Candy Land Elects Katy Perry

Ugh. A minute and 24 seconds into this song and I’ve had enough! Which song? Katy Perry’s California Gurls.

The moment I first heard it on radio, I wasn’t completely against it. Uh oh, I sense a “Battle of the Bands” moment. The Golden Coast versus the Big Apple, baby. I’m playing for the Empire State of Mind. But as days turned to weeks, I still heard it being played on the radio. I began to wonder why people were obsessed with this hommage to shallow personas.

It’s Summer. I understand. Beaches, bikinis, popsicles, oh my! But do we really need a mediocre song about these things? And don’t even get me started on the video [we’ll get to it soon]!! Those “innocent” themes aside, this song is really really raunchy. The most obvious phallic symbol is the popsicle. Any middle schooler could have discerned that fact. And yay for celebrating perfectly fit women flaunting their bodies to get the wrong kind of attention. So what’s my problem? Shallow songs like these are infiltrating the minds of young and middle-aged alike.

In a study of over 600 eighth and ninth graders from public and private schools in Minnesota(Gentile, Lynch, Linder, & Walsh, in press), children reported spending an average of almost 21 hours per week listening to music, compared to 25 hours per week watching television (Table 8.2). This pattern can also be seen across larger age ranges, although the amount of time spent with music increases with age (e.g., Roberts, Foehr, Rideout, & Brodie, 1999). However, it is likely that most studies underestimate the amount of time children and adolescents may listen to music, because music is so often a secondary background activity for many other activities, such as reading, studying, talking, driving, and doing housework. Music’s tendency to slip between foreground and background raises questions about what kind of “listening” should be counted as true exposure. (Donald F. Roberts)

Sorry Katy Perry, but I don’t want the upcoming generations to rule the goverment in “daisy dukes and bikinies on top”. Nor do I want their childhood innocence swiped the moment they turn on the radio. They’re waaaayy too young to be thinking about “melting popsicles” and “sex on the beach” [be it the drink or the actual activity]. Let’s hope there are 12 year old girls weary of men who want to “kiss her, touch her, squeeze her buns”. Are you serious, Snoop Dog? Get some dignity!! If you want to do her, don’t tell us. We don’t want to know.

Too bad youth has already been corrupted by similar such songs. On facebook, I receive numerous friend requests from underclass high schoolers. Out of curiosity, I venture into their profile pictures and other photo albums, simply to get a better idea of who they are. A picture tells a thousand words. These kids could be Katy Perry’s hoard of mindless zombies California Gurls. [As I type “gurls” I see red underlining the misspelled word. No wonder U.S. education isn’t rivaling those of Asian countries. We can’t even spell in our native tongue.]

I’m not generalizing everyone, mind you. I’m simply stating my observations. Many observations. Girls striving to get tanner and tanner till they develop skin cancer. Woohoo. I’m not quite sure what Katy Perry wants to achieve with this song. Oh right, money. And bimbos. She’s setting a bodily image for girls to abide by. It’s amazing how specific her instructions [lyrics] are to achieve the desired effect, “the boys break their necks try’na to creep a little sneak peek (at us)”. Boys? Where? Ohhhh, those ones, the ones with testosterone overload, jerking off? The ones who only see your body and couldn’t care less about your intellect or personality? Right. I see them. They’re playing you. No really. They’re playing Candy Land. You’re their slutty little pawn.

Candy Land? Way to take yet another innocent childhood memory and smash it to bits with sex appeal. Yes, I’m referring to Katy Perry’s video. Confectioned costumes and pretty props are given a very adult twist. I’ve always imagined candy as a very cute thing. Nice goes naughty. Boo. And when she’s not donning her sexy donut bikini, she dons nothing,

“The cotton-candy clouds! I am a little bit naked,” Perry admitted. “I was naked. And, hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!” she laughed to MTV News when she sat down to take us through the video, frame by frame. (MTV)

Oh joy. Naked. Not that I’m against it. I mean, people display themselves naked as art for art’s sake. But this isn’t art. She is selling herself. Her body. Visually allowing people to consume her [in a metaphorical sense]. Darn the global free market. She’s selling an image.

I’m surprised girls aren’t RAGING about this. Why do we have to be put up to such standards? Why do I see girls as young as 12 years-old slaving away over perfecting their face, spending exorbitant amounts of money at the nearest Macy’s cosmetic department for things they don’t need? Why not spend it on a good education? A better high school? A university with a name? Nope. All of that goes down the drain when they see Katy Perry’s flawless body carefully displayed on a puff of cotton candy. All the boys want her. Girls want to be wanted. They hate themselves,

What worries Lamb most is that these images are filtering down to girls as young as 9 and 10. Some really sexy clothes are available in children’s size 6X, says Lamb, a psychology professor at Saint Michael’s College in Colchester, Vt. “Girls are being taught very young that thin and sexy is the way they want to be when they grow up, so they’d better start working on that now,” she says. (USA Today)
Girls are destroying themselves! This is madness! It makes me so sad to see this happen right in front of my eyes. My tween aged neighbors becoming engulfed in sexy glamour, FaceBook profile pictures becoming centerfold images for Play Boy, and girls dumbing themselves down. All for one obvious reason; they want to be wanted.

WOMEN COME IN ALL SIZES. Accept that. Every woman has a unique attribute. Accept it.

I’m sure Katy Perry knows a place where the grass is ”really greener, warm, wet and wild” but I know place where girls are killing themselves to find Perry’s wonderland; it’s a place called reality. I’m surprised Candy Land still tastes sweet.

Add salt to taste <3

Suman

This is Why I Wish Texting Didn't Exist

Link to article

Here’s my small mental note on the general topic of the link~

What happened to the good old elementary school days when kids wanted to talk with you face-to-face, kid-to-kid? What happened to being personal. Calling someone on the phone and hearing their voice? I still do that.

I was once an avid texter. Junior year of high school was my prime time. It was texting mania. I really was a maniac. Unlike most sensible parents, mine chose to have a limit on my text plan. I went over by, let’s say, 1000 texts? Yeah. My plan was revoked. FOREVER. I mean, I still don’t have it. THANK GOODNESS.

I was devastated initially. How could I go on? Everyone texted! Except for me.

Turns out, I didn’t die from social rejection or an arythmia from anxiety attacks concerning the no longer available instant replies from so-called friends. In fact, I didn’t die at all. If anything, I was resurrected from social entropy.

I mean sure, it’s a pain sometimes, because there are dire times when information simply must reach me regardless of how it is said. But that situation aside, people don’t like talking anymore. Whether this results from laziness or results in laziness, I have no clue.

People are obsessed with gaining information instantly. Instant gratification. Our generation thrives on it. Every single day, I see numerous people update their FaceBook stauses, ending with a , “TEXT ME PLEEEEAAASEE!!!” As if they can’t go one second without pounding their thumbs on tiny alphanumeric keys.

How obnoxious. If you want to talk to someone, call, ask to hangout, and have fun. People rely on texting to communicate. Communication is one of the most important components of a healthy relationship. Too bad texts are permeated in artificial preservatives [save as draft, select words carefully, then send]. One can’t hear the tone of voice, view the facial expressions, and experience body language.

FYI, humans have five senses. Let’s try to utilize them.

Humans are social animals. So why are we confining ourselves to our rooms, talking to a high-tech cellphone screen? I miss the days when people ventured outside to visit friends. I miss the days when voice mail was the “big thing”. Nowadays, my friends can’t go one minute without checking their phones for a new message. What is so important that it cannot wait to be told in person or via a simple phone call? Don’t you worry, Alexander Graham Bell, I’ll do your arduous race to the patent office proud.

“The value of a telephone is the value of what two people have to say.” [In Conversation, Oscar Wilde]

I guess I’m slightly old fashioned in my thinking when it regards communication. I enjoy calling people versus texting. I enjoy hand-written letters on beautiful, custom selected stationary versus monotonous emails. I’m a hopeless romantic.

Add salt to taste <3

Suman

Eggnog Pages & Fulfillment

Okay, I'm definitely not going to abandon this blog. I've noticed that in my history of chronicling thoughts, I never stick to one thing. I always drift.

I drift. I see one thing, I wanna try it. Then I see another. I go off in search of some kind of fulfillment. Nothing gets fulfilled. I'm going to stick with this. Despite the fact that I have a tumblr, I will not fail in using this blog. The two have very different purposes. While both contain my thoughts, the other is simply a show piece [I've determined at this point]. So what do I mean by show piece? Isn't this supposed to be the refined blog? Yes. But my tumblr is supposed to be for others to view and interact in a different sense. Music, pictures, thoughts that appeal to the adolescent audience. It's supposed to be... pretty. It's my little plaything. I doll it up. I' obsessed with adding things to it. Embellishing it like a scrapbook. It is my cyber waste bin of stuff.

If you're interested, here it is http://sumanamonomnom.tumblr.com/

It can't compare to the simplicity of this. This is the Moleskine of the notebook world.It goes beyond being a beautiful commodity. It becomes a beacon of inspiration. Eggnog colored pages have always inspired me. I simply need to get over my fear of making mistakes.

Mistakes are beautiful.

They can be fixed. Just add more thought, whisk to an airy consistency, and when the mixture creates peaks, you'll know it's perfect.

I just don't want to give up on this. And maybe there a deeper meaning to why I'm thinking all of this. Maybe it has to do with my indecisiveness regarding my future. Architecture or English? I can create. I can think. I can build models. But do I love it? I know my love for the English language outweighs my penchant for any other subject or field. But is this simply a moment of weakness? Maybe I love architecture, too. Why else would I have applied? Should I stick with it? Give it a chance?

People tell me I'm good. Good with architectural concepts. Also good at analyzing literary work. For some reason, these two opinions are never spoken from the same mouth. They are opposing views. One tugging me one way, the other pulling me the other way.

What to do?

I want finish something.

Add salt to taste,

S

It Tastes Like Thera-Flu.

It really does. Advice is like chicken noodle soup. Except the bits I've been getting recently taste like piping hot lemonade. Everytime I fall ill, Thera-Flu is the one medicine my parents recommend, without a doubt. It tastes nasty, but works incredibly well. It's not the wonder cure or anything but it's one of the few remedies that actually works with me.

Right now, I'm a bit sick. Sick of being love sick. It's dreadful. The feeling of unrequitted love.

Here's the quick synopsis of my first year at college [but more specifically, my personal life]: S ventures off to the Institute, goal in mine, feet on the ground. Well, partially on the ground. There's this boy she's been talking to for about a month via facebook. Despite not having met him in person, she's gotten swept off her feet. Girl meets Boy, girl likes Boy. Not vice versa, sadly. Their friendship develops, but all attempts at actually getting the Boy to acknowledge the beyond-friendship developments and behavior are futile. But who's to say he isn't aware of what's happening. The entire situation turns into a sort of fling. S, down-trodden and dignity out of the window, struggles to get a grip. What is going on? S gets advice [from various friends]. It all tastes like Thera-Flu.

What girl hasn't experienced such humility? I've thought of this time and again. I realize that I'm not alone. But it's just so frustrating! And every bit of advice I've gotten has led to a consensus: ditch the boy and find a new one. Easier said than done!! I turned to chick-flicks for answers. Nothing. Absolutely no answers. The "heroines" always end up living happily-ever-after with their love interests. Not to mention the abundnace of cliches, stereotypes, and gender-role defining contexts. Ugh. Sometimes I wonder why I watch chick-flicks at all. Oh yeah, because when I'm in despair, I see no rhyme or reason.

Moving on...

I was at a GoodWill, perusing the used-books section when I stumbled upon British Chick Literature. Millie's Fling by Jill Mansell. It's horrible. The plot is predictable, the characters are cliched [although you know Mansell's trying her best to make Millie and her posse seem as down-to-earth as possible]. Here's a synopsis [courtesy of Barnes and Noble],

"Bestselling novelist Orla Hart owes her life to her friend Millie Brady, whose rotten boyfriend has just left her. So Orla invites Millie to Cornwall, where Millie looks forward to a summer without any dating whatsoever. But Orla envisions Millie as the heroine of her next novel and decides to find Millie the man of her dreams. Except the two women have drastically different ideas about what kind of guy that should be."

I picked it up because I was desperate. Usually accustomed to something with intellectual merit, paying even $.2.99 plus tax for this mindless garb was something new. I was curious to see how Millie would overcome her guy troubles. Figures, things worked themselves out for the better. Millie, a beautiful, twenty-something blonde wins the man of her dreams and lands herself an entertaining job. Good for her.

I am not Millie. Clearly. I'm one the handful of non-fictional girls struggling to move-on from something that will never be anything more than a fling. It's like the feeling of being used. And you only comply to let your guard down for what? A moment of bliss with some you're head-over-heels for? Someone who obviously couldn't express their disinterest any more clearer? Although I was emphatically dissapointed with the novel, one moment in Millie's love story did strike a chord with me. It's the whole fear of someone using the knowledge of this crush to easily attain a favor,

"Miffed, Millie wondered if he had any more tricks up his sleeve. Like asking her to dance with him to something slow and smoochy, perhaps. Not because he fancied her or anything: just to get Sooo Sad off his back.
This was a scenario familiar from her teenage years, an effective way of letting someone know you weren't interested in them. The trouble was, when you secretly fancied the boy who was using you to get the message across, it hurt like anything when the music stopped and he declared satisfaction." (Mansell 391)

I find it dispicable when people [guys and girls, alike] know they've got everything going for them [in the love department] and experiment with others for sheer pleasure! And when someone actually falls for Mr. or Ms. Perfect, the aforementioned individual finds them boring and moves on. BORING?! What a horrible excuse! No one is simply "boring"! Pompous fool! Just because you may have some sex-appeal and suave moves to show-off does NOT give you the right to toy with a person's feelings! Goodness, people, get a grip! What's even worse is when they feel the need to feel sorry for you! Then they make you believe that they're only with you out of pity. Are you serious? For goodness' sake, do not lead someone on without real emotion backing it up! UGH!...Okay, that's enough of my rant.

My dilemma with the developing situation was finally accosted. Just before the school year ended. It's been made clear to me that we (the Boy and I) are simply friends. So that's that. At least that's what I thought. I absolutely do not want to be friends-with-benefits. Why should I sacrifice my self-respect and morals for someone who knows how I feel yet takes no action to stop what's happening? It's also largely my fault that the situation progressed at such a rapid rate. I'm constantly yearning for his attention and thus make myself available at his every beckoning. So pathetic, right? There! I've admitted it. En route to over coming this sickness. And the obvious next step is to move on. Just as my friends advised me. Medicine is bitter. And I hate it. But as always, it manages to alleviate something. I'll do it then. No feeble will-power this time! I'm going to move on. Or try to move on. There are more important things to focus on anyway [like finding scholarships, reading wonderful novels, and enjoying Summer].

I know I've made the Boy sound completely dislikeable. He's not. He's a wonderful friend. A horrible judge [pertaining to our situation]. He knows almost everything about me and I truly enjoy his company. I just need to learn to keep strong emotions out of an inherently no-strings-attatched friendship. He'll do his "exploring" and I'll just have to keep on a straight face. This little green-eyed monster needs to find a new color to don or sin will be her undoing!

Moral of this post? DON'T GO WITH THE FLOW. ALWAYS ASK WHERE YOU'RE GOING FIRST. Just a warning. Because swimming back to point A from point B, against the current, takes a helluva lot of strength. But if you do find yourself drifting off, get advice ASAP. The more bitter the medicine, the better.

Add salt to taste,

S