Sometimes it takes your best friend naming off every relationship you've ever had to make you realize that you've never gotten the respect you deserved from the very beginning.

I'm an idiot.

There's no way around it.

Taylor Swift, you are really getting on my nerves now + other stuff

Today in the Swift/Kennedy saga:

Taylor Swift, 22, flew her boyfriend Conor Kennedy, 18, out to Nashville to spend a few days with her.

I have quite a few concerns about this whole situation.

1) If this kid is 18 years old then HOW exactly is he a junior at Deerfield Academy? I know a lot of kids at Dartmouth who graduated from this place and they're all the same age as me. I didn't turn 18 until I was a senior in high school. I'm not saying he's stupid but he might be if he doesn't attend class.

2) WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS? Taylor, I know you didn't go to high school, or boarding school for that matter, but you can't just pull your boyfriend out of school because you missed him. Get real, girlfriend, GET REAL. It's been MAYBE a week, TRY SIX MONTHS YOU HARLOT. I'm kidding, you're not a harlot, but you do need a healthy dose of reality check.

3) His dad is okay with this? Like what's the deal, dude? I know your wife just died and you're not reading my blog but COME ON (Gob voice).

Maybe I am just not rich or privileged enough to understand the reasoning behind any of this.

Other things that have really got my goat:

- Prince Harry's nakey nakey pix in Vegas

• Why in the motherlovin' world would the Royal family ever be mad about this? IT'S FABULOUS. Be naked more often, Harry. The world heartily approves.
• But if you were doing cocaine, Harry, I really can't defend you/ For shame.

- Republicans (especially Mary Fallin)

• Do you not know what context means? Or fact checking? I swear you people are the biggest bunch of turds I've ever had the displeasure of viewing on my television. To quote Fogel, er I mean...McLovin', "Read a f***ing book for once."
• AND you, Mary Fallin, I'm embarrassed to even say I'm from Oklahoma because of you. I can't believe the lies and utter nonsense that just pours from your mouth. Did too much hairspray seep into your brain or something? Do you even read the newspaper (not the Oklahoman)? Or do you only know how to regurgitate what other people tell you?

- Car shopping

• If you don't have to do it, don't.

Links pertinent to this post:

Taylor Swift Being Clingy | It's ain't healthy, baybeh

Is bullying widespread or is it isolated?

Because to be honest, I don't really remember being bullied or seeing anyone bullied when I was in elementary, middle, junior high, or high school.

Granted I grew up in a college town with a bunch of kids whose parents largely either worked in one of the factories or were professors or worked at the college. I'm not saying this has anything to do with how people parent but it might. Maybe everyone goes to church. I don't know.

I only remember one kid being harassed. The assumption was that he was gay (we never knew one way or the other because he never said...well, maybe he did but I never heard about it). He was also "weird" as in he wasn't a jock or popular or one of the smart kids. It wasn't that he was uncool, he just had no filter when he talked and he kinda lacked social skills. I thought he was nice enough, plus I never really felt like he took what those guys said seriously. He almost kinda played along with them. I think he knew they were stupid. We apparently had no tolerance bullying policy but the kids that harassed him were already in in-school suspension so what did it matter if they were bullying, right? If they were already getting in trouble, what more did the administration need to do?

Once in junior high, two of the popular boys came up to me and tried to use pick-up lines on me. Then, I was flattered mostly because I had terrible body image issues and thought I was ugly and fat. But then a boy (one of the assholes I tried to save) told me I was "porn star hot" and my body image issues were solved (but still didn't want to be compared to a porn star...gross). Now, I still resent that kid for solving my body issues that way but I appreciate the sentiment. He was young and stupid. I get it. And I'm not sure if those two boys were sexually harassing me because I didn't feel harassed or bullied. It WAS wildly inappropriate though and now that my cousin is in junior high, I am absolutely terrified that she'll experience the same thing. I guess the fact that I'm terrified of something like that happening to her is a signal that maybe it was harassment.

Maybe I never knew if anyone was bullied in my school system because I never hung out with people who were bullied. I was a goody two shoes throughout my entire life. I still tend to hang out with people who are hesitant to be mean and "do the wrong thing." This is not to say that in order to not be bullied you had to fly under the radar, be extraordinarily nice, and always do the right thing. But I was always friends with EVERYONE. I remember after Columbine happened, I knew I had to treat everyone with kindness and respect because who knew what kind of problems they were having, you know?

What is bullying? The more I think about it, the more I think maybe bullying doesn't have to occur repeatedly. I had always endured people (mostly girls) saying rude things like, "Why are you such a goody two shoes?"and "Who wears pink Barbie overalls anymore?" (We were in the fourth grade). But it was never repeated. They would just say something once and it was never mentioned again. Maybe my inability to classify anything that happened to me as bullying stems from the fact that I had fabulous parents who reassured me on a daily basis that I was smart and beautiful and funny and if people didn't like it they were probably jealous.

I've been reading a lot lately

Mostly because I know I won't have time to read when I get back to school but also because I couldn't read all summer due to my study abroad trip that I was supposed to be preparing for and now I'm not going on the trip (which is entitled to its very own post). Either way, these books...I won't lie...they're romance novels. In my defense, they don't look like romance novels. You know, the big strong muscular dude with a half naked woman dangling around his neck. That's not what's on the cover. They look so innocent! They trick me into thinking they're regular books and then I get ten pages in and then there's this line about how they touch for the first time and the woman feels "a quiver low in her belly." EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Have you ever felt the quiver? In real life, with your man. Yeah, me either. At that point, I'm too far into the story to stop, right? I know what you're thinking, I'm 20 years old. Why do I need this in my life? It's not like I'm a lonely housewife.

...But I am a lonely girlfriend in a long distance relationship.

So does that give me a free pass? Is it okay that these stories are quite frankly enthralling? Of course they're always about the big hulking (HOT) asshole who just needs a good woman to save him from himself. For a while, I was stuck in that pattern in my own life. Date an asshole, think you can fix him, he breaks your heart, you keep running back to him because you can get something that you need from him. The fact of the matter is...these books lie. You can't fix him. No matter what you try. You cannot make him stop drinking, pay his bills, be faithful, be truthful, whatever. He is the way he is because he wants to be. You cannot groom him into the man of your dreams because...the man of your dreams is the man of your dreams when you meet him. He's not a fixer-upper and he's not a dog to be trained. He's the man you need him to be when he appears to you.

I love the Kennedys

I truly do.

Not in a creepy, Google Alert kind of way but ever since I was...well, I don't really know when it started, but I have always been enamored with the story of their family. I realize by putting this out on the internet, I have now destroyed any chance I had at ever dating a New Englander with that boyish charm so evident in the Kennedy men.

I suppose my interest was piqued while I was in middle school. In my seventh grade language arts (read: English) class, we watched a movie that I believe was supposed to teach us about researching for essays. Regardless, the movie was about a high school student who was somehow trapped and library and some weird time traveling stuff happened and he was transported to the 1960s. There, he learned all about the Bay of Pigs incident. Thus, John F. Kennedy was involved. I should say that one of the great mysteries of my life will be that I cannot remember what this movie is called. Lord knows I have searched the internet high and low for it. Many a time I have googled "film research bay of pigs student time travel" and various other keywords but have come up empty handed. I will someday, I promise you that.

So, weird language arts movie inspires seventh grade to learn more about America's very own royalty...big whoop. Why do they matter so much to me? Why did I cry about Ted Kennedy dying? The truth is, I don't really know. Maybe I thought JFK was cute...but really if we have to come up with a conclusive answer here, I'm going to say it's because he was a Democrat...and a damn good one at that. For someone who grew up in a family where I honestly think I would have been shunned if I were a, oh, I can't even type it without feeling wrong, Republican, the Kennedys were a beacon. Good Democrats through and through.

Let's say for arugments sake that I was/am (don't want to really say which) slightly, maybe, just a little bit obsessed with the family. We can blame it on my eighth grade Extended Studies (again read: Gifted and Talented) teacher for putting my class through a unit about the JFK assassination. We had to research the hell out of people involved from Clint Hill (one of the CIA agents...the one who jumped on the back of the car when Jackie was reaching for that piece of Jack's skull...you know...oh, nevermind) to Abraham Zapruder (you know him, trust me).We talked about the Magic Bullet theory and we even went to Dallas to go to the Sixth Floor Museum (!!!!!!!!) and at the end we even acted out our very own Warren Commission (I was Clint). We watched Oliver Stone's JFK and that's probably what did me in. I totally reject the notion that LHO (Lee Harvey Oswald) acted alone. I won't go into specifics but I just can't believe the Magic Bullet theory. I'm with Jim Garrison on this one. But I digress.

Once I had a roommate at a youth journalism conference I went to in D.C., and GUESS WHAT. She was obsessed with the Kennedys too. We even tried to convince ourselves that it was kismet and that our room number was somehow related to the Kennedy universe. (We deduced that it was the date JFK Jr. was conceived. Don't ask.) I went to DC with my family the week before my conference and while my mom was off looking at Great American Art, my dad and I went to Arlington National Cemetery. I guess I didn't connect the dots until we walked up that hill to their graves. Then it hit me, they were there. It was an extremely real moment for me as I wept (yes, I wept) at first Jack and Jackie's and then at Bobby's.

I still haven't been to see anything in Boston or Hyannis but it's on my to-do list. I like to think I haven't gone yet because I feel like I might, like, cry a lot or have a breakdown or something.

It goes without saying that I have seen every TV show and movie and read every book that I could get my hands on about these people but I don't believe I've ever been able to put into words the impact that this family has had on me. I can say that I wrote my Dartmouth admissions essay about how they inspired me to want to give back to my community and do something better with my life. I used to want to be a politician because of them. I still do, but on a smaller scale. After all, in one of the many books in my personal Kennedy library, I read that an early motto of theirs was "I shall pass through this world but once. Any good that I can do or any kindness show, let me do it now. For I shall not pass this way again."

God bless them. Really.

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 The post today was inspired by Taylor Swift living out my personal fantasy by purchasing a house in Hyannis just to be closer to her boyfriend....a Kennedy.

Links and stuff for this post:

Ethel (sarcastically?) endorses her grandson's relationship with Taylor Swift
Taylor Swift reportedly buys a house by Ethel's
Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza
JFK/RFK/EMK Gravesite/Monuments/etc.

Diners, Dives, and Powwows

This weekend I had hoped to combine a few of my favorite things: exploring new places, discovering great restaurants, and going to powwows. Well, I did do these things but you know how people say things aren't always what they seem? That's the way it was with the powwow I went to with my friends, Autumn and Bazille.

It all started at 7 a.m. yesterday (Saturday) morning. I reluctantly rolled out of bed and stumbled into the lounge on the third floor of the house I live in to wake up Auto and Baz. After getting them up and off the futon (which took some effort),  I tried looking up the location of the powwow on Google Maps about 15 times and it continued to send me to some random town in New Hampshire nowhere near where I was trying to go, I finally looked up the event on Facebook. I plugged the address into GMaps and it sent me to relatively the right place.

So, finally, by 8:15 we had the car packed up and we were on our way. When we got to Plymouth, we had breakfast at a diner called Main Street Station. It was REALLY cute and I love diners so we obviously had to eat here. The front of the restaurant is a converted train car and we sat in the corner booth that looks out onto Main St. and Plymouth State. I like judge places by how good their coffee and eggs are, and while the eggs were delicious, the coffee didn't compare to Mountain Creamery's in Woodstock, VT...and even then neither of them compare to Dunkin Donuts. Seriously, that coffee is delish. I thought people were joking when they said Dunkin Donuts had great coffee. Autumn had a Bagel breakfast sandwich with sausage, a Belgian waffle, Bazille had a English muffin breakfast sandwich with shredded ham and fried potatoes, and I had a custom "scrambler" with tomatoes, bacon, spinach, and cheddar cheese, fried potatoes, and toast. Honestly the best meal I've had in a while. A breakfast like that always reminds people of home. It's the small things that make you appreciate life a little bit more.

We visited a resale shop after we ate and perused the downtown area before heading over to the gymnasium. We had rushed around all morning because we thought grand entry was at 9 am because that's what the flyer we had said. When we check the event on Facebook though, it said noon, which was a relief because I take awhile to get dressed. The powwow and I got off on the wrong foot from the very start. Coming from Oklahoma, which to me is the powwow capital of the world and home of the BEST powwows in the country, I'm used to registering for my contest, getting a number, etc. But when I went to register, they only had me write down my name in the Women's category. No divisions, no number, no nothing. No mention of how much first place was.

Saturday in a Nutshell

It's not that I only dance for the money, because if that were the case, I'd be S.O.L. I don't ever win in Oklahoma and that could be for any number of reasons but we won't get into that now because it doesn't matter. I very much believe that if you have Native heritage that you should research and find roots in your community and know the traditional ways and your culture. This powwow didn't feel like the ones at home. It just didn't feel right and I don't think I need to say why it didn't feel right.

We ended up staying the entire time and advertising for our powwow in May which is during Mother's Day weekend. I bought some beads from a vendor called Wandering Bull (I was weary about it and still am but they had size 10 gold beads which I have been dying to get my hands on). I met some real interesting people while we were there though. I talked to a man who was Cherokee or Tonkawa (he wasn't sure because he had come to Cherokee country in Oklahoma and he left confused about who he really was). It's a story I've heard in different variations but his was interesting because he knew that my tribe was a part of Standing Bear and he talked about visiting the park in Ponca City. He introduced me to his son who was soooooo cute. He was (is? it was unclear...) married to a Wamponoag woman. His son kinda looked like the actor Evan Ross EXCEPT WAY CUTER. And we also met Deb, a free-spirited woman with a radio show in Vermont. She wants us to be on her radio show to do advertising for our powwow.

When we got back to Dartmouth after what seemed like the longest drive of my life because I was so freaking tired, Autumn and I went to dinner with Daryl and Jose at the Orient. I'm always so grateful to spend time with these two because I don't get to see them very often and, let's be honest, they are my favorite couple of all time. We ordered way too much Chinese food and it was super delish as usual. I avoid eating Chinese food because I mean, you stuff yourself and then an hour later, you're hungry again. After we finished dinner, Daryl, Autumn, and I headed over to Molly's for dessert and drinks (for Daryl). I tried drinking and stuffing myself with all of the caffeine I could but my body was just not having it. By the time we had left Molly's and stopped in CVS to grab a few things, I was so incredibly tired and as I like to call it "cracked out." It's a state when I just say whatever is on my mind and ramble and it's kind of just...not cool. At all. I sound crazed and weird. I finally got in bed around 11:30 and commenced my much needed 12 hour sleep sesh.

At the end of the day, I just appreciate my friends and good food. So, whether it be a glass of orange juice or winning first place, appreciate your blessings. They'll keep coming if you keep appreciating.

Fritz, You Really Got Me...

Have you ever looked at a painting and felt completely at peace? Has art ever spoken to you? The work of Fritz Scholder does that to me. Championed as an "Indian" painter, he only ever desired to be recognized as an American painter. I cannot be asked to choose a favorite period of his. Every painting says something different, speaks in a different tone. He was a skilled colorist and perhaps, it is not that he painted and changed the way Native people were portrayed in art, but the colors of his work that I love. His abstract style, vivid (and sometimes stark) coloring make me want to completely immerse myself in the paintings. His background colors can be so deep and rich that I want to climb inside that painting and stay there forever. What I love about Fritz is that he's not just a painter, he's a sculptor, photographer, and so many other forms of artists. He truly embodies the word 'artist'.

The first time I ever encountered Fritz's work was at the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, D.C. in July of 2009. The exhibit was called Indian/Not Indian and featured his paintings that included Indian subject matter and those that did not. Immediately, I was sucked in and fell in love with the colors, context, and textures. Scholder was just so...interesting. His comical treatment of the stereotypes of Native peoples spoke to me like no one had before. I spent hours looking at the paintings, sculptures, drawings, photographs, etc. It had become a task to pull myself away from his work.

After that trip, I used any and every chance that came up to introduce people to his work. When I needed an escape, I would google his paintings. My favorites were Super Indian No. 2 and Indian No. 16. In the fall of 2011, the Native American Art at Dartmouth exhibit opened at the Hood Museum of Art. I was invited to dance at the opening ceremony and tour the exhibit afterwards. As soon as I walked in, I saw him. Dartmouth Portrait No. 17. I was in love again. I lost myself in the depth of the forest green, Dartmouth's color which I had come to admire so much. My eyes searched for the eyes of the figure in the portrait but never found them. I thought to myself, Fritz, how can it be a portrait if I can't look him in the eye? During my walkthrough of the exhibit, I stumbled upon more and more of his work and I simply couldn't believe my luck. Once again, I couldn't bear to pull myself away. [Sidenote: Often, at moments when I least expect it--a feeling overcomes me. The feeling is that "Yes, I am supposed to be at Dartmouth." You'll get more glimpses of these moments as we further explore my life. This moment at the Hood has been noted as a "moment."]

Later on in the fall, I went to New York City to visit one of my best friends, Daryl, and her boyfriend, Jose. While we (my other best friends Autumn and Greg) were there, we visited the NMAI in Manhattan. Lo and behold, dear old Fritz had a few pieces in the collection. His presence in art collections overwhelms me in the best way. When I find a Fritz somewhere, I just want to shout from the rooftops: LOOK AT THIS ART, IT'S GREAT, I LOVE IT AND SO SHOULD YOU. I suppose one could say Fritz Scholder is my art soul mate, the art love of my life, my art boo thang, my life pARTner (bad pun). I believe everyone has an artist that they can connect with on this level. You just have to look.

True Love.

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Links pertinent to this post:

Native American Art at Dartmouth - Hood Museum of Art, Hanover, NH

Indian/Not Indian - NMAI NY/DC

Youtube

Check my youtube for vlogs where I like to gripe about stuff. I'm like Kingsley except it's about real life.

http://youtube.com/cfawfawgoodson

Valentine's Day 2012

First of all, yes. I do believe Valentine's Day is a holiday created by the greeting card industry to make millions of dollars.

However, I love Valentine's Day. Sure, in the past I've been "depressed" because I didn't have a boyfriend to share it with but I always had family and friends that I loved and appreciated all the same. To be honest, I don't really have distinct memories of any specific Valentine's Days except for one year--2001. I was in third grade and the biggest Oklahoma State basketball fan there ever was. I knew all of the players and Eddie Sutton might as well have been right up there with God. One player--Fredrik Jönzén--was my absolute favorite. He was a 6'10" tall drink of water from Sweden (at least in my 9 year old opinion). As I am guessing most kids in elementary school do, my class made Valentine mailboxes out of brown paper grocery bags. To put it simply, my bag was a shrine to our Mr. Jönzén. Out of orange, black, white, peach, and brown construction paper I created Fredrik's likeness. Believe me, I think that was probably the most creative thing I have ever done. I remember putting so much work into the bag and being proud that he was the player I picked to put on my Valentine's bag. My mom decided I should send the bag to him because really how many 9 year old girls do what I did? [Answer: not very many.]

The thing about Fredrik that I haven't thought about in a very long time was the fact that not even a month prior, he had lost his teammate and roommate, Nate Fleming, in a fatal plane crash that had killed 9 other members of the Oklahoma State basketball staff and team. As a child who had a pretty good grip on what death was, I felt for Fredrik. Looking back on the incident now, I understand that Fredrik must have been dealing with a lot of emotions that were hard to face, especially as a college student. I bring this up because with the my Valentine's bag, I also sent him a letter. When I initially remembered sending him my Valentine's bag, I didn't remember writing to him about Nate. My mom reminded me that I not only wrote to him to tell him that he was my favorite player but also that I was sorry for the loss of his friend and roommate, Nate. Along with my letter, she sent Fredrik an 8x10 of my school portrait.

At the time, we lived in Manhattan, Kansas and didn't get to see O-State games very often. A couple of years later, we moved back to Stillwater, home of the Cowboys. As my mom recollects (because I seem to have blocked it from my memory), we went to an OSU game after Fredrik had graduated. It so happens that we had tickets in the South end GA and Fredrik was in attendance. Mom *says* that he continually looked at us (as if he recognized me from that 8x10 portrait) throughout the game. She also says that she tried to convince me to go up to him after the game and tell him who I was and that I had sent him the letter and the bag. Me being me, however, I was too shy to go up to the man who I admired for so long.

As I reminisce over that Valentine's Day of eleven years past, I feel very appreciative of that third grade girl. There are many lessons to be learned from my compassion, sympathy, and empathy. Going through adolescence with social media being shoved down my throat, I know I've become increasingly narcissistic, but times when I allow myself to reflect on the past, I can embrace the principles that were important to me before I started obsessing over which picture should be my profile picture. Now in 2012, I feel like I can appreciate my family, friends, and various other loved ones a little bit more.

And Fredrik, if you're reading this, you'll always be my first true Valentine. <3

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Links pertinent to this entry:

Dear Nate by ESPN's OTL, a great story and collection of letters about Nate Fleming and his family + Kyle Keller

My boo, Freddy