my father IMed me the other day to ask if I was emo
"I’m not sure how many of you are like I am…distressed over how our society has forgotten the “reason for the season”. Target has been approached, like several other stores, to again include “Christmas” in their advertising. They refuse to even respond. [...] I plan to boycott Target for Christmas purchases this year. After all, I’m shopping for Christmas presents, not Holiday presents."
My father forwarded me an email from the American Family Association urging good Christians to boycott Target this year because Target is using inclusive language in its holiday advertising this year. I hate my father's forwards, particularly those from AFA, and I was so outraged last night that I called my mother to demand that shop at Target more in response (even though they refuse to dispense the birth control that they carry on their shelves) just to spite my father. The New York Times published a particularly well-worded editorial against this "War on Christmas today, with some particularly good points concerning how horrible it is for the Christian community to be focusing on this form of "persecution" when there are other, more pressing issues and the lack of history supporting their view of a "traditional" Christmas. I wish I had the courage to reply to my father and ask since when the "reason for the season" has been shopping.
I hate how so much of who I am can be attributed to my father. We are both extremely passionate about moral causes, are easily riled up and refuse to listen to reason. I doubt I would criticize him were we in agreement.
Speaking of moral issues, I attended the December Darfur Conference this past weekend. As both a motivating and moving experience, I genuinely feel as if I have a better grasp on the issues at hand. I can now discuss the role of the international community at length, comment on oil interests for countries other than China and explain differences between the rebel groups. The caliber of the presenters was phenomenal. Andrew Loewenstein, the human rights lawyer who was sent by the US to Darfur to determine if genocide was occurring spoke, along with Brian Steidle, the military observer who took the moving photos of the refugees often seen published and a variety of other people who had spent long periods of time in Darfur. After hanging off his every word, I have developed a celebrity infatuation for John Prendergast, a senior adviser to the International Crisis Group who looks and acts exactly like Sirius Black (passionate, charismatic, mischievous, etc).
This past semester has been my happiest time at college-perhaps the happiest months of my life-because instead of trying to escape reality, I've embraced it. I've stopped watching anime, playing computer games and obsessing fangirlishly over Harry Potter and the like. I've gotten involved in concrete clubs where I can see the fruition of my labors and I make an effort to read the news each day. When I go into Boston, it is with a purpose more specific than escaping the realities of campus. No longer am I daydreaming over worlds that do not and cannot exist or burying myself in fantasy novels. When I dream about the future, my feet are firmly planted on the ground and seek out paths of plausibilities, not possibilities. At first, it struck me as out of character, but there is a satisfaction in receiving a handwritten letter from your congressman or in becoming a club officer that cannot be found in intangible fantasies.
On a side note, I really need to learn how to prevent a select few from infuriating me with the slightest actions.
My father forwarded me an email from the American Family Association urging good Christians to boycott Target this year because Target is using inclusive language in its holiday advertising this year. I hate my father's forwards, particularly those from AFA, and I was so outraged last night that I called my mother to demand that shop at Target more in response (even though they refuse to dispense the birth control that they carry on their shelves) just to spite my father. The New York Times published a particularly well-worded editorial against this "War on Christmas today, with some particularly good points concerning how horrible it is for the Christian community to be focusing on this form of "persecution" when there are other, more pressing issues and the lack of history supporting their view of a "traditional" Christmas. I wish I had the courage to reply to my father and ask since when the "reason for the season" has been shopping.
I hate how so much of who I am can be attributed to my father. We are both extremely passionate about moral causes, are easily riled up and refuse to listen to reason. I doubt I would criticize him were we in agreement.
Speaking of moral issues, I attended the December Darfur Conference this past weekend. As both a motivating and moving experience, I genuinely feel as if I have a better grasp on the issues at hand. I can now discuss the role of the international community at length, comment on oil interests for countries other than China and explain differences between the rebel groups. The caliber of the presenters was phenomenal. Andrew Loewenstein, the human rights lawyer who was sent by the US to Darfur to determine if genocide was occurring spoke, along with Brian Steidle, the military observer who took the moving photos of the refugees often seen published and a variety of other people who had spent long periods of time in Darfur. After hanging off his every word, I have developed a celebrity infatuation for John Prendergast, a senior adviser to the International Crisis Group who looks and acts exactly like Sirius Black (passionate, charismatic, mischievous, etc).
This past semester has been my happiest time at college-perhaps the happiest months of my life-because instead of trying to escape reality, I've embraced it. I've stopped watching anime, playing computer games and obsessing fangirlishly over Harry Potter and the like. I've gotten involved in concrete clubs where I can see the fruition of my labors and I make an effort to read the news each day. When I go into Boston, it is with a purpose more specific than escaping the realities of campus. No longer am I daydreaming over worlds that do not and cannot exist or burying myself in fantasy novels. When I dream about the future, my feet are firmly planted on the ground and seek out paths of plausibilities, not possibilities. At first, it struck me as out of character, but there is a satisfaction in receiving a handwritten letter from your congressman or in becoming a club officer that cannot be found in intangible fantasies.
On a side note, I really need to learn how to prevent a select few from infuriating me with the slightest actions.