I can’t think of an appropriate title.

I was just seriously condemned to hell. And not just me. Everyone.

A guy I work with is quite into Christ and all that jazz. Which is fine. But when someone brings up Catholicism (we were talking about mass at Notre Dame, by the way), it’s not your place to start bashing them. What kind of Christians bash others? Isn’t that against our core?

He told me that because he cares, he’s going to tell people they’re going to hell.

That’s not evangelization. That has nothing to do with God. That’s about proving that you’re right and everyone else is wrong.

It makes me sick to think of the things that are done in the name of Christianity.

I believe that doesn’t make Christianity inherently bad or wrong or even flawed. It just means that it’s suceptible to corruption. Like everything else that humanity touches.

I’ve never spoken with someone so incredibly close-minded, and I literally feel sick. This type of conversation makes me want to erase the label “Christian” from my views.

It makes me sick how much he knows about other religions–but only a small, twisted side of it. It makes me sick how slippery the words he’s heard are. It makes me sick how he can regurgitate the condemnation sermons, word for word. All in the name of love.

Please, someone restore my faith in humanity about now.

A Little Work Story

Just to keep up with Spencer’s Meijer chronicles.

So yesterday, I went up to archives. I couldn’t get the main sliding door open, so I had to go downstairs and ask Theresa (my immediate boss) how to get it open. After she explained it to me, I went back up to archives, slide open the big metal door, walked back to HR Archives, and went in the back room.

While I was searching in the HR Archives, some jerk shut the main archives door.

I was locked inside of archives for about half an hour. There was no way to exit, despite the keys in my hand. It was hot as hell, but at least I had my coffee? Four people walked by (there were a couple of cracks I could see out), but the door was so heavy, they couldn’t hear me.

When someone finally heard me and let me out (I slid him my keys under the door), I rushed back to HR and began loudly recounting my woes.

They didn’t notice I was gone.

I love…Corporate America…

From nothing, something

The debate within me today is whether or not there’s truly phantom memories. I think there’s a lot of stored memories that we choose not to think about, but can there be memories that we honestly forgot? What exactly is forgetting? Obviously the information is stored somewhere biologically, but how is it that you can’t retrieve it? Or is it that you simply don’t?

I was drying my shirt (yes, I work with a series of engineering boys) after lunch and laughing about the awkward Halo conversations when all of a sudden I had a “memory flashback” so to speak: just a well-preserved voice saying, “Wow, Kel…that’s kinda harsh, don’t ya think?” I wasn’t thinking about the speaker, the subject, harsh conversations, nothing. As far as I can consciously analyze it, it was random.

Here’s where it catches me: biologically, we’re wired to mimic behavior, scour for patterns, and bring up related subject matter. Biologically, there shouldn’t be randomnity.

Where’d it come from?

Can something come from nothing?

Impaired?

It’s amazing to me the variety of my knowledge and ignorance.

For example, I was listening to Rufus Wainwright’s “Cigarettes and Chocolate” today while re-creating some forms that apparently no one in HR knows how to recreate but me.

Narcissim points: +10.

There’s a weird corkscrew sound coming to my right. What is Joe doing? I pause the music and look into Joe’s office.

Nothing.

Strange. I go back to the music and hear it again to the right.

I check Todd’s office.

And Barb’s.

Nothing.

As I put my headphones in, I can’t figure out where this noise is coming from.

Oh yes. Split headphones. Different sounds come from different ears.

Narcissism points: -15.

Note to self: don’t analyze chick flicks.

Last night, I watched the worst love story ever: Once. This adorable foreign film tracks the friendship–and romantic interest (as seen by their adoring eyes)–of two musicians until they each part and live happily ever after with their other significant others. They never embrace, kiss, hold hands, confess their love…they just work together until they don’t. Worst love story ever.

Or, as Ross at-the-lunch-table (who took my seat today, jerk) says: “It was a love story, just not with each other.”

So I began talking about The Last Kiss, arguably the best movie I’ve seen in a good year. I began describing the emotional-ness of watching the main character cheat on his girlfriend Jenna. At the time, she is pregnant with their child and they’ve lived together for a few years.

Then Jordan pipes up, “If I were her, I wouldn’t let him back.” He stops to re-evaluate the sentence, and, manliness in tact, repeats, “If I were Jenna’s friend, I would tell her not to let him back.”

I start laughing and ask him why. His answer: “Well, they weren’t married and they lived together, so they obviously had problems.”

Ah, yes. There are apparently still people in the world who determine a human’s worth on their virginity, et al, and still refuse to watch a chick flick if the main characters are “morally wrong.” Because, as Jordan so eloquently put it, “who cares if he cheated on her? They had sex and weren’t married.”

Incredible.

Weighted name.

A warm, irritable May day…

Kel: “Hey dear, can you go talk to the kids for me?”
Spencey: “Whatever you want, Princess.”
Judson: “I think you just took that too far.”

I’ve always hated the nickname Princess. It seems to me that it’s either disgustingly romantic and sappy or bitterly sarcastic. It’s a name of entitlement.

I read a question yesterday (yes, in CosmoGirl, which I hate by the way) that asked: Do you think Gen Y feels entitled?

Entitled to what? The immediate answers below were accusations of older generation saying that we don’t believe we should have to work for what we get. I think to some extent this is true. I also think–like nearly everything under the sun–entitlement as a concept isn’t absolute; it isn’t necessarily good or bad, it just is.

It tends to have negative effects, so I think that’s why the connotation of being called ‘entitled’ is so awful. I have a handful of memories in newspaper or times editors felt ‘entitled’ to write on their own schedules. This made the other staff writers upset, as they had stricter–and earlier–deadlines.

And this, my friends (and Spencer), is life. Of course Gen Y feels entitled; the whole world feels entitled. Every single individual feels like they deserve something.

Corporate America, my lovely niche of employment, believes certain individuals are entitled to certain privileges. I had the opportunity to regulate paychecks yesterday. If a salaried employee came in, he or she was free to find his or her check and grab a few for an employee in a nearby cubicle, no questions asked. If an hourly (aka factory) employee came in, he or she had to provide identification to receive his or her check. Furthermore, taking another’s check required signing off on various forms.

I’m not saying this is wrong. I do believe that the salaried employees show more responsibility, especially judging by their past preparations. At the same time, I understand why the factory employees feel snubbed.

One final story of entitlement: during the Hall Sweep one morning, I was caught in the hallway by Mr. Cunningham. I was not wearing an I.D. The consequence of being Kelly Frye was this: he said hi to me and asked me how my morning was going. And then left with four other students about to get detentions.

Princess? Nah. My “weighted name,” as Evie once called it, doesn’t entitle me to a full-ride, amazing job, or free gas. Being Kelly Frye doesn’t do that. It just gets me out of detention.

Cavingsand cravings

First off, I must admit that I am fully ashamed to have a WordPress account. After our J-Lab fiascos this year, I swore off WordPress forever. Unfortunately, I caved to Judson’s suggestions and began this.

I seriously considered using thecoffeesong, but I liked the intactness of my previous journalism, so it will remain as it is (an archive at best?).

The task of naming these sites is a particular struggle for me. I don’t have a nickname like vergil66 or XopherWells that can follow me wherever I go. I tend to outgrow my screen names very quickly, so I wanted to avoid anything I’d find completely childish in five years.

I’ve had a strange craving for stories lately–hearing, telling, writing, reading–which probably explains why I sadly love/loved journalism so much. I stole all the “story” books from Judson a few months ago, so as I began reading Tim O’Brien, I decided a story-related title would be appropriate.

Like my good (or not-so-good, depending on the moment) cohort Spencey, I’m aiming to update this a few times each week. See ya then!

Cheers,
Kel