items left on my desk from the lady who worked here before me

-an odd looking pencil holder, resembling a large wooden spool turned on end, that contains one pair of red-handled scissors, a red correcting pen, and a blue pencil used for writing on photos.
-a half-used roll of paper towels
-a Swingline stapler, with ample amounts of staples left in it
-a small plastic square divided into two compartments, probably used as some sort of desk organizer
-a burnable CD
-a phone, complete with earhorn
-reference documents given to each reporter, including two phone books, a public records and meetings manual, "Access: A guide to Government Information," and an employee handbook.

the birthday run down

3: how many martinis I got out of one order at Applebee's. Pomegranate. yummy.
5: total glasses of beverage consumed (one cosmo, one long island iced tea, and the above listed items)
2: Approximate hours of badminton played at my house. I was a bit rusty.
4: times the birdie got stuck in the tree.
21: Gifts my family gave me. It was cute.
1: Excessive Hannah Montana birthday cards my dad gave me as a joke.
20: pieces of silverware I received from my grandmother.
4: People at any given point in the past month that were scheming to have James surprise me.
1: Days taken off of work
3: Times I threw up once I got home. I wasn't drunk by any standards, just too much sugar combined with Applebee's nachos. What can you do.

I can't even begin to formulate an articulate rant against this idea besides " NO NO NO!"

"Pro-Life Drugstores Market Beliefs," from the Washington Post

music whore

After Sarah hooked me up with what is probably the 40th round of new music she's supplied over the years, I've come to a saddening but justifiable conclusion:

I rarely find music I like through my own effort.

I've always been jealous of my especially music-conscious friends -- Sarah, Alyssa, and Erin being the predominant characters -- and their ability to create favorite playlists or fill iTunes libraries with original and delightful artists. Sure, I have taste. I find the majority of hard-core country music cheesy. Most rap songs contain so many slang references I don't have a clue as to what the song is actually about. I would define my favorite genres as thoughtful R&B, combined with anything that has a tasteful dance beat and most solo female artists, especially those that play their own instruments (Kelly Clarkson will always be my unabashed guilty pleasure, and I've connected many a lost soul with her prophetic ballads. Judge if you will). But for the most part, these artists have been gifted to me. With the exception of Sara Barielles and Destiny's Child, I have never gone out and bought an album without either a direct recommendation or an extensive listening history of the artist or band.

At college, some consider me a music expert, oddly enough. I am well known, at least in my small group of influence, for the "Dancing Naked" mixes, made up of 20 or so songs per volume that provide excellent pop-and-go road trip soundtracks, or the perfect freshmen social soundtrack. The third volume is almost complete, pending my acquisition of a few more songs from my sister. Speaking of whom, has probably the most unique taste I've ever encountered: anything from Panic! at the Disco to Norah Jones to Enya to Kanye West. But most of these collections are based on my crucial ability to pick out songs with solid beats or motivating riffs. Running music at the Rollarena since I was 16 teaches you a thing or to as to how to read a crowd for music tastes, and how to transition out of a slow song to something worthy of black lights. It was learned through trial and error.

But for the most part, my music taste is whatever people suggest to me that I like. Take, for example, Jason Mraz. Arguably one of my most reliable go-to guys for a chill evening or an upbeat day of running errands. Sarah first received his album for her 18th birthday. It was the first music she downloaded onto her new laptop. And if she had never burned me a copy, I probably wouldn't have listened to his full albums (which are exponentially better than the one or two singles he releases from them). And as a result, I went with a group of friends to his concert in Spokane that next fall. It is in this vein I don't have a moral aversion to file sharing. Without the ability to share and swap music, I would miss out on a majority of the music I find inspiring, comforting, or just delightful. I would have missed the crooning of Bethany Dillon, or the sometimes dirty but always grooving John Legend.

But every now and then, I wish I could find the next best thing by my own initiative.

what I would someday like to do with my life

For any of you that follow the news on a somewhat daily basis, it will come as no surprise that many commentaries have been swarming around a recent set of articles about the French marriage that was annulled because of a "breach of contract" when the man found out his new wife was not, in fact, a virgin. Both parties involved were Muslim. The story has met huge uproar from French secularists that worry religious tendencies are infiltrating the judicial system.

A few days later, a related article was published about a surgery in Europe that creates a new hymen in women, essentially surgically recreating the technical aspect of virginity. Most have the surgery for either personal religious purposes or to abide by families who want proof of virginity before they will bless an upcoming marriage.

And now, one blogger has combined these two issues with a recent "purity ball" held in Colorado Springs, where fathers pledged to their daughters to help protect their sexual purity, aka to keep them virgins until marriage. This ball was heavily debated on The View (yes, I watch it, don't judge) and other talk shows. And while I agree with some of her points, I think one commenter was right: a father pledging to protect a daughter's virginity is not comparable to incest.

But on another note, this topic is one that I hope to one day actually do something tangible with. If you are a reader that goes to college with me, then you know that I recently worked on a series for the Whitworthian about why certain people make the decision to or not to have sex, in a variety of relationship types. If you haven't gone to college with me, then you might know that I faced my share of the rumor mill in high school about my level of sexual activity. And if you're just a cool kid who likes to hear what I have to say, then hear this: I think one of the biggest tragedies in this country is that young women do not feel like they have the right to make their own decisions about sex. This could be either to keep screaming "No!" at the top of her lungs at the neighborhood love spot until he drives her home, or not being ashamed of her decision to be more intimate, whatever that capacity may be. The education aspect is a whole other debate, that I don't think anyone wants to read at this point. I think young girls need to feel empowered either way, whatever their decision, to be able to talk openly about it with peers, youth groups, even parents.

The other sad angle to this recent chatter about sexuality is the saddening omittance of the male perspective. It is by no means just the girls who should be talking about purity balls or religious morality. Guys have just as much right to say no, or yes, or just to say something at all. We need to start the discussions in a variety of atmospheres and include a diverse religious and socioeconomic voices. I hope someday I could be a part of helping make these discussions happen.

FYI

Facebook add-0ns could jeopardize privacy

roller skating, and language, takes on a whole new era

At work yesterday, a 5th grade boy walked away from the skate counter and made a comment I had never heard in this building before:

"Dude, I got pimpin' skates."

This particular pair of size six roller skates was nothing special. Worn leather, wheels that have probably seen better days. But they work just fine. However, several things amused and disturbed me about this little kid's statement.

First of all, I don't know of anyone who considers the activity of roller skating the equivalent to running a prostitution circle. I realize that the use of pimping as a description for something as cool or "hip" is almost common place these days. However, like the use of the word "rape" to describe something as being horrible or a big loss ("We got raped in that basketball game," for example), I find the use of pimping as a positive description disturbing. Especially when applied to an activity that involves rolling around in a circle for two hours. We don't even play music that includes the word or activities associated with it that are found in many No. 1 songs on the charts. So for a child in elementary school to throw the word around in such a mundane manner made me wonder what he would think when he faced the word in its literal sense and real world setting.

I realize that to go on a tirade about the objectification of women in contemporary music, especially hip hop, would be preaching to the choir of my readership. Thank you, readers, for knowing that it should not be normal for men to call women bitches and various other derogatory names without some sort of caution. I will be the last person to call for censorship or guidelines within speech of any sort. But why is this sort of language allowed, and profanities that often have less literal meaning are bleeped and played in late-night rotations? Parents worry about the effect of "foul" language on their young children, anxious that if Jay-Z says a bad word, then their 8 year old will want to say it, too. But in the case of my experience yesterday, I've realized that it is not just profanity's influence we should be cautious of.