hair.

And that’s plain idiotic.

Why should hair color be different from skin color?

If you’re still hopeful that racism doesn’t exist, check out this little gold nugget of a fact: In Andrew Hacker’s book, “Two Nations,” which questions the value of whiteness according to whites, his study asks students how much money they’d seek if they were suddenly changed from white to black.

The answer?

Most seemed to feel that it would not be out of place to ask for $50 million dollars, or $1 million dollars for every year of blackness.  Pretty clear our perception on the value of being white, eh?

Racism Rejected.  Hardcore.  Like The Guy I Danced With Last Night Who Kept Insisting We Start a Relationship.  Note:  Very Weird.

This truly makes no sense to me.  Have you ever dated one of those people who, you swear, invents drama just for the sake of having drama?  Almost for the sake of just having something going on?  I feel that when it comes to racism, our collective society is that guy.  It’s as if we feed off of it. Yet, at the end of the day, we are all the same species–skin color varies, just as the shape of our noses, mouths, ears and/or pot bellies.  And I’ll be damned if someone is going to persecute me if I’ve got a little spare tire action going on.  Why should skin color be any different?

As a matter of fact, the lightness or darkness of one’s skin color is really just the inheritance of one particular gene.  (For the record, they say that the ability to roll one’s tongue is dependent upon a gene, which a small percentage of the population does not have.  I am included in that percentage.  Yes, it does frustrate the shit out of me, thanks.) Here’s the explanation on the race gene I got from this really cool website:

Skin color involves a relative handful of genes with the most important being SLC24A5 which produces melanin, a molecule that absorbs solar radiation, particularly potentially harmful UV radiation.  There are two variations with the variation that produces the amino acid alanine being associated with a dark complexion and the variation that produces the amino acid threonine being associated with light skin. In general a pigment is black if it absorbs the entire visual light spectrum. It is white if it reflects the entire visual light spectrum.

So, let me get this straight: We’ve been making such a big deal about this in the name of one little gene? Seriously, I can only hope that the tongue-rolling nazis don’t start coming out of the woodwork.  Would I, too, be taken behind a convenience store, brutally beaten unconscious, urinated on, stripped naked, chained with a logging chain by the ankles to a pick up truck, & then dragged along a cement road for three whole miles until my head was decapitated…and then thrown to the side of the road, before my assailants took off to enjoy some beef n beer at a god damn barbeque?

Are you kidding me?

Do me a favor.  Look this man in the face.  This is the man who had to endure that cruel, unjust torture.  All because his body produced more of the amino acid alanine.

Honestly, I hope that makes us all feel horrible to our core.  I hope that the next time any of us even think about thinking a semi-racist thought, go ahead and picture James Byrd Jr.

Here’s the deal:

Racism is stupid.  It hurts me deeply to hear irrational, hurtful, discriminating comments.  While researching the issue of unearned white privilege, I came across a forum, where the question was posed, “Are there Band Aids for black people?” to which a commenter responded, “Yeah, they’re called Food Stamps.”  I simply cannot express not only my rage at that comment, but at my utter despair as well, because it’s things like that which make me lose just a little bit of faith in the human race.  We’re a disappointing bunch sometimes, aren’t we?

Initially, the intentions of this post were to discuss hidden, unearned white privilege, but the direction it took is not one I apologize for, nor one I intend to edit.  These aren’t my thoughts; this is hard, cold truth.

And that is exactly what worries me.

-

Do not be alarmed.  This photo will make far more sense in a moment.

Look, Ma!  I Named My Very Own Pandemic.

If you’ve been reading The Middle Finger Project for some time, you know that I’m not shy when it comes to making bold claims.

Today is no exception.

I’d like to share something that’s been tormenting me worse than those men who think it’s a good idea to kiss using the (very) unfortunate (and utterly disappointing) tornado tongue technique:

Ultra.

Professionalism.

What does tornado tongue & ultra professionalism have in common?  Absolutely nothing.  But like an unpleasant make out session, ultra professionalism leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.

In today’s world, being “professional” is put up there on the pedestal of life–it’s the ideal, the standard, the do-or-die way of the world.   We bend over backwards to convey a “professional image,” and we expect others to do the same in return.

Wear your suit.
Shake hands.
Kiss ass.
Be politically correct.
Speak in a formal register.
Don’t laugh too loudly.
Or too often.
Grin.
And bear it.
And then.
Contemplate.
Stabbing.
Yourself.
In.
The.
Eye.

While I support respectful working environments, and understand the need for certain universal protocols within that particular context, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend going on.  I’d like to refer to it as The (Not So) Great Professionalism Pandemic.

You see, it’s a bit of a catch 22.

In order to be taken seriously, you’ve got to act professional.  Yet, in order to act professional, you’ve got to be serious.

Therefore:

Being taken seriously = Acting serious.

And that’s where I cringe.

It’s Personal

Unfortunately, The (Not So) Great Professionalism Pandemic hasn’t just affected how we act within corporate settings; it’s slowly started leaking over into our personalities, affecting who we are outside of the workplace.  With the exception of Girls Gone Wild & Borat, we’ve become a very, very serious nation.

In general, we’re polite, but not overly welcoming.   Friendly but not warm.  Happy but not excited.  A person but not quite a human.

From this perspective, going to great lengths to maintain a “professional” image is doing us more harm than good.  When it crosses into our personal lives, and affects our ability to be genuine with those that we care about–since we’re so caught up in being taken seriously–is it worth it?

Is professional an ideal, or an ideal gone wrong?

I think it’s time we learned to lighten up.  To open ourselves.   To let vulnerability penetrate the professional walls we’ve built up around us, which serve not to protect us, but to isolate us.

Life is nothing more than a series of moments, which turn into a series of days, into a series of weeks and months and years and a whole lifetime; it isn’t meant to be a the straight-laced endeavor that we make it out to be.

A Silly Experiment

Last week, as a mini-experiment, I decided to forgo all that is professional; I tweeted out a silly photo of myself making a pretend gangster face (see image above), and put a call out to others to let me see theirs.  I included the hashtag #gangstaface, and was interested to see how easy it would be to get others to drop their pride for a moment in exchange for a little innocent fun.

Turns out, I was pleasantly surprised.

Once I got the ball rolling, there were many of you who got down with your bad selves and sent in photos.  While it may seem trivial, I thought it was fantastic; so many of you were willing to participate in something for the sheer sake of the fun of it.  Told you I was going to include the photos here!

How about a round of applause for our participants?!  Recognize any of them?

In any event, I learned a couple of things from this:

1.  Apparently, pursed lips represent all that is gangsta.  Note to self.

2.  All of my readers are really, really good looking.

3.  People will let out their inner child if they have an excuse to.

4.  People aren’t as serious as they make themselves out to be.

This all comes as really good news.  I don’t want to be interacting with professionals; I want human beings.  I want people that aren’t afraid to be real.

Professional is not real; it’s a front we put on in order to seem important.  It’s overrated.  And after seeing everyone’s gangster faces, it’s been decided that those…yes, those are definitely underrated.

Speaking of gangstas, do you recognize this one?

If you don’t recognize him by face by now, I’d be shocked.  It’s no other than the infamous Colin Wright of Exile Lifestyle, and–yes–I taunted him until he sent me a gangster face.

You should know about him for three reasons:

1.  He travels from country to country, staying at each for a period of 4 months, and having his readers vote on which place he visits next.   That’s gangsta if I’ve ever seen it.

2.  As if that wasn’t enough, Colin’s a minimalist who has managed to take his work with him on the road, as he experiments with location independence & proves to us that with enough determination, anything is possible.  Viva le unconventional!

3.  He proves my point that ultra professionalism is overrated with his new eBook, Networking Awesomely, where he pretty much unpacks every secret he’s learned on how to kick ass and take names in this world, and not one bit of it has to do with attending dry networking events or doing things in the traditional and “professional” way.  Since Colin’s making 6 figures doing what he does, I’m pretty sure that we should probably be taking notes.  In my opinion, the title doesn’t do the book justice; beyond networking, it’s much more about leveraging reality to get out there and take control of your life.  Out with ultra professionalism, and in with new, innovative ways to make yourself known, form connections, and creatively catapult yourself into the lifestyle you want. (And deserve.) (Unless, of course, you’re a tornado tongue, in which case, you should probably buy an eBook on that, and STOP FINDING ME.)

Inappropriate comments about my personal life aside, big kudos out to Colin, who I respect and admire greatly as a mover and shaker in this world.  He’s doing good things.

You can check out his latest project here.

In the meantime, it’s important to keep in mind that human interactions aren’t business transactions.   Let’s not treat them as such.

By the way, tornado tongue kisses really do exist.  Can someone please do a webinar on remedying that?

Okay, I’m done this time.

Promise.

P.S.  Which of the gangster photos is your favorite?  Who of the gangsters can you name?   Leave a comment if you think you know some!  Hint:  Many are bloggers.

-

So, I may or may not have recruited a friend to write an article for The Middle Finger Project.  And her name may or may not be Katie.  And I may or may not have met her while wrangling the likes of five men at once in Chile.

Okay, so maybe it didn’t exactly happen like that.  But it should have.

Why did I ask her to write for TMFproject?  Because Katie is one of those people that I sit back and stare at in awe.  Not because she brings flowers to the house every time she visits (gentlemen, ahem, take note), or because she’s traveled far more than I have, or because she has this uncanny ability to seem so naturally at ease around strangers–even abnormally attractive ones–or because she (annoyingly) dances salsa like a sexy swan at first attempt.  I asked Katie to write for TMFproject because the girl has got game.  And by game, I don’t mean a head tilt/hair flip/seductive half smile/wink/reel-em-in combo (although, now that I think of it, she has that, too), I mean game as in the real deal game.  She’s smart.  Sassy.  Sophisticated.  Suave.  Katie knows how to make life work for her, not against her, as she travels the world, makes sense of her scientific communications degree (yes, there is such a thing), juggles suitors with all sorts of mysterious foreign accents, & spends her free time being wise enough to know when to soak up the moment, yet foolish enough to know when to let it carry her away…

For this I love her.

An Intro & Some Guy Named Curtis.  Captain Curtis, That Is.

Since you don’t know me, I’m going to tell you something about myself:  I never lost my childhood senses of adventure and imagination. In fact, they’ve gotten stronger as I’ve gotten older (…and wiser, yes, thank you for mentioning it!)

And even though we hardly know one another, I’m going to invite you to play my favorite game with me…..Pretend.

(Don’t worry, this ain’t no childish game a’ pretend!  But please do excuse the following Disney reference…)

…Hi-Ho-Hi-Ho it’s off to pretend-land we go…

Okay, you can go to as many countries as you want in one day. Any of them. All of them. Where would you go and what would you do?

Personally, I think I’d start in Ireland. Yes, please, Captain Curtis! Off we go! I want a traditional breakfast this morning. No better way to start the day than with a fried egg, rashers and sausages and blood pudding!

And uh, dare I be bold BUT is 6 a.m. too early for a pint of Guinness?

You’re right. I guess I should have juice.

In that case, I’ll have a pint of Bulmer’s Apple Cider!

(Oh goodness my taste buds are tingling!)

Where to next? I need some exercise after all that.

Captain Curtis, you’re a genius! A mountain range, you say?!  The Swiss Alps it is. Time for a hike!

Well, captain, since we’re close, why not head to Italy for lunch?

Please, bruschetta to start. And do I prefer pizza or pasta? Whatever your favorite dish is, Sergio. (AKA: my hunk-of-burning-love server whose deep brown eyes I’m honored to be staring endlessly and romantically looking into while I order.) ←Oh yes I did go there! Don’t tell me you weren’t dreaming of getting lost in the accent of a beautiful Italian as they took your order! Momma Mia! (Accent in full-blown effect, mind you.)

And, yes, I’d love a bottle of red. (Silly question!)

And when I’m finished with all that, could I please have a (bucket-sized) cappuccino? And a Cannoli?

(Okay. Now my taste buds ARE tingling…AND mingling!)

Oh, Sergio! What a great thought! Of course I’d love to have a language exchange. I’d love to learn some Italian and would be delighted to help you improve your English.

What’s that? You’d like to go for gelato now? Sì, per favore!  Che buon’idea!  Grazie!

Captain Curtis, you’re right, we need to leave. But where to for the evening? To Russia for the ballet, to Australia to see a Rugby match or back to Ireland for that Guinness and a traditional music and dance gig?

I know I want fresh Sushi smothered in caviar from the Philippines for dinner.  And a Bubble Tea!

But, Captain Curtis, the flight after will be a long one. Since today’s tomorrow on the other side of the world, we are SOOO dancing across the Americas!

First we’ll stop and warm up with some belly dancing in Turkey and some tribal dancing in Mozambique!

Then we’re off to dance the night away! The possibilities are endless!

Samba in Brazil!

Tango in Argentina! (And of course more wine!)

Cumbia in Colombia! (Tequila optional! Wimp!)

Bachata in the Dominican!

Reggaeton in Puerto Rico!

Oh my! WHAT A TRIP! Captain Curtis, thank you! And YOU, yes YOU my reader out there lost in the middle of this cyberspace pretend adventure, thanks for accompanying me!

Back To Reality

Okay, in reality, our trip has been too action-packed for one day, BUT, here’s my point:  All the cultural things I mentioned above are closer than you think. You don’t need an expensive plane ticket or a Captain Curtis to get you there. [Sidenote from Ash: Who is this mysterious Captain Curtis character?]  Hell, you don’t even need a passport.

Why?

Because we, in the USA, live in a melting pot.

Merriam-Webster’s defines the term “melting pot” as:  a place where a variety of races, cultures, or individuals assimilate into a cohesive whole; the population of such a place.

I define it as: all the world’s cultures hand delivered to you—and pretty dang close to your own backyard.

So tell me this, why haven’t you explored more of it? Why not make it a point to get out on the weekends and explore China Town or Little Italy? Are you afraid someone might step on and break your toe during salsa class? Or do you really hate subtitles that much that you can’t watch a French film? Or perhaps it’s because of a stereotype you’ve heard. Or a fear of exploring something new? Or maybe fear of language? Understandable, really. Just how do you communicate with that giant purple, headless monster with fourteen eyesballs that hails from all the way across the * GULP * Atlantic Ocean?!

Regardless of the excuse, here’s what I have to demand say to you:  GET OVER IT.  NOW!

Trust me, if you miss your friend’s status update on Facebook, he won’t hate you forever…but he might be jealous when he reads yours and sees what kind of amazing venture you’re taking.  And here’s a simple solution: Invite him, too!  And tell him to invite his friends so they’re not jealous of his status!  The more stereotypes we can break, and the more we can spread cultural understanding and acceptance, the better.

In this country, we are SO fortunate to have so much culture readily available to us.  What is unfortunate, however, is how little we take advantage of it.

Of course it is easier to ignore it (or, worse yet, * GASP * ignorantly and negatively judge it) than it is to enjoy it.  You’ll be amazed to see how many ‘foreign’ options you have available domestically.

Visit the closest city and see for yourself.  Heck, be brave.  Head to a city you’ve never seen. (But take a map. No, not because I think you’ll get lost, but so you can navigate easily and visit as many cultures as possible, silly!)  [Additional sidenote from Ash:  Is the culture otherwise known as "Sexy Mediterranean Men" labeled on this so-called map?  Someone get me a highlighter.]

Whatever you do, make every effort to step outside your (triple-safety-netted) comfort zone.  Actually, on second thought, don’t step outside it.

LEAP!  DIVE!  PLUNGE!

Get up!  Get out!  Get your cultural exploration on!

What are you waiting for…another invitation from me…like one for a real life adventure?!  VAMOS, AMIGOS!

…Where are we going to go?  What are we going to do?  Who else are you taking?

And now that you’re thinking…admit it…the possibilities for experiencing foreign cultures in your own city are endless and pretty friggin’ awesome, aren’t they?!!

Do it, just do it..do it, do it, do it.  And yes, I think that pretty much sums up what I wanted to include here.  Does anyone have any good suggestions for unique cross-cultural activities that we can–as Katie put it–leap, dive and plunge into?  (I beg you–anything but the pig!)  What about you folks currently abroad?  Are there any unique ideas/ways of life/foods/traditions, etc. that you’d like to share?

P.S.  Thanks, Katie.  And an even bigger thanks for hostels.  In Chile.  Where you meet people like this chick.  Even if she does dance better than me.

P.P.S.  Katie does not have a blog.  Nor Twitter.  So I’m hogging her all to myself.  Deal with it.

Warning: I am about to use the word “bullshit” far too much than any human being ever should in a blog post.  Or anytime, really.

We put up with far too much bullshit in our lives.  So much so, we’ve even stopped recognizing it as such.

We’re numb to bullshit.

We eat bullshit for lunch.

We smear it all over our faces and then dutifully smile for society’s camera.

Yet, even though it surrounds us and we’re practically choking on the stuff, we somehow still manage to swallow and look the other way.

We’ve convinced ourselves that surrendering to bullshit is necessary in order to get ahead (the ever popular default goal–also bullshit), and we prance around in bullshit all day because we’re too chicken to do anything about it.

Bullshit runs our lives.

Almost.  Every.  Waking.  Minute.  Of.  It.

And we let it.

• Bullshit is the politics that drive decision-making processes instead of what’s best for our citizens, consumers, elderly and children.For example, teacher salaries often being tied to students’ scores on the PSSA’s. I can only imagine that those particular teachers aren’t very welcoming to, say, immigrant students coming in their classrooms, because their lack of English proficiency will inevitably bring classroom scores down, and their paycheck will be smaller because of it.  As a result, we’re marginalizing a rapidly growing population that will eventually be running this country, mostly in the name of money, but also out of fear.  Teachers feel awkward if they can’t communicate with a child, and so they don’t.  Obviously this stems from a far bigger problem, but it’s a terrific example of how bullshit runs our political agenda.

• Bullshit are the values that we’ve been spoon fed since day one, encouraging us to idolize all that is superficial, and shove the rest under the rug.  We get high off of purchasing big ticket items, and as soon as the high comes, it goes, leaving us with nothing more than the angst to do it again.  We’re akin to nation of crack addicts, always looking for our next high…except ours comes in the form of consumerism.We disregard the value of people.  Of relationships.  Of human beings and authentic, genuine interactions. These things are all of secondary importance, because we’re taught that we’re only as good as the car we drive. (By the way, if you really want to see someone fighting against the consumerist movement, check out my friend Everett.  You’ll be amazed & will want to throw your TV off the roof, as he says.)

• Bullshit are the federal agencies, such as the USDA, who have marketed themselves nicely as a watchdog agency looking out for our safety, but in fact, the USDA is nothing more than another big business.Many of the high-ranking staff members of the USDA are otherwise affiliated with the meat and dairy industries.  So if the people responsible for the safety of all of those meat, dairy, poultry, etc. products are the same people who they’re suppose to be protecting us from…that’s sort of a conflict of interest.  A convenient one, alas. On another note–just as interesting–consider how the USDA has been known to pay farmers not to produce at full capacity.  Why?  So demand continues to exceed supply and prices can remain high.  It’s another example of acting on behalf of profitability versus that which would best serve the interests of the people.  It’s almost like looking at a starving child directly in the face and saying “nah, nah, nah, nah, nah!  I’ve got this food over here…and I’m not going to use it….but you can’t have it either.  Because I need to be rich and successful!” Not very flattering, is it?

• Bullshit is the way we can justify engaging in war over oil, yet sit back and do virtually nothing about the way many of the women of the world are more and more commonly victims of acid attacks, rendering their faces beyond disfigured so no man will ever find them attractive again. Go ahead, I dare you to click on that link.  What about that little problem?  Why don’t we hear more about that?  Why isn’t there a war going on over that?

What it comes down to, in the end, is the mighty dollar.  We’re so desperate for it, that all bets are off when it comes to ethics.  And I find that unacceptable.

But most of us will continue to ignore the bullshit; we’ll just keep climbing to the top of it, and then maybe eventually hope that some suit and tie corporate manager will let us have a slice of the pie someday.  And then it’ll be even easier to swallow & turn our heads, once we’re making the big bucks.

Because after all, isn’t that all that matters these days?

-