There’s all this stuff going on about Greek life after the super racist video hit the news. I have so many friends posting public calls on social media for Greeks to better ourselves. To find a way to stop this. To step up and be leaders. To fix the Greek problem. To those people I say:
Stop saying you were in a sorority or fraternity. You are now.
Stop saying you were a leader in Greek life. Be one now.
Stop implying this is a problem only collegian Greeks can address. Or a problem only collegian Greeks face. Face it now. Lead by example.
Stop dangerously categorizing this as a Greek problem. Inequality is not a feminine problem. It is a problem. And in this same manner, a druggy, rapey, homophobic, racist, slut-shaming, alcoholic, misogynistic, hazing culture isn’t a Greek problem. It’s a problem. It’s a problem that grows and thrives on campuses. A problem that lives on excuses and turning your head the other way. This isn’t Greek specific, is it? It’s a campus culture problem that doesn’t get better if the adults leading the way, overseeing accountability, and fostering ideals aren’t stepping up. It’s a problem that flourishes in the microcosm that is college, that is Greek life, that is any selective or open organization.
Stop feeling the need to apologize for or address how some Greeks acted and start demanding more from how collegians and adults act, period. Raise your children to know better. Expect more from the people you surround yourself with. Insist on institutional accountability from organizations, societies, and schools. Require that, and more, from the Greeks. Accept nothing but bettering the whole system. Be the change.
Why would any self-respecting woman date Chris Brown? Seriously, answer me if there’s a reason that’s not fame, money, and sex. Because even that doesn’t add up to trump his seemingly heinous personality and documented anger issues.
Four years ago today I started a big-kid job after quitting grad school. That was a big ol’ road not taken that I never, ever wonder about. Well, almost never, ever.
Three years ago, about this weekend, I had one momentous night. I saw a guy and told him that I loved him. Sure there was drinking and music and partying that happened between seeing him and saying it, but it after years of thinking it–and living it–I actually said it. And he said it. And we drunkenly talked about how to make it work. And I offered to quit my job. And move to his city. And I meant it. Oh, god, did I mean it.
Here I am in 2015, and the time lapsed feels like a decade. I still have the job I got four years ago. I still live in the same zip code. I’m still single. I don’t often think about that one winter night and that one path didn’t materialize. But sometimes a song or reference triggers the memory, and instead of wondering what that alternate reality would have been like, I look at Iceland, and Norway, and England, Spain, Italy, and India. And I think about how, now, I’m choosing between moving to Vancouver, Boston, and London to pursue a new path. And I’m doubting any of that would have been possible. And I’m feeling pretty lucky.
She’s a god among mortals. And you know what, she nailed it this year. Patricia Arquette stood up for women’s rights without droning on or making things weird: just quick, clear, and on-point. And Meryl’s actions–what probably every clued-in woman was also doing at the TV as she realized what Patricia was saying–made the speech that much more impactful. Sisters in Solidarity.
There’s gotta be a tumblr or five dedicated to her badassness
I’m what you call a selective Catholic, also known as a Christmas Catholic, a holiday Catholic, a lapsed Catholic, and even sometimes ‘reformed’ Catholic. It’s annoying, really, the buffet of Catholicism I choose to subscribe to. People hate that hypocritical nature, of Catholics especially: “I’m Catholic, but…”
I went to Catholic school for 13 years. I’ve had all my major sacraments available to me (baptism, confirmation, the Eucharist, penance). There are priests and nuns galore in my family. I think Pope Frank is a baller among men and he’s doing awesome things for the faith. I go to mass three times a year at least, up to six or seven if it’s an extra active year for the family.
But I don’t buy all the rules of the Catholic church, hence my ‘selective’ status. I believe in the right to have an abortion (although I wouldn’t do it myself), and I believe in gay marriage, and I think sex before marriage is awesome (especially now when I’m not getting any), and I don’t think that anyone in another religion is wrong, and I don’t believe that going to church every Sunday will save my soul, and I have a penchant for taking the Lord’s name in vain.
Oh, and I’m Catholic because it comes with a diet plan and guaranteed span of fiscal conservatism. Fast for 40 days, yo. My cholesterol is so much better after Lent. I couldn’t possibly give up the one time of year that #CatholicGuilt works to my advantage. I give up pop, chips, and candy every year since I was old enough to choose my own Lenten sacrifice (chips started in college). As adult I’ve added a bonus sacrifice. Once, it was Target. That sucked. Once, it was all foods that start with the letter C. That sucked even more. This year, I’m going the mall food route–an option that’s high on frustration and inconvenience.
Time to save the belly and pinch the purse strings once more. Damn it feels good to be a
But it seems to be me now…
The more I listen to Pandora’s 2000s Pop Radio, the more I think Shaggy had right with “Angel.”
Life is one big party when you’re still young. Happy Valentine’s, lovers.
This is exactly how I want to meet my future lova when I’m in library school.