I've started reading this new series on my Kindle: The Black Dagger Brotherhood. I went searching for fantasy novels with a side of romance, and popped up. It's a vampire series about a group of male vamps who fight against the "Lessening Society" who is bent on destroying the vampire race. They stories also follow the storylines of their love lives.
When I downloaded the first book, I was excited. I wanted to read the storyline of the war between the vamps and the "lessers" as they are called. And that plot is in there, but it takes a very, very small backseat to the love stories. I confess myself disappointed.
I like romance novels, don't get me wrong. I am a girl. I like cheesy, dramatic lines delivered by men unlike anyone you'll ever meet in real life. But these books simultaneously suck me in (to the plot about the lessers and the plot of the romance) and repulse me by the overwhelming amount of, and unbelievable nature of, sex.
It seems like the more fantasy romance novels I read, the more I am convinced that romance writers only use the fantasy backdrop to create obnoxiously unbelievable heroes and borderline pornography. Seriously. There is a group of like, six, of these guys and they're all the studliest, super-hung, amazing physical specimens that break women into drooling piles of quivering nerves. In the second book, the main vamp character is named Rhage (yes, that right, Rhage. With an H.). He has this curse that when he suffers intense pain, or anger, or apparently sexual attraction, he transforms into a scaly, dragon-like beast. Well, of course the romance part of the novel has to allow for the woman he loves to either accept or reject "his beast" as the writer has termed it. Oh, not only does she accept it as part of him, she lets it come out while they're doing it.
I'm sorry, what? This female character has just be re-diagnosed with leukemia and she decides she'd loved to have sex with a dragon? Wow.
I do not defend romance as a genre as being anywhere near a higher class of literature. It's entertaining smut, truthfully. They're formulaic and use very little imagination and don't exactly bring the human condition into sharp perspective. But writers like Nicholas Sparks manage to write beautiful love stories, have a little fade to black when the nooky starts happening, and I devour the books. Fantasy romance, in my opinion ranks even lower that just straight romance novels, and that's saying something.
This "Black Dagger Brotherhood" series, though. I'm on book three and I might just have to stop after this. I like the plot of the war and restoration of the vampire race, but I just don't know if I want to continue to wade through all the crap to get there. And frankly, some of its grossing me out.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Metal and stone
The theme yesterday on the 10th anniversary of 9/11/01 seemed to be, "Where were you?" and, "How has your life changed as a result?"
Well, at the risk of being boring and redundant, I'm going to spend a few minutes reflecting.
9/11 wasn't just a tragic event. It is my generation's Pearl Harbor, Kennedy assassination. It was the moment of a young life that will forever be etched into one's mind. It will be the marker by which a life is measured: before the Twin Towers fell and after.
Before I never had a reason to feel anything but secure in a country that boasted bravery and freedom. Battles that spilled blood onto American soil were left to the history texts; things like that didn't happen in our world. In our safe, modern, free world.
Until an airplane struck a tower of metal and stone in a city so far away yet too near to my tiny Midwestern town. I, like most everybody, heard about the first impact and thought, "How does someone crash into a skyscraper?" It never entered my mind that someone would do it on purpose. Until the second plane hit. And then the third. And then the fourth one went down in a field outside of a town smaller than my own.
I was in class when another faculty member rushed in and told us to turn on the tv, then left immediately to tell the next class. But after the first impact, there seemed to exist and unspoken agreement between the teachers and the students. The class material was irrelevant. The television in each classroom stayed on. The classes without tvs poured into rooms that had them. Few spoke. The halls were as silent as they are in the dead of night, when no one is around to hear the creaking of the old lockers. Faculty, staff, and students watched in rapt attention and horror as a plane struck the second tower, and still when the pillars that guarded New York's skyline fell crumbling, reminding us that our mark on this Earth will never be as permanent as we think it will be.
Would it be so unreasonable to believe that until that day, I'd never even heard of the World Trade Center? I knew nothing about it. Back in a town entrenched on the Mississippi River, things that happened in New York City were foreign and exotic. As a 16-year-old girl, my life seemed filled with my own immediate surroundings.
Classes got out early, parents in a panic to pick up their children and get them home. Home, into more buildings made of stone and metal that no longer felt as safe as they always had. Dinner was eaten in front of the tv that night. Whatever was in the house that could be made into a sandwich was, and we watched as the country tried to make sense of what had happened. Tried to understand that there were people in this world who would kill mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and friends because they didn't like the way those people lived their lives. Because they had been born on a particular piece of earth.
Before 9/11/01 my world was very small. After, my world became too big. Things like "terrorist alert levels" became common in news broadcasts. Grief struck so many, but remained alien to me, a young girl who didn't understand. I could no longer believe that the American Dream was something that everybody wanted, but had to realize it was also something that some wanted to destroy. That were people in this world who had a capacity for the kind of evil and hatred that kills innocent men, women, and children.
I knew nobody in the Twin Towers that day. I'm not even sure if I knew anyone who lived in New York at that time. But my world shifted, just like everybody else. As a child, it was the moment when I had to confront the real world. It was thrust into my consciousness by crumbling steel and concrete.
We all watched in horror that day. The horror still feels fresh today. I hope that there will not be a day when those of us who were watching will become numb to the tragedy of what occurred. Because that will mean that we have started to forget. To forget what it felt like to watch people just like us--who got up in the morning, went to school or work, and never knew they wouldn't come home again--forget what it felt like to watch their lives stolen. The absolute, astonishing horror of watching life being extinguished on live television, as we stood by helplessly.
I will not pretend to know what those families live through every day. 9/11 happened to all of us, but it mostly happened to them. It happened to someone whose life was probably exactly like my own, only in a different place. All because she happened to be born on a particular piece of earth.
It will always be a defining moment in my life because it didn't happen to me, but it did happen to me, too, and I will never forget.
Well, at the risk of being boring and redundant, I'm going to spend a few minutes reflecting.
9/11 wasn't just a tragic event. It is my generation's Pearl Harbor, Kennedy assassination. It was the moment of a young life that will forever be etched into one's mind. It will be the marker by which a life is measured: before the Twin Towers fell and after.
Before I never had a reason to feel anything but secure in a country that boasted bravery and freedom. Battles that spilled blood onto American soil were left to the history texts; things like that didn't happen in our world. In our safe, modern, free world.
Until an airplane struck a tower of metal and stone in a city so far away yet too near to my tiny Midwestern town. I, like most everybody, heard about the first impact and thought, "How does someone crash into a skyscraper?" It never entered my mind that someone would do it on purpose. Until the second plane hit. And then the third. And then the fourth one went down in a field outside of a town smaller than my own.
I was in class when another faculty member rushed in and told us to turn on the tv, then left immediately to tell the next class. But after the first impact, there seemed to exist and unspoken agreement between the teachers and the students. The class material was irrelevant. The television in each classroom stayed on. The classes without tvs poured into rooms that had them. Few spoke. The halls were as silent as they are in the dead of night, when no one is around to hear the creaking of the old lockers. Faculty, staff, and students watched in rapt attention and horror as a plane struck the second tower, and still when the pillars that guarded New York's skyline fell crumbling, reminding us that our mark on this Earth will never be as permanent as we think it will be.
Would it be so unreasonable to believe that until that day, I'd never even heard of the World Trade Center? I knew nothing about it. Back in a town entrenched on the Mississippi River, things that happened in New York City were foreign and exotic. As a 16-year-old girl, my life seemed filled with my own immediate surroundings.
Classes got out early, parents in a panic to pick up their children and get them home. Home, into more buildings made of stone and metal that no longer felt as safe as they always had. Dinner was eaten in front of the tv that night. Whatever was in the house that could be made into a sandwich was, and we watched as the country tried to make sense of what had happened. Tried to understand that there were people in this world who would kill mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and friends because they didn't like the way those people lived their lives. Because they had been born on a particular piece of earth.
Before 9/11/01 my world was very small. After, my world became too big. Things like "terrorist alert levels" became common in news broadcasts. Grief struck so many, but remained alien to me, a young girl who didn't understand. I could no longer believe that the American Dream was something that everybody wanted, but had to realize it was also something that some wanted to destroy. That were people in this world who had a capacity for the kind of evil and hatred that kills innocent men, women, and children.
I knew nobody in the Twin Towers that day. I'm not even sure if I knew anyone who lived in New York at that time. But my world shifted, just like everybody else. As a child, it was the moment when I had to confront the real world. It was thrust into my consciousness by crumbling steel and concrete.
We all watched in horror that day. The horror still feels fresh today. I hope that there will not be a day when those of us who were watching will become numb to the tragedy of what occurred. Because that will mean that we have started to forget. To forget what it felt like to watch people just like us--who got up in the morning, went to school or work, and never knew they wouldn't come home again--forget what it felt like to watch their lives stolen. The absolute, astonishing horror of watching life being extinguished on live television, as we stood by helplessly.
I will not pretend to know what those families live through every day. 9/11 happened to all of us, but it mostly happened to them. It happened to someone whose life was probably exactly like my own, only in a different place. All because she happened to be born on a particular piece of earth.
It will always be a defining moment in my life because it didn't happen to me, but it did happen to me, too, and I will never forget.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sometimes, it's all a matter of perspective.
I know that I've ranted about having to work at KMart and all the crazy and stressful things that have happened to me while there. But a friend of my shared this link on facebook, and it made me so, so happy that I worked at KMart.
Man with Exposed Erection Arrested Outside of Walmart
Man with Exposed Erection Arrested Outside of Walmart
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Addition to the previous post:
I forgot to mention these in my previous posting:
Yes, everyone, that's correct. We now carry socks designed to be worn with flip flops.
Is there no shame anymore?
Yes, everyone, that's correct. We now carry socks designed to be worn with flip flops.
Is there no shame anymore?
Monday, July 25, 2011
Deep Thoughts from KMart
Deep thoughts from today's shift of freight at KMart:
You make think you've seen ugly purses, but I present to you the Ugliest Purse Ever:
And it comes in black, silver, and pink in addition to giant-purple-people-eater.
You know that saying, "Don't count your chickens before they hatch"? Well, I'm tweaking that for KMart freight: "Don't hatch your rubber duckies before you count them." We got in BOXES of rubber duckies for infants. I took them out of the boxes, and threw the boxes out before counting them. And I had to count them to put them on locator in our stockroom. There were approximately this many:
(In actuality, there were 300. 100 per box. So I didn't have to count after the first 100, once I figured out how many were in each bag that was inside the boxes. But can you imagine counting 100 rubber duckies by hand? Just try. It's not fun.)
And of course, there were the incredibly smart people who thought they could get away with swapping a UPC for a $7.99 car accessory for a $50 motorcycle battery and the cashier wouldn't notice it. And it left me doing this:
Goodnight folks. May tomorrow bring shenanigans for you to enjoy.
You make think you've seen ugly purses, but I present to you the Ugliest Purse Ever:
And it comes in black, silver, and pink in addition to giant-purple-people-eater.
You know that saying, "Don't count your chickens before they hatch"? Well, I'm tweaking that for KMart freight: "Don't hatch your rubber duckies before you count them." We got in BOXES of rubber duckies for infants. I took them out of the boxes, and threw the boxes out before counting them. And I had to count them to put them on locator in our stockroom. There were approximately this many:
(In actuality, there were 300. 100 per box. So I didn't have to count after the first 100, once I figured out how many were in each bag that was inside the boxes. But can you imagine counting 100 rubber duckies by hand? Just try. It's not fun.)
And of course, there were the incredibly smart people who thought they could get away with swapping a UPC for a $7.99 car accessory for a $50 motorcycle battery and the cashier wouldn't notice it. And it left me doing this:
Goodnight folks. May tomorrow bring shenanigans for you to enjoy.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Let it be.
People are sometimes so predictable and benign that it's funny. Like those that come into KMart. Sure, I complain about stupidity and rudeness, but honestly, most of the people I've written about on here are completely harmless. They just think that some of life's tiniest road bumps are huge obstacles; and no one taught them to control their anger (it was probably indulged by bad parenting) or to treat everyone with respect.
Other times, people surprise me. Some are humbling surprises of the wealth of kindness that can be found in the world. When I read about people putting their lives in danger to save a loved one, or this kid who who gives to those he knows need it more. There is a remarkable amount of goodness in the world, the problem is that usually, the bad gets more attention.
Take the Westboro Baptist Church. They're coming to my state this week, to Springfield, IL, to be exact, to protest in the capital. Their website says they are protesting at the capital because of the attempts of the state of Illinois to block their right to protest, and they're also apparently protesting at some KISS concert because KISS fans don't like them either. Well, frankly, trying to block their protesting may be one thing that the state of Illinois actually did RIGHT, and this may be the one thing I have in common with KISS fans. Go figure. I, quite honestly, have a few dogs in this fight. They protest military funerals. My Grandfather was in the Navy, my brother is in the Army. They hate Jews. My brother, sister-in-law, and her family are Jewish. They hate homosexuals. I have quite a few gay friends. So when people hate my people, I get angry.
I'd never been to their website before I saw one of my friends commenting on a Facebook event trying to rally people to go protest their protest. So I thought I'd check it out, and while it did make me angry, oh did it light a fire under my ass, it also made me so sad for those people. Not the ones being protested, but the protesters. How terrible must it be to live with so much hatred in your heart? They hate law makers, they hate this country for "allowing" homosexuality, they hate other religions, they hate, it seems, everything. And I feel bad for them, because they'll never really know love or happiness, because they will spend their whole lives following others they hate around a land they hate, trying to spread hate.
I'm not an expert on religion. I haven't read the Bible cover to cover (I'm a bad Catholic, what can I say?) but I do know that the message I've been taught since I was little was a message of love, not hate. There are all sorts of places in the Bible, Old and New Testament alike, where the words are ambiguous, sometimes even seeming to advocate anger, hatred, and violence, like the famous, "I come not to bring peace, but a sword."
I could go on and on about places in the Bible where Jesus talks about loving one another, and suspending judgement of your fellow man, but I won't. Because I think this even goes outside of religion. People who aren't religious get fired up about these folks, so it's not just religious sensibilities that they're offending. Even were I not religious (and my level varies from day to day, truthfully), I would still be angered and saddened by this group of people. Who are they hurting but themselves? If we all just ignored them, maybe even gave them pity (because let's face it, they're pathetic), maybe they'd go away. They want people to get angry. They want us to stomp and tirade against them, becuase they see that as their message being clear, inciting a response, and being broadcast even further by the enraged. So maybe we should just stop giving them lip service and start ignoring their hate-filled asses. If they've got no one left to preach to, their existence becomes meaningless. You cannot fight fire with fire, after all. That only creates more of the same. You have to pour out the flames with cold water. So fight hatred with indifference. It's difficult to keep fighting with people who have no interest in a fight. Try hating someone who not only doesn't hate you back, but has no investment whatsoever in your hatred. It's hard, if not impossible, to sustain.
Other times, people surprise me. Some are humbling surprises of the wealth of kindness that can be found in the world. When I read about people putting their lives in danger to save a loved one, or this kid who who gives to those he knows need it more. There is a remarkable amount of goodness in the world, the problem is that usually, the bad gets more attention.
Take the Westboro Baptist Church. They're coming to my state this week, to Springfield, IL, to be exact, to protest in the capital. Their website says they are protesting at the capital because of the attempts of the state of Illinois to block their right to protest, and they're also apparently protesting at some KISS concert because KISS fans don't like them either. Well, frankly, trying to block their protesting may be one thing that the state of Illinois actually did RIGHT, and this may be the one thing I have in common with KISS fans. Go figure. I, quite honestly, have a few dogs in this fight. They protest military funerals. My Grandfather was in the Navy, my brother is in the Army. They hate Jews. My brother, sister-in-law, and her family are Jewish. They hate homosexuals. I have quite a few gay friends. So when people hate my people, I get angry.
I'd never been to their website before I saw one of my friends commenting on a Facebook event trying to rally people to go protest their protest. So I thought I'd check it out, and while it did make me angry, oh did it light a fire under my ass, it also made me so sad for those people. Not the ones being protested, but the protesters. How terrible must it be to live with so much hatred in your heart? They hate law makers, they hate this country for "allowing" homosexuality, they hate other religions, they hate, it seems, everything. And I feel bad for them, because they'll never really know love or happiness, because they will spend their whole lives following others they hate around a land they hate, trying to spread hate.
I'm not an expert on religion. I haven't read the Bible cover to cover (I'm a bad Catholic, what can I say?) but I do know that the message I've been taught since I was little was a message of love, not hate. There are all sorts of places in the Bible, Old and New Testament alike, where the words are ambiguous, sometimes even seeming to advocate anger, hatred, and violence, like the famous, "I come not to bring peace, but a sword."
I could go on and on about places in the Bible where Jesus talks about loving one another, and suspending judgement of your fellow man, but I won't. Because I think this even goes outside of religion. People who aren't religious get fired up about these folks, so it's not just religious sensibilities that they're offending. Even were I not religious (and my level varies from day to day, truthfully), I would still be angered and saddened by this group of people. Who are they hurting but themselves? If we all just ignored them, maybe even gave them pity (because let's face it, they're pathetic), maybe they'd go away. They want people to get angry. They want us to stomp and tirade against them, becuase they see that as their message being clear, inciting a response, and being broadcast even further by the enraged. So maybe we should just stop giving them lip service and start ignoring their hate-filled asses. If they've got no one left to preach to, their existence becomes meaningless. You cannot fight fire with fire, after all. That only creates more of the same. You have to pour out the flames with cold water. So fight hatred with indifference. It's difficult to keep fighting with people who have no interest in a fight. Try hating someone who not only doesn't hate you back, but has no investment whatsoever in your hatred. It's hard, if not impossible, to sustain.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
How about some fries with that shake?
How many people reading this have visited a Steak n' Shake at least once? I assume that most people have, some of you probably with me at least once. In case you haven't, or you're just not aware, when one goes to Steak n' Shake, their bills come pre-split (in a way). It lists what each "seat" ordered, the total for that seat, and then the total for the entire party. It's nice, because it makes it SO easy to split a bill. No trying to remember what each person's meal cost, no trying to factor out tax so that someone doesn't grossly over or under pay. It's simple. But apparently, it's only simple for the customers.
A friend was in town last week, and we went to Steak n' Shake. We both got the same meal, except I had a milkshake and she had something else that wasn't a milkshake (was it water? tea? She reads this, so she may remember). Moving on. When the bill came, it listed each seat total, with one saying "double with cheese" and "cookies and cream shake" and the other saying "double with cheese" and "something not a shake".
(A short aside: the waitress brought my milkshake out AFTER our meals had arrived. She actually came over after we'd been waiting over 15 minutes for our food--which I'm not opposed to in a restaurant where they're actually out killing your steakburger when your order comes in. Anyway, she comes out to ask if she can refill our drinks and apologize for the wait for our meals. When she asks, "Can I get you a refill?" I tried to politely respond, "No, but you can get me my shake." Yeah, the food came within 5 minutes, and my shake arrived a little after that. I get annoyed when I go places and my appetizer isn't served prior to my main course. Imagine my displeasure that my beverage arrived post-first-bite of the burger. Not. Okay.
And now back to our feature presentation . . .)
So my friend and I go to pay our bills. I hand the cashier the check, tell her we need to split the bill, and I'm paying for the double meal and the shake. She punches approximately 26 buttons and tells me my total is $3 something. I must have given her a stupid look, because she mumbled something about a milkshake. I corrected her, again politely, that I'm not just paying for a shake (Seriously? Why would my friend come in and eat TWO of the same meals, while I sipped on my late-shake?). She gets all freaked out because she already split the bill and doesn't know how to un-split it. After calling for someone to help her and while having to wait for that person, I tell her just to ring up the whole bill. The meal was $4, so friendly and I just decide to trade cash, and I'll just swipe my debit card for the whole thing. This is, apparently, just as complicated as splitting it. It takes another 3-4 minutes before the bill is put back together, my card swiped, and the transaction finished.
And for the grand finale, she doesn't tell me until AFTER the whole incident is finished and the transaction complete that the receipt printer ran out of tape, she didn't know how to refill it, and wants to know if it's okay if I don't get a receipt, because she can't reprint it if I do. A little late, don't you think?
I guess I can't blame some of the people who come into the 'mart and assume I'm not firing on all pistons. Look at their reference points.
A friend was in town last week, and we went to Steak n' Shake. We both got the same meal, except I had a milkshake and she had something else that wasn't a milkshake (was it water? tea? She reads this, so she may remember). Moving on. When the bill came, it listed each seat total, with one saying "double with cheese" and "cookies and cream shake" and the other saying "double with cheese" and "something not a shake".
(A short aside: the waitress brought my milkshake out AFTER our meals had arrived. She actually came over after we'd been waiting over 15 minutes for our food--which I'm not opposed to in a restaurant where they're actually out killing your steakburger when your order comes in. Anyway, she comes out to ask if she can refill our drinks and apologize for the wait for our meals. When she asks, "Can I get you a refill?" I tried to politely respond, "No, but you can get me my shake." Yeah, the food came within 5 minutes, and my shake arrived a little after that. I get annoyed when I go places and my appetizer isn't served prior to my main course. Imagine my displeasure that my beverage arrived post-first-bite of the burger. Not. Okay.
And now back to our feature presentation . . .)
So my friend and I go to pay our bills. I hand the cashier the check, tell her we need to split the bill, and I'm paying for the double meal and the shake. She punches approximately 26 buttons and tells me my total is $3 something. I must have given her a stupid look, because she mumbled something about a milkshake. I corrected her, again politely, that I'm not just paying for a shake (Seriously? Why would my friend come in and eat TWO of the same meals, while I sipped on my late-shake?). She gets all freaked out because she already split the bill and doesn't know how to un-split it. After calling for someone to help her and while having to wait for that person, I tell her just to ring up the whole bill. The meal was $4, so friendly and I just decide to trade cash, and I'll just swipe my debit card for the whole thing. This is, apparently, just as complicated as splitting it. It takes another 3-4 minutes before the bill is put back together, my card swiped, and the transaction finished.
And for the grand finale, she doesn't tell me until AFTER the whole incident is finished and the transaction complete that the receipt printer ran out of tape, she didn't know how to refill it, and wants to know if it's okay if I don't get a receipt, because she can't reprint it if I do. A little late, don't you think?
I guess I can't blame some of the people who come into the 'mart and assume I'm not firing on all pistons. Look at their reference points.
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