Disagreement @ MindSay 
Tinsel. Thin metallic strips, usually made of paper, used by many cultures as Christmas decoration. Generally used on trees, invented by the Germans in the early 1600s, originally made of shredded silver, and the name, despite its German origin, comes from the Old French word for sparkle, “estincele.”
I despise the stuff.
This would be a testament AGAINST thinking that your family’s holiday traditions are the proper way to do a holiday. My parents, both of them to my knowledge, quite enjoy tinsel. We usually only use it on the tree, though it can be used on just about anything that you can hang the stuff off of or wrap it around. Bedknobs, broomsticks, doorbells, sleighbells, schnitzel with noodles – really, it doesn’t matter where you put it to start with, because the stuff is migratory.
You can place the majority of it on your tree for example, or cleverly weave it around your banister. The colony will take some time to adjust to its new environment, then soon thrive, and then begin sending out scouts. Ideally, as far as its concerned, these scouts would find a new location for second or even sixth colonies, but the Christmas season isn’t quite long enough to permit that, so we simply get them turning up everywhere.
Oddly, they seem attracted to scrambled eggs. I have no explanation.
The fact is that I simply do not care for tinsel. Perhaps in smaller amounts I would appreciate it, but to my way of thinking, it gives the impression that someone in my household is pining for Spanish Moss. Since no one in my family save a rather estranged cousin has ever lived in Florida, I have no explanation for this phenomenon, either. Much of this situation baffles me.
But I had a very nice tree going. The lights are prettily arranged, the star is lit, and an artistic care went into placement of the ornaments. I pointedly ignored the eight boxes of tinsel in the ornament box. And then I came home one day to find that all of that had been nearly obscured under what looked like the work of ten thousand spiders hopped up on amphetamines and glitter glue.
Historically, there used to be small bits of lead in tinsel, because it made it hang better. This is no longer the case – which is part of the reason why not all of the tinsel on our tree is particularly vertical.
I don’t really fight this anymore. This is not my house, it is not my tree. My parents get to have their tree as they like it. But I can assure you that in years not too far from now, I will have my own dwelling, and my own tree, and there will NOT be tinsel on it!
EDIT: Someone has brought it to my attention that I may very well someday be married, and part of any marriage is blending holiday traditions. I say we shall cross that bridge when we come to it. Perhaps he will not have particular preference about the tree. Perhaps until we do achieve this blending, for a few years we’ll have one of those dysfunctional trees with His and Hers sides (those are often entertaining). Perhaps he’ll be able to convert me by proving that it is possible to use the shimmery strands without creating an ostentatious monstrosity. But there will be a few years when I am not married, where it’s MY Christmas tree.
Happy Holidays.
October 10, 2007
To Whom It May Concern:
I am writing this appeal letter in disagreement with the dorm agreement that I signed in April of 2007. After rereading the agreement, I do see that it states that this “is a binding contract for housing and food service for the complete academic year – both fall and spring semesters.” However, I do not agree with this, and it wasn’t until after I had signed it that I realized the agreement had been changed. This agreement is not a lease for an apartment, nor would a reimbursement check be required to be written, since I pay semester by semester. As a junior, and having resided here both my freshman and sophomore years, when handed the agreement (not being warned that there were changes), I skimmed the material, saw that the meal plan, room charges, rules and damage policy were explained, and signed my name. Not only would I have not been allowed to move in had I not signed the agreement, but no one had explained that there were changes made to the agreement.
Since I was a freshman in high school, my dream college had always been the University of Pittsburgh. Throughout my college search, I researched Carlow and applied. Knowing that no matter what, I was going to choose Pitt, I narrowed my choices down to Carlow and Pitt. I visited both schools, and was impressed by both. However, when I stepped foot onto Carlow’s campus, I felt welcome – and felt as if I mattered. I fell in love with the atmosphere of Carlow, the student to teacher ratio, the small class size, and felt as if my decisions would be taken into consideration all throughout my academic career. However, with this situation, I feel as if at Carlow, I don’t matter, and that my needs and happiness with the University are not taken into consideration.
I am not happy with my residence in the dorms. I am miserable and it is starting to affect my schoolwork. The food does not appeal to me, and what does, makes me ill – which causes me to pay more money than I already do to live here, and I do not feel that I should have to pay for something that, for one, I do not want, and secondly, makes me unhappy. As a freshman, moving into the dorms was one step closer to becoming responsible, moving away from my parents, and being able to manage my time wisely. As a sophomore, and after already residing in the dorms for a year, there were more aspects to my life that I had to manage – I had a job, I had made friends freshman year, and my school work load was tougher. Throughout all this time, my number one priority, and what is still my number one priority is my academic career and the responsibility of being able to pay for my college career.
In order for me to pay for schooling I have taken out loans, in addition to the grants and scholarships I receive from the school. While in school, I work on the weekends and make payments on my loans. However, in order to make a sufficient difference in the amount I’m going to have to pay when I get out of school, I need to be available to work more than just weekend hours.
I feel as if all the reasons listed above are valid reasons for me to resign from the dorms. In addition, the Carlow Mission statement reads:
“The Mission of Carlow University, a Catholic liberal arts university, is to involve persons, primarily women, in a process of self-directed, lifelong learning which will free them to think clearly and creatively, to discover and to challenge or affirm cultural and aesthetic values, to respond reverently and sensitively to God and others, and to render competent and compassionate service in personal and professional life.”
It is unfortunate for me to say that I do not feel that not allowing me to move out of the dorms, which I have not yet paid for Spring Semester, is allowing me to continue with my “lifelong learning.” Being contained in a dorm room does not allow my opportunity for growth in my studies, and does not allow me to think clearly because there is so much distraction. This is yet another reason that moving off campus would be beneficial to me. The dorms are noisy and there are constantly people running up and down the hallways. I realize that there is no way that I can stop the distraction in the dorms, yet I can remove myself from the situation, which I am choosing to do, so that my grades do not suffer. If Carlow’s mission is to make an experienced and compassionate service in my personal and professional life, then I should be allowed to remove myself from the dormitory building – in order for me to grow personally and professionally, I need to give myself that opportunity, and I feel that staying in the dorms is reducing that chance. It would be very unfortunate if I would have to withdraw from the University on these accounts.
how sad is it that it has come to this?!
Then there are some people who have excellent opinions concerning political and social issues. But they can be 'tards. And infact are 'tards most times. But you've got to love 'em anyway because you know that deep down. Somewhere. There is indeed a good person. Just dying to get out. Or just dying. Not always sure which.
Now when two such meet. Or more meet. And they all proceed to cream one another verbally, there are people like me who stand there and may or may not sell tickets and knickknacks of this war of Titans. Or more likely try to decide whether to cheer the side we may philosophically agree with or the side we'd rather be the other person on the proverbial island after the great Kaboom!
But in the end, we will support the Good people. And we will do it because they are somehow untouchable. They are the ones who are meek and make the rest of us strive to be good people. We'd rather be wrong and be like them, than be right and be a right putz. They make us feel better when we are down and they'd give their dying breath for us if they thought it would help.
These people are the kind of people I'd be proud to stand up for any day, and the sort of people that you seldom see. They truly do believe what they preach, and while we shake our heads and smile with a wisteful sigh, we would rather die than see them come to harm. So this is for you sandyquill and revcathian. May your lil' puddin heads ne'er come to harm, and may you never face "the explainin'".
September, 1983
First day of Kingergarten
Riverside, CA
Sitting on a swing, a voice broke through my daydream of becoming a bounty hunter of pirates someday. I didn't like distractions when tucked away into my imaginary world and I definately didn't like this voice making it's failed attempt at singing. I wrinkled up my little button of a nose and glanced around in hopes of finding the source of such racket. Someone needed to put an end to it soon. There was no sense in allowing a scratchy voice hurt the ears of others and distract them from important endeavors such as dreaming big. Must I always be saving the world, I thought as I remembered my nickname was sometimes "someone" and other times "anyone."
I sighed in exasperation the way my mother always had, the exhalation of breath blowing a red tinged blonde curl from view. My gaze landed on the source all right, just a few swings down from me. The boy's voice was positively awful as he squacked his abc's out, always skipping the "c" and "z" and that just wasn't okay. His face was aglow with pride as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
I finally decided to scramble from my thrown so I could confront him before a headache of irritation could develop. As I stood before him, I regarded him through squinted eyes, my hands going for the no-nonsense attitude on my hips my mama always gave me whenever I annoyed her. See, I knew what I was doing.
"You can't sing."
The sound of my voice seemed to put an end to it. Well, at least the singing. The boy's turquoise gaze swept over me before dropping from his barely swaying perch. We glared at each other for a few minutes. My chin was raised, half in defiance and half in.... well, he was a couple inches taller. (Okay, I lied - a few.)
"I can so."
"No you can't. You're doing it all wrong. You keep skipping the "c" and "z" and you can't do that. And you sing.... sucky. Just fix and then maybe I'll let you sing."
"Shut up. I can so sing. I don't gotta fix nuthin'." Push.
He pushed me? He pushed me! My jaw dropped in that "how dare you" manner as I simply stared at him. I recovered quickly enough to say, "Well don't get your name on the board about it. Just fix it."
"No." Again he pushed me, putting in enough strength to have me stumbling backwards.
Before I could even think of retaliating in any way, however, he was shoved to the ground by another boy about the same size as Annoying.
"Hey, don't push him," I cried out and ran to stand between the pair. Boys, I thought as I rolled my eyes. Having two older brothers educated well enough on the subject.
"He pushed you first," retorted the Boy-Who-Thought-He-Was-Helping-But-Wasn't.
"So, two wrongs don't make a right." I offered my hand to Annoying to help him up, but he just sat there looking like he was in shock.
"Who said?" asked the Boy-Who-Thought-He-Was-Helping-But-Wasn't.
"My mama did and she's always right."
Annoying finally took my hand and pulled himself. up with as little help from me as possible when the non-helper finally stalked away without another word. It was probably because the teacher had us under serveillance at that moment. For how long, none of us knew or cared. Just as long as our names weren't placed on the board.
"I didn't need your help," said Annoying.
"Oh well. I helped you," I said with a little smile. "What's your name?"
"Tristan. Yours?"
"Cheriah."
"That's a weird name."
"Mama calls me Cherie instead 'cause it's easier. You can too. She said it means dawling in Rance."
"What's Rance?"
I shrugged indifferently. There were just too many possibilities, so I answered the best I could. "Some place far, far away.... like where Peter Pan goes."
"But that's Never Land."
Another little shrug. "You call in Never Land and I'll call in Rance."
Showing 1 - 5. [ Next ]