So if this is the kind of role model we are setting forth as appropriate for tweens, what messages are we sending? That it's ok for a 16 year-old to pole dance? Giving the finger is an ok way to express yourself? Taking topless photos and lying seductively across your dad is normative behavior? Gender stereotypes abound! We are teaching young girls at a formative point in their lives that the media is a reliable and appropriate place to get their system of morals, ethics and beliefs. The media has been linked to many different issues facing young girls and women ranging from anorexia and to poor self-esteem and body image. And Miley Cyrus is the role model we are shoving down their throats. Is it any wonder that what is considered "normative" is actually so harmful? 
So here is a hot topic in New Jersey's law enforcement community. Atlantic City, the (in)famous tourist destination, is known as much for its casinos and boardwalks as its reputation for drugs, prostitutes and murder. While great strides have been taken in the past decade (you don't find nearly as many used needles in the streets as you used to), it is still a city with a crime problem. Now, this is not to say that everyone who lives there is a criminal; far from it, in fact. And it is just as unfair to say that crime runs rampant and unchecked; the police force is efficient and organized, and the State Police even have special interests in the area adding further protection.
Researchers have any number of different criminological theories discussing what creates crime and criminals, and Atlantic City is as good a place as any to see them in action. The constant fluctuation of the population creates tension and unrest. Think of the double-decker trains now running from New York City to the casinos. An entirely new (and perhaps even unsavory) group of people are now being introduced to the area on a temporary basis. When a community is constantly changing and the inhabitants are temporary there is a risk of decreasing attachment to the neighborhood and social morals failing.
Now the police's ability to fight crime and keep the community safe has been limited to an even greater extent as the result of a political power trip. In summary: man breaks law, police tell man to surrender, man refuses. Police K-9 apprehends man, so, of course, man sues. They mayor says he's imposing the ban on behalf of the citizens who complained, but the police aren't buying it. They are calling it a purely political move, and they are worried, and rightfully so, that their ability to protect the public will be compromised.
This is a classic example of criminal justice policy not reflecting criminal justice realities. It's all well and good to impose statutes and write code, but if it doesn't work on the street it's useless at best and harmful at worst.
Moral of the story? Pick different vacation spot on the Jersey Shore.
For more on this story, follow the link below to the AP article.
http://www.nj.com/news/index.ssf/2009/08/atlantic_city_indefinitely_sus.html
family, acted with more maturity and grace. If this is how my family acts at the happiest of occasions, it makes you wonder what the bad times look like. 
een as a great weakness and Abdel Baset al-Megrahi will be welcomed home as a hero regardless of very stern warnings from the US and Britain. The Libyans, and likely very many others across the world, will give lip service to the wishes of the West, note the very conspicuous silence from the Libyan government on the matter for fear of reprisal and losing their tenuous position as an up-and-coming nation. The government knows this issue requires extremely careful handling. But behind their hands they laugh. Petals are strewn before al-Megrahi's feet, flags waved in celebration and crowds flack to welcome him home in triumph.
When you are living in a city that is rabid about its sports teams, you tend to hear all the gossip almost as soon as it happens. Michael Vick signing with the Philadelphia Eagles is no different. I am not an Eagles fan (in fact, I loathe them, but that's another story), but even if I were I'd have to seriously reconsider my loyalties. After the dog fighting scandal and the overwhelming disgust shown by the American people as a result, you'd think he'd be a pariah in our society, and certainly not a hot pick for a football team. Apparently, I stand corrected.Now there is justice, and then there is fairness. According to the courts system, "justice" has been served for Michael Vick. He was sentenced to prison, served his time and is now released back into society to become a productive citizen once more. Considering criminal justice and criminology are my fields of study, I would usually be one of the first people to recognize the logic of this system. But I don't feel like Vick's punishment even remotely reflects the crime. The animals on his Bad Newz Kennels were tortured. Many died, and others were so physically and psychologically traumatized they needed to be humanely put down. These dogs didn't get to spend their time being the big man on campus at some federal prison where he was most definitely deferred to as the local celebrity. I don't think Michael Vick ever had to worry about dropping the soap or getting shanked in the chow line. Let's face it: the bastard got off easy. But the courts think he's paid his debt to society and should be a free man once more. That is their interpretation of justice.
Now what would be fair? Well, these dogs didn't get preferential treatment when Vick was hanging the weakest of them for losing matches, or starving them to make them vicious fighters. Vick is out of prison, true. But she should never get to go back to his old life. The damage to these animals cannot be undone, and he should not be allowed to wipe his slate clean and pretend nothing ever happened. That is a mockery of what is right. It's just not fair. Does he deserve to make a living? Of course he does. The stigma of a conviction should not be an insurmountable barrier for anyone. But should he get to play professional football, certainly not a right but a rare privilege, and make millions? Absolutely not. He should certainly get a job. Maybe he can flip burgers, stock shelves or clean up dog parks.
So who wins in the end? Surprisingly, it's the dogs. Through incredible amounts of patience, handwork and unwavering love, many of these dogs have found families and loving homes. In
fact, some have become ambassadors for the pit bull breed, disproving the myth that they are natural born killers. If they are naturally born to do anything, it's probably snuggling. Look at Leo. This handsome guy with his colorful clown collar is covered in scars from his fighting days. But his new career? He's now a service dog, keeping chemo patients company during their treatments and showing them that anything is possible, no matter how bleak things may look. He is proof that in spite of cruelty, and in spite of Michael Vick, there is always a chance for another start. Now that is a good dog.
So to all the Eagles fans out there, keep on loving your team if you must, but if you love animals and human decency too, then maybe you should rethink your alliances.
I have a new love in my life. Meet "Recipe Puppy," a little pug that "fetches" recipes for you based on what you already have in your kitchen (plus or minus a few ingredients). Not only does this help immensely when you are trying to make dinner on a budget and with what you have on hand, the recipes are fresh, varied and easy to personalize. Check out the new gadget posted under my "favorite things" bar. Try it for yourself, and I guarantee Recipe Puppy will steal your heart and make your mouth water.
So I am driving with my mom to the mall making small talk when suddenly the radio announcer says that Michael Jackson is dead. Farah Fawcett, too. Our jaws hit the dashboard. I for one am very sad to hear of Farah's passing. The woman battled her cancer with bravery and grace and I sincerely hope she is at peace. It is a very sad end to a very nice lady.
As for Whacko Jacko…
Well, I'm not heartless to say I'm glad he's dead, but really, this was only a matter of time. Living life constantly stoned and drunk? His strange fascination with small children (and it's sick and sexual, I still have no idea how he got off at that trial)? They say that he was discovered by his family this morning, his father attempted to resuscitate him and then they called for EMS. But here's the thing… when the EMTs and paramedics got there, he was cold. Contrary to popular belief, it takes a while for a body to get cold to the touch. The hospital is saying cardiac arrest. My person opinion? Cardiac arrest for certain, but almost certainly during the night from drugs. Your heart can only take so much abuse, after all.
Is there a silver lining to all his death?
Well, maybe some little children won't be molested.
Can you guess I was never a big fan?
Yes, I know it is June. No, I haven't had time to blog. So let's pretend I didn't flake out for three months and move right along.
Anyway, now that a grad school has been chosen, an apartment leased and a dorm room lined up, all I have left to do is pack. However, that is much more complicated than originally anticipated. Firstly, I am moving out of my family home (at least partially) and into two, yes two, different places. The first is the apartment Super Boy (now Super Fiancé) and I will be sharing. The second is yet another dorm room. This is an unfortunate necessity considering the apartment is a good two hours from where I'll be going to school so… two "homes" it is.
But how do you divide your life into equal pieces? I still have a place to crash in my parents' home, so I have to leave some stuff there. And I will be teaching while going to school so all of my work clothes are getting shipped there. And everything else is getting loaded into a truck and hauled over to the apartment. Logically it all makes sense. But really, how do you live in so many places at once? It feels like I am pulled in three directions and once and I really don't have a place to call "home."
Do I have a roof over my head? A place to sleep? A place to work and study? Yes, and I am deeply, wholeheartedly thankful to have so many places to stay if need be. But I don't have that once place, that one spot on earth that is mine. I don't have that niche where I am utterly, entirely comfortable with my surroundings and myself. I don't have a real "home."
But there's nothing I can do about that. I will just have to put up with this awful feeling of displacement until I get a real home to call my own. Until then there is nothing I can do.
I am, in some sense, homeless.
Super Boy and my mom, each on their own and without discussion between them, both commented on my "love your neighbor" post in their own ways. In the case of Super Boy, I offhandedly joked that the entire ordeal with Bam Bam and Sally the Slut, combined with the grad school saga, was making me depressed and old before my time.
And he agreed.
Super Boy agreed that I was depressed. And not just depressed, but entirely self loathing. How's that for brutally honest? He said that over the past month I have sunk into a funk; the more good news I get from schools (and the more options I suddenly have), the worse I feel. And no, the repetitive thumping doesn't help, either. But he does have a point. So did my mom. I mentioned my struggle with loving my current neighbor and she cut me off. She said to forget about the neighbors; I ought to spend more time trying to love myself.
Her exact words? "You have the self-esteem of a fruit fly."
Wow. Thanks, mom.
I know I'm a bit hard on myself. But I never thought about the second part of "love your neighbor as you love yourself" as all that important. I really think I have tunnel vision here. I can beat myself up all day when I say really unkind things about other people. And I feel like a really lousy person when I do, even if they bring it on themselves. But when I treat myself like crap? It's just another day in my world. And that isn't fair. If I should be nice to the people around me, I damn well better be nice to myself. And I am really going to try.
As for the "love your neighbor" bit? I wish I could say that progress has been made but… they got loud. Again. I got pissed. Again. Then the society of angry neighbors got pissed. And then the cops were called.
So, yeah. It could be going better. I guess Jesus will just have to give me a mulligan on this one.
I rarely talk about religion, and with good reason. My mother always told me there are three things you never talk about in public: money, politics and religion. It's not a matter of having no opinion on the subject, or being ashamed of what you believe; my silence is a matter of self preservation. And, in a way, it makes me stronger and maybe even a little better as a person. Rather than spend time arguing with others and trying to make them see my side of things, I try listen to what others have to say regardless of whether or not I agree. Most of the time I nod and smile and move on. Sometimes I learn something. Regardless, I don't feel the need to push what I think is right onto others.
But the Lenten season has just started, and as a practicing Catholic (at least in theory) I am taking the time to reexamine my life and the way I live. So talking a little about religion is kind of required. There are a lot of aspects of religion I question, or just outright disagree with. I think that while God is infallible and always has a plan in mind, people definitely make mistakes. So while I have faith and believe in many things, I don't accept outright some of the Church's more modern teachings. I believe that Jesus had the right idea. God loves everyone, period. We are all made equal in His eyes. He is forgiving and never gives up on people. All in all, He's a pretty cool guy.
Anyway… I digress. Recently I have been considering one of the cornerstone tenants of the New Testament: "Love your neighbor as you love yourself." Simply speaking, treat those around you the way you want to be treated. I'm pretty sure I've been hearing that since Pre-K. But I will be the first to admit that I don't always follow it that closely. I have a short fuse and less-than-perfect people skills. I am not a big fan of humanity as a whole. People in large crowds can be incredibly stupid. One on one they can be just as bad. I have a low tolerance for idiocy.
My most recent and aggravating example of this is my interaction with Sally the Slut and my neighbor Bam Bam. Easy to love they are not. A few nights ago they woke me up not with sex but with conversation. A loud one. At 2 in the morning. I suppose I should be thankful considering their normal pursuits, but I had to be at my internship early the next morning and my nerves were worn thin to begin with. This was the last thing I needed. By 4 a.m. I hit my limit; I stomped down the stairs and knocked on Bam Bam's door. When he answered (in a revolting state of undress that is just too traumatizing to record here) he seemed angry at me, as if I were disturbing him rather than the other way around. After a short and sharp conversation I went back to bed. But it bothered me. True, they were in the wrong to act so selfishly at the expense of everyone else in the house, but did I do the right thing? Yes, it fixed the problem. But I think Jesus would have taken this in stride, maybe used a parable to get his point across rather than a scowl and sarcasm. So maybe I should try to be a bit more patient and a little more understanding of the people around me. And maybe I should forgive people, no matter how inconsiderate they are.
Then again, Jesus never had to live in a college dorm. Maybe if he did "love your neighbor" would have a few exceptions to the rule…
Warning! This post is rated PG-13 for brutal honesty and loud moaning!
So I haven't mentioned Sally the Slut yet. And I should, considering the important role she plays in my life. Sally the Slut is the girl a neighbor of mine, the aforementioned Bam Bam, has recently begun having obnoxiously loud sex with. I could be nice and say that they are in a committed relationship, but we are talking about Sally the Slut. All they do is have sex. And I have my doubts that he is the only one she is currently boinking.
So I was not the first to christen Sally with her moniker. Apparently she was picked out and marked for what she was within the first days of her being on campus. Not only has she been around the block a few times, she has apparently become known far and wide as the campus bicycle; everyone has had a ride, and now it's Bam Bam's turn.
Oh, by the way. She's a freshman. He is a senior. Which makes all of this that much more unpalatable.
Now I have the unfortunate luck to live in the general vicinity of these two. She has, much to the resentment of everyone who lives in this house, practically moved in. No one likes her. Especially the ones who have to hear the two of them go at it. The first time she spent the night I was woken out of a dead sleep convinced that there was an earthquake. But then I heard the moaning. Screaming, actually. And she's… a talker. She says… things… and at that volume you can't help but listen.
And then there is Bam Bam, who, of course, lives up to his name. I am lulled to sleep by very rhythmic, earnest thumping on a nearly nightly basis. He's very focused. So focused, in fact, that he doesn't seem to realize that he's beginning to rival Sally the Slut with the screaming. So I like to mess with him. Just when he gets into a rhythm I jump on my bed sporadically to throw him off beat. It works.
And things get worse. Somewhere along the line, Sally the Slut picked up at least a few unsavory diseases. So when Bam Bam suddenly came down with mono, everyone looked to her. And guess what? She had it too. So much for monogamy. Share and share alike, I guess. Spread the love. And now I have to listen to them have sex and take breaks to hack up a lung. Lovely.
Don't get me wrong. I don't look in people's bedroom windows, and I don't want people looking into mine. But when you are that… exuberant… what do you expect?
So after an impromptu meeting of the "Shut up Sally the Slut, and move your bed off the wall Bam Bam" society, several neighbors and concerned citizens have offered the following solutions to our little problem:
I welcome any suggestions you may have. Feel free to add your own solutions, the wilder the better.
At this point, all bets are off.
This is not my first foray into the blogging world. In fact, I kept a blog for several months as part of a gender and pop culture class a while ago. I hated it at the time (technologically savvy I am not). But after a few posts… I was hooked. Looking back, I think the class was a rewarding experience; you never realize how much pop culture messed with your mind until you really sit down and think about it. Scary stuff.
So… like intellectual critiques on the genderization of children? Think Barbie is a misogynist puppet used to destroy self esteem? Wonder why models and celebrities can be so screwed up and still be so popular?
Then come and get your fill of thoughtful social commentary at "Barbie bashing and other varsity sports!"
Nothing has changed. No new news about the graduate programs, no idea what I am going to do. I don't know what school I'll go to, where I'll live or what my next step is. I feel numbed. I am totally crushed. This is nothing like I imagined. I never thought I'd be so conflicted and confused; I was hoping it'll all just magically work out wonderfully and that would be the end of it.
If there's anything I hate, it's not having a plan.
So, because I can't deal with all of this right now, I have been spending my time doing… well, nothing really. I haven't been doing anything. I had a few days off from my internship (thank God for state holidays) and I have spent the time napping, watching TV and snacking. I probably now official classify as a vegetable, mostly likely a potato of the couch variety. But I only feel marginally guilty. I am sure I should be doing something productive, but I like naps so much better. And I have a wicked cold, so I really do need some rest.
But I did manage to rouse myself out of bed for Valentine's Day. Ok, so Super Boy prodded me along. He's much more romantic than I am; if I had my way, anyone who celebrated Valentine's Day would be boiled in their own champagne and buried with a long stem rose through their heart. But not Super Boy. He takes things seriously. A dozen and a half roses. Dinner at PF Chang's. A very sweet card. And, my personal favorite, an owl shaped bath mitt covered in hearts.
Bizarre? Yes. Perfect? You bet. 
You see, I may not be a big fan of the whole Valentine's Day thing, but I needed it. In the middle of this grad school debacle I needed to be reminded that there are more important things in my life. And for someone who gets very wrapped up and consumed by things that can't be control, the reminder is a good thing.
What more do I really need? I've got Super Boy.
I hardly know where to begin. Just when I had resigned myself to playing the waiting game as grad schools considered my applications, everything has sped up to a frenetic pace. Suddenly so many things have changed that I hardly know whether to be ecstatic or devastated.
The first big chunk of news came last Monday. I was napping after a really, really long day at my internship when I got this phone call. Now, I usually just turn off my phone and let anyone who wants to talk to me leave a message, but I was with Super Boy at the time, and he has this weird theory about cell phones. When they ring, he answers. Or, in this case, pokes me in the ribs and makes me answer.
And then suddenly there is this graduate coordinator, a real big shot in the criminology community, asking me how I am, if I'm not too busy to talk for a bit, would I have a few minutes to spare. I think I mumbled something. He might be a criminal justice institution, but he woke me up. He'll just have to deal with me half conscious. And as I begin to full understand what is happened, I realize he is saying things like "very excited," "hugely impressed," "teaching assistantship," "Presidential Fellowship," and "full tuition." And, because I am an IDIOT, I interrupt him and say, "Wait… wait… I'm sorry. What was that? I don't… what? You mean I'm in? Seriously?"
I am such a tool.
But yes, not only was I in, I was being offered the world. Tuition, fees, a salary, a shot at a prestigious fellowship. Out of everyone who applied to the school, I was it. I was the one they wanted. I was the homegrown girl, the state born, bred and educated rising star (or so they said, I am still convinced they had the wrong number). The only downside here? There's a clock on the offer. I have until March 13th. And it's creeping up very quickly.
Now, I applied to four schools. Two are very far away, but my mentor made me apply (they are the two best criminology programs in the nation, so I kind of had to try). The one I just heard from is my back up plan, a safety school that is still one of the top 5 (and the longest established program in the country). But my top choice… it's an Ivy. The only Ivy with a PhD program in criminology. And I want to go there so bad I could cry.
So… now the bad. And the confusing. With the clock ticking on a very attractive offer from my second choice of programs, I needed to ask my first choice what they were thinking. So (with lots of guidance from my mentor) I send an email inquiring as to my current status, if I was in, did they want to meet me, could they give me some kind of clue. Because you see, they don't tell students until March 15th.
These deadlines are all a game. A test to see how bad you want an offer, how much you really want to go somewhere. I don't play games. Especially head games. So now I am caught in the middle of two schools and I have more questions than answers.
But I didn't get good news from the Ivy. In fact, I don't even know if I got bad news. All I got was a short, nebulous email that really said nothing at all. They said that there were "only two to three applications" they were looking at to see if they "fit available faculty mentoring." What does that even mean? There are only 3 people getting in? Am I one of them? Or are they talking about some kind of assistantship or fellowship? Are they just letting me down easy? I don't know what any of this means, and neither does anyone else I ask.
After waiting so long I suddenly have too much information. How could so much good news be so bad? And what do I do now?
So some background information is probably in order. I am a twenty-something criminology major at a pretty selective state school in the mid-Atlantic region (no specifics here, folks). The department of criminology here is… volatile at best. Lots of regime changes, name changes and, I'll admit it, grandfathering in old to make life easier. Apparently I came in just as things began to get straightened out, and I really have thrived here. I have a great mentor, and I have done very well academically (dumb luck mostly). Suddenly I find myself about to graduate and desperately trying to throw together an exit strategy.
Considering I have been spending the majority of the past few months trying to get into PhD programs, I haven't actually searched for jobs. So there is no plan B if plan A falls through. Oops. And, because I am a sucker for punishment, I am also interning at state and federal organization (I'd tell you where, but then I'd have to kill you… no… really). Oh yeah, and I am on the campus EMS squad. And I get sucked into doing all kinds of extra things that are time consuming and make me want to pull my hair out.
So, hi. I'm rozzie bear, a walking ball of over-stressed and overbooked nerves.
But I am lucky in many respects. Firstly, I am pretty darn smart. Not by any real hard work, just good luck and good genes. So the whole grad school thing might be a real possibility. And I have a great family. They're all insane, of course. Family reunions, especially the big holidays, are more like feeding time on the psych ward. But they really are the most loving and supportive (if dysfunctional and gossipy) family around. I may say I'm the lone white sheep in a herd of black ones, but I say it with lots of love… most of the time…
And then there's Super Boy. Super Boy and I met on the first day of college and we have been friends ever since. About two years ago he and I finally got around to dating, and things have never been so good. I know, it sounds disgustingly saccharine. Can't help it though. Even on my worst days (and there are a lot of those) I've got Super Boy to cheer me up, keep me sane and keep me going. Without him I'd probably be even more of a mess than usual.
So there you go. That's me in a nutshell (emphasis on the nut)… So now I just have to figure out what happens next. I probably should do some research… or at least some homework. But no. I'd much rather nap. Oh well. So much for all that drive and ambition.
I hear it's a kind of catharsis. You know, like you write down all the things that are buzzing around your head and then, by some magical blogging healing powers, you are suddenly cured. I am less then sure about all this, but why not? I figure I need a reason to procrastinate (more than I already do) and why not a blog?
So…about that catharsis… How am I supposed to feel better about moving out, leaving my parents behind, and setting up my life in some nondescript apartment? How am I supposed to juggle a relationship with massive overdoses of homework and research? Who is going to teach me to pay bills? And where am I supposed to get the money to pay them in the first place? I am a college senior without a clue, a plan, and just the barest sense of a prayer. I am figuring it out as I go… and writing it down along the way. I just wish someone had warned me about all this.
When did I suddenly have a life? What is this "responsibility" thing I keep hearing about? Since when am I a grownup?
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