A New Perspective.

“Maybe who we are isn’t so much about what we do, but rather what we’re capable of when we least expect it.” -Jodi Picoult

        I moved away from home for the first time to attend University out of province. I've never been so displaced, left alone amongst the buzz of the city's fast-paced movement where there was never a break in my schedule, and failing a test meant the end of the world. Calling home was never the first priority on my list, as I barely stopped to breathe. I had just returned back to Halifax after spending Christmas break at home, ready to slip back into the endless routine of lengthy days where classes and homework turned me into a mindless drone. I woke up early after my first night back and began my daily routine. I was surprised at how easily I was able to slip back into the motions, almost mechanically after being away for so long. I heated up the iron to curl my hair when I heard the faint buzzing of my phone over the music that had been playing on the radio. I usually just let it buzz, because my parents were the only ones who opted not to text me first, and I'd call them back when I wasn't busy. Looking at the clock, I saw that I had a little time left before class, so I answered the phone. Nothing that I had experienced could have ever prepared me for that phonecall. 

       "I'm calling from the G.B Cross Memorial Hospital", the voice said. "There's been an accident with your mother". At that moment, I could feel the strength being pulled from my body as I descended, dazed, and crumpled into a heap on the floor. I could feel the walls crushing in on me and even though the buzz of the city was outside my window, I heard nothing but the voice on the other end of the receiver. Next came my father, sobbing too much to produce a complete sentence, "Massive heart attack... serious... come home". I ran around my room, void of all emotion, packing a bag full useless things in my frenzy and took off to the airport for the first flight home. When I landed, I learned that my Mother had gone in for a routine day surgery, but when the anaesthesia kicked in, her heart stopped. She flatlined 7 times, the last time being with a massive heart attack. They had been keeping her on life support until I got home, as there was less than a 1% chance of her bouncing back.

       I always thought that if anything happened to one of my parents, being an only child, I would go into a fit of hysteria. I thought that I wouldn't be able to function, that I'd just succumb to the madness and that would be the end of me. Life, it turns out, goes on. There is no cosmic rule that grants you immunity from the pain just because you have come face-to-face with a catastrophe, but life finds a way you strength. The sun still rises and you do what needs to be done. You never really find out how strong you are until being strong is the only option you have. My first thought was about how stupid it was to worry about my mid terms. They were just silly little tests that meant nothing. My second thought was how stupid it was that my first thought was about University, my third, how much I regretted not calling home more often. Could I even remember the last conversation that I had with my Mother? I sat mindlessly in the hospital, revelling in memories and hoping, wishing that this was all a horrible dream that I would soon wake up from. 

       Over the next few days, a miracle happened. My mother woke up. Not only did she wake up, but she requested to have a pen and paper to write her thoughts down because she was still hooked up to breathing tubes and couldn't speak. The doctors were astounded, as they were preparing for an autopsy. Waking up from 7 flatlines is one thing, but waking up with no brain damage is unheard of. With pen in hand, she wrote this: 

         A week later, my Mother had been discharged - she was home and healthy. The doctors still don't know what happened, but her heart shows no damage or abnormalities. She's nothing short of a miracle. I believe that this happened for a reason - to allow not only me, but everyone who experienced this scare to appreciate what's in front of them, to slow down and try not to worry about the little things that somehow get turned into big things in our twisted perceptions of reality. I have been a different person since witnessing how quickly things can change in an instant. Sometimes, all we need is a shift in perspective, a chance to look at a situation in a different way in order to focus on what’s really important.

Considerable Conundrum.

       I was browsing the music section at Coles the other day, and I was appalled by this sight. It's insane that The Beatles could be stored on the same shelf as Justin Beiber. The fact that the authors names are stored in alphabetical order would explain it, making the conundrum a mere act of chance, but this got me thinking about the whole situation on another level. This juxtaposition had sparked something much deeper than book placement. 

       There are countless groups and fan pages dedicated to the ongoing (pointless) debate; The Beatles Vs. Justin Beiber. I can't even believe that people would compare the two. The debate would be ended as soon as it had begun. The Beatles weren't just a band, they were a movement. They fought for peace, equality and love. Justin Beiber fights for... well, other than his eenie meenie miney moe lover, it isn't quite clear. Beiber doesn't even play - let alone WRITE - his own music, while there are entire university courses which focus solely on studying the meaningful lyrics of The Beatles album 'Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club'. Justin is a puppett that is controlled by the industry, designed to make young girls fall in love with his 'teen heart-throb' appearence, while the industry takes their money. The Beatles changed rock and roll forever. The only thing that Justin Beiber has contributed in, is making adolescent girls have a reason to change their underwear. 

       When Justin Beiber comes up with an album as epic and monumental, and that makes as much of a cultural impact as 'Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band', then you can talk. 

If I Could write you a song.

If I could write a song, it would be for you. The staccatos pattering the vigorous beat of my heart every time you're around, and grace notes dancing around the shaky tempo, my weakened knees. Every crescendo outlining our smiles, and every rest contentment. Fermatas would sing the story of out love and how we thought that we would never be. The conductors had decided that we were wrong. The chorus would never get the chance to breathe, if only because I've never been able to breathe when I'm around you. Both treble and bass lines would dance and intertwine outlining just how different we are, yet the beauty of the music that we make when we come together, creating melodious harmonies with our every move. The symphony would fluctuate, in and out, in and out with every breath you took and every beat of your heart. Long drawn, minor keyed legatos would paint pictures of our downfalls while tiny accidentals would prove that we can solve them together. If I could write a song, parts of it would be syncopated. The notes would be skipping, not just running. They would be laughing and smiling and crying and doing everything that I love to do with you. But mezzo piano knows. It knows how far away you are, how muffled my joy can be.

Super Mario.

My Ukulele and I and some old school NES.

Looks.

         "He was dangerously attractive... until he spoke."

       This one is for all of the guys out there, the ones who spend their days wandering around the planet, aimlessly enduring failed relationship attempts, broken ego's and crushed illusions. It's for the guys who prance about and continually complain about girls 'high standards' and how no real man will ever be able to live up to the Cosmopolitan Magazine expectation of 'divine stallion'. Yes, you. The guy whining about the girl that got away because he ate one too many Big Macs, or the rejections that occurred because women have an unrealistic image of the perfect muscular man. Your assumptions are false. 9 chances out of ten, it had little to do with your visual appearance and everything to do with your presentation, charm and whether or not you wear glasses. ;)

       I have always noticed that from afar, a person can only reach a certain level of 'attractive' until they speak. For me, this may be dramatized due to my openly poignant love affair with words, but it pertains to most educated individuals in search of the perfect mate. The second a correctly constructed sentence is uttered from a mans mouth, the hot pepper meter begins to steam [10 extra points if Mr. Magnificent is wearing glasses, and 5 for lint free clothing]. Intelligence and cleanliness are far more appealing traits than any bicep or ab could ever become. The good news, boys, is that she didn't reject you for your jelly belly or lack of muscle mass. In a few short weeks, you can learn the difference between 'their, they're and there' and be well on your way to finding lady love. The bad news is that this effect can also work both ways...

       At first glance, he's everything that I've ever looked for in a man. The perfect tan, 6 feet tall and eyes that could pierce further than any Shakespearian dagger. I would have married him on the spot if he hadn't uttered a double negative. Although the fact that he 'didn't know nothing' about the Beatles [meaning he knew SOMETHING]despite what he thought it meant, was enticing - I'll have to pass. Looks can be deceiving.

       The lesson in this rant being: read a book instead of watching MadTV, brush your teeth after eating that BigMac, buy a pair of faux glasses and never EVER mix up 'you're and your'.

Feet.

       Ever since I can remember, I have had a love affair with feet. Perhaps it's because of the petite feet that have kept me balanced and upright for the last 18 years, or perhaps it's my deep appreciation for the shapes, curves and simplicity that each foot possesses. Whatever the reason, good looking and presentable feet have always been on the top of my priority list of desirable traits on the search for mister right.

   My feet are size 5 and I am blessed to have such a regal pair. In the shoe aisle, I never have a problem finding the perfect size 5 that fits like it was meant to be a royal bed for my toes. I always feel bad for those size eights who complain about the lack of footwear available because EVERYONE in the world wears a size 8. The quantity of petite footwear available at my disposal is not the only advantage to having slender soles inside my socks. I can buy brand name footwear at a lower price, because not only am I a size 5 womans, I am also a size 4 in the kids section.  I will never pay full price for a pair of Pumas, and for that, I shall forever be indebted to the gods of feet. 


   I have also always thought that a foot can tell a lot about a persons character. If a foot is clean and maintained, it in turn would mean that the person attached to the foot was also clean and maintained. This is a pretty logical and straightforward theory, but I was interested in seeing if there was in fact a scientific study indicating that feet characteristics could determine personality type. I browsed the Internet and found an interesting study. It found that the angle between ones foot, and personality type in relation to fear had a direct correlation. The wider the angle, the more a person feared and cared too much about what society thought of them. People with wide angeled feet are generally pleaser's, trying to become something that they are not in hopes of impressing. These people are the polar opposite of people with straight feet, feet with virtually no angle between them. People who posses this characteristic are generally natural born leaders. They are not concerned about what society thinks of them, have no fear and are confident in themselves and in their abilities.

    Feet. They will never cease to amaze me.

No moral.

              "By trying we can easily endure adversity. Another man's, I mean."
                                        -Mark Twain.

             I recently encountered a situation in which a misunderstanding not only taught me to keep a cool head, but also let me understand a persons character in a way that I had never seen it before. Although unpleasant, seeing this person in a new light may save me oodles of disappointment later down the road.


      The Oxford English dictionary describes a misunderstanding as;

1. A failure to understand something correctly.
2. A disagreement or quarrel.
   
          In my situation, both of these definitions fit correctly. A misunderstanding between my friend and I began with myself as the one in the wrong. After realizing this, and her anger towards me, I explained the situation from my point of view, and even though I had explained where I came from on the misunderstanding, I apologized to tie up loose ends. As apologizing goes, I had expected her to also apologize for falsely accusing me out of anger, and continuing to be angry. I suppose this would be a sort of a 'halfway meeting point'. Valuing our friendship more than my ego, I bowed down and admitted I was in the wrong. She thanked me for apologizing, and then went on to say that she wasn't sorry for her irrational behavior throughout the whole ordeal, and didn't feel in the slightest bit bad about it. I was boggled.
   
          Instead of adding fuel to the flame and defending my point, I let this one go. I took a step back and had a ponder about human character. Ones true colors tend to shine when they are in strong positions of vulnerability and authority. In this case, for her, both had been true at given points in time. Her irrational anger before I told her about the misunderstanding was from a position of vulnerability. She had said and done some things that a sane person would not have done. From a position of authority, when I had apologized, knowing that she had been in the wrong just as much as I had been, she didn't want to admit defeat. Sticking to her headstrong ways and deciding to take my apology and walk all over it, from a position of authority she was also a rude B*&%c.
   
        The moral of my story? I suppose there isn't really a moral. This has been as much of an aimless rant on my computer screen as it has been in my head. If I were to create a moral though, it would be from good old MLKjr. 
    
          "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."
   
         

      

My Ukulele and I.

"Ukuleles will get you through times with no money
 better than money will get you through times

with no Ukulele."

       Her name is Estelle. From the moment I saw her, I knew that it was meant to be. Her mahogany trim was unlike any other that I had seen, and it served as a beacon for my heart. Those curves - the perfect ratio, and the subtle detailed jewelry was the precise discrete accent to her beauty. If you're ever in need of an instant pick-me-up, go out and buy a Ukulele.

I'm afraid.

       
    You say that you love rain, but you open your umbrella when it rains. You say that you love the sun, but you find a shadow spot when the sun shines. You say that you love the wind, but you close your windows when wind blows. This is why I am afraid, you say that you love me too.

Tattoo discrimination.

 "My body is a journal in a way.  It's like what sailors used to do, where every   tattoo meant something, a specific time in your life when you make a mark on yourself, whether you do it yourself with a knife or with a professional tattoo artist."  ~Johnny Depp

      

Winston Churchill, Albert Einstein, Theodore Roosevelt and George Orwell. Words that may come to your mind when describing these men may include influential, inspiring and powerful. They are prominent figures that stand out in history as important role models, and are no doubt exactly what you would want your child to grow up to be. The fact that these men were incredibly successful is widely known, but what isn’t, is the fact that each of these men have tattoos.

      This blog post, unlike the previous heated rant about tattoos is a lot more thought out and researched. This time, I'm writing about the stigmas associated with people who chose to adorn their bodies with tattoo art, and about how having ink on your skin is in no way a judgment of intelligence, character or capabilities.

       A tattoo is a form of body modification made by inserting ink into the dermis layer of the skin to change its pigment. The earliest electric tattoo gun was invented by Albert Einstein. He used it to tattoo important symbols on his arm. Long before the tattoo gun, the first historical reference to tattoo’s was made by Joseph Banks, a Naturalist on board of Captain cooks ship The HMS Endeavor. Speaking of the ship’s native crew he had quoted in his journal "I shall now mention the way they mark themselves indelibly, each of them is so marked by their humor or disposition". With this, he acknowledges how tattoos are an important form of expression, and a proclamation of individuality.  

       From a young age, we are taught not to judge. Whether it be for ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation, beliefs or disabilities. Following this theory, every person should have the right to freedom of expression, of choice, and to do so by any means possible, as long as those means aren't vulgar or harmful to those around them. They should have the right to do this without being treated unfairly or being judged. Why is society so quick to judge those who decide to adorn their bodies with tattoos?

       The stereotype that it’s always biker gangs, delinquents and drug addicts who sport body art is getting old. Tattoos have evolved from being confined inside prison walls into mainstream society. Today, 36 percent of 18-29 year olds, and  40% of 26-40 year olds have at least one tattoo, and that number is on the rise. If the stigmas were true, that would mean that almost half of the world’s population are criminals or drug addicts, and we know that this isn’t a likely scenario. Today, tattoos don’t have to be associated with acts of rebellion or drug addiction. Tattoo’s today are often rites of passage, symbols of religious devotion, pledges of love, marks of bravery or personal memorials to help sufferers cope with the death of a loved one. They are very strongly tied to a sense of identity, what you value and who you are as a person. If they’re not in any way offensive to the general public, then why does the public judge them so harshly?

       We like to think in today’s modern society that discrimination based on superficial things like visual appearances doesn’t happen, but reality tells a different story. Many members of society stand by their beliefs that if somebody has a tattoo, they are not as educated as somebody who doesn’t.  That they have a lower income, are more likely to participate in criminal activity, have bad judgment and therefore aren’t capable of holding a white collar job. In my opinion, these are some large assumptions to make about a person’s character based on something as simple as voluntary skin pigmentation.  An example of this judgment is Karl Groves, a successful web designer from New York who has an above average income and a successful business. He also happens to have a tattoo sleeve.  He was visiting an art gallery with his son, and one of the pieces caught his eye. He asked an employee at the gallery how much the piece would be to purchase. Having no data to go on other than Karl’s visual appearance, he rudely said ‘Oh, you can’t afford that one.’ The employee assumed that because Karl was covered in tattoos, he must lack the funds to purchase from his gallery.  After posting about his encounter on his equally successful web blog, he received thousands of comments from others who had experienced similar situations. This scenario isn’t an isolated one. Thousands of tattooed people from across the globe are bringing their stories of discrimination to the light. 

     
       Tattooed people are also being discriminated against in the workforce, and I don’t believe that this is fair. Employers do have the right to impose a strict dress code, making everybody look the same, and this isn’t usually a problem with tattooed employees, as there are many forms of makeup and clothing that can temporarily cover tattoos for work. This is similar to companies not allowing employees to wear colorful ties. It isn’t a direct form of discrimination, but a way for workers to be equal. When tattoo discrimination at work does become a problem, is when employers refuse to hire tattooed individuals in the first place, even though they are more than qualified for the job and are willing to comply with the dress code. When employer’s judge reliability and trustfulness based on one’s body art, then highly educated professionals are turned away solely because of their colorful skin. 

       Personally, I would much rather have tattooed individuals workings for my company. To me, it would mean that this individual is a creative thinker, that they aren’t afraid of judgment and aren’t afraid of being themselves.

       As long as tattoos aren’t offensive or vulgar, they shouldn’t be frowned upon with offensive glares and vulgar remarks. If you wouldn’t think twice when seeing somebody with a meaningful design on their tee-shirt, then why would having the same meaningful design on their skin be any different? Some say that your body is a temple, and it should be honored as such. But how long can you live in the same house without redecorating?

     
       Thankfully, as time passes, the stigmas associated with tattoos are slowly fading. Recently, many television shows are being aired about tattooing such as New York ink, L.A ink and Ink Masters which bring body art into the light to be viewed more closely under the public eye.  This gives society a better understanding of how they work, and what types of people opt to get inked. People from all walks of life get body art, from doctors to rappers to Winston Churchill.  Tattoo culture is becoming more prominent in Hollywood and within the workforce, and this is causing people to slowly become more accepting of them, but until the day that society fully accepts people with tattoos, there will only be one difference between tattooed people and non-tattooed people.  Tattooed people don’t judge you for not having a tattoo.