Fanny Packs: Fashion Scare? Or Possibly the Greatest Invention Ever?

Okay. I'm not gonna lie. I am kind of in love with fanny packs. You know what I'm talking about. Possibly the ugliest garment ever placed on the anatomy of a human being, with a name to match, it is this bag that is tied around your waist and rests gently on your, uh, fanny. Hence, fanny pack.

So, the reason I'm in love with them? They're like the most practical thing ever. So much stuff fits in them and they are right at your waist. It's so marsupial-esk.

I went on a trail ride today and my mom tossed me this giant blue blob of a bag. I looked at her incredulously.

Seriously? Thanks Mom.

But really, it never got in the way while I was on my horse and I could just stuff my phone, iPod, and keys in there and I was good to go. Hell, I even squeezed a book in there. And a piece of candy. (It was a long car ride okay?)
But there was no issue. I barely felt it there. Think about it! If we could somehow make fanny packs 'in' life would be so much more convenient. All of your stuff is at your waist! And so much stuff fits! Plus it's much harder to pick-pocket money from a fanny pack.

I've decided that it's my short-term mission in life to seek out a fanny pack that looks good. Or at least as good as something with the name of 'fanny pack' can look.

Fanny Packs.

Are they really as bad as they seem?

Or are we just judging a book by it's cover?

Think Fast

Hey, so I haven't written in forever I know. This week has been hectic. You know, the week before Spring Break, teachers are all a-frenzie, tossing homework and projects at their students like monkeys flinging poo.


Good image. Moving on.

This week, as we all know, was St. Patrick’s day. This day always pisses me off. Like, I have total respect for the original meaning of the day. You know, the snakes fleeing Ireland and all that. But now - obviously - on this day people must wear the color green. This makes complete sense. (?)

Personally, I think that the only reason this 'holiday' is celebrated by students just for an excuse to injure their peers. See, if you don't wear green, you basically get attacked and pinched and bruised by the end of the day. And this is accepted as fine. Am I bitter? Slightly.

Anyway, every year, at my godmother's house, we have a St. Patrick's Day party. Cool down, it's okay. Their actually Irish. My sister and I are usually the only younglings there and the party mostly consisted of adults that were vaguely familiar to me from past parties my godmother had. They're all nice and the conversation can get quite interesting.

There was one man there, my godmother's older brother, who was particularly intriguing. He spoke of his travels to Africa. Ohhhhh my God.

Random Fact About Sophia: I really, REALLY want to go to Africa. To the dismay of my parents.

Anyway, this guy was talking about how he went to Kenya on this all-inclusive trip. He described how beautiful his hotel had been, and the animals had been fantastic.

"But," he added, the smile slipping off his face, his eyes unfocusing as he remembered, "as we exited the hotel and glimpsed what was happening on the streets, it was like someone had flipped on a switch." He described the extreme poverty and children struggling to reach their next meal, let alone the end of the day.

The conversation ended there, as if because of that, my desire to travel there would abate as soon as I heard this. I didn't push the subject. Instead I checked out mentally for a while to think.

I am at a huge impasse when it comes to this. I react in very consistent way whenever I hear or see situations where people suffer. In Global Studies class last year, we would watch videos of Hiroshima, or slavery, or the Holocaust and how people were being mistreated, tortured, killed. Some people in the class detached themselves from the subject and were unaffected, some became very sad. Me? I became livid. Like, red face, hard breathing furious. I don't know why, but I felt an undeniable need to stop their pain. To go up to the monsters causing these people such suffering and punch them in the face. Forcibly make them pay for what they were doing. I would leave the classroom with my hands clenched in fists.

That was me watching a video.

What would I do if I was mere feet away from a starving child? A dying man? And worse...what would I do if I couldn't do anything to stop it? It's a sick feeling, a powerless feeling. And I hate it.

But then there is the 'other hand.' And it is not even an option. The other hand, is to ignore it all together. To keep it out of sight and out of mind in ignorant bliss. I feel like this is the ultimate form of cowardice. To pretend that nothing is happening so I can carry on living my little life without any problems other than my next Chemistry test.

The ‘other hand’ is sickening. But it is also a frighteningly accurate description of some people view in the world.

And yet, as many people are quick to point out, what am I going to do about it? Me. The powerless little 16 year old who sits on my thrown of comfort and criticizes how people treat others. "What can you do to make a difference, Sophia?"

What do you say to that? As children, we dream of becoming astronauts or inventors or heroes that save the world. But as we grow older, more and more dreams we had as children prove themselves to be false. First, Santa doesn't exist. The tooth fairy isn’t actually real either. Then you find out that you didn't actually come from a Stork like you thought you did. But then it gets more serious. You learn that not everyone is kind. People kill other people. The good guy doesn't always come out of the battle alive. And there are millions upon millions of people dying everyday from things that seem trivial to us. Things like water and food and shelter.

And...I can do nothing.

And I'm not saying that I can literally do nothing. Sure, I can save my pennies and sent it to Africa or Haiti. And I will make my little difference. And that is good and helpful and everyone should do it. It is possible to help other people. But I'm talking about fixing it. Everything. Stopping all of the stupid deaths and unnecessary pain that is inflicted on people everyday.

I have been staring at this screen for 10 minutes trying to think of something lighthearted and witty to say. Something that will cause you to smile and forget of this heavy and daunting subject. Count on me to help you out of this hole that I’ve dug with these words.

But I can't do that.

So instead I'll leave you with a thought. A question.

The world becomes darker and darker as we rise from our shelter of adolescence. If ignoring suffering is not an option, yet you are powerless to fix the whole problem and protect every man, woman, and child in need of aid, where does that put you? And how long do we have to ponder this question before all hope for saving these people is gone?




Better think fast.

The Dreams That You Wish Will Come True (as long as you have talking mice and a fairy godmother, that is)

 Okay. Let's be honest with each other here. Mr. Disney is teaching some pretty despicable things to our youth if you think about it. I mean, look at his classics:


Would Cinderella really have gotten anywhere without the aid of her rodent friends and her imaginary godmother (who is actually insane, by the way. Bippity-boppity-boo? Really? C'mon woman) The answer is no. The mice help her DRESS every morning. The mice made the pink dress. And get the key from the evil stepmother in the end. The figment of dearest Cindy's imagination (the godmother) is the one that got her the pretty dress and turned a pumpkin (ew) into a freaken carriage!! Really, Cinderella never gets off her ass the entire movie. All she does is sing, clean some floors on her knees, feed some chickens, sing, have her dress ripped apart, cry, get bippityboppityboo-ed, ride in a pumpkin, dance a lot (A LOT), sing, go home, get locked up, cry, then put on a shoe. Sing. The end. The only actions that she actually carries out are cleaning, singing, and crying. Is that the message we're trying to send young girls in our society?? Cry, clean, and sing, and mice will come to carry you to a prince and a happily ever after? Not only is that incredibly unsanitary, it's down right archaic.

And don't get me started on the shoe business. This prince is as dumb as a doorknob. The story from his point of view, is basically as follows: He sees this girl across a crowded room and falls in love with her (judge by appearances much?) Then he's too much of a prissy to actually catch up with her as she runs away. I mean, thinking objectively here, he's in fairly comfortable shoes and pants and she's in a gown with glass high heels... and yet she outruns him?? Methinks something is amiss here. In fact, princey, it's kind of embarrassing.

So what does our gallant prince do? Ah-ha! A brilliant idea occurs to him! Since she has clumsily dropped one of her glass slippers, he'll just have his manservant go around the entire kingdom and try it on all of young maidens and then, THEN he will find his love. Hmmm... this tells us two things. One: He doesn't remember what the hell she looks like, so he'll have to go by shoe size. And two: He doesn't realize that there might be the faintest teensiest possibility that some girls HAVE THE SAME SIZE FEET. I mean for god's sake! So now on top of all of the pressures set on young girls nowadays, now they have to worry about their feet.

Life lessons learned from Cinderella:

1) Talk to mice. They make pretty dresses.

2) Uncomfortable shoes help find husbands.

3) Make sure no one has the same size feet as you.

4) Sing, clean, and cry and good things will happen to you.

5) If you hallucinate and see an insane old woman who speaks in three-year-old language, it's okay. She's your fairy godmother.

6) Without a prince, there is no happily ever after.

7) If you sit around and wait for long enough, mice and hallucinations will occur, and you dreams will come true!

Part Two

How about Snow White? Firstly, can I just say how much that name pisses me off? It's like unoriginality at its greatest. I mean, I know the mother was gonna die and all so she really didn't have long to thumb through the "What to name the Baby" book. But really, basing the name on skin color? If you follow that logic, most babies would be called "Sickly Green", "Beat Red" or "Putrid Purple". Now that would liven up school attendance... And what about the dwarfs!? Dopey? Grumpy? What does that do to their self esteem I wonder?

Sorry, back on topic. Is it just me, or is it AMAZINGLY creepy that it is accepted as okay that this guy who very much resembles a woman, hears this girl sing (in a very wobbly and annoying voice) and falls in love her, never actually seeing her. Then months later he finds this dead chick in a glass case (what is it with Disney and his glass fetish?) guarded by midgets, and on a whim decides to make out with said dead chick, who then randomly wakes up (to this stranger making out with her) and then they're both like MY LOVE! And gallop off into the sunset without so much as a word spoken to each other!

Now how long is that marriage going to last I wonder?

And here again! Our lovely heroin has the surprising job of CLEANING and SINGING.

Seeing a pattern here?

I'd say that from Snow White we learn that:

1) If you find a strange house in the woods, it's okay to go sleep in the beds as long as they're really small.

2) Small people have very one way personalities and are named thus.

3) Once again, cleaning and singing prevail.

4) It's okay to eat a pie that a bird has used it's feet to make the crust with. (Just don't tell the health inspectors)

5) Animal control doesn't answer calls in Snow White's neck of the woods.

6) If you fall into a coma and wake to find a strange, girlish man 3 inches away from you, calm down. He's your true love.

and 7) Don't eat apples. They're bad.

Walt (can I call you Walt?), I love you man. But your original movies are kind of insulting to my gender. If you ever wake from your frozen death, just know that women have a stronger roll in society now. I just wish that Cinderella and Snow White weren't the first women that we see as little girls.

Speaking for myself, I suck at cooking and cleaning. I do archery. I can ride a horse and punch better then most guys in my school. And anytime I wear heels, I fall. In a nutshell, I kind of fail at being a girl.

But seriously, don't let Disney's portrayal of women get you down. Sure they're pretty. But honestly, I'd take an episode of Robin Hood (BBC version of course), Batman, or Lord Of The Rings over a princess any day.

Dreams do come true, but you gotta get off you butt and make it happen.

Perspective

I went to Starbucks yesterday during my free period. (Is it just me or is it weird that these epiphanies happen during my free period?) Anyway so I went there to get a drink. My usual Iced Grande Café Mocha (with whipped cream). Of course. The barista was a different one that is usually there. See, when I go there and my barista is there, she knows my order. Cool, huh?

Any hoodle, I get there and asked for my Mocha and she said “Coming right up!” in a jovial way. I handed her my money, smiled and went to lean in that casual and cool way up against the wall. In a few minutes my Mocha was finished. I was so prepared to dive right into that Mocha it wasn’t even funny.

She slid it onto the counter and said, “Enjoy!”
There was only one problem…

There was caramel on top. Yup. Caramel. Now, I’m not a big fan of caramel and it’s over powering taste is difficult to bare sometimes.

I was having a slight mental freak out over this for about 10 seconds. And then I thought, “Hey....”

Hey. What the hell am I thinking? Here I am. In this warm coffee shop. With lovely music playing. A mocha in front of me that was handed to me without any fuss. No one was trying to shoot me. I was completely safe and utterly privileged to be handed this drink without second thought…
And here I am complaining about a little caramel??

I should be ecstatic that something as nice as caramel was drizzled artistically on my beautiful Iced Grande Café Mocha (with whipped cream). Who am I to complain about a privilege?

In the 30 seconds that this took place, I changed my perspective on a lot of things. School is still a pain but I’m so lucky that I can walk into this building for free, without fear of being beaten mentally or physically. With wonderful friends. With amazing programs that are right at my fingertips.

So what I’m basically trying to say is… suck it up. We live in a society where we are privileged beyond belief. To complain is almost blasphemous. And whenever you’re feeling like the whole world is compiling against you, or you don’t really like the food your parents set in front of you, or school is taking a lot of your time… just hold it inside. And remember, there are millions and millions of people that are a hell of a lot worse off than you are and would be so grateful to just have a day in your shoes.
You are lucky. Really lucky.

So make the most of the little pleasures and gifts. Like a smile from a stranger. Or a hug from a friend.



Or even a little caramel on your Mocha.

Something To Ponder...

These aren't my words. But man, it pretty much sums things up don't you think?


One day an old Native American grandfather was talking to his grandson. He said, "There are two wolves fighting inside all of us -

the wolf of fear and hate, and the wolf of love and peace."

The grandson listened, then looked up at his grandfather and asked, "Which one will win?"

The grandfather replied, "The one we feed."

A Day in the Life

Of me.

A frantic beeping sound awakes me with a jolt. I tell my eyes to open, and after a few seconds, they comply. It's six o'clock.

Good morning.

I sling my hand out, aiming for the tiny sleep button on my alarm clock to silent the persistent screeching in my ear. I miss, hitting instead the radio button. Now an overtly cheerful voice squawks "-- and if you order in the next few minutes--" My patience thinning by the millisecond, my fingers curl into a fist as they punch another button. This time loud persistent drums from the CD player slips into the impromptu symphony.

I begin to sit up to vent my anger on the little machine that is begging to be killed at this point. I had less than a seconds warning -- a small whimper of excitement -- before I was through back onto the bed by two hefty paws. My face is promptly covered with kisses. Wet ones.

Good morning Finn.

My mutt continues to slobber all over my face until I shove him off, muttering derogatory things about wet, slobbery things. Namely, my dog's tongue.

Finally, I swing my legs out from under the warm covers and the cold air licks my feet and the bottoms of my legs that aren't covered in from my checkered green pajamas. I drag myself to my feet and shuffle and stumble my way over the clothes, books and pieces of paper that are trying to trip, snag, or otherwise trying to incapacitate me. When I finally reach the door, the orange yellow light of the hall slaps me in the face and I wince, squinting my eyes while they adjust.

I walk into the kitchen to the sounds of my mother going about her usual morning duties. She turns, her blank expression brightening into a smile. "Good morning Sophie!"

"Good morning, Mom." I make my way over to the cupboard and slide the Special Kay off the shelf. I grab a spoon and bowl and then fall onto a stool. As I munch broodingly on my cereal, NPR spouts out some terrible stories about people dying.

That sucks. Too early to care.

Finally, I shower. I think that's when I really wake up. The water splashes my face and sharpens my senses. I throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, not caring what clothes I'm wearing. I mean, honestly. By the time I get that on and gather my school things, it's 6:55.

I kiss my mother, and yell a goodbye to my Dad. Then I'm outside, staring expectantly at the bend in the road. Five minutes later, I'm on a big yellow bus, speeding too fast through the wet green forest and wine vineyards filled with horses, cows, and elk, that has been my home my whole life. I'm silent on the bus trading off between staring off into space, contemplating the meaning of life, and reading the book carefully laid on my lap.

I arrive at school. I flash a smile and a thank you to my bus driver. I whip out my iPod and stick the earphones in my ears and turned it on shuffle. A song with a loud beat plays in my ear and my feet fall into step with the rhythm. I slide into the crowd of chattering students. I glance at them, not interested. Some girls twitter in front of me about the latest style.

I turn up the music to drown out their voices and walk swiftly to my locker. The rest of school passes in a blur of equations, songs, experiments, facts and... everything else. By the time it's over, I'm drained.

I enter my house at the end of the day, only to be prompted to leave to do the barn chores. Cool. I enter the barn, narrowly avoiding tripping on Piper, the barn cat. She drops a mouse at my feet and steps back, looking at me expectantly. Slightly disgusted, I reach down and pat her on the head. "Uh. Good girl."

I move in a pattern as I go through my barn chores. Horses: muck out, hay, grain, water. Cats: clean litter, give food, water. Guinea Pigs: hay, food, water. After a few other things done, I'm finished and I come home to the smell of dinner saturating the air. I eat, finish my homework, and fall into bed, slipping into the dark mystery of night...


A frantic beeping sound awakes me...

At First Glance

You know those people that you look at and you immediately dislike. You know the one. Maybe they say their vowels all nasally. Or they have a funny nose. You know. That ONE GUY. Who just pisses you off.

I have a free first period. I was sitting in the school cafeteria writing an English paper and sipping on my iced Grande Mocha (with whipped cream). The chairs there are really uncomfortable. I was sitting on the one that squeaked whenever you shifted your weight to the right. Sorry. Unnecessary details.

So anyway. I was talking to this guy about nothing in particular. There was a Math Teacher Convention thing. Where they talk about how great the math program at my high school is. (Which, by the way, SUCKS.)The guy and I happened to fall onto the subject of the Math Convention and the certain person that was running it. The person was THAT ONE GUY. I dunno, they just looked like a douche to me.

One of the staff members of my high school who I'm friends with through the drama department came up to us. She/he smiled and asked me how I was. Having just talked about the person running the Math Convention I told him/her I was fine, but that this person was just pissing me off.

"You know those people that just LOOK like a douche? They're like that."

The staff member looked around and his/her eyes fell on the person running the convention. "Who? That one?"

"Yeah," I said with venom.

"Oh." She/He was quiet for a minute before turning to me and saying. "That is my partner."


...


Oh. My. God.

Oh my God!! Do you realize the magnitude of this situation!?

I didn't even know what to say! I mean, what are the chances that THAT ONE GUY was my friends PARTNER?!?!


Moral of the story. Never ever EVER judge by appearances. I learned this the hard way. Try to learn from my mistake and not put yourself ever EVER in that situation.

Sleep.

It’s funny when people
Sleep.
Relaxed faces.
Deep breathing.
When they
Sleep,
They loose all pretence.
All their cool.
Suddenly as they
Sleep,
They are simply
Them.
Loosing who they think they are
They find,
Subconsciously of course,
Who they really
Are.
And what really
Sucks
Is that because they’re
Asleep,
They miss the
Whole damn thing.