A little political pontification

I like to keep my blog focused on feminism, particularly the theoretical parts of the movement, simply because current events depress me too much.

As time goes on, and the economy worsens, I'm full of this rage. It makes no sense, generally, and it's completely directionless. But it's there. And I catch myself, frequently, wanting to hit someone who bemoans how much it costs to fill up their new Accord.

I guess it is related to feminism, in a way, because I have little pity for those unwilling to look past their own privilege. Sometimes, I think that my anger with gender relations is so tied up with my rage at classism that I have a hard time pinpointing exactly why I am angry.

With more and more people falling out of the middle class, I'm filled with anything but pity. Perhaps it's because I've always been here, in the lower classes, ever since that day my father walked out and fought tooth and nail over every last penny with my ex-homemaker mother. So when someone remarks how much their life sucks because they cannot take their kids to Disneyland this year, I just want to say, "so what? I haven't been out of state since the 90s" But I keep my mouth shut.

That's what we do, the working classes, we keep our mouths shut. We're told that it can always be worse. That tomorrow we might not have a house. And it's true, really.  My family has lived beyond it's means for years, and something as simple as me losing my scholarships, loans, or job would make my mother unable to pay the mortgage.

But please, don't talk to me about new cars and gas mileage. I just don't give a flying fuck. I've had the same car since I was 16 (which I bought to get to work on time, to be able to drive myself to my out-of-district school I tested into, and to be able to go for tutoring that I paid for myself) and it's never had good gas mileage. The first thing I look at when I buy something is price. It always comes down to money. Everything in my life is ruled by the dollar, simply because I don't have enough and I never really did.

And so when others, the middle class families that come to my cash register, make small talk about how it's hard to "make ends meet" with keys in their hands for Hondas and Cadillacs and Lexus, I want to sneer.But I keep it inside, and I smile.

As the economy worsens, I take some sort of sick glee in the fact that maybe those with agency, the middle classes and above, will finally know what's its like to have to budget. Maybe they'll think about how it feels to grow up without piano lessons, gated neighborhoods, and labeled clothing. Maybe they'll just stop being so fucking smug about how the lower classes are poor and stupid and bigots, and that's why we never get ahead.

Because, you see, it's never enough. I'll never be the top of my class in so long as I have to work and live in a house that is more like a boxing ring. I'm not always on time to job interviews and things because my car is ten years old. I don't have nice shoes and straight creases in my pants and I can't gush about my new Coach purse.

And the lack of such things makes me bad, makes me wrong, makes me stupid. Nobody really gives a shit about how and why the girl who sits in the front and gets the highest grades on tests gets B+s because she can't get the points for regular attendance. Nobody thinks that maybe my shirts don't fit well because I can't afford ones that do. Nobody cares that the reason my health is bad, I'm out of shape, and I eat greasy shit is because I can't afford doctor's fees, gym memberships and fresh produce. Nobody thinks that when I can't make it to so and so's party it's because I don't have the time for anything but survival some days. Nobody thinks that anything I do and say and think is rational, because I'm just another faceless member of the lower class, and I've always been like this.

When the politicians take their pulpit, and preach about change, I'm the spoilsport. They say that I should be happy for compromise. Bullshit. I know good and well that when compromise happens, it's always me and mine that are left behind. I never had power, and if I ever do, it will be because I've worked fifteen times harder than anyone else to get it.

Then those same politicians sell out. Their slogans are empty, like always, but nobody looks at me and mine and says that we were right. They bemoan that they should have known things that we knew all along. We've always known that our purpose in life is to be used and discarded. Empty faces on cash registers, in cubicles, shuffling from job to job (never a career) in the futile search for someone that gives a shit about the children we have to go home to watch, the doctors we have to see for our stress-induced ulcers, and the houses we clean ourselves.

And the middle-class campaigners on campus will ask me to vote for their beloved Democrat. They'll call me stupid when I say I won't. I was told never to settle for second best, so I'm not going to. And if McCain wins, well, that's your politician's damn fault. You have all the time in the world to understand the lower class, to reach out to us, to comprehend this repressed rage, and you won't. You haven't for decades, so it's not like you're doing anything other than what I expect of you, which is nothing.

We, well, we just live. We don't have time for politics and campaigns and taking off time to vote. I'm thankful for mail-in ballots, otherwise I'd miss my next deadline for a paper, I'd arrive late to work, or I'd have to drag myself away from the couple of times a month I have enough money and time to act like I have a life.

Yeah, it could be a lot worse. It could also be a lot better. Don't expect me to kiss your fucking righteous ass when you begin to understand the conditions that I've lived my entire life in.

If patriarchy had a red button, I'd push the shit out of it

I admit that being conventionally attractive (although less so today than before, being that I stopped caring about what pant size I wear) and white severely benefits my social reception. It also helps that my French and South-eastern European background always give me a "knowledgeable" air by the nature of my sharp features and dark hair. Regardless, I absolutely notice the difference with how people treat me depending on what I wear. I used to be very self-conscious when I ran to the corner store in wrinkled shorts and sans makeup, but recently, I find myself forgetting to shave my legs for a week or more. I still do the "fat check" in the mirror, and I wish I could stop. I put on clothes, and then check to make sure, at various angles, that bits of untoned and flabby stomach, thighs, and back don't noticeably show. I hate this tendency in myself, but I have no idea how to stop it. Perhaps someone, someone blindingly stupid, might read this and think, "gee Jenn, lose some weight and you'll feel better about yourself!" And the fact of the matter is that no, I won't feel better about myself or lose weight, thanks ever so much. I feel better about myself when I am in shape and doing well in my social and school life. When I was the skinniest I ever have been in my life, a size two, and closely resembled Natalie Portman, I thought I was the ugliest and fattest girl in school. My negative body-thoughts now, at a size 12, are much less frequent. Still, they persist.

The fact is that I still wish I could change this in myself. Ha! I might as well submit myself to the illusion that I am a god, not a human, and that my perception of myself is not at all linked to society's judgement. Humans are inevitably social creatures. Every time I submit to patriarchal guidelines of dress my submission is rewarded with praise, attention, and sometimes, love. To think that anyone could erase that influence in their lifetime is beyond absurd. To even dream that my "fat check" ritual is a choice in the real sense of the word is shear idiocy. I know that this lack of choice and individuality bother the typical Western "master of my own destiny" philosophy, but we should all know by now what I think of the utter bullshit that taints mind of the average American.

I apologize for the digression, but it is relevant. I notice how people perceive me in public simply because a social organism, I am programmed by evolution to do so. For someone to come along and say "stick it up and stop caring what people think of you!" is just so utterly simplistic that I seriously question the validity of conventional wisdom. One day, I will write a critically acclaimed philosophical treatise on what utter nonsense conventional "wisdom" is, and how it serves the interests of those in power. Perhaps this is wishful thinking.

Nevertheless, when I venture out of the house bedecked in large trendy jewelry, clingy tops, matching shoes, and a tastefully made-up face, I definitely notice the difference between that and "normal mode": unshaven legs, no makeup, shorts, old faded tees, hair up, and sometimes, godforbid, glasses. My hygiene is always impeccable in either case. My hair, even when I don't do much to it, stays neat by the good care of my fantastic hair stylist and her shampoo recommendations. I never ever smell, even in the disgusting Arizona summers. But still, in "glamour mode" I find that men smile at me, clerks make small talk, my friends make more eye contact, women graciously let me cut in front of them if I have fewer items, kids grin at me, and my family talks more about my successes than failures. In "normal mode" I am completely invisible. I still can get stares by the nature of my disproportionately large breasts and lips, but it's in a "eww slutty homeless crack addict/hooker" way, not in a "where did you get that cute top?" way. Men ignore me. Clerks don't make small talk and get angry if I notice a mistake rather than apologize. Women look down on me and turn up their noses. Children stare at me, sometimes point out my hairy legs to their mothers. And my family, the worst of all, tells me how worried they are about how I don't have a boyfriend, how I seem depressed, and how I come off as cold and bitchy. All of this after I have taken painful introspective care to make sure that my mannerisms do not change at all regardless of how I am dressed.

And it is beyond stupid to ask myself to be angry because I am too shallow to let go of what others think about me. I simply cannot, and I submit that no other human on the face of this planet can either. We can bottle these feelings of inadequacy up as much as we want, but they will persist in things like depression, domestic disturbances, eating disorders, and various other widespread social ills. What makes me so incredibly angry is that I feel this way at all. I cannot defeat human nature. What humanity could do, and it chooses not to, is destroy these stupid gender expectations. Erase the taint of marketing. Ship everyone out who uses power to sell a product or idea on our inadequacies to some deserted island, and then wipe it off the face of the planet with those stockpiled missiles. I, personally, would push that little red button until it cracked in half under the strain of my fervor. Everything in me hates this violence humanity submits itself to, and then viciously defends regardless of social class, political alliances, or privileges. And the shear gall of those who would deny it! Humanity as we know it is terminally ill. The thought that my inclination to destroy those parts of our culture that I feel are responsible for most of our present ills would be reviled as insane rather than praised as enlightened is truly a testament to how far this madness has encroached on our mental territory.

To this day, I hate myself no matter how far or close to the patriarchal guidelines I find myself. The only thing that at all diminishes this relentless self-hatred is the knowledge that I never, not once, consented to this nonsense. I urge everyone else to stop thinking of themselves as the instruments of their own self-destruction and start recognizing how the system we inhabit is specifically designed to make us hate ourselves and destroy ourselves, and then fool each other into thinking that everything is alright, that the most oppressed is responsible for our suffering (racism anyone?), or that the individual who cries silently to themselves with the thought that they cannot overcome this madness is pathetic and weak.

There are two kinds of people in this world: those that are oppressed by the patriarchy, and those that think they are not.

But godammit, if you're going to try to push my hands away from that red button, at least understand my urge to claw your fucking face off.

It's EVOLUTION because we're ALL ABOUT THE BABIES

So I was walking down the street today. I came across a dog. The dog was ugly, and it smelled a bit. I decided that I wanted to kick that motherfucking dog. I was going to kick the shit out of it. It hadn't done anything to me, but I still wanted to see it cry.

So I drew back my foot and kicked that damn dog. It yelped, and then made to run away. Someone else had already had my bright idea, because the dog's leg was broken, and by the festering look of it, had been for some time. So I shifted by weight and prepared for another kick, pleased that my prey could not escape.

Before my Converse could connect with the matted side of the mongrel, a police officer came out of nowhere. He whipped out his pad of ticket paper and prepared to levy me a heavy fine for animal abuse. As he asked my name and other vital statistics such as the middle name of the brother of the person I lost my virginity to, I could see the hate in his eyes. He shook his head every so often, as if my mere existence necessitated a random negation when his questioning would pause.

"Wait, officer!" I exclaimed.

His pen paused, his mustache twitched (all men of the law should have commanding facial hair), and his eyes, squinted in the glare of the relentless Arizona sun, met mine. 'Make my day, motherfucker,' they said to me. I intended to deliver.

"I have a biological impetuous to kick dogs! It's an evolutionary tactic, you see."

Steely gaze narrowed further until his craggy face was bisected by the squint of his skeptical eyes.

"Really, uh, sir, it is!" I shifted, paused, and regained my composure as my posture shifted and my hands animated to punctuate my relentless intelligence. "You see, when we were all cave men, dogs used to carry off babies. I know this because I read it in a fancy university study. Or perhaps I didn't, or the study was flawed, but you and I know that dogs could, at one point, eaten babies. So it's hardwired into humanity, officer, this need to kick dogs. We know that they could turn feral on us in their hunger at any moment. Even though dogs today don't carry off babies or go feral in hunger, they used to. So men naturally have the urge to kick dogs. It's there right beside the genetic code that makes hair grow on my balls. I couldn't help myself, officer. I did it all for the evolutionary success of my species!"

Gasping, panting, my hands and pedantic cadence paused. Surely my oppressor knew of my futile struggle with evolution. I had to kick that dog. How could I be punished for the continuation of the species?

And then the officer shifted his stance, dropped his notepad to his side, drew back his foot, swept his gaze up my shocked face as his mouth twisted into a gleeful grin, and he kicked the dog.

Americanism and Thought-Crime

Stop saying bad things about the world! Seriously. I mean, nothing's more American than being happy and loving everyone. Which means that me and the CEO of the company dumping toxic waste into the town lake are totally on the same page, man. We love each other, we're good neighbors. We both want some good old harmony.

Let's play the analogy game! Force is to Authoritarianism as what is to Democracy? If you guessed Propaganda you win the grand prize! It's called thinking. Sometimes it sucks. May cause feelings of intense hopelessness and pessimism. Use with caution.

Unhappiness, dude, that's not American. If the state of the world sucks, then don't think about it! In fact, ignore and alienate agitators. Like the government told you to. Or your boss, he's pro-American just like you. You ever hear of the Mohawk Valley Formula? No? That's good. Ignorance and bliss is the American way.

My slogan man, it's totally vacuous. Nobody's against it, because not supporting X, Y, and Z is bad news. Nobody really knows what it means, because it doesn't mean anything. All it does is keep me from asking, "do I support this policy?". But I'm not allowed to talk about it. Keep moving guys, there's no racism, sexism, classism, starvation, and disenfranchised here. It's a post-Feminist, post-Racist, post-classist society. Somebody told me so, and they must be right. I'm happier if I agree with them anyway.

So, do you support our troops? Well, you say, it's not like I don't support them. I've won. It's all Americanism and Harmony. We're all together, empty slogans, blank faces, corporate uniforms, daily grind. Join me, and together we can make sure that nobody ever talks about that nasty class struggle, racist, homophobic, sexist, exploitive, corrupt "issues" ever again.

Don't Call it War

Stop calling the Iraqi Conflict "war". If you have to call it anything, it's a Military Occupation. The war was over when the Iraqi military surrendered years ago. It might sound like I'm harping on a stupid and pointless question of semantics that does nothing to alter the framework of the debate. However, the use of the word "war" is very important if you happen to be a Republican.

"War" implies a grave threat. When the American public thinks of the usual war, we think of a conflict between two nations, or many nations, in which the losing party's surrender will result in the massive loss of human life and the potential shifting of borders. Even as recent as the Cold War, the consequences of war have moved borders and made the inhabitants of one nation suddenly citizens of another. The term "war" as it applies to Iraq is therefore, inappropriate. "Failure" would result in the rise of a new dictator--a powerless dictator, given that the infrastructure of Iraq is still in shambles and its population is impoverished and unlikely to support continued warfare. The price of "failure" in Iraq, for the Western world, is nothing compared to the price that Iraqis have paid, and will continue to pay for generations. Between a dismantled infrastructure, the leveling and loss of historic monuments, massive loss of life, and the poison of depleted uranium missiles, the occupation of Iraq has taken a very hefty toll from the innocent civilians of an already poor country. No such horrible fate would befall Americans if the occupation "failed". The use of the word war implies a somewhat equitable consequence resulting from the struggle of two or more equally powerful entities. Thus, the use of "war" is inappropriate to describe a situation in which a wealthy Western nation occupies a Middle Eastern country suffering from poverty and persistent civil violence.

Furthermore, "war" is a romantic term, attracting patriots and idealistic high school graduates who want to serve their country, and the political leaders that cloak their stock gains in nationalistic pride. Republican supporters call President Bush the "war president", would this title be as romantic if Bush was a "military occupation president"?

In a "war", we can justify autocratic leadership. We can sit idly by while liberties are sacrificed and foreigners are brutally tortured in our military prisons. We can excuse economic woes at home because of the "war" which "must be fought". Our "war" justifies airplanes loaded with hundreds of coffins of the Americans who never will make it out of their twenties. Can anyone say that a military occupation merits the same sacrifices?

"War" fashions heroic tales of valor. "War" creates glorious myths of an underdog fighting to protect itself and its freedom. A "war" illustrates nefarious villains would would stop at nothing to see the the destruction of our homes, and who have the means to accomplish this diabolical scheme if it was not for the brave actions of our military. In a military occupation, our heroes are overstressed youths raping each other, throwing puppies over cliffs, and committing suicide en masse. In a military occupation, the underdog is a nation run by oil barons, mercenaries, religious nuts, and construction contractors. In a military occupation, nefarious villains are farmers selling their daughters into marriage at younger and younger ages to support their families after their opium fields were burned, urban youths allying themselves with others sick of the war and prepared to fight back, and many other nobodies with no hope of posing a real threat to those on American soil.

In sum, "war" is what the neo-cons want every American to call the situation in Iraq, because just a single word justifies atrocities that the true situation cannot.

Stop calling it a "war", and start calling it what it is: the military occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan. This isn't just semantics, this is a matter of global importance.

Shit That Makes It Hard For Me to be Proud and Jewish

What the fuck? From Khalid Amayreh's blog:

Last week, the Israeli human rights organization B’Tselem released video clips showing masked Jewish settlers ganging up on and severely beating elderly Palestinian peasants near the town of Yatta, southwest of Hebron. At least three Palestinians were wounded in the unprovoked assault, including a man and his wife, both in their early sixties.

The latest act of settler terror was not an isolated incident, as official Israeli spokespersons would often claim. It represents a disturbing and persistent phenomenon as young and usually heavily armed settlers continue to attack Palestinian farmers, peasants and shepherds and vandalize their property in an effort to drive them away from their lands and villages.

Holy hell. What the fuck is wrong with Israelis? Also, what the fuck is wrong with American media that they aren't all over this shit like white on rice? The unspoken rah-rah-Israel sentiments here in America are nauseating. Every single Israeli goes through the military upon becoming an adult, where the prejudices against Palestinians are further cemented in a hierarchical structure where armed angry youths learn that everyone that is confined to the other side of their wall is The Enemy. I sincerely hope that not all Israelis are that brainwashed. Unfortunately, the Israelis I had the misfortune to encounter through working for a Jewish summer camp all were the most militaristic pro-American anti-Muslim devotees. Not a single free-thinker in that bunch.

Although, I really don't expect anything but horse shit to spew from the fellow Jew's mouth when it comes to Israel. My mother's side―the Jewish side―all are so unquestionably pro-Israel that any attempt to point out the gross human rights violations is met with incredibility. I might as well hand in my Jew-Card at the Passover Sedar for not being a Good Jew(TM) and hating all brown people. What the fuck, man? I really think we stopped being the oppressed when we started acquiring nukes, building walls, and forcing the native population into ghettos in an eerie parody of Nazi Germany. Racial cleansing is not fucking cool, even if you are Jewish.

People wonder why I avoid mixing Judaism and politics. Well, this is why. Then again, it's probably a good idea to conclude that any country Fuhrer President Bush supports is probably an oppressive regime that encourages its citizens to play Hitler's Youth with the disenfranchised du jour of the area.

Dear Conservatives, I'm Pro-Abortion! And You Know What That Makes You?

Anti-American!

I really tire of the abortion debate. Even so-called liberals that I have contact with through various political groups always claim to understand the motivations behind the Anti-American clusterfuck that is the conservative party and their holy quest to deprive women of fundamental freedoms.

I'm talking, specifically, about reproductive freedom.

You dudes: us women, well, we don't rape people in the same numbers you do. We can also chalk our violence up to mental deficiencies, rather than the self-perpetuating prophecy of masculinity. If you weren't content with the free pass the justice system has given men to rape women that I detailed exhaustively in my last post, your penis-buddies on Capitol Hill also would like us women to know that they value the "life" of a clump of cells, a fetus, or whatever you want to call it, more than freedom.

Because in case you haven't gotten the message: America's "freedoms" only apply to white men. Also, because I'm having a bad day, I tire of talking points and meaningless posturing.

So here it is, for everyone who cares to know: I'm Pro-Abortion. I don't dress my opinions up with fancy terms like "pro-choice" to distance my stance from the fact that I am supporting the systematic termination of a pregnancy that will result in the "death" of a fetus, embryo, fertilized egg, or a sack of cells that might be a human depending on your political agenda.

So, I admit that I am Pro-Abortion. Which means that if we wish to dispose of loaded phrases and cut to the heart of the issue, we're going to redefine "Pro-Life".

Note: graphic shamelessly lifted from Andy Singer's No Exit

First, you are not pro-life. Most conservatives support the death penalty, and holding enemy combatants in Guantanamo Bay until presumably the Apocalypse or nuclear winter. Killing people and torturing them isn't pro-life. Conservatives also shoot down any efforts to expand affordable health care, even to children. That's not pro-life either.

To liberal dudes who sympathize with conservatives: you might be pro-life. Sure, you might oppose the death penalty. You probably think water-boarding sucks. Your trendy liberal sentiments might also require you to admit that reducing the cost of health care is instrumentally important to the thousands of children who go without. However, you do share something fundamental with anti-abortion conservatives:

You're Anti-American.

Nothing is more intrinsic to the idea of Americanism than freedom. Not the hijacked definition of freedom which is used to mount submachine guns on a suburban Hummer, but the kind of freedom to go where I want and do what I please, provided I am not impeding anyone's rights. Probably the best and most basic exercise of freedom is that over your own body. Someone that does not even have the right to control their own body would, obviously, be a slave.

Now we've arrived at a point where sound bites are irrelevant. If I wish to be honest, then I must say that I am firmly and completely Pro-Abortion. If you wish to be "pro-life", you must oppose the unnatural and purposeful death of all of humanity. Your policies, instead encourage or allow war, torture, grueling child poverty, or a complete dismissal of the rulings of the Supreme Court. Anti-abortion activists and sympathizers are firmly and completely Pro-Slavery (of the reproductive variety) and Anti-American.

So let's just cut the bullshit, okay? I admit that I love abortion. Now you admit that you love reproductive slavery, and that you hate freedom. Fair is fair, after all.

(Cross-posted)

A Note to Self: Airlines Suck

So as I wrote in my last post, my university sucks. The only entity I current associate with, besides the U.S. Government, that now sucks more is Continental Airlines.

Although, I'm not quite sure that's entirely fair. I presume that all airlines are just as money-grubbing and price-gouging as Continental.

So here for posterity: Airlines Suck!

Also: if you have any doubt, even a small paranoid one, that you might not make your flight, book it right before you leave at the higher price.

Wait, what?

Yes, I know this is entirely contrary to everything that travel agents and people with shiny degrees and fat wallets will tell you. However, I'm college educated as well, and not in cahoots with any corporation or scheme to pad my pockets.

I'm just a fellow working-class citizen who got royally fucked.

I booked my flight from Phoenix to Quebec City back in May. With all the fees, my final total was just shy of $900. I felt triumphant, confident that I got the best price.

What I should have done is book a flight with Air Canada, who would have charged me upwards of $2400 for the same flight.

Why?

Well, because Air Canada is refundable. Those low, low prices fares you see advertised on the boob tube and shiny websites are low because if you cancel, they slap a huge fee on top of it and then apply a credit towards any flight taken in the next year with that airline, and only if you cancel at least three weeks before your flight. Otherwise, fuck you.

So if you canceled the flight because of financial difficulties, those difficulties aren't going to see an end any time soon. If you don't have any plans to take a trip to the tune of $900 in the next year, say bye-bye to your money.

Note to self: when booking flights, book it right before I leave. Not months in advance. A week before I leave. Paying an extra $100 or so is worth it for the security of knowing that if the unthinkable happens, if my university decides to be an ass and not offer my poor ass the means to educate myself or the person I'm going to see dies or I just simply can't make it, I'm going to be okay.

Besides, a week before I leave somewhere is generally not enough time for life to intervene and cock things up. As I learned today, three months is certainly enough time for the shit to hit the fan, especially if I dare to assume that my pubic university holds itself to the promises it made to me.

In conclusion, I'm having a very bad day.

Financial Aid Fail

So I have about a couple thousand in income a year. Blame being a full-time Philosophy student and an activist. Note to those who are interested: being a good person and learning about Shit That Matters does not pay the bills well. Thus, I live off financial aid, the contributions of my father to my tuition necessitated in my parents' divorce agreement, my scholarship, and my paltry savings from my last stint in the work force. I must also claim my mother's income on my FAFSA. Even when combined with mine, and the contributions of my father, our income is still significantly lower than the average American household, but not low enough that I qualify for anything. Namely, if it wasn't for my academic achievements, I would be completely and utterly fucked.

This summer, I had the bright idea that I should study abroad. Like all "middle-class" white students (I lied, I'm actually working class according to this diagram), I assumed that "seeing the world" was an intrinsic part of the college experience. Also, I'm desperately, and futilely, trying to learn French. The largest party of my heritage is completely (and inbred-ly) French and French-Canadian. My father never bothered to learn French from his fluent mother, or she never bothered to teach him. Learning French was a bit like reclaiming my roots. My entire motivation is hardly that pure, however. I am achingly jealous of my more linguistically talented friends who are fluent in Spanish, Chinese, or Portuguese, German, or Japanese.

Immersing myself in Quebec would be the fastest, and most enjoyable, way to learn French. I would also knock out most of the remaining credits standing between me and my French minor in the process. So, with promises from the International Studies Office that there was a lot of aid available, I made the $350 deposit and started shopping for airfare and applying for aid.

Here I am, about three weeks out from leaving, and I find myself at an impasse. My university, in a remarkable display of intelligence, misappropriated funds the previous year that it now has to pay back to the federal government. Instead of reducing the bloated and overpaid administrative costs, the university decided to hand down the charges to the students by increasing fees and decreasing grants and loans. Marvelous! How disgusting it is that I go to the second largest public university in America, and it still hasn't grasped the fact that it's purpose is to educate my poor ass instead of building second homes in the Foothills for the dean?

So this rad fem will have to cancel her trip. With a combined income of less than $30,000, no scholarships for the summer, and a bill of over $5000, the university "generously" offered me a grand total of $1000 in federal loans for the summer. They obviously expect me to fly to Canada, but live out of a cardboard box, beg for food, and learn magic to make the tuition and program fees disappear. This is the state of our education system!God forbid I enjoy my college years with a little excursion to somewhere besides the hell hole known as Arizona. It's times like these I wish my ancestors had stayed in Europe or Canada where I could actually get some funding for my poor ass.

Now, I won't even get my initial deposit back for some bullshit "administrative" costs. Although, I have found that some offices are remarkably willing to forgive "administrative costs" if you come into their office and make a big stink about the research you did for the university, your impressive academic record, your family's history with the university, name drop, and vaguely hint that you might have a lawyer than you can't afford in reality.

If it wasn't for the fact that I help my mother pay the mortgage, this kind of shit would make me transfer universities, professional ties at mine be damned. If there's one thing I have little patience for it is public institutions swindling me out of money because they misled me about the extent of the costs and failed to mention that they are more interested in paying their own bloated salaries than educating their paying students.