Blogging as Social Protest

While watching The Colbert Report, I couldn’t help but laugh- I know, that’s kind of the point. But in the spot regarding the taser attack on a Florida college student, Colbert pointed out that students responded in the only way they know- watching and doing nothing. Colbert joked that they were probably taping it for a YouTube video. He acknowledged that the main mode of expression for Generation X, Y, and Z is blogging.

The next night, sure enough, Colbert showed a blog that responded to Colbert’s story. The student (not realizing the irony) said what Colbert didn’t realize was that the police had told them to stay back. (Colbert noted that you should never rebel against an authority figure by not doing what they say).

Yes- I do realize the irony in blogging about blogging about The Colbert Report’s story about the Florida student. I could digress and discuss the fact that John Kerry probably couldn’t protect America from an attack if he can’t protect some 22-year-old kid in the same room as him.

But my topic tonight is more along the lines of the pros and cons of blogging as social protest or mode of expression. On one hand, it’s a great start for writers (don’t I know that). Sometimes, maybe even often, you get more accurate reporting from bloggers than from the media, who have more agendas than bloggers do. Bloggers have nothing to lose- and therefore, can take chances that regular media just can’t take.

The Internet has been the defining invention of the generation. It’s hard to imagine a new media that can surpass it. It has increased globalization at a dizzying rate. It’s allowed access that no one could have dreamed- but at the same time, it restrains. In the developed countries of the world, we often forget that a great many citizens of the world do not have telephones, much less computers with Internet access. (By the way, they also don’t have clean drinking water, houses, or enough food). As technology increases, the economic divide follows suit. In America, we talk about the American Dream, but we neglect the fact that in this increasingly global society, it should be a human dream. When the American Dream is a vacation house, and people across the world are living in squalor, the search shouldn’t be for a great investment, but human compassion.

Another digression? I don’t think so. Because that apathy has extended to within American borders. The people who sat idly by while a young man was tased (an act that can kill) for the mere act of asking obnoxious (but not necessarily useless) questions of a guy who ran for President a while ago showed no emotion. Colbert’s infamous “guy in the orange shirt” didn’t even take his chin off his hand. Fear and apathy run rampant and allow the dangerous abuse of power as evidenced in this event.

Blogging may be the last bastion of free speech in this country. As guarded and remote as it is, it may soon be the last place you can make your voice heard without fear of electrical shock.

The Pursewatcher

There are some unintended consequences to be the Fat Girl in the group. I'm not huge, but given that most of my friends (especially the going-out ones) are skinny as all get-out, I'm the default Fat Girl.

Sure, there's the typical, "you better be funny if you're the Fat Girl." But there are some lesser known identities. Let's discuss them.

"Unintended Wingwoman": Whether I like it or not, I'm the wingwoman. When the guy has the choice between the cute Fat Girl and the cute Skinny Girl, it's a no-brainer. So no matter how many guys I chat up, it's just an opening for them to hit on my friend, whether she is interested or not. I don't fault Skinny Girl in this- she is usually completely unwitting to this situation. But it's disappointing to put all that work in, and watch him do his best to shove his tongue down her throat on the dance floor.

"Friend of the Crazies": Something about the fact that I might at some point be standing off the dance floor- and I'm not as intimidating as cute Skinny Girl- means I attract crazies of all sorts. Crazy drunk women, creepy guys who want advice on picking up women (then I'm GLAD they aren't interested in me), bored bouncers who want to tell me their life aspirations outside the bar... I get them all. Being fat usually makes you unapproachable. But the other unapproachables find comfort in you- they reach out because you're on their side. Ew. No, I'm not.

"The Pursewatcher": A personal favorite of mine. Towards the end of the night, when I'm tired of getting shot down and ignored by people with whom I might be interested and worn out from the Crazies, I grab a table and just observe the madness. Skinny Girls who can't dance being pursued by drunk men who want nothing more than a handful of body, etc. It seems within ten minutes of me sitting at a table (after a few "hey, it's okay to smile" comments from creepy men who seem to think it's their job to dictate my facial expression), I become the Watcher of Purses. While the Skinny Girls dance, SOMEONE has to watch their purses, shoes, drinks, and so on. And that person becomes me. Now I'm stuck because I don't want their stuff stolen. Thanks, Skinny Girls. Nothing could make my night more pathetic than babysitting inanimate objects while you get slobbered on by the guy I winged your way.

I used to be cute Skinny Girl. A bad medication that is necessary for my survival made me cute Fat Girl. I've resigned myself to my role in life. The Pursewatcher.

An astounding event in history

Am I the only woman who has a weird, fractured relationship with her father?

My father and I just talked on the phone for a record 4 minutes, 1 second. He called to ask me where my mother was (I actually knew, despite living an hour away). He accidentally got roped into having a conversation with me that lasted longer than most of our interactions.

I was that dorky kid who always WANTED to hang out with my parents- I thought they were cool. When my dad told stories about helping out my godfather (an FBI agent) with an undercover narcotics sting... I mean, really! Who doesn't want to hang out with studs like my mom and dad?

Over the years, though, my dad and I have grown apart. I don't know if it's fairly common for single women in their late 20s, early 30s to be distanced from their dads. While my mom and I can go on for hours about baseball, relationships, HGTV, politics, etc... my dad sits in the Dad Chair, reads his book, and falls asleep with his hand on the remote, resulting in a whirlwind of channels that inevitably ends in a shopping channel.

I love my dad, and I am just like him. I have the same wide feet. I hold grudges. I shop too much. I take pictures of food I've prepared if it looks nice. And he's 71- not the youngest bird in the flock. But until I get this figured out, I'll enjoy the four minutes of side-splitting laughter I get when the opportunity arises, and a few chuckles as I reminisce.

Joblessness...

...really gets old after a while. I'm not sure what to do... People ask me what kind of job I'm looking for- and I honestly don't know. I suppose this is the time in my life where I should be able to start figuring that out. But it's not coming to me. I visited OU... I'm not sure if that's the place for me either. I want to stay in Cincinnati- but I'm not exactly sure if I can afford to stay here.

My father thinks I should randomly go through the yellow pages and pick someone and ask them to give me a job. You don't choose drywallers that way, so I'm not sure if that's the way to get a job either.

My mother thinks I should take whatever job I can get until I find that "dream job." I see my options there as thus- either I go into a job in bad faith, knowing I'm going to leave, OR I end up in the sucky job for the rest of my life.

I had so many job offers when I graduated from my BA... I'm starting to think that getting my master's was a huge mistake. But it's too late now... just have to pick up the pieces and see what I can do from here.

Sorry for the bemoaning- I know the post on my other blog is kind of saying the opposite. But it's getting to the point where I'm so scared about not finding anything, it's all I can think about.