Are you a Ninjaholic? Know the Warning Signs!

Okay, I admit it. I'm addicted to Fruit Ninja. If you don't know about fruit ninja, first of all, have you been living under a rock? Second, I don't know whether to insist you download it immediately or beseech you to stay away! I've come to grips over the past few days that I may need professional help to ever get my life back. I don't know if there really is any escape from the power of the Sensei.
If you do know, you may be wondering if you, too, are an addict, a NINJAHOLIC. Here are some of the warning signs I've encountered. If you are experiencing one or more of these symptoms, it may be time to hang up your machete and call The Internventionist. I'm right behind you. Just let me finish this game.

Warning Sign #1: You have a blister on your index finger

Warning Sign #2: You dream of diced fruit

Warning Sign #3: The best compliment you received this week was "Combo God"

Warning Sign #4: When playing Fruit Ninja on your phone, you ignore incoming calls and text messages.

Warning Sign #5: You avoid using your phone to make calls or answer texts unless it's plugged in. Drain the battery and cut your play time short? Out of the question.

Warning Sign #6:  You've begun to extrapolate life lessons from this seemingly meaningless game, i.e. "When things slow down, it's a good time to get organized" or "Avoid bombs"

Okay, that's all for now. This post just ate up all the free time I had today that isn't already set aside....can she break 700??? Wish me luck ;)

Break the Chain

Chain reaction

Chained to you

Chain of command

Captain of my sea

Shepherd of the flock

Yet, I walk in the valley, still wanting

Wanting love

Wanting hope

Wanting peace

But all the pieces are scattered

Some destroyed, some lost

I can't put it back the way it was

And in this way I see

You're letting go, I'm free

But still the chain leads back to me

Twisted and tangled

My body's in knots

I long for the stretch of release

And hope that when the last link breaks

I'll find myself underneath

Battered and broken, but still breathing

And when I gasp that first breath

And finally cut this rotting cord

I'll be born

Teen Angst

Another find from the AZ storage unit...here are a few poems written during my freshman year of high school. It was a dark time. But don't worry. I'm still alive.

The Awaited Day
(Sept. 20, 1996)

How lonely is the soul
At the pit of my despair
How deep is the cut
And is it really there
Did it really happen
Or is it all just in my head
I expected them to cry with me
But they laughed at me instead

How many are the tears
That fall now from my eyes
How real is my revealing
How fake is my disguise
What do my eyes say now
The windows of my soul
They are guarded by the shield
That protects the empty hole

Who is next to break my heart
Am I again to be betrayed
Have I come back with too much faith
Will the price be something I can't pay?

How long have I been crying
And do I really suffer now?
How long before I laugh again
Have I really forgotten how?
They don't believe my tears are real
They see this as a stupid game
But I can see the end of my desperation
Death shall be my claim to fame...


Life is...
(Dec. 6, 1996)

Life is a joke that nobody gets
Life is death row without any lets
Life is a prison where no one is free
Life is a lock with a missing key
Life is a maze with no way out
Life is a troubled mind full of doubt
Life is a lie with no truth to tell
Life is a broken bird that just fell
Life is a tiger, starving to death
Life is two worst enemies just met
Life is a map with no north or south
Life is a witness that won't open her mouth
Life is a secret that nobody knows
Life is a dying, withered red rose
Life is a flower that loses its scent
Life is the words that you never meant
Life is a heart, breaking in two
Life is a killer, that killer is you
Life is a long, dark, endless night
It's all over now...turn off the light

Violence is never the answer (then why is it so effective?)

From a very young age I was taught that violence is wrong, that it solves nothing, and that we should use our words to win arguments. Seems like sound logic to me (and I'm pretty sure that most people I know would agree). I'm not a proponent of war, gang violence, or spanking. However, recent discussions, observations, and events are challenging this long-held absolute, and hinting at the possibility that there may be some cases where violence is indeed the most effective, perhaps the only, course of action. But does that make it right?

Ah, there's that word again. What does it mean to be "right," anyway? Right according to whom? Society? Authorities? God? We have written laws which govern society, but the unwritten laws of that society seem to stick us between a rock and a hard place. I'm not just talking about "societal norms" that serve to distinguish the "normal" people from the rest of us, but also personal and group value systems that fill in any ambiguity. How these systems are formed and whether they are defensible is a fascinating question, but an attempt to answer it would not only be frustrating as hell, it would cause me to digress even further from my point, so I'll leave it alone for now.

If I haven't lost you yet, let me explain. I recently observed two entirely separate incidents which on the surface appear similar, but under further review are actually quite different.

The first was actually a fictional event, a scene on my favorite show involving a group of 6th graders on the first day of school. Shane, one of the show's lead characters, is new at the school and is hoping to escape the ruthless bullying he endured in previous years. His friend Isabelle beseeches him to accept his fate with her words of wisdom: "If only life were a Judd Apatow movie where geeks ruled the world, but it's not, so let's just suck it up." Shane shrugs her off and asks someone who the most popular kid in school is. "Dan" is pointed out. Shane walks over to Dan, introduces himself, and then suddenly smacks him in the face with a lunch tray, knocking him out of him seat. From that point on Shane is feared and admired by everyone at his school.

The second event was related to me by my friend's teenage son (I'll call him Mark), who is also in 6th grade. Mark is a sweet kid and has been bullied, ridiculed and otherwise antagonized since the first day of school. Last week he lost his cool when one of the popular kids got in his face and taunted him, calling him names. Mark channeled his pent up rage to his fist and punched the kid, knocking him over and bloodying his nose. A week later, Mark is now one of the most popular kids at school and has a girlfriend.

Perhaps due to the overcrowding and overall inadequacy of the California Public School System (and also the unwritten jr high code that discourages "tattling" when you are attacked by a classmate), neither Shane nor Mark experienced any repercussions from school authorities. However, even if they had, I doubt they would regret their approach, given the results achieved by their single, relatively mild act of violence.

Allow me to point out the subtle difference: In Shane's case, the attack was unprovoked. It was a premeditated maneuver to establish his dominance and avoid being a target. In Mark's case, however, you might say that the other kid "deserved it" - after months of pestering, Mark finally had enough. His reaction was almost animalistic - in the moment - while nonetheless effective. So now that we've established the intent, is Shane's act worse than Mark's?

Maybe this is an obvious yes for some, but I can't seem to wrap my brain around it. Why does it matter whether the act was premeditated? Why do premeditated killers receive a harsher punishment than those who kill in the heat of passion? Our lawmakers have decided that someone who willingly and consciously breaks the law is more dangerous than someone who cannot control his/her impulses. I'm not sure I agree with this determination.
According to mens rea, "the act does not make a person guilty unless the mind be also guilty." So if Mark acted on impulse, he did not have a guilty mind. On the other hand, Shane had intent, though end his goal was not to hurt Dan. I suppose I can agree that Shane's premeditation indicates disregard for the rights of others, and that is not good, but does that make it worse than Mark just "losing it?"

Then there's the question of moral priority and justifiable violence. If the code of teenagers makes being "popular" more important than almost anything, can we blame Shane or Mark for their actions? What other recourse did they have? I originally made the mistake of applying adult logic to this question. But approaches like "use your words" and "kill them with kindness" can rarely be applied successfully in the junior high setting. ("Well, [slap] me with a dictionary, kid. Get beat up much?")

In twisted teenage logic, I think both boys felt they were acting in self-defense, though Shane's strike was more preemptive. If social acceptance is linked to a sense of security (and I believe it is), isn't self-defense a reasonable excuse, even if no real physical danger was present?

Are they simply moral failures because their priorities are out of whack? If so, then at what age do we start demanding that their priorities be in order? Or do we allow moral mismanagement to continue into adulthood, so long as no laws are broken?

Answers

What do you do
when you want to go home
but you're not sure where that is?
Do you turn?
Do you turn back?
Do you promenade?
Are you left or right-handed?
What's your sign?
Do you want to dance?
Do you know Jesus
Do you have any grey poipon
Pardon me, sir, but I have one question...

You see I thought for a minute
That you might have an idea
But now as I watch you sitting there
Pretending...
Imparting your words of wisdom
Regarding this or that
Or was it the other thing?
I can't remember anymore

Bringing us back to the point
Which is...
that there have always been
more questions, than answers.
And that is, after all, what we live for.
The answers are always, at least, a pause if not a resolution.
It's always the questions which keep us moving,
which make us wake up in the morning
to pursue the elusive answer.

Sometimes I just wish I could go back to the time
When I didn't know...
Oh, what I wouldn't give to wonder again!

It's the questions we love to love
Answers are so final.

(this was the last poem written in the notebook shared by Kristy & Sharon)

Special

Another gem from the Kristy-Sharon archives...

Moving on...
trying to find
something
to believe in

it's not here.
Is it there?
Is it in the smiling eyes
of a stranger?
Is it in a familiar face?
It must be outside.
How could it be inside me?

In this vacant place
Where no one speaks
And the only sound
Is the breath of the billion stars
Watching over a thousand broken hearts

How did I come to be here?
Why did I choose this vantage point?
And what is the point, after all?

I'm not sure there is one
But that's not to say
That all the things they said
Aren't so

And besides,
they sent flowers.
And remembered my birthday.
And made me feel special.

So here we are, in this place
I think I like it here
But I wonder when I'll stop turning to you
To ask you where we are

Maybe when you don't send me flowers
or remember my birthday
or make me feel special.

Back in Time...and the Coyote poem

I arrived in Arizona 10 days ago. Since then it's been a whirlwind of old friends, resurrected memories, and personal healing on the deepest of levels. I found several books of poetry from high school and some from my first few years of motherhood. As I prepare to return home to California, I thought I would honor my dear friend Sharon and record our poem, unofficially referred to as "the Coyote poem" here in cyberspace. This was written in 2004, on the patio of our N Phoenix apartment. We passed a notebook back and forth for a few hours, and this poem was the result.

Untitled
by Kristy & Sharon

If the end is just on the other side
and so is the beginning
then where do we start and when do we stop
and what do we do in the middle
And what if the middle is what we were seeking, after all
And then when we finally realize
it's too late and we can't turn back
and we're left with what we began
and we finally hear our voices coming back from the mirror
No! Wait! that's visual (turn the page)

That's all wrong...for in this place
that we've found ourselves in
There is no sight...
There is no sound

It's the void
The empty place
Where only your voice echoes
Like your mother's voice
calling you
home
to dinner
or breakfast
or even the lunch you had no time for
until later
and it's late now
and someone is angry
and you're hungry
and you're home

Have you ever walked into a room
and then forgot what you came for
And for a moment you look around, lost...
And then, you turn
and right there are familiar eyes in a stranger's face
But you know them
And so you stare
Standing there
And stop to fix your hair
Meanwhile avoiding the eyes
That know too much
And yet know nothing about how you came to be here now
And yet
you toss your hair
and smile
(not too broadly)
and seat yourself
with just enough assurance
And then you blink

And it's gone
And everything you thought you knew has left
And you're left staring
Into the eyes that whisper
So softly you can barely hear
And you tilt your head
Because someone once said
You can hear better at an angle
But when you close your eyes and listen...
Suddenly you are once again aware
So you sit up straight
And you blink

I feel you tonight.
The liars and the thieves are still awake, somewhere
But I feel you.
And even though you aren't saying a word
(which is rare)
I hear you speaking to me from somewhere
Calling me out...
Calling me down
Calling me up
Calling

Like coyotes calling.
Calling me to the mountain
For dinner
or breakfast
or lunch
And I'm hungry
And I might be in trouble

And I'm scared
Will you hold me?
And will you kiss away all my fears?
Because someday you'll be here
Close enough to know that all these tears
Were not for you, or for the liars nor the thieves
But still I cry
And I know you're out there calling
Calling me
Calling me up
Calling me down
Calling me to breakfast
or dinner
but I'm late for lunch
And someone is angry
and I'm frightened
and I'm hungry
And I want to go home

I'm sitting down to dinner
or breakfast or lunch
And I look out the window
And see a coyote, smiling
And I know his teeth
smiling
And I know all the teeth
smiling
And he knows I know
And we smile
Because he's hungry
and I'm smiling
And then he blinks
And my smile fades
And I can't believe what I'm seeing
And his eyes flash
And he knows I know
And he smiles
And I know he'll turn and run
with his ears turned back
smiling
And I will always see him running
with his ears turned back
and his teeth
smiling
And I hear him
And he's smiling.
And he has run away
smiling
But he'll be back
And so I sit and wait
Staring once again into the eyes of the familiar stranger
Those eyes, strangely familiar
And the silence is so thick
it's smothering
And I can't hear
And I can't see

But I think I know something...
And I think it's this...
I'm late
And
I'm hungry
And
I'm frightened
And
I'm home.

So this is the end
or the beginning
or the middle
I'm not sure
But I know enough
not to blink while I'm smiling

Majority Rules

The concept of "Majority Rules" is pretty well understood by most I think, especially those of us who had siblings with whom we argued endlessly over dinner choices, tv programs, candy flavors, and anything else we could think of. Eventually, one of us would put the question to a vote, and it would be decided. "Majority rules!" the victor would exclaim.

This line of thinking is literally elementary. However, until the other night, I had not fully made the connection to teenage (and pre-teen) social dynamics. 

Our friend Louie, an 12 year old boy who has this year entered the dark and scary world of junior high, was recently explaining to me the different "classes" by which students are categorized in junior high and through high school. I find it fascinating that the dynamics are so similar 10, 20 years later. I suppose I shouldn't be quite so shocked that this generation mirrors mine and the ones before it. 

Though I have since matured in my value judgments of myself and others, I must admit that I took rejection very personally in high school. I had been pegged a "nerd" at some point in Junior High and the label seemed to follow me, preventing me from experiencing the acceptance and "popularity" that at the time, I thought would fill the void in me. 

Why, I wondered, do people pick on the higher performing students? Since when is being smart a bad thing? Then it hit me. Majority rules. Look at the top 5% in your typical American high school. They seem so busy with academia and each other, they hardly notice that other people treat them poorly. Most of them in fact seem content with their position. And who are those that attack them? It seems that it's the students on the other end of the scale, the bottom 25% or so, that terrorize those at the top. And because there are more students in the bottom 25% than the top 5%, majority rules, and the rest of the students follow along. All of the sudden the ranks are flipped, and those at the bottom are now the most powerful, socially speaking that is. But aha! The moment of realization. The majority has only ruled on the treatment of these so called "nerds." Their personal worth, societal value, who they are and who they might become one day, is not in question. Didn't everyone still recognize that they would most likely succeed? Our judgment then seems to be attacking the value of success itself. I suppose that would explain why so many of these "popular" kids end up making so little of their lives. Their denial of success as a goal goes beyond high school, just as the brains and work ethic of high performing students tend to afford them opportunities that average and low-performing students will never know.

I recently learned of a Japanese video game that simulates high school - only in this game, the better students are also the most popular. Hmm, maybe American teenagers have some things to learn from the Japanese....

On Creationism, Baptism, and Dinosaurs

WARNING! It is not my intent to alienate anyone with my blog. I simply want to share my experiences and a few amusing antecdotes. So I will preface this story with a cautionary statement: For my religious friends and family members, this post contains scientific logic that may offend you.

Having been force-fed religious ideology from about the age of 6 until I moved out on my own at 18, I have been determined to let my son enjoy the religious freedom so promised us by our forefathers. I held tightly to the hope that the would be able to individuate from the differing opinions of those he knew and respected. I imagined him spending his childhood gathering information, perhaps taking his adolescent years to ponder and reflect, and by the time he reached adulthood I figured he would have a good idea what he believed and what his truths were. Therefore, I did not object when my father invited Jeremiah to go to church with him. It wasn't long before I began to wonder if there was really such a thing as an objective understanding of God and his dealings with man. When Jer informed me that I was going to "the telestial kingdom" (mormon-speak for hell") because I occasionally had a glass of wine or beer with dinner, I became concerned. I will admit that I celebrated a small victory the day he came home from church and tearfully asked me what I would do if God asked me to sacrifice my only son (why they teach the story of Abraham & Isaac to 7 year olds, I do not know). I held him close and reassured him that if such a request were ever made of me, I would tell God to go suck an egg. He laughed and hugged me, then ran off to play. For about the next 8 months he attended church with my father and other family members off and on, though would sometimes opt to stay home or attend a party or other engagement in lieu of church. There wasn't any more talk of hell, alcohol, or human sacrifice, so I relaxed and did my best to let him enjoy himself, figuring he would come to me if he had questions.
Then he turned 8, which according to the mormon religion, is the "age of accountability" and therefore the age at which children can be baptized and make their "covenants" with God. For those that are unfamiliar with this concept, I'll offer a simplified explanation: in exchange for eternal life, a proverbial "get out of hell free" card, and the constant companionship of the holy spirit, children pledge their faith and 10% of all future earnings. Additionally, they promise to keep the commandments of the church, or at least repent when they fail to do so. Baptism for Mormons is a BIG DEAL, sort of a right of passage. Missionaries, evangelists, and other overzealous members compare stats to measure success, sort of like the Facebook friend-tracker ("Who's here because of YOU?"). So you can imagine that having an unbaptized 8-year old in a mormon church is sort of like bringing a juicy steak to a pack of hungry junkyard dogs.
Whether or not I think it's beneficial, I can understand a small child (especially one whose father is absent) finding comfort in the idea that an all-powerful magnificent man in the sky is watching out for him and keeping him safe. Therefore I did my best not to discourage Jeremiah from that notion, if that was what he chose to believe. When he told me he wanted to be baptized because "it sounds like fun," I told him I wanted to make sure he understood what exactly he was signing up for, so he would have to go through the same process as a teen or adult convert. We signed up for the missionary discussions and he began to learn what it was all about. I kept a careful ear out for any topics that seemed to be left out. At first I was satisfied by their candor, but then we came to the subject of creation. I kept quiet as they explained their theories to him, and waited. Two nights later he approached me in the kitchen as I was washing dishes. "Mom, I have a question."
Me: "What is it, bud?"
Jer: "How did Jesus create the earth in the beginning if he wasn't born until the New Testament?"
Me: "Well, Christians believe that Jesus was here as a spirit long before he came to earth as a man."
Jer: "So, how long ago was he here?"
Me: "About 2000 years" (I went on to explain the gregorian calendar and BC vs. AD)
Jer: "So how long before he was here did he make the earth?"
Me: "According to the church, less than 100,000 years. But scientists believe the earth was formed billions of years ago."
He remembers the Rube Goldberg video I showed him on evolution the previous year. "So if the earth is really only 100,000 years old, how could the dinosaurs have been here?"
His question gave me pause. How did they explain dinosaurs? I couldn't remember ever being given a definition explanation. "I think some people just don't think about it. Others question whether dinosaurs ever existed."
Jer: "Well then where did all those bones come from?"
Me: "Some people think the dinosaurs were here at the same time as humans."
Jer stood there and stared at me a moment, his mouth gaped open. Then he put his hand on his hip. "Well, that's just Stupid."
I did my best to hold back a laugh. "Don't look at me, you're the one who wants to join them!"
"Well, so much for that" he said and dashed out of the room to go play with his legos.
WHEW! Thank "god" for the inquisitive nature of small minds, and the very basic level of logic that my now-8-1/2-year old seems to possess. Somehow I knew he would figure it out. The force is strong with this one. :)