dianaschnuth

This poem reminds me of conversations my roommate Amy and I would have in college. Amy and I both considered ourselves to be intelligent people… but we couldn’t seem to remove the words “like” and “you know” from our vocabulary. That bothered us. We didn’t want to sound like the drunken fluff chicks around us in the dorm, because… well… god, they sounded stupid. You know?

Eventually, we did manage, although I think it took college graduation and entrance into the work force to finally complete the transition from “totally, like, whatever” to speaking like normal, intelligent, coherent human beings.

Totally like whatever, you know?

In case you hadn’t noticed,
it has somehow become uncool
to sound like you know what you’re talking about?
Or believe strongly in what you’re saying?
Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)’s
have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences?
Even when those sentences aren’t, like, questions? You know?

Declarative sentences — so-called
because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true
as opposed to other things which were, like, not –
have been infected by a totally hip
and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know?
Like, don’t think I’m uncool just because I’ve noticed this;
this is just like the word on the street, you know?
It’s like what I’ve heard?
I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, okay?
I’m just inviting you to join me in my uncertainty?

What has happened to our conviction?
Where are the limbs out on which we once walked?
Have they been, like, chopped down
with the rest of the rain forest?
Or do we have, like, nothing to say?
Has society become so, like, totally…
I mean absolutely… You know?
That we’ve just gotten to the point where it’s just, like…
whatever!

And so actually our disarticulation… ness
is just a clever sort of… thing
to disguise the fact that we’ve become
the most aggressively inarticulate generation
to come along since…
you know, a long, long time ago!

I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.
To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.

? Taylor Mali 2005

[Courtesy of An Artsy Fartsy Weblog]

I was just over at the Jolesch website, ordering myself a 10×15 of the portrait we had taken at the MCGC finals last weekend. (I <3 the Intarweb + digital cameras for quick photo turnaround.)

While I was perusing their website, I contemplated the conversation I’d had with the photographer after our little photo shoot. For the sake of the non-photographers here, though, I’ll put my geekitude (and self-esteem issues) in the extended entry, where you won’t have to read it if you don’t want.
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I’ve been in one hell of a down mood today. I’m still exhausted from yesterday’s drumcorps rehearsal (90 minute drive to Clawson, another hour in a carpool up to Attica, six-hour rehearsal, then an hour of wrapping-up and eating of pizza, then an hour of riding back to my car and another hour and a half drive home).

But, on top of being severely tired, I had another fucked-up dream last night, which sent me for a tailspin all day. I’ll tell you what, I am getting mighty tired of these dreams where I end up romantically involved (or almost) with someone who isn’t Aaron, and then I wake up feeling guilty and wondering what it all means.
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I must be defective.

I think I’m missing that vital gene in womenfolk that causes us to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at newborns, and to want desperately to hold them and make nonsense words at them.

Today at work, the woman who’s currently out on maternity leave decided to come visit and bring her firstborn for everyone to see. Nothing against either of them, really, but I couldn’t have cared less. All the womenfolk cooing and awwing over the baby girl actually started to grate on my nerves after a few minutes.

Sure, when I signed out for lunch, I passed by the group of ladies ogling the baby, and I took a look at her… and, sure enough, it was a baby. Asleep, to boot, which I think is the very best kind of baby. I looked at her for a grand total of about five seconds, and then I was done. I may have smiled, to be polite. No oohing or gooing or other general cutesiness from me.

Maybe it’s a learned reaction. Every time I get near a very young baby and try to hold it, it invariably intimates from my general attitude that a.) I am not its Mommy, and b.) I am not, in fact, a Mommy at all. At which point, of course, the child becomes disenfranchised with being held by some interloper and demands a real Mommy. Loudly.

It’ll be different when it’s my kid. I hope. Maybe my ga-ga goo-goo genes will activate… or maybe I’ll lose my fear of looking stupid and/or overly sappy in public.

I’m getting quite disturbed by these dreams about wanting to get it on with someone from work. Someone, incidentally, whom I most definitely do NOT find sexually attractive. Nothing against him, but he’s just not my type. Totally.

I had this bizarre dream last night (I think—maybe it was Saturday night) that this same guy from work was spending the night in Aaron’s and my house (which, of course, wasn’t where we live in real life). In the dream, I totally wanted to get it on with this guy, but I knew that Aaron and I only had one condom left (yes, this detail was based in reality), so he’d notice if I used it and we were suddenly out of snoo-snoo hats. Also, when I told this guy I was hot for him, he once again expressed ambivalence about the situation. I think he said something like, “OK, but I’m gonna feel bad about it.”

In the dream, I had planned to lay down in the bed with Aaron, then wait until he fell asleep and go to the guest bedroom and accost Less-Than-Willing Dude From Work; unfortunately, Aaron woke up and knew exactly what I’d been planning. Of course, he was too tired to be really pissed, but not too tired to take care of the proverbial business with me, so I wouldn’t want to go to the other guy.

I remember feeling kind of bad for telling the guy I’d meet him in his room, then not holding up my end; but at the same time, I knew he wasn’t really into it, so it wasn’t like I was being a dick-tease or anything.

WTF is up with these bizarre dreams? What does this represent?

When I have recurring themes in my dreams (especially ones vivid enough to remember), I know my brain is trying to tell me something. I’m really interested in being involved in *something* that I feel is lukewarm toward me, at best. Since the main character is from work, I have to believe it’s something work- or career-related. The most obvious connection, for me, would be the few attempts I’ve made toward getting a job in my field, versus staying with Sky.

(I wish Amy were here to help me read my Tarot. She always has a fresh and objective perspective, but knows me enough to know my inner struggles and what the cards could represent. I end up reading what I want to read.)