50 words describing myself for a chance to be an Our Lives columnist for the News + Observer:
At 28, I quit my full-time job to increase my quality of life. I now work part time and produce a cable access tv show and would like to write about the show, how I live on much less income, and how it affects my outlook, goals and career choices.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Obama Addresses Notre Dame. Have the protesters lost their minds?
At May 17th's commencement exercises, president Barack Obama received an honorary degree from Notre Dame and addressed the graduates.
"Let's work together," he declared, "to reduce the number of women seeking abortions by reducing unintended pregnancies, and making adoption more available, and providing care and support for women who carry their child to t--"
"Stop killing our children," yelled one protester in the back of the room. In fact, more than 300 anti-abortion demonstrators were already gathered outside, and pissed. Leading the chants at the school's gate was even "Roe" of Roe v. Wade. Roe happens to actually be anti-abortion now. 27 people were arrested that day.
Come on, folks! Most Republicans I know are sweet, southern and anti-abortion. Where are your manners? Showing up at a private university's party is rude and you know it. No wonder more anti-abortion groups didn't get a save-the-date six weeks ago. Well-mannered folks that I know would never do such a thing. Lest I remind you that etiquette states that you don't crash other people's events with inappropriate comments such as "stop killing our children", only one of at least three hecklers' spouts, unless you have bona fide Turrets syndrome. And even then, your mama or your aunt should take you to cool off in the kitchen.
Do I agree with our president on some of his decisions? Absolutely not. Did the anti-abortion group of protesters show horrible manners, making it impossible for anyone to hear their opinions? Definitely. Maybe next time, if you want the president of anything to hear your thoughts, seek an invitation to be heard, and always make sure your thank you note stationary is appropriate!
And y'all, don't interrupt when someone's talkin in church!
"Let's work together," he declared, "to reduce the number of women seeking abortions by reducing unintended pregnancies, and making adoption more available, and providing care and support for women who carry their child to t--"
"Stop killing our children," yelled one protester in the back of the room. In fact, more than 300 anti-abortion demonstrators were already gathered outside, and pissed. Leading the chants at the school's gate was even "Roe" of Roe v. Wade. Roe happens to actually be anti-abortion now. 27 people were arrested that day.
Come on, folks! Most Republicans I know are sweet, southern and anti-abortion. Where are your manners? Showing up at a private university's party is rude and you know it. No wonder more anti-abortion groups didn't get a save-the-date six weeks ago. Well-mannered folks that I know would never do such a thing. Lest I remind you that etiquette states that you don't crash other people's events with inappropriate comments such as "stop killing our children", only one of at least three hecklers' spouts, unless you have bona fide Turrets syndrome. And even then, your mama or your aunt should take you to cool off in the kitchen.
Do I agree with our president on some of his decisions? Absolutely not. Did the anti-abortion group of protesters show horrible manners, making it impossible for anyone to hear their opinions? Definitely. Maybe next time, if you want the president of anything to hear your thoughts, seek an invitation to be heard, and always make sure your thank you note stationary is appropriate!
And y'all, don't interrupt when someone's talkin in church!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Inauguration Photos by Rachel Kincaid
The author of Goodnight Bush stands ready.
Reading Goodnight Bush for a television crew.
Pepsi displayed inspirational messages in all of the train stations.
High security.
Stephen and Rachel of QuixoticStyle.com brave the Washington winter.
Patriotic pooch.
Obama and this couple, BFFs.
"We're like THIS."
How could they?
Construction worker preps the Lincoln Memorial.
Jamaica was one of the countries represented in the crowd.
He's got us covered.
Girl power.
Probably a disgruntled Republican.
A kite and it's maker cross the street after having flown all day on Monday.
Desperate measures in 23 degree weather. A group cozies under a space blanket.Photos by Rachel Kincaid of QuixoticStyle.com, Raleigh, NC.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
December 2008
As I open up the application to write these words, a fear walks up beside me, asking me questions in a relentless gait.
"What the hell are you going to write, anyway?"
"Yeah. And who's going to read it?...When? Now? 10 years from now? When your people are dust, like the Romans? To whom will it be meaningful?" And now I'm really starting to rethink writing anything at all. Then, it escalates in my mind again. "Why would you even begin to think that your writing could be meaningful to an actual person?" Legitimate questions, really. But questions that demand that I answer right then and there. Questions like: "You're stoned. What could make sense when you're writing from this state?"
As long as I write because I know that there will be something to come out, I will put the first word on the page. Mary, little cousin of mine, shared this way of thinking with me by telling a lesson she learned from an art teacher once.
"She said that if you don't know what to paint," she explained as she turned toward an easel with the beginnings of a sailboat, it's curving lines of the body the only visible alterations to her page in bold, red strokes.
"Just make a mark. Paint a drop of rain. A drop of paint. Anything, even a 'whoops' mark on the canvas. It doesn't matter what it is because what's important is what it does. It breaks the silence between you and the page. All of a sudden, you have a work."
I love it! Using a philosophy such as that will cure my procrastination in any situation. Now, if I could only get around somehow explaining the kind of Christmas that we had this year..
"What the hell are you going to write, anyway?"
"Yeah. And who's going to read it?...When? Now? 10 years from now? When your people are dust, like the Romans? To whom will it be meaningful?" And now I'm really starting to rethink writing anything at all. Then, it escalates in my mind again. "Why would you even begin to think that your writing could be meaningful to an actual person?" Legitimate questions, really. But questions that demand that I answer right then and there. Questions like: "You're stoned. What could make sense when you're writing from this state?"
As long as I write because I know that there will be something to come out, I will put the first word on the page. Mary, little cousin of mine, shared this way of thinking with me by telling a lesson she learned from an art teacher once.
"She said that if you don't know what to paint," she explained as she turned toward an easel with the beginnings of a sailboat, it's curving lines of the body the only visible alterations to her page in bold, red strokes.
"Just make a mark. Paint a drop of rain. A drop of paint. Anything, even a 'whoops' mark on the canvas. It doesn't matter what it is because what's important is what it does. It breaks the silence between you and the page. All of a sudden, you have a work."
I love it! Using a philosophy such as that will cure my procrastination in any situation. Now, if I could only get around somehow explaining the kind of Christmas that we had this year..
Saturday, October 4, 2008
My experience with salvia. Should it be illegalized?
People are starting to know what the salvia herb is. Kids are filming themselves smoking it, like they film themselves doing every other human function possible. Lawmakers are placing the topic on the table, usually dismissing proposals to prohibit it. My first thought is, If they tried it, they would have a much better perception with which to make their decision.
I tried it. Last night. I'm a regular pot smoker, so the thought of having a safe, short and probably funny trip intrigued me. My husband and I went over to our friend Eric's apartment after hitting a downtown hotspot.
My husband was reserved, but a little excited. He did it for the first time three nights ago, when Eric got the guts to buy some at our local college headshop. My husband and Eric are in sales and lead professional lives, but smoke pretty regularly too. I'm a self-employed publicist, so the journalist in me would probably have tried it anyway had I been given an opportunity.
I had a very heavy trip. I mean, I sincerely thought that I looked around the living room and realized that neither the room, my husband nor Eric were real, like finding that Santa Clause isn't real early in childhood. And that I had actually been some sort of alien that was simply viewing them from far away this whole time. Or they never were. The same feeling I get when I dream the that I am trying to run away from something, because my legs are like slow and goopy like glue, helpless, disillusioned and anxious. It was actually very frightening.
My husband kept saying, "It's ok, Jan. It's ok...it's alright...are you ok?" They said that the look on my face an expression of deep fear.
It was also the strongest body buzz that I ever had to the point that I couldn't stand up, though I was trying very, very hard to.
I had the desire to try it again, but only if I'd 'go somewhere' much nicer the next time, pretty, calm and even insightful. Because where I went had more to do with hell than heaven.
I understand that many children today are left alone while their parents fight, work or otherwise ignore them. This in itself, the breakdown of the nuclear family, is enough to cause a depression in any teen. If they are able to bring home salvia from any headshop and smoke it, probably nothing would happen. But what if they were not in a good emotional place? Salvia is too intense for anyone under 18 to ingest.
A teen may not have the emotional maturity to interpret the feeling he experiences while he is on salvia, but he is mature enough to consider is choice of illegal and legal actions. He has developed a morality that causes him to consider the ethics of rules and laws. He makes those type of decisions daily when he puts his seatbelt on in the car, when he drives or not after the party, and when he is kissing his girlfriend after school. He knows that many laws are in place to protect him and keep order.
Knowing that salvia was illegal would tell most kids that the herb can be dangerous to ingest. That will keep most kids from ever considering using it, others to realize that taking it would be extremely risky.
Risk-taking teens are going to take risks. They're going to find alcohol, pot, drugs and sex even when it's not being offered to them over the counter. That type of behavior has to be prevented when they are very little.
I believe that making it illegal would prevent many kids who would've not, and the kids who break the law, make them responsible for disobeying authority. I were a lawmaker, I'd have it taken out of the headshops and guru stores this year.
People are starting to know what the salvia herb is. Kids are filming themselves smoking it, like they film themselves doing every other human function possible. Lawmakers are placing the topic on the table, usually dismissing proposals to prohibit it. My first thought is, If they tried it, they would have a much better perception with which to make their decision.
I tried it. Last night. I'm a regular pot smoker, so the thought of having a safe, short and probably funny trip intrigued me. My husband and I went over to our friend Eric's apartment after hitting a downtown hotspot.
My husband was reserved, but a little excited. He did it for the first time three nights ago, when Eric got the guts to buy some at our local college headshop. My husband and Eric are in sales and lead professional lives, but smoke pretty regularly too. I'm a self-employed publicist, so the journalist in me would probably have tried it anyway had I been given an opportunity.
I had a very heavy trip. I mean, I sincerely thought that I looked around the living room and realized that neither the room, my husband nor Eric were real, like finding that Santa Clause isn't real early in childhood. And that I had actually been some sort of alien that was simply viewing them from far away this whole time. Or they never were. The same feeling I get when I dream the that I am trying to run away from something, because my legs are like slow and goopy like glue, helpless, disillusioned and anxious. It was actually very frightening.
My husband kept saying, "It's ok, Jan. It's ok...it's alright...are you ok?" They said that the look on my face an expression of deep fear.
It was also the strongest body buzz that I ever had to the point that I couldn't stand up, though I was trying very, very hard to.
I had the desire to try it again, but only if I'd 'go somewhere' much nicer the next time, pretty, calm and even insightful. Because where I went had more to do with hell than heaven.
I understand that many children today are left alone while their parents fight, work or otherwise ignore them. This in itself, the breakdown of the nuclear family, is enough to cause a depression in any teen. If they are able to bring home salvia from any headshop and smoke it, probably nothing would happen. But what if they were not in a good emotional place? Salvia is too intense for anyone under 18 to ingest.
A teen may not have the emotional maturity to interpret the feeling he experiences while he is on salvia, but he is mature enough to consider is choice of illegal and legal actions. He has developed a morality that causes him to consider the ethics of rules and laws. He makes those type of decisions daily when he puts his seatbelt on in the car, when he drives or not after the party, and when he is kissing his girlfriend after school. He knows that many laws are in place to protect him and keep order.
Knowing that salvia was illegal would tell most kids that the herb can be dangerous to ingest. That will keep most kids from ever considering using it, others to realize that taking it would be extremely risky.
Risk-taking teens are going to take risks. They're going to find alcohol, pot, drugs and sex even when it's not being offered to them over the counter. That type of behavior has to be prevented when they are very little.
I believe that making it illegal would prevent many kids who would've not, and the kids who break the law, make them responsible for disobeying authority. I were a lawmaker, I'd have it taken out of the headshops and guru stores this year.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Ok, ok, I get it. You people are fed up with George W. Bush. Ready for him to move on, get out. It's no secret. You want change. McCain change or Obama change.
We must remember what our children are taking from this whole experience, however. Though they may not have an opinion of what is going on with our relationships abroad and at home, with our finicky economy, or why we're vacationing...at home! this year so Daddy doesn't blow a gasket from the gas prices, nor even understand why, they are watching how we react to the news.
A child sees how we talk to and about their teachers, our employers, our police officers and doctors and about our government leaders. "Daddy says he's stupid" is what they play in their mind when an image of authority comes up. Later at his desk in school, Billy hears that the teacher is stupid and begins to embody the sentiment. Now the teacher's lessons and discipline are taken lightly and the child leaves the school year jaded and cynical.
No way for a child to be. We are to teach them to respect the authority simply because they have a position of authority. We are to respect them. Not agree with all that they do, or add them as Facebook friends, necessarily, but to treat them with a dignity that station deserves. When a child sees us respecting our police officers, teachers, pastors and president, they will ultimately respect us as parents and lead to a safer, more peaceful community and country.
If George Bush is making his address, listen to it. Turn down the radio and don't answer the phone. Listen to his words, and consider what our leader is telling us. Talk about what he communicated and tell your child what you agree with and what you disagree with.
Let him know what you think this country may need and also what we have that is wonderful.
And then, when you tell Billy to pick up the livingroom, he will learn to see you as a leader as well, respecting you even when he's doing a task he'd rather not.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
We must remember what our children are taking from this whole experience, however. Though they may not have an opinion of what is going on with our relationships abroad and at home, with our finicky economy, or why we're vacationing...at home! this year so Daddy doesn't blow a gasket from the gas prices, nor even understand why, they are watching how we react to the news.
A child sees how we talk to and about their teachers, our employers, our police officers and doctors and about our government leaders. "Daddy says he's stupid" is what they play in their mind when an image of authority comes up. Later at his desk in school, Billy hears that the teacher is stupid and begins to embody the sentiment. Now the teacher's lessons and discipline are taken lightly and the child leaves the school year jaded and cynical.
No way for a child to be. We are to teach them to respect the authority simply because they have a position of authority. We are to respect them. Not agree with all that they do, or add them as Facebook friends, necessarily, but to treat them with a dignity that station deserves. When a child sees us respecting our police officers, teachers, pastors and president, they will ultimately respect us as parents and lead to a safer, more peaceful community and country.
If George Bush is making his address, listen to it. Turn down the radio and don't answer the phone. Listen to his words, and consider what our leader is telling us. Talk about what he communicated and tell your child what you agree with and what you disagree with.
Let him know what you think this country may need and also what we have that is wonderful.
And then, when you tell Billy to pick up the livingroom, he will learn to see you as a leader as well, respecting you even when he's doing a task he'd rather not.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
"What does 'islands in the stream' mean?"
"Dos islas, en el río. Like two people who love each other. They will never part. Got it?"
I'm talking to Alberto, a construction worker from Honduras. It's 98 degrees in Raleigh and I'm the driver of Alberto's lunch truck. He chooses a Pepsi and a bag of peanuts, tells me about his weekend in English and moves on.
"I'll-see-you-to-mor-row" he calculates and gives a wave. Alberto is enthusiastically teaching himself English by way of Kenny Rogers, Dolly Partin and Johnny Cash and most days has an obscure lyric to double check with me.
I am January. I'm 26. I can help Alberto because I'm bilingual and even have a degree in Spanish. Too bad that teaching in a school just isn't for me. I went the corporate route and felt the same way, though. I think it's the call of the entrepreneur and artist.
I made a decision to step down from any corporate job three years ago. Because of this, I've had many odd jobs and some pretty funny stories to tell about them. I've been a nanny to five wonderful kids and their parents, a court interpreter, a personal cook, a journalist, a private teacher, a fitness trainer and wedding planner.
I've also been a driver of a truck that serves construction site employees. I drove a 'roach coach.' It was this job, though that brought me closer to God. What I came to find was that there are still so many people who are seeking compassion, direction and hope, and who don't know Jesus.
It may have been the sheer number of people that I came in contact with, or the vastly different personalities of the boss and I. Or it could have been my realization that while I was standing there next to that lunch truck in the middle of a windy, dusty, dirt lot was that I probably did not embody that which my parents had in mind for their daughter. At least professionally. I made it my mission to regard my position with pride and to be a person whom God can use to affect the lives of those around me. I loved [most] every minute of it. Then I got fired. One day I'll recall for you the characters and relationships of this story. On the route of lunch truck girl.
"Dos islas, en el río. Like two people who love each other. They will never part. Got it?"
I'm talking to Alberto, a construction worker from Honduras. It's 98 degrees in Raleigh and I'm the driver of Alberto's lunch truck. He chooses a Pepsi and a bag of peanuts, tells me about his weekend in English and moves on.
"I'll-see-you-to-mor-row" he calculates and gives a wave. Alberto is enthusiastically teaching himself English by way of Kenny Rogers, Dolly Partin and Johnny Cash and most days has an obscure lyric to double check with me.
I am January. I'm 26. I can help Alberto because I'm bilingual and even have a degree in Spanish. Too bad that teaching in a school just isn't for me. I went the corporate route and felt the same way, though. I think it's the call of the entrepreneur and artist.
I made a decision to step down from any corporate job three years ago. Because of this, I've had many odd jobs and some pretty funny stories to tell about them. I've been a nanny to five wonderful kids and their parents, a court interpreter, a personal cook, a journalist, a private teacher, a fitness trainer and wedding planner.
I've also been a driver of a truck that serves construction site employees. I drove a 'roach coach.' It was this job, though that brought me closer to God. What I came to find was that there are still so many people who are seeking compassion, direction and hope, and who don't know Jesus.
It may have been the sheer number of people that I came in contact with, or the vastly different personalities of the boss and I. Or it could have been my realization that while I was standing there next to that lunch truck in the middle of a windy, dusty, dirt lot was that I probably did not embody that which my parents had in mind for their daughter. At least professionally. I made it my mission to regard my position with pride and to be a person whom God can use to affect the lives of those around me. I loved [most] every minute of it. Then I got fired. One day I'll recall for you the characters and relationships of this story. On the route of lunch truck girl.
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