A Heart Vs. Ginger

We stared into each others' eyes. The Black Smoke Monster, and a scared little girl without a name. He looked like Locke, but as I sunk deep into his gaze, I realized he was not.

And as I fell into his trap, I realized I was still a stranger underneath my own skin. I sighed, and looked into the mirrors of the lighthouse. Trite how I longed to know who she was.

In the manmade lake that feels like an ocean, my most shallow questions feel deep. I feel LOST, I feel scared, I know I'm alone. I look west, and my spirit fades towards all my loves. When my eyes are closed my body is cold, the water slaps my cheeks, and the board beneath me is stiff. I wait patiently, I wait colorfully, and I ride until the whitewash swallows the sadness.

The Black Rock

Enough is never enough. Not for any of us. I can't lie though, I'm almost as guilty as everyone else.

And as I watched Sawyer and Kate argue, I watched her face fall into dissolution as Sawyer screamed, “We’re done going back.” It was the first time, in a long time, that I could actually feel someone’s convictions. His motivations mattered little, but it was a line in the sand.

Jack, right or wrong, was ready for more—part of me believed he wanted more. I thought this because I wasn’t entirely convinced that the Lock Ness Monster had jumped out of the ocean and carried him away. After everything that had happened, after everything I had given him, he still wanted more. And this more, gnawed at my raw little heart.

I looked at Sawyer like a dream. Kate was awestruck. We all knew he was right, but no one had had the guts to say anything. No one had done anything, and everyone, because of our humanness, remained a minion to the thought of more. As I watched Jack disappear, a wave of ugliness swept through me, bringing with it the evil of the Black Smoke. "Ill be right back," I called out, and went below to ask Lapidus if he had found Desmond's MacCutcheon. I had every intention of drowning the smoke monster inside me. But the smoke monster is quick, the smoke monster is scary- and even the most jaded and the most savvy, are blinded by the smoke. I wanted to suck it in, and bury it in my lungs.

Like Greener Pastures

I watched as Jack played football with The Others, but I did so safely and from afar- where no one could see me. Their camp was much nicer than our beach. They had homes, running water, and a beautiful Gazebo in the middle of camp.

I was beginning to understand why Jack didn't want to leave. The Others had seduced him. As I watched him run across their lush grass, greener than envy, I began to want to belong.

But then I remembered the beach. I thought about Faraday, and even though I didn't love him anymore, I remembered everything we confided in each other. I thought about Claire and Charlie, Hurley and Sawyer, my obligations, my responsibilities, my passions, and moral dilemmas. I thought about everything, but yet, I couldn't walk away from Jack.

All of the sudden, the trees behind me started to move, startled I called out, "Who's there?" Vincent appeared at my side. In that instant, I remembered everything that really mattered and what I had been working for all along. I remembered Ms. Clue whispering in my ear, telling me to keep my eye on the prize. "OK, Vince" I said. "Let's go home".

Don't Push The Button

Yesterday I drove home from the beach. The waves were weak, even with thunder. And the water was cold like ice, even my board thought so. I thought about it all, as I drove. The music took me deeper, and deeper, and by the time I noticed I was out of gas, it was almost too late.

I pulled off at the nearest exit. I searched until finally, I saw a neon light in the distance. I filled up my tank, and headed back to the highway. All of the sudden, out of nowhere, Vincent appeared in the middle of the street. I slammed on my breaks.

I opened the door and walked towards him, he looked so scared. "Vincent," I called out to him. The lights from my car made the fog appear thicker. I scwinted. "Vincent!" He began to move away from me before darting into the woods. And against my better judgment, I chased after him. I should know better.

After about ten minutes I returned to my car, breathless. I sat alone in my vehicle, in the dark, in the middle of nowhere. And for some reason, unbenownst to me, I felt a flicker of faith. There was nothing else I could do, he would have to find his own way home, he didn't need me. Settled, I returned to the turnpike and continued home.

All of the sudden, it began to pour. It rained so hard, I couldn't see, so I drove blindly into the storm. Because there was no shoulder, I was forced to drive. I put my blinkers on and blasted my windshield wipers. Nothing seemed to help. I began to feel anxious, nerve wracked and scared. After about ten minutes the rain slowed and the sun shinned brightly, I could feel the rainbow behind me.

As I continued to drive I thought about the last hour. The chain of events puzzled me. Before I had too much time to think, I noticed flashing lights in the distance. Several police cars decorated the highway with colorful warning lights. Traffic heading in my direction, west, had come to a complete stop. Dogs were playing with each other on the side of the road. Eastbound was also closed.

I exited my car and walked over to a group of people smoking cigarettes on the hood of a mustang. "Does anyone know what happened", I asked. A girl with dark hair, and black nail polish answered me. "A tractor trailer lost control, rolled over into West bound traffic and exploded."

Worthiness Was Based On Preexisting Religious And Work Related Values That Had Been In Place For Centuries

Katy Perry's new song, "I kissed a girl" is getting a good bit of flack from critics. Both religious leaders and child psychologists have criticized Perry for a host of reasons which include, but are not limited to, encouraging promiscuity and homosexuality. When are the closed minded souls of this country going to learn? I'm not attempting to be rhetorical here (well, maybe), but still, I would like to know how many unintentional teen-pregnancies and STD epidemics it will take before this pompous group of self-righteous thinkers accept that denial, discouragement, and namely abstinence only education DOESN'T WORK.

I'm not going to pummel you with the research (it's very easy to find, (http://www.guttmacher.org), because the evidence is overwhelming, and it strongly supports that talking and teaching about sexuality doesn't encourage sexual experimentation. It merely encourages responsibility and protects individuals from harm. Sexual experimentation is driven by something inevitable, human nature. Frankly, I'm getting a bit tired of society passing judgments and handing out labels.

Not that anyone actually reads my writing, but let's fantasize that I am a famous columnist and you are reading my column in a prestigious paper. How many hateful e-mails would I receive following the print of a piece like this? I imagine most of them would likely use my favorite insults, like slut and whore. Because if I'm an independent thinker and believe that young women should be emotionally free to experiment with their curiosities, obviously I'm a free-willed hooker.

Culture is learned. Every bit of structure within our society is built on a previously planted seed which bolsters what we accept as normal. Even our policies towards poverty relief and pan-handling can be traced to the English Poor Law of 1601, which is very persuasively attached to Protestant ethics which identify the deserving poor from the undeserving poor.

Religion plays a major role in culture norms. Let's return to sexuality. In the 1960's Margaret Mead conducted an ethnographic study of Samoan women, and their acquisition of sexual knowledge. In her ethnography, Mead reports that young adolescent women learn through experimentation. Unfortunately for Mead, between the writing and print of the ethnography, the island was infiltrated by Christian missionaries. Not surprisingly, the women Mead wrote about later recanted their testimonies as storytelling, which was later published by Derek Freeman. How tragic that this once isolated island was tarnished and forever changed by the we-know-better-do-gooders of the west.

I'm not saying that there isn't room to criticize Katy Perry. From the interviews I've seen, I don't buy the sexuality she's selling as genuine. Personally though, I'm not concerned if the song is a gimmick or not. In my opinion, Perry sends a much better message than that being sent by the alternative who is preoccupied with teaching young women to turn their backs on their own curiosities, and rather than explore the unique world around them and find out who they are, to sit tight with their legs crossed and wait for Prince Charming.

And Just Like That, She Was Gone

Sometimes, it becomes painfully obvious when the time has come. I prayed deeply that Libby would go peacefully on her own, but she wouldn't, and so I asked Locke for the heroine. As Hurley said his last words to her, I held her hand and stroked her face. After Hurley left, I put my face close to hers and comforted her with my gaze. I was only sure of our decision after I watched her little soul float away. Her eyes rolled slowly.

Back at the beach, we started to dig. To my surprise, the digging was tough and much more difficult than I had anticipated. The sand was wet and heavy; and rocks, roots, and random Dharma Initiative trinkets that made digging more difficult and even creepy, were plentiful. I wondered why we were doing this, and if maybe we should have listened to Jack and sent the body to the sea. Then I thought about Libby, and remembered that she loved us every bit as much as we loved her. I took comfort in digging for her and knowing that she would be close to me.

I told Jack it was time, and we returned to the Hatch for the body. How quickly the smell of Death fills the air. I wrapped her in my favorite sheet before Jack and I carried her to her final resting place. We placed her in the ground gently, and as we did, tears rolled off my cheeks and on to her stiff corpse. I suppose love never dies.

Every Man For Himself

Benjamin Linus was right, it was undeniable. Juliet looked too much like Jack's wife for this to be a coincidence. But Jack was buying it, he couldn't stop looking at her, and he was hanging on her every word. For the first time in months, I saw him smile and laugh, like he'd been happy all along.

I wondered if it was dark outside, it was always dark inside the Hatch. Even though I knew, I wondered how long I'd been inside, entering the numbers, and pressing the button. I didn't want to do it anymore, I never wanted to do it. Ever since I started, I'd been trying to stop, but I couldn't. Because I'm alone in the Hatch.

I use my time to dissect my past, investigate my mistakes. They are so loyal, they'd never leave, they make sure to keep me warm when I get cold. I closed my eyes, and just for a moment, I disappeared into a made-up dimension named space. When I opened my eyes the door to the Hatch was open and the sky was purple.

The Water Around His Island Is Shallow...I've Suffered But I've Seen The Light

The MacCutcheon went down easily. I swallowed a delicious loss and as I listened to Desmond's story about Mrs. Hasking, I felt a deep, bloodcurdling void. But then I remembered the gray sky, the Island, and my baby in the water.

I'd give anything, I'd kill, I'd die, I'd fight to see the bluest sky, and I'd let it all go. I don't mind the rain, I don't mind the sins that we all pay for... I'd do what it takes. I want to see him swim. I lived my life for him, and he lives like he doesn't know I exist. But the same day makes both our skies grey.

We fight on the same island, we fight the same fight, but somehow, we live under different skies. I wonder why that might be, I wonder why his time, space, and physics don't exist in my universe. Perhaps it's because he doesn't know the water the way I do, he can't give like me. He's a narcissist.

He's lost, and can't be found.

Tell My Sister I Love Her

When the helicopter arrived, I knew exactly who Miles, Charlotte, Naomi, and most importantly Daniel Faraday were. I knew why the came and I knew what they wanted. Because only a fool would have been blinded by Miles' charm, Charlotte's beauty, Naomi's accent and Faraday's muse.

But I was starving. My cravings caused my mind to race wildly, and I couldn't live on bread alone. I thought about Ben and The Others, I thought about Vincent, the freighter, the Hatch and my hungry heart as I listened to Miles translate Faraday's coded message. Funny how they think I don't understand... don't think I know your little secret?

I listened as I danced around the beach in my underwear. I had no inhibitions and I was very amused by both Miles and Faraday. I felt the sun hitting down on me and despite the insatiable heat I danced through the night because the look on my face said nothing and meant less.

A Quick Fix Behind the Curtain

In a deep moment of despair, I hiked through the jungle looking for Jacob. I treked with my pregnant mind, but I thought of nothing but the cabin. Hugo described its location, and I knew if I searched long enough I would find it when the time was right. Hot, sticky and sweaty I rejoiced when I saw a small waterfall by soaking my hair in the stream. Water trickled down my spine, it was getting dark, how quick the sun can drop away.

Still Alive, I pushed through the trees and into a spider web. I could feel the web on my face and imagined the spider crawling through my damp tangled hair. I reached up and allowed him to crawl into my hand before placing him on the ground. Tricky tricky spider. I looked up, I had arrived at the cabin. But I couldn't see, so I just stared.

The night turned my love black, the sky was empty. Thoughts spinning round my head, my bitter hand opened the door. "Jacob", I called out. Jacob did not turn around to face me, but sat starring into everything. "I want to make a deal". And so, we made a deal.

When I left the cabin there were stars in the sky, but everything was still Black. I ran through the jungle and arrived back at the beach within moments. I thought about Jacob and our agreement. There was no turning back, I could never betray Jacob. I had to own up to my part of the deal if I wanted him to trust me.

Room 23

"Hurley, you've got to take your meds". I looked over at his roommate who had been muttering the same words for hours. "Please don't go, don't leave. Please Faraday, please don't do this." Hurley must have told him about Faraday.

"What's with him?" I asked. Hurley ignored me. "How's Rousseau?" He asked. "Rousseau is dead Hurley. You know that." His roommate continued, "Faraday, please don't leave me." Hurley started to get agitated, "I never told him about Faraday you know".

I followed Hurley into the hallway. "Well then how the hell does he know about him?" I asked. "Because he's going back and he'll meet him soon." "Hurley, you have to stop this, you have to take your meds."

We sat silently. There was a woman in the corner, rocking back and forth in her chair mumbling. Across the room a man sat yelling about an infected pituitary gland. Eventually, Hurley broke our silence. "I'm not crazy, and I'm not sick." "Hurley, you're in a psychward."

Hurley's roommate continued to yell for Faraday. Turthfully, I hadn't thought about him in months. In fact, I did everything I could to forget about him and bury him deep in my chest. Yet everytime I heard Hurley's roommate scream his name, I too wanted to call out for him. My wound started to bleed.

Faraday was a brilliant physicist. He was sweet, and loving. Until he started lying. This was around the time he feel in love with Charlotte. I closed my eyes and pictured Faraday. "I gotta go Hurley."

I stood up and walked to the door. I wondered if I'd ever see Faraday again. His eyes were so honest, I missed them. I tapped on the glass for the nurse to unlock the door. Hurley called my name. I answered, but I didn't turn around. "Yeah Hurley?" "Don't worrry about Faraday," he said. "Oh yeah? Why is that Hurley?" "Because, only fools are enslaved by time and space." My eyes filled with tears. "OK Hurley."

15.14.12.25/6.15.15.12.16/1.18.5/5.14.19.12.1.22.5.4/2.25/20.9.13.5/1.14.4/19.16.1.3.5

Every Single One Of Us Is Dead

Tricia Tanaka and her cameraman were inside Mr. Cluck's Chicken when the meteor hit. Hurley was screaming, he hadn't wanted anyone to go inside, he thought it was bad luck because the ribbon hadn't been cut. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there watching Mr. Cluck's burn. I didn't even think about Tricia Tanaka or her cameraman or the numbers, I just stared.

The fire was big, I could feel it. But I hope for nothing, and I fear nothing, and so I'm free- in some ways. So I just stared. Shocked, I walked across the street to the mini-mart. When I opened the door I could feel the cool air rush my warm body. I walked to the back of the store to the cooler and removed a six pack from the fridge. I paid my dues and left.

I woke up listening to the sound of the ocean. In the back of my mind I thought about the Others as I stared blankly at the sea. I couldn't believe so much time had passed since the meteor struck. I thought about Desmond, the MacCutcheon, and the towers at the Imperial Palace. It was a dream, a nightmare, a monster of black smoke.

It was a flash before my eyes.

Today Was a Good Day

Today was cold, and it snowed a lot, perfect because the fair weather hikers don't pollute the trails with their meaningless chit chatter and over-friendly labradors on days like this. Today was too cold for them, and so it was just me and my not-so-friendly-but-very-loyal dog hiking in one of the most beautiful landscapes. The snow was untouched and seduced me deep into the woods.

Usually, I stick to the trails with little deviation. But today was different. Today, something about the forest took hold of me, and demanded that I abandon the trails I know and listen to my heart. So I did, and headed deep into the forest with my ipod sinking me deeper into my own world free of rules, norms and standards. The further we hiked, the louder my music played, I entered my own world away from the one I don't like.

After about an hour, I recognized my destination. My legs were popsicles, but my escape outweighed anything trivial. My journey led me to truth, and I realized that there are some paths that need to be followed without knowing where they lead. I could breathe again, I listened to social distortion and watched my dog run across the veranda to meet his friend. Rejuvenated, I went home to find myself in the second season of Lost.

Never Say Never

Returning from the mountains, my head was clear. I connected with my new Burton board, and thought that the purchase was a lucid, intelligent, well though-out decision, despite my manic state. I got home, on the edge of peace, exhausted, but I unloaded my car anyway.

I carried my new board to the sports closet, dried it off, and placed it inside. To my surprise, my very first RIDE board, out of no where, fell into my arms. I stared at the board. Its edges were rough, its surface worn, but something about this board made me pause. I closed the closet, and carried the board to my living room.

I stared at the board all night, I had totally forgotten about this board. But how could I? This was the first board I had ever ridden, the board that broke my wrist, the board that first taught me of freedom before ravaging my mind and body across a slick patch of ice. What could this board offer me now?

I hesitated. Does this old board deserve a ride? Shouldn't I have outgrown this board by now? Maybe... but on the other hand, I'm an entirely different rider than I was fifteen years ago. Maybe this board is better for me than the new board after all. Of course, there is only one way to find out (and it's not by ending a sentence with a preposition...).

Flavor of Puke III

Seriously, had I know Flavor Flav was going to have a third episode of that repulsive show of his, I would have run his ass over when he parked in front on my house this summer. I mean really, how is it possible that "Flavor of Love" actually has a big enough audience to warrant a third season. Doesn't anyone else find this troubling?

All joking aside, what does it say about our society that this show is on its third season? I'll tell you what it says. It illustrates that average intelligence in this country is not a 100 i.q.... unless of course we consider that this less than random sample of women is just of lower intelligence (which is indicated by their simply agreeing to be on FOL 3). But this whole situation where women are COMPETING for Flavor Flav, I mean, its like a human rights violation.

Everyone on that show is a train wreck. Say what you want about Britney Spears, but she's light years ahead of those women. I mean, honestly, I don't care how much money Flavor Flav has, he is one of (if not the most) unattractive men I can possibly think of- and believe me, I've seen some pretty big messes myself. Ewwwwww... really, he's just gross. Come on people. Come on ladies! I feel like I need to call Amnesty. Ick.

Now My Body Is Starting To Quiver, And The Palms Of My Hands Getting Wet

I got no reason to doubt this, baby. Its' all a terrible mess.

There is only one other thing (snowboarding) I can think of, that gave me this feeling. The deep feeling of satisfaction that follows great anticipation. When I was a kid, I knew in my heart, that snowboarding would give me something that nothing else could replace. The day I first rode, I knew we would be together forever. But somehow, I've found something I think I love just as much.

An ATV, and it's bliss. Unadulterated bliss. Its beautiful. The ground beneath my wheels, speed awakening my mind, as I ride through a beautiful forest. The threat that only eminent physical danger can deliver. It tastes good, like satisfaction.

I first started riding quads in my Dad's hometown (yeah right stalkers). Perhaps it's my country heritage. But something about riding quads delivers what's been missing. The link that bridges my craziness to my sanity and connects me with the earth.

I ride in the country, the very same property where my dad was raised. A very redneck (is that p.c.??) man comes out and threatens me with his shotgun, because I'm trespassing on precious territory. My cousin's ATV gets caught on the barbwire. Every inch of this is rewarding. I floor my quad, I feel uneasy, but perfect. I'm gravitating over the land that my grandfather called home. It's beautiful, even the though there's cow dung, everywhere. But isn't that life???

I return home. Not to my home, but it's home. I inherited this. It's in my bones, my blood. I'm so thirsty for more. I just want you to understand the way Tom Petty understands. Unadulterated freedom. I take a deep breath.

Like the Mountains Miss the Snow

For the past 15 years, I've been riding RIDE snowboards. Perhaps because my first board was a RIDE, and due to my loyal aquarius nature, I have remained with RIDE. Up until now.

Lately, I have been in the market for a new snowboard. And while I am set in my ways (stubborn), I've had my eye on a Burton board. At first I was hesitant. This board was nothing like the board I was used to riding, but the sales clerk was so convincing, that after months of hesitation, I decided to go for it. Something about this particular board drew me in, and I decided it was worth the risk.

Putting all my trust into this Burton, I took it out for our first ride. I admit, that on this particular day, I was struggling with some personal stuff, debilitating my sight and judgment. But snowboarding sets me free, and I could not wait to feel my board carving through the most delicate powder, releasing my turmoil into the earth.

I drove to the mountains with anticipation, knowing my passion would settle my troubled mind. I needed this. I needed a change. There is something to be said about experience. It was time to bury the past and experience Burton's ride. As I looked at the aesthetic beauty of my new board, it was hard to imagine that I had resisted it for this long. This board was pure, unaffected.

I arrived at my destination. The smell of cool mountain air refreshed me from sleepless nights, and I began to feel the hunger I lost. I strapped in, and started down the mountain. The snow was powder, the wind was soft, the ride was perfect. I rode for hours without inhibition, forgetting every seasons' injuries (a couple of broken bones will really fuck up your ride for a while).

Evening came, and I felt tired and hungry. Satisfied, I decided to go home. That night, I slept, deeply. I dreamed about Mt. Hood, Breckenridge, and Mammoth. I dreamed about 360's, ollies, and tail rolls. It was delicious.

Next Time, Listen To Whitney

Frankly, it has been a shitty week for me too, but clearly Health Ledger and Brad Renfro had a worse week than I did. Both actors (as we all know by now, if you don't it's called CNN, I suggest you look into it) died this week, apparently prescription drugs were involved. Oh Dr. Hollywood, when will you learn, perhaps you should STOP giving sleeping pills to every actor that tricker treats at your office.

Have you ever seen one of those commercials in which the voice tells you to "tell your doctor about ambien" or whatever the drug is their pushing. Who the hell are you to TELL your doctor? Did you go to med school? Are you even a dentist or a nurse? Or perhaps a physician's assistant? Probably not. So why, in the world, would you tell your doctor what medicine to give you? Further, any doctor that is dumb enough to listen to the crackheads that come into their office complaining of anxiety and insomnia, deserves the malpractice lawsuit the family is going to smack him upside the head with after the inevitable yet "accidental" overdose from ten different prescription forms of crack.

I mean really, EVERYONE wants sleeping pills, but NO ONE (very very few people) actually need them. Case in point, its 1:46 a.m. and I can't sleep... but am I downing ambien and anxiety meds? No, I'm writing this ridiculous blog so you can read it when you can't sleep (you're welcome). Sleeping pills are HIGHLY addictive, namely because they're good and they knock you out like blunt force trauma to the head. But all the more reason they shouldn't be prescribed to anyone but your weird manic cousin, and maybe Britney Spears.

OK, now that we got that out of the way, let's discuss another genius in this scenario, Heath Ledger's massage therapist. Hmmmm. Let's see. Massage therapist enters room and notices that Ledger is passed out naked, face down, at the foot of the bed, pills scattered all over the place (thank god he didn't have a dog). Proceeds to set up massage table anyway. Tries again to wake Ledger. Notices Ledger is not breathing. Calls Mary-Kate Olsen. Yep. That's for real.

Where does one begin? I really don't want to make jokes because I was a big Ledger fan (how can one not appreciate something so beautiful), but what possessed this woman to call that fur-wearing troll as her client lay dead in front of her is beyond what my brain can comprehend. A five year old would have known to call 9-11, or at least a crack/ambien prescribing drug pushing doctor.

Now, back to the ambien. Apparently, Renfro was busted within the last couple of years on Skid Row in an attempt to score heroin from a narc. Have you ever seen Skid Row? Honestly, it looks like a third-world (pardon the expression) slum. Here you have a pretty successful actor going to the absolute shittiest part of America (personally, I'd take my chances in Compton any day) to score drugs. Why, in god's name, would a doctor give this person anything else that could trigger a new addiction? Seriously, if going to Skid Row to get drugs doesn't define addiction, I don't know what does. Renfro shouldn't have been prescribed anything but volunteer work in the psych ward of a prison to show him where long walks on Skid Row will lead.

So, this week has pretty much sucked for me (for reasons we don't need to get into), Brad, and Heath. But let's turn a negative into a positive, let's learn from past mistakes and not repeat them in the future.

Lesson 1) Doctors should not prescribe crack (or any drug similar to it) to crackheads
Lesson 2) Doctors should not prescribe multiple forms or crack (or any drugs similar to them) to crackheads
Lesson 3) A crackhead is a person that goes to Skid Row to score drugs or a person that calls Mary-Kate Olsen when she finds your body

OK, so in truth, this whole thing where 10 doctors prescribe these people 20 forms of crack just makes me mad. Why? Because they are ruining it for the rest of us, the ones that are really insomniacs, and frankly, I don't think its fair. No one will so much as give me a prescription for Lunesta- which as far as I'm concerned, is bullshit. The only thing worse than an overdoes of 45 different medications, is an overdose on a homemade cocktail with the main ingredient as NyQuil.

On the upscale, I have a good feeling about next week. In the meantime, play with this. It's a blast.

http://www.peta2.com/trollsens/

Fight For Your Right Corey...

Corey Worthington of Melbourne, Australia, threw a party this week. 500 teenagers showed up, and among other acts, vandalized property including neighbors' cars. Apparently, the neighbors were "terrified" (give me a break). 30 Victoria Police, with dogs, showed up at the suburban residence. The Victoria police are considering issuing a $20,000 AD ($18,000 USD) bill to Worthington's parents who were out of town at the time of the incident.

Clearly, the kid made a mistake. But here's why he's awesome (besides the fact that he reminds me of my Australian boyfriend when I was 17). In an interview, on national (Australian) television, Worthington (sans his shirt exposing his nipple ring) is badgered by a reporter who attempts to discipline and lecture the teen. Worthington however, holds his ground, and it rocks. He refuses to apologize, refuses to take his sunglasses off, and when asked if he has a message to give teens who might be thinking about partying when their parents are out of town, he says they should call him and he'll help them throw a kick ass party. When the reporter asks Worthington if he's talked to his parents, he tells her he's been successfully avoiding them. It's gorgeous. In fact, the interview just gets funnier as the reporter gets angrier.

First of all, the reporter is obnoxious and deserves to look like the idiot Worthington makes out of her. Who does she think she is? His parents? The police? Second, Worthington, having clearly taken several bong rips prior to the interview, has a couple valid points. It isn't really his fault the party got so out of hand. The actions the police refer to causing havoc did not occur on his property. And above all else, everyone is talking about how it was the party of the century. I mean, that has to count for something, no?

That's not the point though. The point, is simply that he's hilarious, the reporter's a bitch, and you should watch the clip. Now.

Nobody Likes Being Played

Recently, I have been applying for jobs (puke). Really, it's a nightmare. Every aspect of this endeavor has been unpleasant. This may or may not come as a surprise, but it is quite difficult to find a job that "meshes well" with one's personality, morals, blah blah blah. Yes, it's true, a good job is hard to find.

There was one particular organization that really, and I mean really, wanted me. But despite this company's dedication to recruiting me, something kept me from accepting. Without getting too far off topic, I will just say, that I didn't think that this job was for me. However, because this job was so overwhelmingly intellectually stimulating, I decided I had to give it a try. Contrary to what I suspected, the job turned out to be amazing, and my expectations regarding other areas of stimulation within the organization were beyond satisfied. I decided to sign with the company.

Imagine this, the company withdrew its offer. Really? After such a relentless pursuit? I'm shocked (is anyone else tired of me saying that nothing shocks me.... only to follow up such statements with another piece of "shocking" news, I am). I mean, my curriculum vitae hadn't changed. My grades hadn't dropped (ok...ever so slightly... but for real). Lately I have desperately pondered, spent my nights awake and I wonder, what I could have done in another way... Why did the organization back peddle on me? Did they find a better candidate for the job that was suppose to be mine? Was this the organization's plan from the beginning?

Angry, I called my old boss for advice. Although I hadn't worked for my ex-boss for years, for some reason I thought this was a good idea. I mean, we have remained good friends and are still on good terms. The moment I walked into my old building, I felt reassured. The familiarity of the it, my old co-workers, and my boss were all comforting. Though I was a little taken back when my boss offered me my old job back.

Let me explain. At the time, I really loved everything about this job, and actually thought that I might be happy with it forever. But I was very young, and did not know myself the way I do now. More, I was a completely different person. Nonetheless, I ultimately ended up leaving the organization because of extenuating circumstances that made it impossible for me to continue working there. Soon after that, I got a new job and began a new career and never looked back. Until now, as I sat in my former boss's office, actually considering going back (unemployment will make you do crazy things).

So now what? Truthfully, I have no idea. But evidently Nina's right, reason will not lead to solution. A good surfer chick friend of mine recently asked me what the benefits of going back to work are when one can receive unemployment. Now, I'm not going to get into that because that is an entire separate can of worms. However, I will say, if you don't have a choice in the matter, than you may as well enjoy the time off... otherwise, go back to your old job and see if things have changed (question, not a statement)?? Why aren't I a Hilton heiress?? Why do I feel like I should be eating ice cream and watching Notting Hill?

Michael Vick... Meet the Son You Always Wanted

Speaking of senseless animal killings, is anyone else completely disgusted by the 5 year-old that shot and killed a black bear in Arkansas? Tre Merrit, an alleged ancestor of Davy Crockett (BFD), was hunting with his grandfather this week when they stumbled upon an innocent black bear. As such, Tre's grandfather told him to shoot, and he did (with his "youth rifle"- how appalling is that), killing the poor bear. Apparently, his grandfather shed tears of joy that the boy was able to murder the bear with one shot.

I mean, is this a sick joke? To start, why in the world would anyone teach a child to use a gun? Merrit began shooting and killing animals at 2. Where I come from, that's the sign of a serial killer. Last year, little kindergarden Tre shot and killed three deer. Isn't that lovely? This year, he bagged himself a bear. "I was up in the stand and I seen the bear," Merritt said. "It came from the thicket and it was beside the road and I shot it." If I were this kid's parents, I would be more concerned about his poor grammar rather than how many animals he can be trained to kill.


I believe it was (don't hold me to this) the Dali Lama that said a lot is revealed about a society by the way it treats animals. Let's apply that standard to this sicko family (I don't usually throw around insults like this, but nothing makes me angrier than the slaying of innocent animals). They kill for sport. That is so repulsive. I mean really, am I taking crazy pills, or is this not utterly repulsive. Don't believe me? Watch the video.

VICKtory for Dogs Everywhere

Not that justice could ever be fully served regarding the terror, torture, and pain that Michael Vick inflicted on innocent animals, but he is going to prison. I'll drink to that. Vick is set to serve at least 18 months (maybe longer) in prison for his involvement in dog fighting and animal abuse. Notably, Vick was convicted of federal crimes, so he's going to the federal pen, which sucks for him, and rocks for PETA, the Humane Society, and me.

In a press conference, Vick's lawyer spoke about how Vick accepts responsibility for "exercising bad judgment". First of all, Vick doesn't have a choice. Even his celebrity status isn't going to get him out of the sentence that the judge handed down to him (at least I hope not). Second, the fact that Vick and his lawyer would refer to the sadistic torture and murders of gentle dogs that couldn't be trained to fight as "bad judgment" is almost laughable. Bad judgment is stepping on the gas when the light is about to turn red; electrocuting gentle animals and drowning them because they aren't evil like you is sociopathic. Anyone that would commit the atrocities that Vick committed is plain wicked.

Now, while 18 months isn't an overwhelming sentence, consider the following. Vick is almost 28. He'll be close to 30 by the time he gets out of prison. Not that I'm an expert (OK I don't really know all that much about football), but I imagine those are crucial years in a player's career. Frankly, I find it comforting that not only will Vick spend time in prison, but also that his actions may have ended his career, or at least severely hampered it.

It's not like I expect that Vick will spend the next year or two thinking about how his actions are morally reprehensible and vile, because sociopaths don't have a conscience. However, it is important for our justice system to punish these perpetrators to the full extent of the law, so that other would-be-offenders might reconsider committing similar crimes.

I think it is almost important to note that PETA and the Humane Society, two of the world's biggest name in animal advocacy, play an instrumental role in these types of cases. PETA and the Humane Society worked hard to raise public awareness in this case, and also pressured sponsors to drop Vick. Having just written an academic piece on the media's ability to affect government policies through public awareness, it is inarguable that the public uproar in this case (primarily drummed up by the two groups) did not contribute to Vick's conviction and sentence. Another job well done by PETA and the Humane Society. Have fun in jail Vick. You suck.

To The Brits (Just the angry ones... happy Brits disregard!)

1) Who gave you permission to repost my blog on your site anyway? They have a name for that, oh yeah, it's called plagiarism

2) Why the hell are you people so angry? Who knew Jennifer Aniston had such a following and that it included a bunch of angry British people!?!? If you don't agree with me, that's fine... just chill out with the name calling... "loon", "stupid". It's poor practice. It has been my experience that usually people that deliver these types of aggressive and unwarranted insults have all types of problems of their own (and I work in a psychiatric facility so I'm pretty comfortable with this observation). In addition, guess all you very intelligent individuals missed the reference in the title of the blog you call so "stupid", huh?? Oh and by the way, for those of you writing "who cares about these people" blah blah blah, let's not forget you read my article on a celebrity gossip website. That's a bit hypocritical don't you think??

3) For those of you that continue to make remarks about Brad vs. Jen vs. Angelina- you all missed the point. The point is that it takes a strong man to appreciate a strong woman. Pitt and Jolie are what we call an example. I thought this would be an easier illustration of that point, rather than telling a story about my friend Bob, and his ex-wife Sally, and his new parter Jane- since because of the media, we all know about these people. Frankly, I don't think that point was so hard to miss. Unless of course....

4) I am posting my comments to your very helpful feedback here, because your site conveniently wont let me register.

5) Thanks for reading! suckkkaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssssss

I Was Wrong: I Realize Now That I Was Wrong

I'm always claiming that I'll admit when I'm wrong, so here it is. Brad Pitt is the most beautiful man in the world, but not for the reasons that PEOPLE magazine gave him the title. Pitt appeared on Larry King Live on December 5th, 2007 to speak about his project "Making It Right" which supports rebuilding the 9th Ward in New Orleans. I (someone who was completely disgusted when Pitt left Jennifer Aniston for Angelina Jolie) could not believe Brad Pitt's depth.

To begin, he's intelligent. He speaks articulately and enthusiastically about architecture, Ethiopia, domestic and international politics, and of course "Making It Right". He's humble, self-aware, and secure with himself and who he is (and I don't mean physically). Pitt is also green. He explains that the new 9th Ward will be eco-friendly and that he is fascinated by the concept that within nature, we can exist without wasting. Pitt is also a vegetarian (OK- now I'm in love). And while these all contribute to his sex appeal, his respect for Angelina Jolie is the most beautiful and fascinating thing about him.

Several months ago, I wrote "the ego of an insecure man cannot sustain a good woman". According to Maureen Dowd (she's great by the way), Jane Fonda wrote that "men were attracted to her strong, independent spirit, but then tried to break it". Clearly, Brad Pitt is not the kind of man Fonda and I describe. Now one might laugh and think that appreciating Angelina Jolie shouldn't be that difficult. Though I'd bet my life, that if Angelina had an insecure partner, he would cheat. You don't think so? Let's recall Hugh Grant's infamous indiscretion with a prostitute named Pancake. Not all that surprising. Pathetic men cheat on women like Elizabeth Hurley because it makes them feel better about being losers.

At any rate, I am beginning to think, that perhaps Pitt (who I accused of being an asshole for doing so) left Aniston because Aniston did not offer the intellectual stimulation that Jolie does (actually, I'm the jerk because clearly, pretty has NOTHING to do with it). Let me be clear, I am not dissing Aniston. I'm sure she's a sweet girl, but perhaps Aniston doesn't have the depth and drive that Jolie has. Aniston is preoccupied with acting goals not relieving global suffering. Clearly Pitt admires and respects Jolie's work. Jolie, a Goodwill Ambassador for the United Nations Refugee Agency, has an extensive curriculum vitae of humanitarian accomplishments. In fact, she has accomplished so much since she began humanitarian work in 2001, that listing some of those accomplishments and not others would be completely arbitrary. I will include however, that she has entered into some of the world's most dangerous conflict zones to personally deliver aid, and notably, has always refused special accommodations.

Jolie is obviously a good woman, and Pitt knows it. That being said, when King asked Pitt about Jolie, Pitt responded "she is a woman of strong opinions and very specific beliefs and a great voice.... great intelligence... I respect it. She is a great leader as far as helping and changing... the world as we know it". Pitt is not intimidated by her intelligence, drive, and sophistication- he admits- he respects it. There is nothing sexier than a man that appreciates a good woman.

First of all, Pitt is a breath of fresh air as far as I'm concerned. Clearly, he loves Jolie not because of what she has to offer him (the reason most men love women), but because of who she is. This illustrates Pitt's depth and inner beauty. Second, Pitt completely debunks my theory- which was that aesthetically gorgeous men are emotionally and intellectually undeveloped. That's it people. That's all I really wanted to say. You were all right and I was wrong. The Brad Pitt bandwagon... not such a bad thing.

What's the Difference?

Trust is not something that should ever be taken lightly and unfortunately, even those closest to you have the potential to deceive. That being said, I am the most loyal friend anyone could ever dream of, and while I don’t expect the same level of loyalty in return from every single person in my life, I certainly appreciate my friends that also possess this quality. Recently however, I have wondered what is the most appropriate response to an otherwise good friend that behaves in a disloyal way?

Having been the object (I don’t like victim, thank you anyway) of many betrayals both small and large, I have spent a good deal of time pondering the type of response warranted by deceit. First, it is always necessary to assess the scale of deceit, because medium to large deceits are a whole other ballpark. For this conversation’s purpose, we will focus on minor deceits. Here’s my take (my super-loyal-practically-to-a-fault friend Eve would disagree… because she has zero tolerance for liars). I say let it go, because confrontation with a minor deceiver will not get you anywhere that you want to go. First of all, the offender will most likely deny deceiving you. Second, because the offender won’ t acknowledge the deceit, it is unlikely the offender will apologize. Third- is it really an apology you want? An apology cannot erase the fact that you have seen their true colors. Minor deceit is typically more about disappointment than hurt, so an apology is useless.

Most of us aren’t willing to cut ties with a person over minor deceits. Why? Because most people realize that no one is perfect. I know my flaws, I know them well- and if you read this blog, you are more than aware of my opinionated nature. I know that I’m not perfect, no one is. Generally, people commit minor acts of deception because of their own problems which have nothing to do with the people they end up hurting. Minor acts of deception occur when individuals allow their own weaknesses to manifest.

These situations are challenging because people that commit minor acts of deception are not necessarily bad people. They are however, usually people that have obvious issues rooted in insecurity and jealousy, two very ugly characteristics. Personally, I choose to forgive most minor deceits and forego confrontation, because I pity anyway who is so affected by their own issues, that they would allow the issues to pervert a relationship.

At the end of the day we must all live with the choices we make- and in part- these choices define who we are, and some people can live with the fact that they suck. While I know I’m not perfect, I’ve worked hard to become the person I am, and I’m not ashamed to say I like me and I like what I represent- yeah yeah so I have a moral high horse- at least I’m not a faker. Anyone who would intentionally deceive a friend probably can’t say the same. In the end, I believe that the hurt these deceivers inflict on others is still less painful than the hurt they experience as a result of their own insecurities. I can look the other way, because it ain't that I'm too big to listen to the rumors, it's just that I'm too damn big to pay attention to 'em. Just keep my name outta your mouth and we can keep it the same.