A true story.

I knocked on a door today and a Japanese woman named Hifumi opened the door. She readily signed the petition to restore funding to the CT Department of Environmental Protection (which makes sense since they regulate air and water quality, something they can't do without their budget). The next part of the speech is where I talk about fundraising, how we are run on donations and donations alone, how their donation will help us go up against multi-billion dollar corporations, yadayadayada. She's reticent about it and her kids keep coming and tugging on her sleeve, not saying anything, but tugging on her sleeve. She said that she would think about the donation and I wrote her a blank receipt so that she could remember it. I then reached the final part, where we ask the supporter to write a letter to their senator and representative in the state legislature. There's a law that states a politician has to read a letter placed on their desk. We take advantage of that and have people write letters, come back a few hours later and pick them up. This woman clearly was in a rush. Finally, even though I'd been pushing her to get me the letter by 8:30 and involve the whole family, she broke. "Look, my kids are both autistic and I really won't have time for this tonight." I looked at her, through her even, "I have friends with autistic siblings. I understand how they can be a burden, but I also understand how they can also be a great joy. There's something pure about them, a incorruptible innocence, a great confidence in the goodness of humanity. If you don't have time, I understand. But even if they want to draw a picture of a river and write 'save the rivers', we can send that to the politicians and they have to read it." I told her I would stop by later to see if she had the letters, and if she didn't, please mail it to our office.

I came back and there was a brown paper bag with three pocket warmers, a letter from her to both the senator and representative, and a shaky pencil drawing of a river with the caption, "SaVe tHE RIveRS".

I started crying then. Sometime people are ugly and horrendous, filled with apathy and spite, turning their words against you to demoralize you and make you feel powerless. Sometimes they are beautiful, strong, and kind. Never lose faith in the basic goodness of people, never.

I dont quite understand why, but the apostrophe button on my computer has stopped working. Regardless it got me started thinking about entropy (I know, right?). However, before I really sank into my existential crisis, I was whisked away by my Father to the City. Naturally, because the City is that way, I began to feel sick. For some time now Ive been extraordinarily focused on the idea of Story. There are upwards of 6 billion people on this planet, which means that there are upwards of 6 billion individual and totally subjective experiences on this planet, which means that there are upwards of 6 billion autobiographies. Can you even imagine? Add to that the immense amount of stories that already exist and that will exist and it just becomes terrifying. Or inspirational since it is quite a testament to human endurance and creativity. But walking the streets of the City where another hundred people just got off of the train and the plane and the bus, I quickly realized that it is a city of strangers. Whats worse, all of these people are dying. And each time somebody dies, so does a part of their story. When they cease to breathe, the only people who can continue their story are those who knew the person. But is it worth it? A continuation built on half remembered anecdotes, mumbled tales, mostly forgotten fragments of a person? Who is the continuation for? Is it for those left behind or those who have gone on? I can, intuitively, understand the concept of honoring somebodys memory, but it doesnt quite make sense. Why hold on at all?

Boolesque

Wow. Wowowow. Burlesque was horrible. Though I am of the opinion that it is impossible (an obvious exaggeration, but you get the point) to fault "Xtina" on her voice, my word, could her acting be any worse? Certainly, I've seen worse acting, but for a movie with this kind of budget and the kind of star power that it attracted, you would think that she would somehow be better. But no. Cher and Stanley were given such minor roles, but damn, they shone. Cam Gigandet is, as always, incredibly attractive, and though his character doesn't have as much substance (scriptwise) as I would have liked, he certainly gives it his best. Or perhaps I was blinded by his smile. And his eyes. And his abs. Overall, the music and dance numbers are fun if a bit tired and overdone. It makes me think of what would have happened if Chicago collided with a truck full of glitter and sequins. I'm being nice because I think Christina Aguilera has one of the most amazing voices of the last two decades (at least), but it only garners a 5/10.

On being poor

Seeing as I am strapped for cash, I figured, what better way to make money than to do freelance work and start a blog? With a simple search, it's amazing how many different ways there are to make money on the internet. So hopefully this blog will get traffic, Google AdSense will go kaching kaching, articles written be me will start popping up all over the place, I'll chacha my way to the bank, and maybe even make enough to buy myself CS5! So this blog will probably be fairly standard, I'll rant, I'll put up music and movies and such that I enjoy, I'll give you unsolicited opinions on politics, celebrities, and Legos, and perhaps you'll even find a short story or two. Enjoy!