I Salute You

Recently I heard that the "official" war in Afghanistan is wrapping up. Over the years, various people and organizations have asked what my stance on the war is. I always say the same thing:

"I support the soldiers, not the cause."

Because I do. I will ALWAYS support the men and women who go and fight, no matter how meaningless or misguided the war is. I support them because without them this sovereign soil we make such a big deal over wouldn't exist. This place, this country - confused, brutal, compassionate and shallow - wouldn't be if not for the soldiers who gives their minds, hearts, and lives for it.

I believe war is morally wrong, just like eating the last cookie and not telling anyone or the slaughter of animals is. However, don't you dare label me and put me in a neat little bracket like "Liberal" or "Conservative." I also believe in the death penalty, with reservations. I believe in free will, and choice (even as I hate making choices). I don't believe humanity will ever free itself from war and genocide and selfishness. We are put together this way so that we have something to transcend.

During the Vietnam war soldiers were brutalized in the field for doing the dirty work of corrupt and frightened politicians, then they returned home - to this US of A we're all so proud of - and were brutalized again by the people who should have honored them. I am afraid of violence; I know I'm not capable of protecting myself if someone wanted to harm me. But I am more afraid of betrayal, and the psychological violence that goes on every day, without cessation, and has since mankind came down out of the trees. There are pithier terms for it, of course: my favorite colloquialism is "head-f***." The psychological scars of war are the biggest head-f*** of all.

So here then is something to remind you of the men who are called monsters. They are misunderstood, misrepresented, but merely men, after all. Merely men, doing a job the rest of us can't or won't. Think about them next time you whine about your first-world problems. Aren't you lucky there are people out there standing between you and whatever big scary things the other humans on this planet are thinking, or plotting, or dreaming?

Soldiers, I salute you. Welcome home.

 

And here is something to listen to that always makes me cry: 

Heaven was Needing a Hero
Hero
Just a Dream

This is WolfGrrl.

EMS

Exhaustion Meets Stress. It should be a musical. Or a horror show. Or a diagnosable condition.
Geez.

I'm too tired for this.
I will post again when exams are finished and I've moved back home and slept for a year. Maybe in 2012.

WolfGrrl

Potluck Friendship

The sign of a good friend is not, as they are finishing their last lap of a two-mile run, to stand on the sidelines and yell "Run Forest, run!" at the top of your lungs. Besides amusing everyone within hearing range and making a total fool of yourself, you also annoy the crap out of your friend by doing this.

It was pretty fun though.

My therapist is always telling me to list good things about myself, and then she gets mad at me when "friend" isn't on there. Honestly, (as the above example should illustrate) I'm not all that sure I'm a good friend.

Oh sure, I listen when someone's having a bad day and I try to understand what they need from me to feel better. I worry about my friends and I laugh with them (and when they're being stupid, at them). I am fierce in their defense and forgive them anything, but I don't see these things as being particularly special. Maybe this has to do with my terror of being a burden: in my life, I want nothing so much as to make those around me happy (obviously I don't care about making neo-Nazi plagiarists happy).

Despite all this however, I seem to have little trouble making friends. Sometimes it takes me a while and sometimes I meet people and we just click. Who can say what governs the mysterious alchemy of friendship? It's like the food in the dining hall: sometimes it's fulgy as all-get-out, and sometimes you strike pure culinary gold. (Only without the food part, obviously.)

Right. I think it's fair to say that my brain has checked out for the day. Off to fight with my computer over James Bond. I want to watch Daniel Craig shoot people, and the computer apparently has parental tendencies and thinks Bond films are bad for me. Either that, or it's a radical feminist disguised as technology.

Oh Lord...
WolfGrrl

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do -
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver

Re: The Plague of Plagiarism

I am too tired and stressed to write anything original and cute right now; an old post will have to do. Sorry, faithful readers, for my lack of attention to you in the past few weeks. A whole crap-load of stuff has recently fallen on my head, with the end result being I don't really have the time or energy to devote to superfluous things. (Looking at YouTube videos of babies and cute dogs is preventative medicine, thank you very much. It doesn't require the use of my brain.) You know things are bad when I, who believe that unless I am dead or in the hospital I must be in class, considered skipping in favor of a nap.

I am appalled by my own irresponsibility. I have failed myself, even though I went, because that makes two classes today in which I have almost fallen asleep. But whatever; digressions are the product of a sleep-deprived (see the last post) and deranged mind. Instead have a little rant from a few months ago, dealing with one of my favorite soapbox topics of all time: Plagiarism.

Grrrr.
Yes, that's the sound I'm making right now on my computer in the library (sorry to my fellow students, but let's face it, some days you just gotta growl). The reason for the growling and the glaring? Well, if you're not like me and actually do keep up with current events you'll remember that there's been a recent upswing in college campaigns against plagiarism. And for good reason: it sucks to be plagiarized.

Now, thankfully I've never (to my knowledge) been plagiarized, but I have friends who have and everyone is familiar with the idiots scrambling to read off their neighbors' tests or "borrow" their papers. Folks, let's take a minute and think about the consequences of such actions, and I'm not just talking about what the college will do to you if you're caught. Captain Jack had it right when he said that "The deepest circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers." Substitute "plagiarists" for "mutineers" and you've got a statement that's scary as crap...or should be to all you smug-faced tight-asses who bought your papers over the internet rather than wrote them like all the rest of us. It's people like you who make the world difficult for people like me, and on behalf of suspected plagiarists everywhere I'm letting you know that YOU SUCK.

These days there are so many plagiarists running around that even honest writing comes under suspicion when there's the slightest discrepancy between the quality of the author and the quality of the work. Now, because of my sterling reputation, obvious affinity with language, and the line of people twenty miles long willing to testify that I actually did write that paper, I've never received more than The Glance from a professor. But there are some people who lose scholarships or job interviews or even their careers because they don't have that stockpile of trust to balance the doubts of the Powers That Be. The reason being, of course, those faceless hordes who steal others' work but aren't smart enough to avoid getting caught. I think that people who plagiarize and get themselves busted are a greater menace than the ones who get away. Obviously, it's good to catch and punish such criminals, but on the other hand it gives the Powers That Be a precedent for scrutinizing all future comers with brutal - and not always unbiased - intensity.

Grrrr.

If I were so inclined I could probably spin this post off onto the topic of trust and relationships, but that's a digression for another day. For now I'll just leave you with a little bit of WolfGrrl Wisdom: supposedly 'Cheaters Never Prosper.' Please. We all know that's a bunch of crap. The saying should state that 'Cheaters Always Prosper...Until Someone Knocks Them on Their Asses.' Let that someone be you; take a stand against plagiarism. When you see the kid beside you sneaking a look at his textbook during the exam, give it a kick on your way to the bathroom. He won't be able to retrieve it without giving the game away. That girl waiting to photocopy her friend's history paper ten minutes before the deadline? Jam the photocopier when it's your turn.

All right, all right, these are all malicious and destructive responses to plagiarism. But hey, a little fantasizing never hurt anyone, right? The MOST EFFECTIVE way of stopping is plagiarism happens to be my personal favorite: Turn to the Evil Person and say, calmly to his/her face "I'm sorry you're too busy to write this paper/lab report/whatever. Perhaps you should take fewer classes next semester, or talk to your parents about transferring to a less academically rigorous school."

The expression on his or her face will, undoubtedly, make your day.
It sure made mine.

Mwahahahaha...no.
WolfGrrl