Thursday, October 15, 2009

Age of Enlightenment: 8

I think there is a big difference between lying and story telling. Granted, both result in untruths, but I only lie when I have done something wrong. I tell stories for fun. For instance, I love telling strangers my "life" story. I'm never sure whose life it belongs to, but I am sure that it's always exciting.

In kindergarten I told my teacher that my mother was pregnant and that I was one of twelve children. When I could only name six siblings, two of which were "Jennifer" my mom got called in for a parent teacher conference. In first grade, since I was the only black child in the entire school I thought I should have a little fun, and told everyone that I was an African princess and visited my father, the King, over summer vacation. We used sticks for toothbrushes and no one wore clothing. Cue my mother coming in for a parent teacher conference. I also convinced my entire school that I was Michael Jordan's cousin, the entire time praying that no one would find out that Jordan is actually my Caucasian mother's maiden name.

Somewhere, however, around the age of eight storytelling lost its luster and I found a new hobby. Enlightening. I used to love the shock value of a good story, but WHOA! You tell someone something that they never expected to hear and it is the truth? That's what really gets things going. When I discovered the art of enlightenment I really started cookin' with gas.

My greatest enlightenment story was probably my first real foray into the world of those that enlighten. Wikipedia.com (haha yes, my source for all things true in this world) says the Age of Enlightenment "at its core was a critical questioning of traditional institutions, customs, and morals" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Age_of_Enlightenment). I haven't really picked a side on reincarnation yet, but if I were to be on the pro...yeah, I was def hanging out with these enlightened cats.

I have huge issues with authority figures and I think that this has something to do with my overactive imagination and my ability to see through bullshit. I imagine that Descartes and Immanuel Kant felt the same way.

Anyway, my first and greatest act of enlightening came during my 3rd grade Christmas party. My mother is left handed and writes backwards. Her writing is slanted to the left and looks somewhat skeletal and bare. As an observant child I was able to surmise that all of my presents from "Santa" were really from either Kathleen Jordan, who was too busy to disguise her handwriting; or that both my mother and Santa had the creepiest penmanship ever.

This realization, being coupled with the fact that at age two I told my mother "Santa is a myth", it really was only a matter of time until I spilled the beans to the rest of the morons that I had Afternoon Milk with. (My mother to this day has no idea who told me that Santa wasn't real, nor how I knew what the word "myth" meant).

So anyway, around 1:30pm on the afternoon of December 19, 1991 (circa) I stood on top of a desk in my classroom and pronounced in my best outdoor voice the following declaration:

Hear ye! Hear ye! I just wanted to find out who in this class STILL thinks that Santa is real! If you are STUPID enough to think that Santa is real go stand on THAT side of the room! If you are smart and you know that Santa is FAKE!!!! come to this side of the room with ME!

A lot can be said for good friends. Alas, I only had one that day. Jessica Marie Klos. She walked over and stood with me, while the rest of the class, including our teacher Mrs. Andersen, went to the other side of the classroom. Cue me getting sent into the hall and my mom coming in for a parent teacher conference.

The rest of my life has basically continued along the same vein: outrageous statement, one or two followers, major ostracism. HA! I love it. But...no one else really does. Through my travels in life I have found that people would much prefer to be lied to (taken for a fool, if you will) than told the truth. It took me awhile to realize that it wasn't my job to make people see the world as it really is. Michael Moore has the same complex that I had as an eight year old, granted his might serve a greater purpose than simply robbing children of childhood fantasies.

It was sort of a hard pill to swallow, but I now pick and choose my Enlightenment battles very carefully. I will, however, still tell stories with reckless abandon. I think the reason that I like telling stories is because I think people like to get away from their regular lives, myself included. Enlightenment is a lot scarier than Fantasy, hence those stupid Vampire books and Lauren Conrad all over the New York Times Bestseller list.

If I really had to choose between "enlightening" and "storytelling" I'm not sure which would come out on top. My life is pretty good for all intents and purposes, but I can always imagine something better and more exciting and more....more something. I just hope that whomever tells a story about meeting me does me justice. Or at least makes it a good story.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Blog of Shame

This morning I woke up on a couch in a very nice apartment at 19th and JFK. Why was I on the couch? There were two perfectly good beds that I could have slept in...I slept on the damn couch. Natalie Fuchs is the reason I slept on said couch. I'm not going to go into much detail but hear this Fuchs: there is a new sheriff in town and she calls the guest room at 501 Kennedy House and if you want to discuss this matter you have to do so in person.