I am the world...

So I caved, I bought the “We Are the World 25 for Haiti” song and video combo on iTunes. I have mixed feelings about this revamped version of Michael Jacksons tune, but overall feel that because it is for a good cause, it deserves my thumbs up. With that said here is my view on the production.

The song starts with little Justin Beiber melting our heart like a curious Carebear. Has he even taken a Geography class yet? Does he know where Haiti is? Either way my heart transformed into a puddle of love. The video continues on with various solos, including a performance by Jennifer Hudson’s lips. They should have named it 26 for Haiti and included those smackers.  I do appreciate the strong beauty of her voice, and have to give it to a girl from the Chi. Hudson is followed by the transcending voice of Jennifer Nettles, whom I present with the WAW25H MVP award. Throughout the show her smile and voice shine above the rest. Another solo performance is offered up by the strip-tastic Miley Cyrus. Of course Miley is included in the all-star cast. I mean, she can’t let the Jo Bro’s do anything alone. Speaking of the Jonas Brothers, throughout the video their performance seems truly heartfelt, along those of Wyclef, Mary J, Akon, and the Pussy… Cat Doll.  Another notable mention of the video is the addition of MJ clips. His appearance allows the video to act as a tribute to him as well as to the people of Haiti.

I have three favorite parts of the show. The first was when half of the cast, lead by LL, burst into rap. This unexpected moment forced me to chuckle. I couldn’t take the 10 or so rappers seriously because nearly half of them were wearing sunglasses… indoors!?! I mean the simple donation of those 7 pairs of sunglasses, along with Fergie’s designer duds, would easily equal a large portion of the donation. A second highlight I found was Julianne Hough’s facial expression. Besides one slight smile, her face seems to show utter disinterest every time the camera scans the choir. I wanted to say, “no one is forcing you to contribute JH, go home.” The third highlight goes to Pink for her uplifting solo. I was able to feel the hurt behind her voice, and believe in the words she sang.

All in all, $2.99 is a small price to pay in turn for 6 minutes and 45 seconds of star-studded entertainment. I am left asking one question, "Where's John Mayer?"

God bless the people of Haiti, and lets all pray that J. Beiber aces that next geography test. 

What's in a word... A lot...

Now five weeks into my previously mentioned poetry class, I feel it is time to share with you my progress. Each week I sit in class forced to read my work, and each week I am consumed with the feeling of underachievement. The majority of my classmates seem to be fully enthused with sharing their emotions through the written word, while all I can seem to do is write witty cynicisms. Trying to put my best foot forward, I have come up with a small variety of poems that I feel, with some slight alterations, may be considered poetry. See below…

Stream of Consciousness

Winter is cold, like a running nose or a watering eye. Winter can cross you like an angry friend or bad haircut. Man I need a haircut, almost as bad as I need my warm bed, or a tissue for this dripping nose.

I wish I were at the lake, with all of its kindness. Geneva, the getaway. Relax into a burning sunset and let my mind drown far below the surface.

Is it summer yet?

The thought of summer makes me want ice cream and sunscreen. The smell of sunscreen in summer trumps any other. A bakery in fall, pine needles at Christmas. Sunscreen. I find myself using it in winter, for the feeling, the scent, rather than the protection. My house has a scent you can feel too. A mix of cinnamon, my mother, fresh sheets, and birthdays.

6:02am and on the train again

The mornings commute blue with irritation and odd people

All things are possible in the silence and cold, the day’s book has not been written

How I wish it was different, the mornings city, the mornings light, its sound

If only the sun were up or the smell would change.

On the train once again.

Texting Inspiration: @ u, I LOL

At you, I laugh out loud

The silly jokes, and bedtime whispers

The movie quotes, and dinner mishaps

The crazy antics, and bad karaoke

Your dorky interests, and boyish charm

The love, the laughter, the romance

At you, I laugh out loud

TLB anyone?...

I must say, Tokyo Lunchbox and Catering may be the most fabulous Chicago lunch joint there ever was. It is safe to say that I venture across Van Buren Street, to get my Spicy Tofu soup and White Rice fix, four out of five days a week. Some would say this simple meal is lackluster, boring, and obviously repetitive, but I say it is delicious and more importantly CHEEP! Only $3.30 for a satisfying yet healthy lunch option, count me in! Nowhere else in this giant square we call “the Loop” can one find an ever so delectable meal that doesn’t, quote on quote, “break the bank.” So to all you Chipotle, Potbelly, Sbarro, or possibly basement cafeteria people, go ahead, take a gander to one of the 7 TLB locations here in this great city, and fill up on some scrumptious eastern cuisine.

What’s in a word…

So hopefully I am able to become accustomed to this whole poetry thing. Is it a thing? An art? A random assortment of words? I guess it is all of the above. The premiere night of my Poetry Workshop ensued tonight, and I now find myself mystified by a question my professor placed upon us, “What is Poetry?” Considering the last poem I wrote must have been in Creative Writing with Ms. Hecht Junior year of HS, I am not sure my creative muscle with stand up against those of my peers. Along with opening the doors to my artistic ability once again, I witnessed a rift form tonight. A rift between the will and will not’s, the do’s and do not’s, the shall I say, exhibitionists and hermits.  It baffles me that while some people can word vomit for over 10 minutes about what a small poem exercise meant to them, some tremble at the thought of reciting their personal thoughts. It gives me a whole new definition to the words shy, embarrassed, or even withdrawn.  

Tatt, tatt, tatt it up…

The recent addition to my wrist has given me a new appreciation for those individuals whom cover 90% of their body in ink. I now have two tattoos. One placed behind my right ear, and one on my left wrist. Be it three years ago, I hardly remember felling any discomfort by the etching of a 1 in² heart behind my ear. Although last Sunday, my newest tribute to my father happened to cause me a much elevated pain level as it is located on a part of my body with little to no padding. This pain made me think about how it must feel to ink up in major ways, ways that require numerous sittings to finish. Ekkkk. I’d say it is safe to assume that the pain level is equal to somewhere between launching face first into a speeding windshield and being continuously body slammed by The Hulk Hogan. Hey, no pain no game.

Butter my butt...

Along with a hermit crab named Jet Jackson, whose shell is painted with a Batman emblem, my wondrous roommate gifted me a “Butter My Butt and Call Me a Biscuit” calendar. The magnetic calendar that now sits to the right of my computer consists of a county saying for each day of 2010. One would think that these quotes might make some sort of sense to an average city girl like me, but no dice. Reading ahead, I have found that many of the Hicksville sayings would not even be comprehendible by a rural Billiejoe Schmo who grew up in Cut Off, Louisiana or the cornfields of Indiana. To ring in the New Year, this calendar states “It’s time for all of us to put on the dog.” WTF?!?! Who in the eff would ever say that? I will undoubtedly continue to be baffled by this calendar for the remaining 361 days of ’10… I wish myself good luck.

Neverland is real…

At what age is a McDonald’s junkie supposed to ditch the Happy Meals and start ordering Southwest Chicken Salads, Filet-O-Fish, or the ever preferred Big Mac. I was unaware that this age was specified in some ohh so godly book of fast food, yet today I found myself being ridiculed for my 4 piece nugget meal with light up Avatar figurine. Just because I am an adult doesn’t mean that this deliciously small feast loses its “Happy.” Maybe all you overweight slobs don’t live in the same Peter Pan Neverland I call Chicago, or it could be that you are jealous that when I consume half my daily calories in one sitting I maintain the self-discipline to jog around the block a couple times. Next time keep your gawks and giggles to yourself, and gobble up your steamy McRib in silence. As for me, bring on the Happy Meals, bring on the fun.