This is what greenvana means to Amy Weeks & I: an ideal state of peace, harmony, happiness & environmental sensibility
wow that does sound lovely now doesn’t it? It sure does. Now how would you feel if I told you that you could wear GREENVANA? Oh yes, such a thing is true. Greenvana is a bamboo t-shirt company who states as their mission
"to provide high-quality comfortable clothing for all people while minimizing our environmental footprint. Ultimately we strive to leave the planet better than when we found it."
breath of fresh air isn’t it? now don’t get me wrong, I love the Bill Gates, Rockefeller’s and Carnegie’s of the world… CEO’s who made a lot of money and have given it back … but what about the 21st century Green EO, the kind of person who has an entirely green sustainable business plan & who wants to donate more profits than quite frankly she can afford…to charities?
That would really be something.
Now you have an idea of why I would want to work with such a person. And I’m just talking Amy, I haven’t even gotten into the product.
which is BAMBOO t-shirts! Why bamboo emily d stine? well i’ll tell you why
1. They grow like weeds = they grow quickly, 4 feet a day 2. They don’t need fertilizers/insecticides to grow = less crap/pollution in our air and in the t-shirt you wear on your skin, YOUR LARGEST ORGAN, keep it healthy! 3. Bamboo absorbs nearly 5 times the amount of GREENHOUSE GASES than trees = breathe easier 4. Bamboo produces 35% more oxygen than the same amount of trees = breathe easier & more productively 5. Bamboo is much softer than traditional COTTON = more like cashmere/silk in texture and the t-shirt feels to me like my favorite old t-shirt
Now back to the company’s philosophy. Amy buys carbon credits to offset the cost of shipping her product, she found wind-powered servers to power her website, she uses as little dyes as possible & organic cotton & bamboo blends to make her product because she wants her product to be from the earth & to give back to the earth.
And she doesn’t want the polar bears to drown. My friends actually borrowed my favorite polar bear from my youth & hung it from a noose on their balcony for all to see…
why? because we actually are killing the polar bears. we don’t need to do that anymore. there are companies that want to make the earth better. GREENVANA is one of them, I work with some others.
http://ecofx.org sign up, sign a pledge to say, "I will use less." "I will have a more eco-friendly outlook on life"
"I am a citizen, not a consumer"
that last one is the most important. greenvana is more than a t-shirt. it is a political statement saying
peace. love. earth.
we have to take care of the earth. one of the ways to do that is to use less. the other way is to invest in companies that have an entirely green business plan. Greenvana is one of those companies.
And the t-shirts are oh so hot. They are LA trendy, but add in a little Boulder GRANOLA and that’s about right. I’ll be wearing mine around & we will be selling them on ebay and from the greenvana website as soon as it’s up & running. We’re also looking to distribute in stores.
The skies the limit. If we treat it right.
signing off [typing out]
emily dawn stine chief executive [green] goddess
& lover of polar bears
email email@example.com if interested in an advance purchase + more details
“One of the handicaps of the twentieth century is that we still have the vaguest and most biased notions, not only of what makes Japan a nation of Japanese, but of what makes the United States a nation of Americans, France a nation of Frenchmen, and Russia a nation of Russians… . Lacking this knowledge, each country misunderstands the other.”—Ruth Benedict, The Chrysanthemum and the Sword
Status Updates [creative writing bits] from my Facebook Thesis
“The shutters click, the flash goes off, and they’ve stopped time—just for a blink of an eye. And if these pictures have anything to say to future generations, it’s this: I was here. I existed. I was young. I was happy, and someone cared enough about me in this world to take my picture.” –One Hour Photo
Status Update #1: Emily is TGIF.
It is Friday night and I have RSVPed to a “Food Party” on Facebook. The description is vague, namely that the host Jim “feels like cooking.” Having attended this kind of party before, I assume that it will be one where the guests eat dinner while drinking cocktails of some sort, and then move on to the main event, drinking. The event invitation says it is set to begin at seven o’clock and I show up at eight. I walk in, not surprised to see the group of about fifteen seniors is drinking beers and other drinks while others are starting to cook vegetables on the stove and meat on the grill. I have brought a salad, texting Jim before hand to see if there was anything I could contribute. Once there, I see the faces of the people who I have seen on the guest list. Predictably, halfway through the meal, the camera comes out. There are two people at this particular party that one in the culture might call “Facebook whores,” that is, they post pictures all the time. This is a term I have heard for people that are on Facebook all the time. Facebook whores are labeled this way for posting pictures frequently and having high counts of friends and wall posts, as everything on Facebook is constantly quantified; effectively it is a social scoreboard. What is surprising though, is that one of these Facebook whores is a guy; let us call him Jim who is also the host and the creator of the Facebook Event. The other is a girl “Molly” and they hand their cameras over to the other partygoers to get pictures of themselves as well as playing photographer for the party. The next day I find that I am in two of Jim’s albums; one is entitled “BEER BAT.” The beer bat featured in the photos is really just a plastic blue bat, one children might play with, that has had the skinny end cut off of it and has been filled to the brim with none other than Key Light, the inexpensive college beer of choice. Effectively, it is almost like a beer bong, and the partygoers proudly pose as they tackle the bat full of about two beers within thirty seconds. Later in the party, they start taking pictures of groups of people. As Jim gets a particularly large group of people in for a photo-op, he says nonchalantly, “Don’t worry, I’ll tag these.” Molly is a couple days behind Jim with posting her pictures. I am in two of her pictures as well and am glad that I wore an outfit that has yet to be photographed and uploaded unto Facebook. When I see the pictures, I decide not to detag any of them; I do not look awful in them and I did not pose for the beer bat. Good thing, as this research has persuaded me to clean up my Facebook image a bit. Granted, there are still pictures of me drinking on Facebook, but not as many as before, and I am not what a college student would call “sloshed” or “tanked” in any of them.
Status Update #3: Emily is having a crisis of representation. It is Monday afternoon and I am at my friend Elissa’s house eating lunch. Her boyfriend stops over, a regular chess opponent of mine. Recently, he has invited me to add the Facebook Chess Application, and this was one of the rare times I agreed to actually add it. You see, there are some of us out there who you might call “Facebook Purists,” those who liked Facebook much better before all the complication of Applications, and Share, and Notes, and all the things they add every couple months to keep people interested. It is almost as if people will think I am cooler if I have only added one or two Facebook Applications so I do not look like I am too into Facebook. Of course, everyone has to have Facebook if you are in college. I mean I know some do not, but most do. Anyway, this kind of thing is functioning all the time on Facebook. Many of my friends hide their online status, controlled through privacy settings. Or others might reply to a wall post or message 24 hours after it was posted even if they saw it a couple hours after. Otherwise, they might seem desperate. So back to Monday afternoon, I added the Chess Application on Facebook and Alex and I had been making moves for the last week. The cool thing about it is that you can play asynchronously, whenever you login, you can set your controls to email you when it is your turn if you want. Well, our game was getting pretty good when he stops over during lunch hour. He tells me, “Ms. Stine, I believe it is your move.” I reply, “Oh it is, Mr. Stutt, well let’s see about that,” and pull out my MacBook and make my move. He borrows Elissa’s laptop and makes his move. Mind you, we are sitting at her dining room table two feet away from each other with the screens of our laptops facing each other. We both continue to keep moving and the room gets quiet. There is none of the colorful banter we exchange when we’re playing a “real” chess game. About 15 minutes in, Alex informs me that there is a chessboard on the shelf on the other side of the room. Neither of us move to get it. We continue playing, waiting longer than we would have to in a real game because the computer takes a couple seconds to process a move. We play like that for the next forty-five minutes. Elissa seems a little peeved but does not say anything. In fact, no one is really saying anything; the room is quiet, static. I joke about the irony of the chessboard being only a couple of feet away but I continue to play. Once I leave, I email my advisor and tell her how pathetic I am for this scene. Perhaps it was just that the game was getting so good, perhaps it was the fact that I had only recently added the Chess Application, perhaps I am indeed harming aspects of my flesh-and-blood sociality. Perhaps. Checkmate.
Status Update #5: Emily is single.
My relationship ended with my last boyfriend in May 2007. By September 2007 I had started dating again and he still had not. On the advice of his brother, I called him up (he had graduated and now lives in New England) and told him that I had started to date other people. He reacted harshly and curtly, saying a combined total of ten words before the conversation ended. That night, I decided to update my Facebook life to reflect the reality (and severity) of the situation. My relationship status is “Emily Stine is Complicated with Amy Baumer,” my roommate and friend, so no fuss there. But I did have a couple of intimate pictures of my ex-boyfriend and I in my photo albums that I deleted. He must have noticed because the next day I was blocked. Getting blocked from someone on Facebook is the mother of all rejections. Not only had I been “defriended” but now he no longer existed to me on Facebook and vice versa. If I searched his name, nothing would appear. I could no longer click on his name to get to his profile from pictures in which he was tagged. By getting on an account of one of my friends, I also found that I had been completely deleted from his Facebook life. Every picture that I posted of him or was posted of us together had been deleted, and every wall post I had written him was deleted. It was almost as if I had never existed as an 18-month vignette in his life, or so his Facebook profile would have you believe. Logout.
[greek for the singular balance of the good and the beautiful] by emily d stine
the boy next to me he takes pictures with his eyes eyelash-click eyelash-click and when the bright eyes turn to me, I sigh, “such pretty words, but life’s not a storybook.” blink and I feel nothing. not even remorse from the fingernail bites I gave him.
for it’s a tale of juliet and romeo a star-fated interplay of two lovers with an aesthetic wanderlust— pretty words that is. and a lovely photograph that takes you like a picture and smiles. a classiccandid that clicks and hangs
in the air until the chords fade and lightbulbs dim.
sweetness sleep (the sweatless kind) is at a premium these days. faces lining up hoping not to drip another $0.13 per [insert onomatopoeia for “work”] leather shoes trampling leathered feet as people with mouths where their eyes should be clamor and suffocate each other with their stories, bleeding stones for job stamps.
sometimes i stuff some crispy fresh bills in my ears stash cash inside my body to plug me up so i don’t have to hear people complain any more. (when i’m done i throw them away so i don’t pass on any pandemic possibilities to that guy i buy things from. they’ve been in my body for god’s sakes they’ve been in this wallet that charades as flesh)
this is brimstone, this is. this right here (i promise i’m holding it in my hand as i speak) this noxious riot that turns straw men into bonfires, conveniently lighting the way until ground becomes cliff and the earth becomes air. our feet have memories and will miss having something to step on but by that time (that half-reminisce) it’s too late.
this nostalgia that intoxicates. this bright black wall that stymies. this need to look in the mirror and declare something as anathema. this thing that i will never actually get to describing.
watch out for the vultures, they’re pinching pennies and it makes them hungry.
here's a little lit theory for you to chew on w/ your pinot grigio
First let’s talk about a cool guy named Abelard who was very influenced by Aristotle. together with Bocaccio, he thought that philosophers RAPE lady philosophy and that the true philosophers are POETS. He posited that it is the POET’S DUTY TO OBSCURE TRUTH.
i don’t obscure truth do i?
well anyways, it’s thought that there is a TROPE OF GENIUS and that the poet presents a golden world and is a giver of heaven to the people.
i like to give people bliss, or at least the giggles. dot dot dot hiccup.
He takes Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and posits that the ideal is more important than the actual and that Poetry is what you should start with and it is the only thing that remains after civilization has dissipated.
kinda like the bible, very poetic. read it like shakespeare. much easier.
He says that the POET makes sweet&palatable what the philosopher cannot and therefore POETS are PHILOSOPHERS.
me talk pretty one day?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ now let’s talk MARX. oh don’t shutter you non.pinko’s it ain’t no thang. it’s just phill.y.sophy no biggie just listen, who knows you actually might learn something.
god where is that remote, i want my MTV. speaking of MTV and TV’s and remotes
those are all COMMODITIES, Marx got a real satori [kick in the eye] out of commodities. why Emily D Stine? cuz he phil.o.soph.ized at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution and BOY did he have a lot to say.
basically utilizing a MASTER SLAVE dialetica, Marx says that goods generate the social political and intellectual life process.
you are not your fucking iphone
basically he says and PIERRE BOURDIEU agrees that a commodity starts to become its own thing and subsumes the worker…think NIKE! just do it. then we become to FETISHIZE [a neologism made up by em.d.stine in my fb thesis] said commodity [cough cough ipod] What’s a fetish ms. stine? Oh well it is over.investment of DESIRE in a certain object, or when obsession takes a physical form
kinda like how you crazy peeps look at pictures on FACEBOOK all day, that’s a fetish, what do those things even mean, why you keep clicking through them? Well I think you overinvest DESIRE in their meaning…but that is just me.
We value VALUE. The content becomes irrelevant. Everything according to Marx has a monetary value placed upon it.
Photographs as cultural capital, cultural capital being an idea first posited by mr. bourdieu some french dude who wrote this book DISTINCTION in 1984.
Well that’s enough of phill.y.soph literary theory for a little bit. I don’t wanna overload your cerebral cortexes. thinking can give you headaches sometimes, so take care when thinking too much okay?
What is Love? Baby don't add me, don't rt me, no more!
Here is a post by my friend, Mr. Bes Zain . .dot dot dot. . enjoy.
Add me. RT me. Friend me. Poke me. Nudge me. Everywhere I go, someone wants something done to them online, something that will result in more attention.
Everyone has turned into a marketer now. Rarely does anyone write to express. People write to get. They get a link back. They get a follower back. They get a donation back. They get a customer back. They get a referral back. All the backs they can get in return, they aim for and they get in return.
Not many write to get love anymore. Real love. A real hug. Not the bastardish hug outside Hollywood by people who hug you and then film the whole scene to promote their hug and name in the world. A real anonymous hug by someone who will hug you forever. Or a year. Or a month. Or a day. Or an hour.
Everything is to sell. Sell a service. Sell a product. Sell yourself. Like magnificent whores we all portray a professional self to try to sell ourselves and sell what we carry. Throw out the heart <3 every few hours, and show the world that you love. That you love the dog. That you love the shoe. That you love someone you don’t care about. That you love those that give you money.
But never look for real love, where when you say you love someone, you know the exact meaning of the word love.
Let’s just rt the hell out of each other. Let’s just add everyone so many of them can add us back. Let’s just do stuff because that will result in more attention.
Let me just write this piece so I can get more attention. Maybe real world, something that the offline world seems to not have, will find me through this writing. Even death can love, you know. Pure love from anything is good, right?
When Emma Lee transferred to Dullen High School her junior year after her dad’s job transferred, she expected it to be like any other high school. She soon realized that she couldn’t be more wrong. Emma was horrified to see the many disfigured students roaming the halls of Dullen. What’s worse is that many of the boys and girls were wearing necklaces and bracelets of body parts, real body parts, some badly decomposed. Emma asked a girl who was missing her entire right hand and all but two of her teeth, “Why is everyone missing teeth and fingers, and why are they wearing them as jewelry?”
The girl answered, “Oh, that is quite typical here, isn’t it like that where you went to school? You see, we go out every weekend and give parts of ourselves to each other. It is sort of a power thing. More deformities, especially among the guys, make a person more attractive. It is a sign of success and virility to wear the body parts one receives. You see that guy over there? That is Chaz, he took one of my front teeth last Saturday, now I only have these two left.”
Emma was flabbergasted. “But why would you willingly give your body parts to a bunch of different people?” The girl replied, “Oh well sometimes it is because I’m too drunk to think about what I’m doing, or if I like someone I will usually give him a tooth or a finger. Honestly, it isn’t like that where you went to school?” Emma shook her head and quickly headed to first period away from the strange girl. She was happy to see that the teacher was only missing one tooth, but the boy she was sitting next to, Tim, had no teeth and only four fingers. He was also wearing a bracelet of molars, an ankle bracelet of pinkie fingers and a necklace of teeth. He toothlessly grinned at Emma and asked in the most suave of ways if he could have one of her teeth.
Emma turned to him and asked, “Don’t you see that you are deformed? I would never date you or give you one of my teeth.” Tim just smiled and started bragging to Emma about how many teeth and fingers he had accumulated since freshman year. “I have 32, not counting the one I got last week. You should have seen the tooth I got last weekend. It was beautiful; it was pure white, one of the front teeth, the best ones to get. You know you are doing badly when you start taking a girl’s fingers. That means she doesn’t really mind who takes a piece of her.” Emma wanted to punch Tim. who did this guy think he was? He seemed like a weird mix between Hannibal Lector and Hugh Hefner.
Emma went home wondering what was wrong with this school. It seemed as if things had been turned inside out, everywhere else people can give pieces of their heart to others; it’s so much easier that way. Giving a tooth is much more painful than a piece of your heart, or soul, call it what you will. You can always fix up your heart again, just glue the pieces back together, stretch the rest of it out to fit the lost pieces, but a finger…fingers don’t grow back. You can’t hide a missing finger.
Emma transferred from Dullen High School the next day. She went to a normal high school where things make sense. She went to a school where you can give away a piece of yourself and nobody can see the piece that was taken. That’s the way things should be; you should be able to give yourself away to whomever you want and still retain your beautiful exterior. She went to a high school where you don’t have to wear grotesque jewelry to brag about your conquests. She went to a high school that dealt with this subject in a more civilized manner.
”—a satire i wrote as a senior at mullen high school
welcome to a new writer mr. ladd or @paradisetossed
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a literary nerd in possession of a computer must be in want of social media. I know that’s true of me, and it’s natural that anyone fascinated by words would take to Web 2.0 like a duck to water.
If you’re reading this, you’re certainly already well-entrenched in the social media universe.Tumblr isn’t mainstream, so I’m going to assume you know a thing or two about the web already. We’ll say you’re in your twenties or thirties, you’ve got a Twitter and a Facebook, and you’ve been using the internet for at least a decade. Still with me? Good.
Take a minute. Close your eyes. Wait, open them. Keep reading. If you’ve got some water, take a sip. Now answer this: what’s missing from your web experience?
You’ve got self-expression, communication, and, presumably, a little erudition. But I’d wager all the money in my pockets that what you don’t feel on today’s internet is a sense of identity. Self-expression is one thing: you can change your profile pictures and avatars the same as you change your shirt. Identity is about a deep sense of self-definition. No one got it better thanSocrates: know thyself.
This is why as blogs exploded, so did poetry. As Twitter explodes, so does poetry. Go ahead and do a Twitter search for #poem right now; I’ll wait. … See what I mean? Poetry is a why of ascribing of identity, of screaming to the world with a primal yawp, “This is who I am!”
But they shouldn’t call it that. It’s not orange. Soft white American snow. The breath of a western god That’s what they should call it You try to get the monkey out of the tree by killing the tree.
Airplanes drop the snow mist flake by flake they hit the leaves one by one the leaves dropdead to the ground soon the trees die too but they don’t fall, or drop They
CRASH into villages, into streams, polluting my water, into monkeys, I am no monkey You can’t call me a guerilla because I hide from your bombs. Human survival instinct makes me hide from your bombs. You are the gorilla.
________________________________________________________________________________ Agent Orange America
dead trees terrify me the executioner’s mask drops like my blameless arms at my sides in the hostile night moaning in my backyard it comes flashing back pictures from film that I burned wood embers stuck on repeat
I watch the video feed as the airplanes release the breath of God draping the trees like Christmas.
it returns every night with the wind fighting through the branches into my window h o v e r i n g over my daughter’s stillborn body, silent causing peculiar feeling at the back of my throat.
I know the day I die the last thing I taste is tree-rotting breath as it smothers me in my pine box, the poison whispering at my decaying conscience "William Wilson" more potent with each wilting syl la ble
I didn’t push the button but I wrote the instructions. ______________________________________________________________________ pockets
I still carry death in my pockets
I kept a finger once as a souvenir
carried it for weeks it felt rubbery ______________________________________________________________________ The Bird Home
flies swiftly like swat the mosquito on my wrist, fuck off, home, home, going, faster, didi mau days, nightmare over, over, over, over, America wait for me. bird fly this bird, home. happy thoughts await, leave bad behind. tomorrow the drugs wear off, wear off, honey help the drugs stay away, hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me. dry socks, steak, birthday parties, baby, baby, baby. world is quickly becoming another place, space, march left right left right
over corpses, rotting, where did his face go, baby hold me, don’t look, never look at them after they fall, burned away, face rotting ash, honey hold me, birthday and baseball, never close your eyes, leave them alone charlie, crawl through dead trees like ghosts, orange agent spirits, trees haunted VC secrets, silent with guns, nothing stops napalm burn skin, burn muscle, I see bone, skeleton ghosts, no tunnel, can’t tunnel me in the dark, spider hole, spider hole, bright eyes light my path, I want to fly so high, high, be my bird, they couldn’t lift me off, numbed me, needle rush better than sex, in jungles sans sanity, chasing dragon in orange circles, euphoria, $12 a gram, dragon’s breath rising clouding campsite, bubble, bubble pop bubble, fly bird home, didi mau honey help smash dragon teeth, tiny vials
brain poison, can’t sleep, shivering though I’m sweating, sleep rock cradle, honey rock me, bed pillows, pillows, sheets, hold memories in vials while I sleep, honey help me, grenades in bed, what’s the BDA, bda, bda, bad fucking day, kick them away, hand frag, can’t frag me, shut the windows at night, honey the know, see pin hit floor, left right, steady, brace face, ready, 18 cherry years baby, they’re kids, cherry, officer frag, scared to sleep, with a hungry grenade, they tried baby, close call, they tried they tried, fly me home, strap me in, live cargo not corpse, corpse, dead, glad bag, flying coffin, bury the fear here, charlie skeleton ghosts stay in jungle, haunt the forests, forests dead, dead, chemical trees, radioactive charlie, green glowing charlie, don’t follow me no breadcrumbs, no breadcrumbs, don’t follow my dreams, dope stay, pack my head up into suitcase, mementos, mementos, suitcase home, vials out of pockets, dragons remain, life body from ground, can’t get high, climb steps out of hell, wind whip past face, taste reality, no drugs, no ghosts honey hold me, didi mau, bird fly me home.
Marijuana & Adolescence written for Drugs & Society
Marijuana is a pharmacological substance that can be ingested or smoked. It relaxes and then elevates one’s mood. The leaves and flowers at the top of a female marijuana plant contain resin which is where tetra.hydro.cannibol is found. Mexico is the chief provider of marijuana to the United States, but much pot is grown on Federal Reserve lands or in private residences. Marijuana was made illegal by the Marijuana Tax Act of 1937 and was made a Schedule I substance by the Controlled Substances Act of 1970, which means it has no perceived medical value (Faupel, Horowitz & Weaver 2004).
Marijuana is one of many drugs prevalent in American society. In this essay, I explore the social constructions of marijuana with regard to adolescents and investigate the idea that marijuana is the scapegoat for many behaviors characteristic of adolescence. We socially construct its meanings and connotations, which means that the thoughts and opinions of people in a society shape perceptions of marijuana. The meanings we construct of marijuana are products of social interaction. Those with power in a society tend to have more sway in the perception of a drug. Social constructions of drugs vary through place and time and influence what we consider natural and normal with regard to drug use. Certain people’s views on marijuana have deeply affected the way that twe look at it today, particularly moral entrepreneurs such as Harry Anslinger, who contributed significantly to the passage of the Marijuana Tax Act of 1937 (Faupel, et al. 2004). This theory is sociological because though individuals like Anslinger have helped shape our views on pot, it is societal influences like media film, advertisements, etc. that have helped to distribute this image to the public. These images become so well-known and easily recognized that they become a SOCIAL NORM.
One of the most ubiquitous perceptions of marijuana is that of the gateway drug. It has been argued that once an individual tries marijuana, they will eventually get bored with its effects and gravitate towards more thrill-seeking drugs like cocaine or heroin. In their article, “The Marihuana Problem: An Overview” McGlothlin & West (1970) try to refute this claim by pointing out that in recent years marijuana use has risen rapidly while heroin use has remained at about the same level, thus disproving this notion of causality. A gateway drug, or an addictive personality, is too handy of an answer to be an accurate determiner of dependence. There are many variables that might eventually lead to addiction, and a puff on a joint is not likely the leading cause.
The widespread use of marijuana among America’s youth is not evidence of some sort of mental sickness and it does not necessarily lead to drug abuse and criminal activity as government propaganda would like you to believe. Moreover, Brenner et al (1970) suggests that for the majority of youth, the use of marijuana is linked to “growing up.” A 17-year-old interviewed about his marijuana use says:
We’ve never been in trouble with the law. We’re not tied up with crime. We’re not headed for heroin and that … Who’s going to get up and tell that public about that—how it’s possible to smoke grass sometimes, enjoy it, and keep on living a “normal life?” … When you talk about “normal” you’re not talking about scientific judgements, but SOCIAL ones, made by societies that go through changes from century to century.” (p. 112-113)
This individual brings up an excellent point about the evolving values of a society. Marijuana started to become popular in the United States in the 1920s when alcohol prohibition was in full swing. At that time, it was not seen as a societal ill but when Prohibition ended in 1933, the public’s critical eye turned to marijuana as the devil’s weed (Faupel et al. 2004). Ever since marijuana has become demonized in the public’s eye, it has been difficult to make a case for its harmlessness. Brenner et al. (1970) recognizes that “there are indeed certain things about growing up, about being full-grown,but still rather young, that have a distinct bearing on what can loosely be called the “drug problem” (p. 113). Youth sometimes experiment with marijuana to gain some autonomy over their parents because they are under their control but wish to have some mode of self-expression. Some youth have difficulty adjusting and have idealistic views of society that are incongruous with present times. While the parents of these young adults are active participants in society, youth are often more reflective and inquisitive about their surroundings and utilize marijuana as a drug that facilitates discussion and thought.
Brenner et al. (1970) points out that there are two distinct socially constructed drug scenes, “that of the poor and desperate, and that of the comfortable and dissatisfied—and the distance that separates them is as great as the one that separates them both from their ‘square’ counterparts” (p. 152). Both groups use the drug as a form of escape but ghetto youth are escaping their dreary living conditions. A youth from the ghetto is likely to express worries, fear and anger at her/his low life chances instead of the escape characteristic of the white upper middle class. find this to be an archaic generalization that stereotypes both groups of marijuana users. This book was published in 1970 and I believe that the discipline takes a less BIASED view now as opposed to 30 years ago.
Another commonly held belief about marijuana is that it makes you lazy, a pseudo disease referred to as AMOTIVATIONAL SYNDROME. This definition can be further extrapolated to what Suchman (1970) calls the “Hang-Loose” Ethic in his essay, “The ‘Hang-Loose Ethic and the Spirit of Drug Use” (p. 110). He argues that the “hang-loose” ethic contrasts severely with the Protestant work ethic upon which our nation was founded. The more that a student is disobedient, antiestablishment, skeptical and questioning of socially established norms, the more likely he is to use marijuana. A student that is well-behaved, conforming to socially accepted behaviors, is less likely to be a marijuana user. I would like to argue that the former student’s behavior is more fitting of an intellectually involved college student that is learning to mind and look outside the box. Adolescence, and especially a person’s time in college, is a dramatic point in their life in which they re.evaluate their existence and view society as more anomic that ever before. This kind of ethic is favorable to intellectual discussion, and not even social revolution, which is necessary in a society from time to time so that it does not become outmoded and inapplicable to the people that function within it.
Marijuana’s tie to anti.establishment and rebellion make it a SYMBOLIC DRUG for the intergenerational struggle that is OMNIPRESENT in human cultures. Suchman (1970) was writing his article at the time of the Vietnam War, so he focuses some of his discussion on youth’s dependence to America’s involvement overseas and civil rights turmoil within the country. Nowlis (1970) points out that adults use drugs just as students use drugs, but for the most part, they stick to the drugs that are socially acceptable and easily available. Many students on the other hand, have an invincible feeling toward life and are more willing to experiment with a wider variety of drugs, especially marijuana, which is considered the “softest” of the illegal drugs. Students operate within deviant subcultures in which their drug use is deemed acceptable, whereas adult drug use is for the most part closeted and kept quiet.
While writing this essay, I expanded my knowledge base about the social constructions of marijuana and more generally of youth and drug use. As an informed college student, I personally find marijuana to be a safer drug to use than alcohol (having almost died from alcohol poisoning as a freshman) and am surprised by the very negative connotations that society attaches to the drug. I found that these perceptions deal very little with the actual effects of marijuana but actually concentrate on the perceived effects, racial and political issues, and fear of going against the Protestant work ethic that has come to define the AMERICAN WAY. I realized it is no coincidence that so many youth experiment with marijuana, as its effects tend to lend itself to the kind of PHILOSOPHICAL questioning characteristic of the adolescent period in which youth begin to CRITIQUE their place in society instead of TACITLY accepting it.
Marijuana, like any drug, can be abused and I think it is stigmatized more than its MILD effects would merit. Drugs play an interesting role in American society because many people are UNINFORMED about them and assume that the social constructions available to them are valid. The perceptions of marijuana in our country are slowly changing with 11 states enacting LAWS legalizing medical marijuana and Colorado decriminalizing marijuana w/in the County of Denver. The testimonial by the 17-year-old I quoted earlier in my essay best exhibits my feelings about America’s perception of marijuana: social values are ever-changing. What is considered NORMAL is different from one year to the next and recreational use of marijuana will someday e deemed NORMAL again.
It would be easy for me to say that I am a single white female heterosexual. In America, identity is so often measured by marking a series of boxes:
gay or straight white, black, yellow, brown, or red male or female married or single
you get the point.
But according to philosopher Charles Taylor, this fracturing of self in an attempt to put it nicely back together again as a single white female heterosexual is not an authentic expression of identity. My primary affiliation of identity these days is that of a student, but more importantly, a learner. I am someone who is still learning about the strange quirks people have, how to love, and who it is that I think I am.
My perception of identity has evolved significantly since high school. At that time, I was going to a school with people who were all white, upper-middle class, apparently heterosexual, and Catholic. I would have been more likely to claim my identity by marking those boxes, as opposed to now, where I see little relevance in the obvious.
My idea of sexual identity has been largely skewed by twelve years of Catholic schooling where I was taught to be ashamed of most everything sexual and pleasurable, and that losing your virginity before marriage was a sin. I am relieved to have waited until after high school to experience sex for the first time because I feel like I didn’t know what I wanted in a sexual partner in high school.
I am thankful to have had a roommate that opened my eyes to sexuality and beauty my freshman year. I agree with Taylor when he says that some lives are BETTER than others, because my happiness and quality of life skyrocketed when I was able to find the beauty in my body. I was finally able to enjoy being a sexual person.
This point brings me to the idea of PERSISTENCE: though I thought differently about my identity in high school (or not much at all, actually), I was still me. What has continued to define me throughout my twenty-three years of life has been a strong desire to LEARN.
The evidence I have for this “persisting me” is difficult to articulate. I can say that I have always looked the way I do, and that I have memories from when I was young, but the older I get, the more indistinct these memories become. But the memories are my experiences, and I have tried not to REGRET them, but to learn from them. By being able to learn from my past activities, I have been able to know where I have been, who I am now, and maybe even where I might be going.
Now that I know who I am, a good question to ask is, “What am I?” As an anthropology major, after rigorous study, I would have to say, I am undeniably, a hominid primate. I have an evolved robust brain, along with the rest of my species, and this brain has enabled me to ask questions of sexual identity and metaphysicality. Other primates with smaller brains procreate because they feel like it, and eat because they are hungry. I find this perspective to be a good one because it grounds the definition of human rather than elevating it to a demigod status that many not versed in the humble studies of anthropology tend to overlook.
The aspect that does separate homo sapiens sapiens from most other animals is the development of CULTURE. Humans have utilized culture for centuries, as a tool to adapt to environmental conditions and as a basis for providing a group of people normative behaviors.
So naturally I begin to wonder how much my culture has affected my IDENTITY and the way I think about myself. We live in a culture where monogamous heterosexual unions are extolled, and this construction of “true love” is forever thrown into the faces of little girls wearing princess dresses in their mother’s heels. These girls grow up with culture and MEDIA, a wondrous byproduct of culture TAUNTING us to find “The One” and then “live happily ever after.”
My identity as a young girl has largely been shaped by the damsel-in-distress paradigm, and I grew up with a personalized view of PRINCE CHARMING; how someday he would sweep me off my feet and we would ride off into the sunset to romantic melodies. I realize now the CONTINUITY between my own identity and many other girls and boys around my age that read the same books and watched the same movies in their childhood and adolescence. A large part of my identity therefore, must be continuous with many others living in the same culture as I.
This brings me back to the idea of PERSONAL experience and my ability to learn from it, my mementos, my follies, as the key factor that makes me ME. So my experience with 12 years of Catholic education and then an abrupt change at CU Boulder is distinctly me. And my lovers and others who I would prefer not to think of as lovers are also mine. Together, they make up my view of the world and define my identity as one who is still experiencing LIFE and learning from it.
The fact that I am a heterosexual single white female is meaningless because there are million and millions of heterosexual single white females out there. I am a person who has loved and who has been loved by males and females alike., by family members, by lovers, and by friends.
I am a person who has always been very receptive to learning about the HUMAN CONDITION and is more ENCHANTED and aware of life the more I learn. I am a POET, etching my sexual and personal identity into sonnets and lines. And I learn more about my identity, my ME the more work I produce. I am an anthropologist of my own SELF, prodding the artifacts, the mementos, the memories of my own life until I am able to understand why they exist in the first place.
More or less, I am Emily, I have been Emily since the day I was born, and will probably be Emily until the day I die.
This idea is really quite simple as most GOOD ideas are. Here is a problem. Your company has 200 employees and you need a PowerPoint expert, an orator, a software programmer & a developer for Proposed Project to be completed.
Only problem is…you laid off your software programmer and your Technical Writer can’t use PowerPoint to save her life, so you hire a consultant at $100 an hour to complete the project in 20 hrs time.
Here’s how I think you could solve this given problem without necessarily having to hire a PORKY consultant who has a travel budget, per diem food costs and doesn’t really know your company very well and therefore might require additional time to make Proposed Project work, costing you more money.
My ITea is to set up an INTERNAL searchable database where your employees have one job title, but 3-5 SKILLSETS. For example mine might look something like this:
Wefollow.com is a good model from which to base your design off of, your software architect or one of my software architects could implement a database in which only internal employees could search for each other.
So therefore maybe you would only need to use a Pesky Consultant for 1/4 of the Proposed Project, and utilize your employees to do the rest…Now here’s some math..
i can only imagine what it would be like if “ceilings don’t exist and there are no floors beneath us. If I were the queen of this night, would u become my king?” Saves the Day
a punk band i’m rather partial to, but to me this idea of no ceilings, no floors living life on a nebulous bed of air and moisture softened by the blissful rays of the sun, of the DAWN, is what heaven might be like…
is there heaven on earth? i believe so. I think that heaven, well NEW AMERICAN dictionary defines heaven as…
The sky or universe as seen from the earth; firmament The abode of God, the angels and the souls of those who are granted salvation The celestial powers, the gods Supreme happiness ; a state of bliss. A thing or place which is wonerful or enchantingly perfect; a sheer delight. Supremely happy.
And there you have it. Heaven is a HAVEN for happiness. It is the place or the being or the vehicle that allows you to feel enchantingly perfect. According to this ENLIGHTENED definition, many of us have tasted, glimpsed, maybe even LIVE a portion of our Day-to-Day lives in a HEAVENLY state.
which of course brings me back to Kurt Vonnegut, "I urge you to please notice when you are happy and murmur, or exclaim, or think “if this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”
It is one of my favorite Vonnegut quotes, one he always attributes to his uncle. But i assure you semi depressed overweight Americans [I’m only generalizing here :)] and everyone else, the second you start to appreciate your bliss, “count your lucky stars” etc. you will begin to notice that Earth that your life is probably the luckiest greatest gift from Goddess, God, I am who am, Buddha, Mohammed, etc. that you could ever receive and all we have to do w/ that time is ….
JUST BE NICE. try to be more nice than mean. then maybe if you die one day and if you believe in heaven/hell and then if there actually is a GOOD or CRAPPY place your soul goes when your body expires, then maybe you might go to the cooler of the two.
my goal in life is to be a subsistense farmer. unfortunately, i do not know how to farm or what plants even grow in my climate; i have long thought that a cactus may do the trick to train me as a farmer.
my instincts were confirmed by Emmy Appleseed’s summercamp for dis.enfranchised creative adults. a cactus is fun to look at, easy to feed, somewhat dangerous, and difficult to kill. owning a cactus is a perfect first step for the horticulturally challenged.
stop dreaming of a future in agriculture and DO something: buy yourself a eupherbia. these lovely cacti have enough spines to command respect without being too prickly; they are nearly indestructable but still living: they are the perfect crash-test dummy for the farmer-in-training.
once you master the art of caring for cacti, you will have the confidence to grow your own herbs, vegetables, fruits. stop depending on the grocery store.
i’m venturing into unknown territory. according to ms. stine, this site’s mastermind, i have the freedom to post about whatever i want. this is scary, even to a girl who quits her job on a whim, dyes her hair hot pink, and travels until she runs out of money. so here goes..
if you are a fan of the grotesque, the macabre, el dia de los muertos, or other things that are cool, check out Laurie Lipton’s art at http://www.laurielipton.com