Day
52: People really need to open their eyes and stop this nonsensical
defense of this moron reporter in NJ. The officers death is an immense
tragedy and the neighborhood's reaction was disgusting, but the
reporter's racist opinion should not be commended for its accuracy &
courage. Had he committed race in his comments, he may still have a
job, but would his comment have been any more righteous? No!
I have signed petitions to have the memorial removed and have looked into what is being done for the officer's family, so don't think this is about being anti-cop, because you're wrong. This is about my mental fatigue from dealing with people and a society that feels racism in certain situations is ok. Don't forget when you write things in anger, that hate breeds hate. This outpouring of support for the officer is beautiful and I stand with you, but this outpouring of support for an ignorant reporter only increases the dissent that minorities have towards law enforcement, the media and our stereotypical assumptions.
Not only is the comment prejudiced, but it's a slight on the abilities of single mothers to raise someone to show respect. I can tell you from experience, the children of single mothers I've encountered over my life, are the polar opposite of this reporter's inaccurate statement.
Now from reading most of your posts, comments and replies to past events, I realize most need to be told how to feel, what to believe and who to hate in a given situation, but there are times, when you need to simply realize that we live in a horrible world filled with more hate than we know what to do with and only one thing conquers that and it's not support of more hate. THINK! #100DaysOfHopper
Day 53: How far back do our memories go? I know I remember things, at least I think I do from when I was five, but when telling others, I'm reminded by family, that they happened when I was two or three. This leads me to believe that these "memories" are nothing more than stories that have been told before that I've matched with photographs, then weaved into an elaborate tale. It doesn't mean that these events didn't occur, but simply that the true memory doesn't exist.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the friends I've had along the way, who I've lost touch with. Most of the people I know have lived in the same town or close proximity, for most of their lives. I envy that in one sense, because the memories they share must seem so much more real, because there are others who shared them to confirm their feelings. I moved at 15 and nearly every friend I had before, I have lost touch with. It's difficult not to be able to bounce stories off another and have laughs and cries over things in your past.
Today's children will be different, because they will have social media and whatever new technology comes forth to shorten the distance between they and their friends. Cameras on phones and constant posting will keep these memories recorded and the little comments attached will confirm their feelings. This scares me to death.
I've always had an aversion to cameras and photographs, especially those that capture moments. One or two friends could tell you of a time I walked out on a girlfriend and friends because of too many photo ops. I rarely pull out my camera when out with friends and I despise being included in pics. One because I'm as photogenic as a spitting camel and two, because in my mind, it cheapens the moment. Not in any other way, than it causes us to forget. To forget to savor the moments, to drink it in and to digest them. It gives us the out, to forget that moment momentarily, because it's all on record. We can go back the next day or a week, or even years later and pull up these pics and reminisce about something we probably didn't fully take in at the time.
Too each his own, most will say. This post or my instance for people to stop when I'm out, will not sway people one way or the other. There are just some people who feel the need to capture each and every moment, like some bizarre form of dementia has overcame them. I find, no matter how trivial the situation, that seeing, hearing, tasting, touching and smelling the moment helps me remember and in my mind, it feels so much more genuine than watching a video or gazing a picture.
There is always something about seeing the sun through the trees in the early morning that will remind me of Birchmont. The sound of a baby talking will take me back to grabbing my brother and carrying him downstairs for a morning feed in Brooklyn. Tasting the garlicky butter of escargot and remember dinners with wonderful family friends, who had much to do with who I am today. Touching certain fabrics who remind me of hugging loved ones who aren't with me anymore. Smelling lamb chops, paella or moussaka and having it bring me back to quiet dinners with my family and sitting across from my mother, as I always did. Photographs can make us see a specific moment, but it's what all the senses were doing at that moment that allows me to get back to those precious times.
I love looking at all of your pictures, but my photographs are in my mind and in some odd way, I think they are still developing. Becoming clearer and brighter as time goes on. I just hope that I can hold onto them forever and they don't become, like those we can grasp, a scattered pile, filling some old shoe box, hidden away in the dark recesses of someone untouched closet. #100DaysOfHopper
I have signed petitions to have the memorial removed and have looked into what is being done for the officer's family, so don't think this is about being anti-cop, because you're wrong. This is about my mental fatigue from dealing with people and a society that feels racism in certain situations is ok. Don't forget when you write things in anger, that hate breeds hate. This outpouring of support for the officer is beautiful and I stand with you, but this outpouring of support for an ignorant reporter only increases the dissent that minorities have towards law enforcement, the media and our stereotypical assumptions.
Not only is the comment prejudiced, but it's a slight on the abilities of single mothers to raise someone to show respect. I can tell you from experience, the children of single mothers I've encountered over my life, are the polar opposite of this reporter's inaccurate statement.
Now from reading most of your posts, comments and replies to past events, I realize most need to be told how to feel, what to believe and who to hate in a given situation, but there are times, when you need to simply realize that we live in a horrible world filled with more hate than we know what to do with and only one thing conquers that and it's not support of more hate. THINK! #100DaysOfHopper
Day 53: How far back do our memories go? I know I remember things, at least I think I do from when I was five, but when telling others, I'm reminded by family, that they happened when I was two or three. This leads me to believe that these "memories" are nothing more than stories that have been told before that I've matched with photographs, then weaved into an elaborate tale. It doesn't mean that these events didn't occur, but simply that the true memory doesn't exist.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the friends I've had along the way, who I've lost touch with. Most of the people I know have lived in the same town or close proximity, for most of their lives. I envy that in one sense, because the memories they share must seem so much more real, because there are others who shared them to confirm their feelings. I moved at 15 and nearly every friend I had before, I have lost touch with. It's difficult not to be able to bounce stories off another and have laughs and cries over things in your past.
Today's children will be different, because they will have social media and whatever new technology comes forth to shorten the distance between they and their friends. Cameras on phones and constant posting will keep these memories recorded and the little comments attached will confirm their feelings. This scares me to death.
I've always had an aversion to cameras and photographs, especially those that capture moments. One or two friends could tell you of a time I walked out on a girlfriend and friends because of too many photo ops. I rarely pull out my camera when out with friends and I despise being included in pics. One because I'm as photogenic as a spitting camel and two, because in my mind, it cheapens the moment. Not in any other way, than it causes us to forget. To forget to savor the moments, to drink it in and to digest them. It gives us the out, to forget that moment momentarily, because it's all on record. We can go back the next day or a week, or even years later and pull up these pics and reminisce about something we probably didn't fully take in at the time.
Too each his own, most will say. This post or my instance for people to stop when I'm out, will not sway people one way or the other. There are just some people who feel the need to capture each and every moment, like some bizarre form of dementia has overcame them. I find, no matter how trivial the situation, that seeing, hearing, tasting, touching and smelling the moment helps me remember and in my mind, it feels so much more genuine than watching a video or gazing a picture.
There is always something about seeing the sun through the trees in the early morning that will remind me of Birchmont. The sound of a baby talking will take me back to grabbing my brother and carrying him downstairs for a morning feed in Brooklyn. Tasting the garlicky butter of escargot and remember dinners with wonderful family friends, who had much to do with who I am today. Touching certain fabrics who remind me of hugging loved ones who aren't with me anymore. Smelling lamb chops, paella or moussaka and having it bring me back to quiet dinners with my family and sitting across from my mother, as I always did. Photographs can make us see a specific moment, but it's what all the senses were doing at that moment that allows me to get back to those precious times.
I love looking at all of your pictures, but my photographs are in my mind and in some odd way, I think they are still developing. Becoming clearer and brighter as time goes on. I just hope that I can hold onto them forever and they don't become, like those we can grasp, a scattered pile, filling some old shoe box, hidden away in the dark recesses of someone untouched closet. #100DaysOfHopper
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