I <3 Brad Paisley

So, in the past I've always been one of those people who would put in my online profiles...

Music: everything... except country

But I think ever since I heard Billy Ray Cyrus 10+ years ago, I've been a fan. And no, it wasn't his "Achy Breaky Heart" which got me (although I do know the words by heart), but it's his "Where'm I Gonna Live When I Get Home" that was my favorite back in the day. For those of you who don't know, I was born and raised in Texas, which should be an indicator that I have a certain thing for cowboys. I also get that country twang when I get sleepy or excited. My first concert was Reba McIntyre when she came to San Antonio for the annual stock show and rodeo. My dad would play a tape deck of Billy Ray in the minivan when I was younger and my sister and I would sing along to his songs all the time. And yes, I even owned a pair of boots when I was younger. But being a minority in a state of whites who listened to country, I conformed with my fellow minorities who listened to pop/r&b/hiphop and detested anything and everything country. So, up until college I was a self-professed country-music hater.

I would continue cringing at that yee-haw music until a then crush of mine who was also a minority told me that he listened to country music. I consider myself a bit of a music connoisseur, and I had admired his taste in music as well, and I was curious why he listened to country. "Country music is about hanging out and having a good time, which is what I do," he replied. Wanting to prove myself, I started downloading all the current country hits. And it was then that I discovered Brad Paisley.

To me, Brad Paisley brought sexy back in a Chevy truck. His song "Mud on the Tires" was an instant favorite of mine, and he single-handedly brought me back in to country music. I started listening to country music stations and watching music videos on CMT. It was so easy to fall back into country music because it integrates corny humor, sincere lyrics, and anecdotes on everyday life with acoustic melodies. It's fun to listen to and, for the most part, inoffensive to listeners. I haven't abandoned other genres, but I've begun to appreciate country music more and more.

However, when I had recently assigned country stations to numbers 2 and 3 on my car radio presets, my boyfriend began to complain that my taste in music had gone south (haha). I hope to someday convert him =)

Is There Internet in Heaven?

From time to time, I wonder what happens to a blog or web journal after its creator passes away. Does it get deleted after a while due to inactivity, or will it forever be encapsulated in that web address, with its owner's last entry in full view for people to visit in 50 or 100 years? An acquaintance of mine recently joined a RIP group for one of her friends, and naturally I saw an overflow of emotion with each message: missing her and reminiscing ancient memories like yesterday. I didn't know the girl, but it seemed like she touched alot of people's lives. This got me thinking about my own cousin's death over 3 years ago, and I wandered over to her xanga. Her last post was still on Sept. 19, 2003, just as it was when I visited months ago, but still I read it. My cousin also has a memorial website with pictures and a section where you can share your memories with everyone else.

I'm sure there is some part of you stored in whatever you write, so no matter what happens to you, you are eternal as long as people keep reading your words. JK Rowling comes to mind as I write this, since she incorporated a cursed journal with the soul of its creator in the Harry Potter series. But, unlike this journal that would reply to Harry when he would ask questions, our blogs don't. But, anyway, what I'm getting at is with all the memorials sites and comments or wall postings saying "i miss you" and all, do they ever reach their intended? They are no doubt comforting to those left behind to look back on, but these weblogs and sites are deceiving. After you leave the message, something to the extent of "your message will be received the next time he/she logs on," and that's unlikely.

I wrote a letter to my cousin Melissa shortly after she died, wishing I had written it while she was still alive. I sealed it in the envelope and told my other cousin, her brother, to please put it in her casket. I wrote it to her, maybe hoping there'd be some response in the clouds or on some traffic sign, and I like to think that through some divine intervention she reintroduced some lost friends into my life shortly after, but reality is the envelope is still sealed and six feet under with no light source and no life. And no matter how many "I miss you" messages I leave on websites, they won't reply back "I miss you too." Part of me wants to believe that Melissa has internet access on a computer with no keyboard and is sitting on some cloud reading those responses without being able to type out a reply. But I guess if I were in heaven I wouldn't be spending my time on xanga, myspace, or facebook.

Sometimes I wish my late grandfather had a xanga too that I could look back on and write comments on because maybe then it'd be easier to remember him, and maybe I'd feel closer to him because I'd be reading thoughts that he himself typed into existance. I guess at the heart of it that's what weblogs are meant for-- sharing your voice, commemorating your own will. And it'd be so easily accessible, that even if you've left this world and are far out of reach, random strangers could google you up and you could have an impact on that person's day. But as expansive as the internet seems, it only goes so far as the next computer and otherwise is nonexistent. Still, as dour as all this sounds, I entertain the notion that somewhere beyond all the stars and galaxies that my departed friends and relatives know exactly when I think of them and they can hear when I call out to them.

minorities hating on minorities: the solution is understanding

"I would argue that blacks are weak-willed. They are the only race that has been enslaved for 300 years," penned Kenneth Eng in his most recent column, "Why I Hate Blacks," featured in Asiaweek magazine. Currently he's being lambasted by Asian American and Black activist groups alike to his apparent ignorance, but to me this story is telling of a more deep-seeded intolerance among minorities. It is a dirty secret that we minorities don't want to admit to, because it speaks hypocrisy. Being a part of a minority, you face a constant struggle with your identity in a place run rampant with stereotypes and systemic prejudice, and to put another group down based on stereotypes and prejudice only perpetuates what you yourself try to fight.

What I see here, as in any other case of racial intolerance, is a lack of understanding and empathy. Asian and Black Americans are two vastly different cultures originating in different continents altogether and forced to live together in another continent. As progressive as Asian American and Black American activists are, minority children are unlikely to learn their own cultural heritage, let alone the heritage of other minorities. History books tell of the caucasian's manifest destiny in America and how they brought Africans in through slave trade and how they turned Chinese immigrants into indentured servants. Students don't learn how or why Filipinos migrated to the US, nor do they understand the Japanese American internment during WWII or the plight of the Vietnamese and Koreans due to Communism. I believe education needs to change and I would delve into it, but for the sake of brevity I'll save that for another time.

Meanwhile, as we are raised to be ethnicly ignorant, we grow up in an environment of racial overload. We think in terms of color-- red, white, black, yellow--- when we are all really just different shades of brown. We turn derogatory slurs into slang without thinking. We'd rather trust the truth in stereotypes than to see the truth to a group. And why? Because it's easier. It's easier to generalize than to go out of your way and seek answers. It's easier to believe that intelligence and personality traits are somehow related to your skin tone. It's easier to be stupid than to think. And so I challenge this to you, dear reader: be intelligent. Think and try to understand a situation before you form and verbalize opinions about a group of people. Don't be so ignorant to think you know everything.



http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/02/27/racist.column.ap/index.html