Tales of a Reluctant Blogger

It’s Memorial Day, and our timelines are inundated with people wishing everyone a “Happy Memorial Day!”. To most of us, this means a day off of work, BBQ, beer, and time with friends. And it should, because those are the things that make us happy. Those who are no longer with us would want that, I think. Those are the things that make us American, and free, but most of all, human. We owe our freedom and our happiness to people who were willing to leave those things behind to fight for the right for us to have these kinds of days. 

While we’re enjoying the day off, though, we have to remember the larger meaning of the day, and it’s not a happy one. Memorial Day isn’t a holiday, but rather a day of remembrance for those who have fallen fighting for freedom. Our troops both past and present, as well as their loved ones, mark this day differently than those of us who are untouched by a loss incurred by war. 

As you drink and celebrate, don’t forget to raise a glass to the people who made this day possible. In this time, in this place, whatever politics you believe in, George Orwell said it best: “We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.” 

Both men and women have fought for us. Honor them by remembering what today is REALLY for. It’s not a happy occasion for many people. 

All right guys, for reasons I’ll be very brief in describing now, but will put into more detail shortly, I’ve been asked to be a partner in an AMAZING creative studio and to help them put together a magazine focusing on art, photography, and design. Essentially, we want to encapsulate the life of those of us who live and breathe creativity in whatever form we find it, be it art or writing or music or….who knows. 

That said, because we’ve already been approached by a class from the AIGA and have a presentation for them on Thursday, I need to get my business cards in order. True to form, we’re all keeping ours whimsical for now. 

Give me ideas! I don’t want to be some cheesy ass title. I want clever, and after a weekend spent word vomiting ideas and creativity, I’m about out.

I need to have this done by 10 am tomorrow. Don’t fail me now, friends. Tweet or Facebook me with ideas! 

I had a good one, once. He said the right things, you know, the kinds of things that you wait for someone to say your whole life. He called me “trouble”. For a girl who has spent her entire life trying to be good, get praise, work hard, do what’s expected, such words emboldened me to be someone else. Someone that was sassy and powerful, and not the terrified little girl craving acceptance that I knew I really was.

He was so good with words. Everything he said somehow patched up little tiny cracks in myself that I’d never even knew existed. I remember lying in bed after we’d finally hang up, staring at the ceiling in wonder that he existed, and more so that he was mine. I finally opened the box that we all have, that box where you set aside lame song lyrics and silly expressions from romantic comedies and all that other drivel, and I unleashed it. 

I said too much, I think. Charles Dickens put it perfectly: “To conceal anything those to whom I am attached is not in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart.” 

That’s our downfall, I think. As women we think if we talk and talk and talk we enlighten the other. We want them to KNOW us the way we want to know them. It’s impossible, you know. No one stands a chance of knowing us, the real us, the us that we keep hostage in the darkest recesses of our being. We want to show each other, we want to rip off the metaphorical armor and say “see, here, look, here I am!” but we never really do. We try, and we fail, and eventually, we just maintain the status quo. We remain who other people have made us, and who we have accepted ourselves to be. As we get older and hurts occur both intended and not, they help the armor grow thicker, sealing up the chinks and cracks. 

Like anyone else, now that something ended I’m trying to figure out what I did wrong. I mean, I think I know what it was. I said too much. I was a clinger. I did everything that you aren’t supposed to do. And it was cute to him, for a while. For some reason he thought all my crazy was charming. And to the end, he swore his feelings didn’t change. He just couldn’t do long distance. He needed me to be there. Period. End of story. 

I’m getting over it, slowly. Far more slowly than I’d like to, but every month that passes, it gets better. I’m not angry anymore, and I’m not sad. I’m just…nothing. I don’t know whether that means I’m all better, or if I’ve just shoved it down enough that I’m not dealing with it anymore. 

Today someone said that Twitter is the worst thing to happen to comedy. She said “real comedy” doesn’t happen in 140 characters, and that it takes hard work and dedication. 

I could not disagree with this more. 

Humor is humor, no matter where you find it, or how long or short a form it comes in. If it makes you laugh, it’s comedy. To me, there is no “real” comedy. I know several friends who do standup, and while I have the utmost respect for them, I don’t think I’m any less funny because I choose not to stand on a stage and tell jokes. That’s my choice. Could I do it? Absolutely I could. I’ve been told to numerous times. Those who know me in real life know that I’d do well in that kind of venue. 

I choose not to. I know what that life looks like, and it isn’t for me. I know that my fragile self-esteem couldn’t handle the inevitable criticism that putting yourself up for public display engenders. Frankly, neither can most comedians, and that’s why the comedy world is full of tragic figures a la Farley, Belushi, Kinison, Giraldo, and so on. 

To be truly funny—to be able to connect with people, to touch that spot in their brain that makes them laugh out loud—you have to be damaged. That’s what comedy is, to me anyway. It’s a lot of people willing to put their damage out there for others to see. The problem with that is that you’re opening an already fragile heart up to more criticism. And it may seem worth it at first, when the acclaim begins and the crowds laugh and everyone loves you.Then you become Dane Cook. He’s no less funny than he was 10 years ago. Don’t tell me you didn’t think he was the funniest person ever then. We all did. He became a big star, but then his audience turned on him for no real reason I could see. After seeing him 3 or 4 times over the years, I can definitely say his later shows lack the camaraderie of the first. He no longer thought the audience was his friend, and he was protecting himself. As he should—and as most comedians don’t and didn’t. 

Most funny people became funny because they were compensating for something. Maybe they were fat or funny looking or manic or slutty. Their inner need for acceptance kicked in, and they found a way to lure people onto their side. Jokes. It works for a while, but for every fan, there’s someone else tearing you apart. And that’s the thing-most comedians aren’t really “together” people. They’re pretty fucked up. When being funny is what you’re known for, that’s all you show people. That’s all they want to see. And if the fans arbitrarily decide you aren’t funny anymore, what do you have left? 

I’ve gotten off point, but hopefully what I’m saying rings true. Making people laugh shouldn’t be work. Making a living at it probably is, but comedy itself doesn’t change. I’d rather be the funniest person in a room of my friends than in front of a stadium full of people, and that’s the honest truth. Being famous or successful doesn’t make you funny. Coming up with a 30 minute set and being filmed for comedy central doesn’t make you funny. Making the people you care about forget their crap for a moment—that’s comedy. 

I’ve been weighing this topic pretty heavily in my mind lately, and I suppose it’s time to do some “spill” on it. 

I am SO tired of hearing people complain how poor they are, when in fact they aren’t really poor. 

You know what poor is? Poor is when you have to give your car up because you can’t afford it. Poor is when your cell phone is shut off because you can’t afford the bill. Poor is when you can’t afford rent anywhere. Poor is when you’d like to find a job, but you don’t have the clothes for one, the cab fare, or a phone number for anyone to call you at. Poor is when you eat pasta for 4 days in a row, and holidays are super exciting because someone else is feeding you. Poor is when you have debts you can’t pay and have to keep putting people off, even though every fiber of your being hates it. Poor is not having a credit card or anyone who could lend you money, and you wouldn’t ask for it anyway, because how the hell would you pay it back? Poor is when you turn down every invitation because you don’t even feel like you have anything to offer anyone these days, nor do you have any clothes that aren’t years old, full of holes, or ill fitting. Poor is when you don’t go to family birthday parties because you can’t afford a gift, and are ashamed of that. 

This is the situation I’m in. I’m not the only one-all over the country people are struggling through similar situations. 

I’ll be the first to admit that shitty choices in years past have brought me here. I gave up my credit cards years ago, because I knew that I wasn’t the kind of person who should have them. These days, $20 is a precious sum. I’ve done things I never imagined I would just trying to keep a roof over my head and my dog fed. I knowingly moved in with people when I couldn’t pay my rent, and I don’t blame them for being angry with me. I just didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know where to go, or how to get help, and believe me, I’ve tried. Apparently in America the only time you can get help is if you have kids, and I don’t (thank God). I battle with diagnosed mental instabilities, and I struggle daily to get out of bed at all because really, it sometimes seems like there’s no point. Obliviousness is preferable to reality. 

My dog is literally the only luxury I have. I despair at the idea that she might get sick or injured, because I have no way of paying for her vet bills if something happens. She’s all that matters to me though, and all that keeps me going. I say this in complete honesty—I would have killed myself months ago if not for her. 

I thought at one point I should give her away to someone who could take better care of her, but I don’t think that person exists. I am her mama. As much as she needs me, I need her ten times more. She is the one thing in the world that I don’t think I’m failing at. She is loved, protected, well fed, and happy. I have not disappointed her the way I have other people. She does not feel betrayed by me. She does not pass judgement. And some days, she is all I live for. 

Many people think I (and others in my situation) must be lazy and I don’t really want to work. Those people are seriously misinformed. It doesn’t take much these days to bring people to their knees, and I think many don’t acknowledge how close to the edge they themselves are. To say that I am lazy means that there is something they can point at to explain my situation—to think that I am unlucky forces them to admit that they themselves may also be subject to the great hand of fate someday. 

As I said before, I made poor choices in years past. I have tried to make recompense for them. I am trying to do better. I am going to school, I am taking care of my dog, I am trying to find jobs, to do anything someone will pay me for. I don’t want acclaim for these things. I just want a fucking break every now and again. Every day is a battle, and I’m losing more than I’m winning. I want to not feel the pity of other people. I don’t want your pity. You know what I want? I want for people to know and to acknowledge that there are some people who have a hard time, and it isn’t ALL their fault all the time. I want the benefit of the doubt. 

I want to have some clothes to get a job with. I want to have some food in my cabinet. I want to be able to pay my cell phone bill. I want to be able to live somewhere and pay my rent on time. 

I don’t expect my clothes to be expensive, I don’t want to eat lobster every night or live in a mansion. I just want to get by. If I could just get by, I know I could make it farther. Right now, it feels like I’m at the bottom of a really, really deep well. All I want is a rope, a few feet to start moving myself upward. 

Sometimes I honestly wish I were a former addict or alcoholic, because then people are patient with your foibles. No one cares if you’re just some dumbass who spent her 20’s being stupid with money and now at 34 are just in a fucking heap of trouble. 

Anyway. I got that all out there, and I feel better. If you read this far, thank you. Let me be the terrible warning that sometimes we all need. Protect your credit. Don’t overspend. Always have a backup plan. Don’t rely on others. The world is not kind when you’re poor, I promise you. 

Those who know me well may read this post and laugh, because some of it definitely applies to things I’ve been guilty of. I freely admit it. I write this partly as a challenge to myself, and also as a larger commentary on who we’ve become as a society. 

We (Generation Y and certainly a great deal of Gen X as well) are lazy. It’s an epidemic, it’s embarassing, and we need to knock it off. 

We live in what indubitably has to be one of the most interesting eras since the dawn of time. We have the world at our fingertips. We’re better educated than almost any generation before us (despite what the media would have you believe). We have technology that they could only dream of to make their jobs easier and better. Accounting, graphic design, publishing, writing, art, business—even bathrooms practically clean themselves nowadays. 

Baby boomers were the children of the Depression Era, and it shows. Those who grew up with little have worked their asses off to give their kids the things they didn’t have when they were growing up. We were told we were special and unique and we could have or do whatever we wanted. I guess we didn’t realize we’d have to work for it. 

I mean, it never even OCCURRED to me that I wouldn’t go to college, and of course my parents would pay for it. 

Maybe you think this doesn’t apply to you. Maybe you grew up poor and you got a job at 16 and you worked for things. You bought your car and your clothes. You paid for school, and your first apartment, and you paid for the things you needed. 

You resented it, though, didn’t you…and maybe you resent it still.

Or else you were one of the lucky ones, and you thought life would always be the way it was at 16. You had a $300 Coach purse and your parents gave you an allowance. You didn’t know what things cost. What life costs, and what it demands in return.

That spirit of resentment lives on, and I think that’s the difference between us and them. People older than us, they had to work and work to get something. They saw other people have nicer things, and they worked harder. They saved for a house, they saved for a car, and they lived on macaroni and cheese at the end of the month. They didn’t have interest free financing and 10 credit cards available to them when they started out, like we did. If they wanted something, they had to work and wait to afford it, or to decide it wasn’t necessary. 

Most of us won’t ever know what that’s like. Most of us live in a world where our daily latte comes courtesy of our Discover card. We may have nothing in the bank, but our credit lines keep the party going. We’ve forgotten how to wait for anything, unless it’s the release of a new Apple product, and then by God, we’ll get in line and camp out for five days. 

No one owes us anything—not a job, not an education, not your own TV show. We weren’t born a Hilton or a Kardashian (and frankly, thank God). People older than us have lost everything, and what are they doing? Learning something new. They don’t expect anyone to save them, and neither should we. We have the tools, but we’re not using them.

Go back to school. Get an education. Does it promise you a job? No. But neither does anything else, and being smarter never hurt anyone. You might find that thing that lights your brain up, and we need more people like that. Society is developed by people who adapt in the face of adversity, not those who stand around wondering what happened and who they can blame it on. 

Be a person who sees what isn’t there and wills it into being. Be a person who knows what you and only you do best. Go out and find that thing that lights your fire, go after it, and never stop. As Basil King (and Frances McDormand) once said, “be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid”. Don’t sit in a park thinking that you’re changing the world. You aren’t. As far as I can tell the world is only changed by people who know what they want and are willing to work their asses off in service of it.

Maybe in ten years we can look back at the now and laugh at ourselves and how much time we wasted waiting to be handed something. Life isn’t an Apple product, and no amount of waiting will get you what you want. Work for it or don’t, but at least have the sense to get out of the way for those who will.

I should probably preface my rants about irresponsibility with some disclosure. 

I am horrible with money. Absolutely awful. I don’t deny it a bit. I clip coupons, I don’t buy expensive things or go out a lot, I barely drink, I no longer smoke, but I’m still terrible with it. It comes in, it disappears just as quickly. 

Whose fault is this? Mine. I accept full responsibility. I’ve made poor choices and done stupid things that have landed me where I am. I have no one to blame but myself. 

That said, I’m working my way out of it the best way I can. I went back to school. Since I can’t find a job anywhere else, it seems, I’ll write for anyone who pays me. I just wrote a press release and spent probably 10 hours trying to get coverage for a little pizza place. Know what I charged them? $80. It’s what they could afford, so I took it. It’s $80 I didn’t have before. 

This is what I have to do. I’m lucky that I like it. I wish I made a lot more money and I could actually do stuff from time to time, but it could be worse, and I know that. Sure I’d like to be back in an office making a normal salary, but at this point I don’t have a car to get there nor do I have the wardrobe, so this is what I’ve got, at least for now.

I didn’t lose anything in the stock market. I had nothing to lose. And even if I had, I have the rest of my life to make it again. 

As an auditor, I watched people’s lives crumble around them. I watched people I met with every year lose everything. Businesses that supported their family and put their kids through college went under. Houses foreclosed upon. I had a 75 year old woman sob in my arms (no joke, it was one of the worst moments of my life) because everything she had was just gone. What could I say to someone in that situation? What could anyone? 

Terrible things happen. People have lost their homes, their jobs, and their savings. 

And what did they do? They tried to rebuild. They went back to school to learn something new. I have so many people in their 40’s and 50’s in my classes at DePaul, and I have such enormous respect for them. To have the balls to start all over again is inspiring. 

Others have moved on in different ways, taking whatever jobs they can, doing whatever is necessary to get by. 

Know what they aren’t doing? Standing in a park with a sign. 

I am not a professor of economics or a master of finance. I am not wealthy, not even a little, nor have I ever been. 

I’m a 33 year old student paying her way through a private university where my major is social justice and urban policy. I’ve been a registered Democrat all my life. I freelance as a writer. While I would LOVE another job, I haven’t been able to find one. I don’t have unemployment or government assistance, nor have I ever. I don’t have anyone giving me money. I live in a nice place only because I rent from someone and it’s reasonably priced. I had to give up my car because I couldn’t afford it. I gave up smoking because I couldn’t afford it. I gave up going out or having people over because I couldn’t afford it. I eat crappy poor people food like hot dogs or macaroni and cheese. 

I think we can safely say I’m in the 99%. 

That said, prior to the past year of underemployment, I’ve spent most of my professional career in finance. I worked in the mortgage field both for a broker and then for a massive lender (who incidentally went bankrupt, even though they only lent to people with great credit and good jobs). I’ve worked as an auditor. I’ve worked for Bank of America in their foreclosure division. I have a good idea of what goes on behind the curtain, and most Americans don’t seem to. Nor do they seem inclined to learn. 

As I understand it, one of the main tenets of this whole Occupy Wall Street movement is that people feel corporate greed is responsible for the current state of the economy. 1% of the population is making all the money, getting tax breaks, et al, and it’s time that stopped. They messed up our retirement money, and we lost everything and that isn’t fair. 

There are a few reasons that’s a false premise, and I’ll break this topic into a couple of posts to make it more readable. 

Corporations aren’t responsible for our current financial situations. We as individuals are. We’ve bought in to the American dream, and we financed our futures to do it. We’ve been trained to want the house, the car, the newest TV, phone, laptop, etc—regardless of whether we can actually afford it, or most basically, actually NEED it. 

So whose greed does that reflect?

When you live in such a way that you purchase things you cannot afford based on the premise that a future event will somehow pay for them, it is foolish. There is no other word for it. This is not the fault of advertising, this is not the fault of big business, this is not the fault of retail. This is YOUR FAULT. 

When you buy a house you cannot afford, put nothing down, and bank on the idea that a raise or a rooomate will make this purchase logical, this is not the fault of the corporation who gave you the loan. This is YOUR FAULT. 

When you get talked into some ridiculous financing scheme allowing you to pay minimum amounts of something and allowing interest to rack up, it’s not the fault of the person who sold it to you. It is YOUR FAULT. 

We are all individually responsible for our own decisions, fates, and choices. To completely remove ourselves from the equation and essentially act like we’re all a bunch of puppets to “the man” is the most laughable thing I’ve ever heard. Grow up. Take responsibility. You made choices. To act like you didn’t and you were forced into something makes you look like an idiot. You may have made bad choices, but at least own the idea that you did make a choice. Don’t try to make it someone else’s fault. 

This is half of what I think is wrong with America today. When the hell did we become such an entitled bunch of crybabies? We take responsibility for nothing. We sit on our asses watching reality television and we wait for things to be handed to us. News Flash: THEY WON’T BE.

Get off your ass.