True Life: I'm Corny!

Recently it has come to my attention how this blog has caused others to perceieve me. At this point, I've been described by quite a few people, some friends, some not, as "cold," "dead inside," "caustic," "mean," and, oddly enough "mistrustful."

Now, normally, I'd be the type to not care very much. The kind of person who eats baby carrots out of a sandwich bag while walking down the street with her hood up is not really in any position to give a shit. Okay, and I did make fun of Imon twice during the Oscars broadcast for "Aw"-ing at that singing couple from Once. But this time, my character is (kind of/ sort of) at stake, so I have decided to set the record straight.

I'm corny. A cornball. Wack as fuck. Not remotely cool in any way, shape, or form. Beneath my cold, hard, poreless, gorgeous exterior beats a heart made of pink marshmallow.

I have crap taste in movies; particularly musicals and shitty-to-middling rom-coms. If I could, I would probably watch High School Musical and Prime every day. Multiple times! Sure, I've probably told you at some point that, like, Goodfellas was my favorite movie (actually, it kind of is), with all its gunplay and cocaine bingeing, but I was pretty much lying. In fact, I have two separate "favorite movie" lists; a real one, topped by Something New and The Wiz, and a fake one, full of pictures that I like, but are also acceptable for a "film student" to name. Best of all? I cry, almost every time I go to the movies. Seriously. Tears. Down my face.

I fall asleep at parties. There is photographic proof, and no, you cannot see it. I watch Gossip Girl in a non-ironic way. I will buy any magazine with Shia LaBeouf on the cover. I gave my mother the J. Holliday CD for Christmas last year, not because she asked for it, but so that I could sing along to "Bed" while driving around in her car. I love all the music that comes on the Disney Channel. I have two Hannah Montana songs in my iTunes and I'm listening to Aly & AJ's "Potential Breakup Song" as I type this. I can't help it! I think it's good!

Nonetheless, here is a sliver of my humanity, for you to examine at your will. The truth is out now: I am a living, breathing, warm-blooded, feeling human being. I think fat babies are cute and my bedroom is pink and I talk to my parents every day. Mock me, make fun, laugh about me with your only friend; I don't care. I'm done pretending.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to run if I expect to make it to the noon showing of Penelope.

Posted by: Brittany

Image: Disney

Hi My Name is Imon and I Suck at Writing.

This is a confession of love. I am in love with my secret lover and his name is writing. No one would ever know it, but I truly and utterly really like writing. Words are magical and powerful and when put together they can create true beauty. I can remember some writer saying it should be glass; smooth with no imperfections. Well my writing is much like broken glass with no chance of ever being perfectly smooth.

My writing level is comparable to a six grader’s. Strangely, that is when I stopped scoring high on the in school writing tests. I became frustrated with words and began to hate them. They were my worst nightmare and haunted me every time I put pen to paper. Those around made me fell as if I were mentally challenged or dyslexic (I really could be dyslexic). I was so ashamed of my writing that I purposely wrote in chicken scratch so no one would be able to read what I wrote. That sucked because my handwriting is really nice and I have a gift of writing amazingly in cursive. English 101 in college I almost failed and in English 102, my teacher asked me if English was my first language. In A.P. English in high school I hated writing so much I used to rhyme every thing I turned in to my teacher, from my essay test question, to major papers. She made me move to regular English and put all of my writings on file in the guidance office, so it could be on record that I was a bad writer. Regular English was wonderful. We never wrote, just watched made for television movies about famous novels and drew pictures that were our own interpretation of the movies. I felt smart. Rhyming all of my work in A.P. English paid off during the Shakespearean poetry unit. The other kids would buy me things if I would write there poems for them.

I am taking a stand! I like to write and I can’t do it well. (That is why I started to write for a blog so I could get better). I know for a fact there are trillions out there who are just like me. We need to stand up and fight against those who turn their noses up at our inability to spell, place a colon, or make sure our sentences have a subject, verb and predicate. The good writers in the world need to watch their backs because there is a war brewing; us bad writers who like to write, we secretly have more heart, passion, appreciation for the written language than Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Toni Morrison put together.

Posted By Imon

Keeping the Faith, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Barack

Even if you’re going hard for Kucinich (and aren’t the lot of us, deep down?), you know the Democratic nomination is a Hillary versus Obama showdown. The Seasoned Politico versus the Activist-Cum-Wunderkind. The First Lady-Turned-Viable Candidate versus the Racially Mixed DILF with the Adorable Family. The Chick versus the Black Guy. Despite their similar stance on some issues, the lines are clearly drawn.

Many of you, however, pretend that you are not concerned with having a specific person in the White House. As long as the Electoral College swings Blue, you claim you will be content. You keep up with the debates and primaries, but your heart’s not in it. You try to act all tough, like none of this fazes you. But there’s a reason you’re afraid to truly engage: you are head over heels in love with Obama. Face it.

Hell, you’re not just in love with him; you’re in love with Michelle, Sasha, Malia, and his pure fucking hopefulness. You become highly susceptible to pregnancy every time he smiles, even if you are a man. Yet, you won’t support him because you’re afraid of the disappointment it may bring.

I know this, people, because I was once one of you.

Yes, yes, I, too, am in love with BO. A fan since the 2004 convention, I was ecstatic when he announced he was running, albeit a little concerned. I nonetheless kept up with his every political move. Though I had no television last summer, I spent a few nights on YouTube, watching the early debates with a voracity typically reserved for Gossip Girl or Chipotle. And so our affair began.

It was all quick and torrid. We bonded over universal health care. I nodded my head in agreement when he talked about a woman’s right to choose and gave a spirited “right on!” when he approached education issues. We didn’t agree on everything, but he was the best person for the job. He made me feel good about the future. His activist roots, faint six-pack, freaking awesome wife, and criminally cute kids didn’t hurt, either.

But somewhere around August/ September, I panicked. Barack was up against a steel-balled former First Lady and a Southern white male. Why were we kidding ourselves? Why should I trust the same nation that was slow to Katrina and the Jena 6 to elect a black man named Barack HUSSEIN Obama? I knew we would both get our hearts broken when he didn’t win the party nomination, let alone the election. So, it was time to break up; I had to let a summer fling be a summer fling. In the following months I faked indifference toward all candidates, all the while my realistic-minded liberal heart bled for Barack.

Last week, amid the primaries, I started to miss him*. I wanted him back, and badly. Still, a future with Hillary seemed imminent, and one last try, at first, didn’t seem worth it. Oh, but it so is. Allow me to enlighten you:

The choice between Hillary and Barack is a matter of faith, above all else. Hills is capable, but does she have that hopeful spark? I needed to adopt Barack’s hope; what initially drew me into his campaign. I needed to have faith not only in him, but faith that America will someday soon elect someone capable, optimistic, and fresh. The opportunity to truly believe in a politician only comes along so often. To look back knowing that a good, truly viable candidate came along and I didn’t support him because I didn’t have the faith to would hurt worse than him losing.

My faith restored, I’m officially coming out as an Obama supporter, and if you've got the inclination, I suggest you do the same. I’m riding this train as far as it will go. In the event that Hillary gets the nomination (and it is shaping up to be that way), I will transfer my support. But my Election 2008 heart always, and forever, belongs to Barack Obama.

*If this were a real life relationship, this is the point where one might start sending him drunken text messages in the middle of the night; begging for “forgvnesz” and for the chance to” hang ut won moore time.”

Posted by: Brittany
Photo courtesy of Associated Press