That's So Honors English

Recently, there have been several LGBT teen suicides. The pressure on these kids, as well as the rest of the LGBT community, is enormous, and many feel that death is their only escape from the hatred that they encounter in their lives. I wrote this paper a few years ago, for my Honors English class, but the message is still as true as it was then. We need to stop perpetuating hate speech in order to push progress forward.

_{By DeviantArtist Traitors-stead}

When you hear something stupid, or see a silly picture, what is your most common response? “That’s so stupid?” “That’s really silly?” That’s probably not the case. As nice as it would be to live in a world where dumb things were simply dumb, this is not reality. In most cases, when something strikes a person as being different, or odd, or oppositional to their own beliefs, they refer to it as “gay.” “Oh my God, that shirt is so gay.” “You listen to that band? You’re such a fag.” The truth is that most people who say these things probably don’t realize the strength their words have. It is most commonly believed that about ten percent of the American populous is LGBT. Despite the fact that this community is a minority, they still have the right to stand up and oppose the deliberate misuse of a once-neutral term for homosexuality. In defense of the LGBT community, the Ad Council has brought forth an award-winning series of commercials dealing with the phraseology “That's so gay.” The clips are about thirty seconds long, but they deliver a strong message, spoken by celebrities that Americans can easily recognize-- Wanda Sykes, who recently came out to the public, and Hilary Duff are in the two most popular of the commercials. Speaking as a friend of several gay people, and as a bisexual, I personally believe that the American people, and young adults in particular, need to come to the realization that their words have power, and can hurt people when taken in the wrong light.

The emotional weight that the LGBT community carries, due to their orientation, has been somewhat lifted in recent years, though it still seems far more acceptable to be straight. With the controversy over gay marriage and equal opportunities, LGBTs have been forced under a spotlight as of late. California's Proposition 8 has drawn a great deal of attention, as have the bans on gay marriage and adoption rights in several states. It may seem, then, that simple words don't matter much in the light of far more serious concerns. Unfortunately, though, the misuse of words like gay, faggot, lesbian, and homo is becoming so prevalent that it, too, as become one of those serious issues. A report by the Ad Council states that “Almost 90% of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) students report being verbally harassed at school because of their sexual orientation”. The majority of the abuse may, in fact, be unintentional because of the adoption of the orientational slurs into the everyday teenage vernacular.

Rationally, fighting the verbal abuse of an already-oppressed group makes perfect sense. Very little separates LGBTs from the so-called “rest” of the population; the separation is what truly makes no sense. Unfortunately, there are those who feel that the commercials that fight against stinging insults are themselves insulting: “This campaign from the Ad Council goes about sharing the love by creating more hate. [Hilary] Duff makes fun of the teenage girl and her ability to shop in order to make her point”. The same sentiment was expressed by several people I have personally addressed, including my own father, who is usually quite supportive of my orientation, but has always expressed a dislike for homosexual males. To him, people who have reacted to the phrase are being oversensitive, and they are simply demanding political correctness. However, while this may just be a pompous demand over childish vernacular, it must be taken into account that the word “gay” has the most commonly accepted, and certainly the friendliest, term used to address a homosexual, male or female, since the 1970s. The fact that this word is also attributed to any negative happenstance that occurs causes its degradation to all people, and takes away its safety to the homosexual community.

In order to inflict change, steps can be taken to show that you care enough about the matter at hand to stand up for it. In this case, those interested in making their mark can go to thinkb4youspeak.com. The site offers several ways to get involved with the effort, including a personal pledge to “Not use anti-LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender) language or slurs. Intervene, if you safely can, in situations where students are being harassed. Support efforts to end bullying and harassment”. Visitors to the website can also submit their own ideas for sayings to replace “That's so gay,” as well as send e-cards to spread awareness and to gain further support for this cause. Another option for supporters of the cause is to participate in a Day of Silence. The Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network (GSLEN) sponsors several such events throughout the year; the day of silence is typically in the second week of April. The event's website aids potential participants in signing up to be counted, purchasing themed merchandise to advertise, and pages to register GSAs and other advocacy groups for involvement in the Day. Finally, the simplest way to curb the phrase “That's so gay,” and other similar phrases, is to stop saying it yourself. Check yourself when you see something that strikes you as dumb or stupid, and watch your tongue. If one of your friends says the phrase, ask them why. Make them think before they just utter pointless, hurtful chatter. All of the groups, advertisements, and events can never compare with the small act of one person addressing another; one heart needs to touch another if this movement can make headway.

By saying “That's so gay,” the speaker, whether or not they realize it, demeans the entire homosexual populous. The phrase spreads a sort of subconscious homophobia, which has turned viral in recent years. Despite its widespread use, though, change can happen, if people realize that what they are saying is very wrong, and sounds completely nonsensical and unintelligent. Words have power, whether they are used properly or improperly. Consider the way you would feel if, instead of saying “gay,” the common phrase was “That's so straight.” While most people do not solely define themselves by their sexual orientation, having a word that describes it used as an insult can be hurtful nonetheless. You probably wouldn't like to have an essence of yourself, a part of your life, targeted and trivialized. It shouldn't be cool to say that something is gay. This phrase should not be socially acceptable. Think about the words you use to describe the strange, the odd, the down-right stupid. And for those of you who do say “That's so gay,” knock it off!

~Sushi

Boots on the Ground

My Middle Eastern history class went to a discussion about this lovely war that our country is waging over in Iraq. A growing organization of veterans has formed in order to inform the American public about what actually goes on overseas. The Iraq Veterans Against the War, or IVAW, was established in July 2004, by seven soldiers. Today, there are over 60 IVAW chapters in 48 states, Washington D.C., Canada, and on various military bases in Iraq; this amounts to about 1700 soldiers protesting the war. These aren't just guys who watched the news and formed an opinion; they have been there, amidst the blood, and the death, the shoddy equipment and the dirty drinking water. The way our country the military is pathetic, and I'm glad that I live in a country where men have fought and died so that I have a right to speak my opinion.

"We hold the weapons. We pull the triggers. We have the power."
The group that came to speak to use consisted of four young men. They couldn't have been more than six or seven years older than me, which made their stories even more terrifying to hear. They told us about the "new equipment" given to military companies; in reality, the old trucks, guns, and even body armor are passed down and reused. Our soldiers are using the same equipment that was used by their grandfathers in 'Nam. Not the same design-- the same exact product, worn out and passed down despite the hazards involved.

"I'm not here for forgiveness. I'm here to take responsibility."
One of the speakers was in an Illinois National Guard company in inner-city Chicago; they were deployed to Iraq so that the rest of the companies could get newer equipment. He talked about the children who ran through the street, jumping onto trucks to try to get food and water. Those were the people he wanted to help. When he left Iraq, two years later, hungry children still ran through the streets begging for food.

"I think I died a little on the inside, I was so happy."
Another of the speakers, a fast-talking, humorous Marine, talked mostly about his experience in Iraq, as he was still fairly new to IVAW. He explained what a conscientious objector is, about his trouble with PTSD, and why he was forced to go AWOL twice in order to get paperwork to get to the right people.

"I did not sign up for this. This is not my mission."
The last man to speak is currently facing redeployment to Iraq; he will be shipped out in a matter of days. He has decided to go, in order to inform the men and women overseas of the injustices this war is supporting. He talked about how, when he enlisted, he was ready to fight, as he had been trained in combat, as is every soldier. Instead, he was expected to teach, a task he had no training for.


I strongly suggest visiting the IVAW website, in order to understand the many reasons why Iraq veterans are deadset against this war. Today's list will consist of some of the more interesting words, phrases, and people I heard about today:
1. Pundit
2. Insurgent
3. Conscientious Objector
4. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder [PTSD]
5. My Lai Massacre
6. General MacArthur
7. Warrior Writers
8. Divestment Projects
9. Contractors
10. Military-Industrial Complex
11. Smedley Butler
12. War is a Racket
13. Quantico
14. Absent Without Leave [AWOL]
15. Department of Defense Qualifications for Service
Never did joining up look so bad.
~Sushi

Weighing In

I should be more excited than I am at present. I've done a lot of interesting things over the past few days. I saw the new Alice in Wonderland; it was a midnight show, and I dressed up as the Mad Hatter. Spock and I drove up to Lombard to go to a wake for his step-mom's grandfather; while that isn't exciting, it certainly is interesting. I met a lot of his family members there, and they gave me lots of hugs, and actually paid attention to me. Today, Spock and I, along with my mom and sisters, went to a birthday/retirement party for my papa. Spock met a lot of my relatives, who proceeded to ignored both he and I for the duration of the day. We came home and watched Seven Pounds, which, from what I can see, glorifies suicide as long as it's for a so-called noble cause. In my view--and I am allowed to have this view, considering that I've attempted suicide a number of times--is that suicide is never noble. Suicide is selfish. Impersonating an IRS agent is illegal, not virtuous. That movie didn't move me, it just pissed me off.
I did, however, like the idea of giving away pieces of oneself. That interests me. The part about giving them to random people, not so much.
Here are my seven pounds:
1. My kidneys, to Spock, who needs them more than I do.
2. My lungs, to Nonny, because all the smoking has destroyed hers.
3. My legs, to that boy in the wheelchair who always sits in the lobby at school, waiting for his ride; no-one ever talks to him...
4. My writing, all of it, to any publisher that will have it, so long as all the proceeds go towards mental health research.
5. My heart, to Severe, my dad, because he clearly needs a new one.
6. My hair, to the next person in my family/circle of friends who gets cancer and has to go through chemo.
7. My blood, to the Red Cross; maybe they'll figure out some way to actually get it out of my body and use it.
~Sushi

I don't own enough black for this...

In an ironic twist of fate, everyone around me is dying. It started with my sister's friend in January, followed by my friend Squishy's sister, who died in a snowboarding accident, and my un-sister Mistake's grandmother. And now, my uncle, and my dad's baby brother, is gone. I find it ironic because last summer, I tried to kill myself. Obviously, I survived, because I'm writing this. I'm not particularly happy about being alive at this point, though. I was just a funeral two weeks ago, and had my uncle not died so very suddenly, I would be going to one tomorrow. But, as my dad is the most responsible of the five remaining siblings in his family, it is up to my family to arrange, and pay for, cremation and other various expenses that will most certainly crop up. So far, this year has not turned out well.
I think I'll go play Portal, and try to forget I live in the real world...
~Sushi

R.I.P.

Guffrey Michael "Guffy" Williams

Kafka's Literary Suicides

I'm not really up to writing too much; after all, I just got back from a three-day camping trip in the woods, in below-freezing weather. Spare me this one day, please.

I wrote this paper for my Intro to Humanities class over the summer:
With the conclusion of “The Judgment,” a short story by Franz Kafka, the main protagonist, Georg Bendemann, is sentenced to death by drowning. The giver of this sentence is his father, and after it is pronounced, Georg throws himself over a bridge into a river. This seemingly crucial part of the story is followed by an endless flow of traffic across that same bridge (Mairowitz 34-35).As in many of Kafka’s stories, death is made to be insignificant when compared to the continual flow of life surrounding it. The prevalence of deaths in Kafka’s writings allude to the fact that he would rather have been death than alive. However, as he was quite pessimistic, suicide didn’t seem to be an option for Kafka—“You, who aren’t capable of doing anything, you want to do this [suicide], of all things?!?” (36). Kafka’s personal writings are full of his imaginings of his own demise:

To be dragged in through the ground-floor window of a house by a rope tied around my neck and then to be yanked upwards, bloody and mutilated, as if by someone not paying attention, with no consideration, through all the ceilings, furniture, walls and attics, until the last torn-off bits of me drop from the empty noose as it crashes through the tiles and comes to rest on the roof (4).

Instead, Franz Kafka committed a different form of suicide, that which could be called literary suicide. Rather than committing the actual act of suicide, Kafka chose to create main characters eerily similar to himself, whether physically or mentally, and to kill them off by the end of each of his stories. This essay will detail three of the best known cases of these literary suicides.
Josef K. awoke one morning to find himself under arrest, for a crime that would not be relayed to him (88). Thus, “The Trial” begins. K., Kafka’s literary persona in this story, is never told of the crime he has committed, though he searches far and wide for the answer. When no answer could be found, Josef K. submits to his persecutors, and is led to a field where he is expected kill himself. Just as Kafka cannot commit suicide, neither can Josef K., who instead glances toward a nearby house (92-93). A “human silhouette” leaned out of a window, opening its arms toward K (94). Finally, as K. watches this mysterious figure, one of his two executioners proceeds to strangle him, while the other sticks him in the heart with a knife, “twist[ing] it twice” (95). Kafka appeared to find this immensely funny; it was said that he “laughed uncontrollably” while reading excerpts of the tale to his close friends (95). This, however, could have been Kafka hiding his true fear of the closeness of his own death.
In perhaps the most well-known of all his writings, Kafka relays to the reader what it would feel like to be treated as though one were dead before they have even descended into their grave. In “The Metamorphosis,” main character Gregor Samsa wakes to find himself “transformed in his bed into an enormous bug” (39). Samsa’s has completely shunned him long before he has died of neglect, but even before his transformation, they took his for granted completely. Samsa supported everyone in his household—his mother, father, and sister—for none of them seemed capable or willing to secure gainful employment. Even as a humungous bug, Samsa was willing to try going to work, but once his family caught sight of him, they were disgusted; Samsa then chose to confine himself to his room, eating the scraps that his sister, Grete, left for him (41-43). Despite his family’s ill treatment, Samsa felt far more shame than they did. In the end, Samsa hid himself away and entered a “state of peaceful meditation,” allowing himself to die in tranquility, knowing that he would burden his family no longer. Upon his discovery, the family began to spend more time together, and was quite happy (53,55). Kafka’s creation of this peaceful death may be wishful thinking on his part. His horribly low self-esteem made him feel as though he were an encumbrance to his own family. Kafka’s philosophy required him to “have at least one piece (of writing) directed against me” (159). “The Metamorphosis” could have been that day’s piece, as it declares that the family would be better off without him.
Satisfaction of life comes into question with Kafka’s “The Hunger Artist.” Said artist, who remains nameless, has become famous by starving himself for forty days at a time, though it was made certain by the end of the tale that he could have held out for much longer periods of time (145-146). After a time, though, spectators have lost interest in the hunger artist, as have the circus staff, who no longer change the sign indicating how long he has gone without food. After the hunger artist has gone without notice for quite a long period of time, the circus staff comes around to collect his seemingly empty cage. It is then that he enlightens the staff as to why he goes so long without eating. “…I could never find any food I liked… If I had found any …I’d have stuffed myself the same as you or anyone else!” (152) Upon saying this, the hunger artist dies, whereby he is buried and replaced with a panther. Crowds were fascinated by this foreign beast, which was brought all the food it desired, and was full of life, as opposed to its predecessor, who seemed the embodiment of Death itself (152-153). Kafka’s desire for more in life may be what led him to write this story. Just as the hunger artist can never find a food that he will enjoy, Kafka never found a companion that he felt worthy of, and of whom he had no fear.
Kafka finally did die of tuberculosis in 1924. By the time he died, the effects of his illness had destroyed his voice, forcing him to communicate with notes. It must also be noted that Kafka could barely eat; this was the time period in which he wrote “The Hunger Artist.” Through his literary deaths, Kafka may have gained some peace, but hardly enough to placate the demons within him. Instead, Kafka chose to kill himself time and again, reminding readers that death is beckoning them ever closer.

~Sushi

Kiss it Up to God

My mom has an interesting saying. When my sisters and I get hurt, from falling down or playing too rough, or anything else like that, she'll kiss our "boo-boos" and say, "Kiss it up to God." It's kind of a, "Don't worry about it. A higher power can take care of that," kind of thing. Well, I was majorly hurt today. Not in a physical way, but more emotionally than anything. My baby cat, Lilliput, died today. She was hit by a car, and none-too-pretty to look at. Spock told me about it; he saw her in the road when he pulled into my driveway this morning. When I got home, I dug a hole and buried her in the yard with our other pets, also hit by cars. People just don't think they have to obey the speed limit out in the country. My mom is worried that one of my sisters will get hit someday as well; it's honestly not out of the realm of possibility, sadly.
Can emotionally pain be kissed up to God as easily as childhood boo-boos? I've experienced so many deaths this year, animal, human, and otherwise, and yet it seems harder, not easier, to deal with. Can I just give it to a higher power to take care of, or should I just face these things myself? I'm not too sure anymore. You may think that I'm weak for mourning the death of a simple, less-than-human creature. But out pets have personalities and feelings, likening them, if not equaling them, to humans. I'd like to think, and this may seem immature, that the animals that we give our love to have the capability to give it back to us. And because of those personality traits, and the capability to love, an animal should be entitled to a soul, and a place to go when they die, rather than just rotting into the ground. Maybe I'm just too sentimental.
~Sushi

Mending Fences

When my paternal grandmother died in 2004, my dad decided that he would have pretty much nothing to do with the rest of his family. His parents, as well as his uncle and younger brother were all dead, all within this decade, and he wanted to sever all ties. That's a difficult thing to do when you have five other siblings, all living in relative proximity, but, being a humbug, he managed it quite well. That is, he managed it until his baby brother had a falling-out with his wife, and we took him in to live with us. And then his wife moved in with us, and we co-habitated with these rather colorful characters for about a year and a half until my mom had finally had enough and threw them out. They refused to find jobs, smoked in our house, and were generally lazy bums. However, I don't like to speak ill of the dead, so that is where this particular thread ends.
After my mom gave them the boot, which was in 2006, my dad, again, refused to speak to his siblings. On occasion they would call, and he would, on occasion, talk to them, but for the most part, we lived in our own, Dad's-side-of-the-family-free world.
Yesterday, my aunt, who is neighbors with my dad's baby brother, called to tell us that his wife had died. Strangely, it didn't take much effort to talk Dad into trekking the 100-odd miles out to his house to lend a shoulder to cry on and a pot roast to eat. After all, we're family. We're not so awful that we would refuse to be supportive when someone has died. I've though about this post continually throughout the day, because writing is one of very few things that takes my mind off the rest of the world. I love to write. And, sometimes, I love to share, depending on what it is that I'm sharing.
So, that being said, I'm going to conclude this particular entry by dedicating it to those of my family members that have passed on.



Patrick D. Williams, Sr.



Loretta B. "Jean" Williams



Jonathan R. "Johnny" Williams



Dawn M. Williams [nee Mezydlo]


You are all sorely missed.
~Sushi

Requiem for a Dealership

Maybe it's appropriate that Spock and I saw a funeral procession on the way home from school. This morning, we got one of those unpleasant phone calls in which we were told that my aunt died, apparently of a drug overdose. She was thirty-five. Shortly after, my dad and I left to go to an auction at the car dealership he worked at. We equated it to a funeral; many of the people who worked there gathered in small huddles. We stayed until nearly the end, mostly to see how much the hoists and other larger items would go for. It was strange to walk through a building I had spent so many weekend at, enduring my dad's complete lack of patience and understand, and then his complete compassion and loving paternity. A strange feeling indeed.



In order to cheer myself up...
Twenty cute animations. Yes, I said twenty.
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Searching for them is half the fun!
~Sushi

I Can't Believe They Killed Him Just to Make a Good Movie

I was seven the first time I watched Titanic. I was thinking about it because today, my family started the process of closing our pool, which involved me standing knee-deep in freezing cold water, scooping the leaves out. I'm sure you can see the correlation. Anyway, being seven, and seeing the first on-screen death that I can actually recall, I was horrified when Rose lets Jack go, so he sinks, freezing, alive or dead, into the ocean. I thought that they had killed Leonardo DiCaprio just to make a good picture. It took a while for my mom to explain that one to me.
Being on this topic, I also recall at least two instances where actors have actually died in the process of making a movie; in both cases, the movie was rather celebrated. Heath Ledger, a very fine actor, if not one of the best, died whilst playing the role of the Joker in Dark Knight. The day after I heard about it, girls were crying over him at school. Some took the day off to mourn. Another less-recent occurrence was that of Brandon Lee's death during the shooting...er, filming, of The Crow. While a scene involving gunplay was being filmed, blank bullets were being used to create a more realistic scene. Sadly for Brandon, the gun was turned on him for the scene, and he was killed when a blank got stuck in the barrel. The next time the gun was fired, he was hit with two blanks, the jammed one having been forced out by the next shot. He was killed on impact, and the rest of the movie had to be completed with his recorded voice, as well as the primitive CGI technology of the early '90s. Needless to say, it was a beautiful film, and a very tragic loss.
Another thought: both of these movie deaths occurred while filming movies based on comics and/or graphic novels. Strange...


We need a light-hearted list after a rather heavy-hearted topic.



Thirteen Adorable Chibis!


1. Spock and Kirk [and a tribble!]

2. Darth Vader

3. Team Rocket

4. Wizard of Oz

5. Sweeney Todd

6. Raiden [Mortal Kombat]

7. Nightcrawler

8. Dancing Panda!

9. Penelo {IRL!}

10. The Joker

11. Harry Potter Cast!

12. The Crow [technically not a chibi, but still awesome]

13. Catwoman




Aww... Don't you feel better now?
~Sushi