On Skins and Adolescence

Last Monday was the premiere of the first episode of the last series of Skins.

For those of you who don't know, Skins has been one of my favorite shows since it first washed up stateside my junior year of high school.  I loved it for a lot of reasons, including, in large part, the fact that Nicholas Hoult played Tony Stonem in the first two series.

But really, what drew me in when it comes to Skins was the way they portrayed people my age.  Yes, the show was racy and definitely a lot more wild than my life (or anyone that I knew, really) was at the time.  But after years of seeing the 16-19 year-old years treated like nothing more than bad grades, shopping trips, and shenanigans learning to drive, it was amazing, to me, to see a show that portrayed its teenage characters as complex, autonomous characters.

The characters in Skins had the complicated backstories that are often associated with much more adult stories -- neglect, abuse, loss, joy, family.  They also had real, complex problems -- depression, suicide attempts, eating disorders, bipolar disorder, anxiety.  Skins was the first show I ever watched that treated my generation more like adults than children.  And it made me feel less alone.

The characters in Skins made real, complex decisions and those decisions had consequences.  Even now, with the final series and the reboot of some of the original characters in the specials Fire, Rise, and Pure, the characters, who have aged since the last time we saw them (Effy Stonem, for example, is now working for a high-powered investment bank instead of wreaking havoc on her high school/college), are facing adult issues with real consequences.  And I'm excited to see where it all heads.  In the meantime, I'm glad there is at least one show that presents adolescence as something more complicated than just that awkward time between when you're a little kid and when you become a full-fledged grownup.

I am speaking, of course, to the UK version of Skins.  The American adaptation that MTV tried to pull off was a laughable shadow of its British counterpart.

Culturally yours,
Rachel Leigh

Photo credits: 
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYBodWpgle0hIMbsYTKZBIef1lk_al7HdSIl0M9y3YbcrKztrbOcs6rS6h_ljjHLyNVLRd4iLTTgeWdtjDvERAPRbmnP9ZaJmXw828mlGSCHE33zQT4n42ELHwRHwuXRjuQ_h43CcT9hr/s400/skins-cast-nagy.jpg
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOULGUtYct73gRdOX-Vqi0l4R-2m0WmNU-oxEkc1fmGUQ_PoZMromuPK7GvPTRjtj-ntC0VXmpVc7JF6hN-zfRfCS35S1EyeAIdVrEmTwJIwr2n5Q1Ni39Krh0I1AFyKy4qk60OpDARib6/s1600/article-0-0CA776D4000005DC-732_634x429.jpg

On TV and Hormones

There must be some clause in every television writer's contract that says that, if you write for a television series aimed at anyone from their early teens to their late twenties, you must have one episode entitled "Let's Talk About Sex."

In this episode, the main character (or even several members of the cast) have some sort of crazy sexual awakening that ultimately leads to "the Talk" with either their partner or their parents, and several uncomfortable hijinks ensue for all involved! It's super funny and super awkward! Lol hormones and condoms!

As of right now, there are at least 8 series which have had this same episode, and while Salt 'n' Pepa gave us all a great song title with which to encompass this extraordinarily old plot device, it's time to give it a rest. It's a cliche title for a cliche idea, which reflects a time when most kids didn't have access to sex education -- or the Internet. No one's first exposure to the idea of condoms or birth control or STDs or pregnancy is from The Talk anymore. Sex Ed, 16 and Pregnant, every teen show on television, and Wikipedia have all made sure of that. (Of course, that still doesn't insure people will be safe about it, either.). Sure, the Talk is still a big moment in any coming of age show. I doubt there will ever be a time in history when talking to your parents about sex isn't uncomfortable. But there are less cliche ways to address the issue. Or at least come up with a new title. I really like the sound of "Lol Hormones and Condoms!"

Unclichedly yours,
Rachel Leigh

On My Psychotic Resume

If, in addition to being one of my darling readers, you happen to be friends with me on Facebook, then you probably know that two weeks ago, I was obsessing over my resume and the fact that my job history makes NO sense.

Honestly, I blame that mostly on necessity -- I took the jobs that were available because I needed them, and I took the opportunities that were there because they were there.  So much of what they teach us in school/college these days revolves around preparing for your future: you need work experience in high school because it looks good on your college applications, then you need internships and good grades in college because they look good for graduate school.  And god forbid, you don't get that summer internship in DC because then how will you ever rise to the top of the Democratic Party and then become the youngest President in U.S. history?  And they drill this into us.  Even today, at the orientation I had to attend to study abroad in the fall, they stressed thinking about how this experience will relate to your future career plans.

Which is why I say my resume makes no sense.  There is literally NO cohesion between one entry and the next.  I've gone through 9 different jobs and internships, some paid, some unpaid.  Mostly paid.  I took a minimum wage job because I needed the money.  I took an internship for a science museum because it was offered to me.  I've been a camp counselor and an office monkey, a research intern and a writing consultant.  And I don't want to hide any of it.  Those weird jobs and internships made me who I am.  Thanks to that weird resume, I have worked alongside dinosaurs, improved my communication skills (and to some degree, my patience), learned how to decorate cakes, learned way more about the human spine than I think I ever needed to know, gotten passionate about how terrible mental health care is at highly competitive universities, learned to mine a client database, and been background checked more times than most kids my age.  I wouldn't be the potential employee I am, or the blogger I am, or the person I am if I hadn't had so many odd experiences that weren't supposed to relate to my future plans.

And so I think it's kind of messed up that there's this drive to already know what you want to do with your life and have it all figured out.  I think it's crazy that you're expected to already be set on this path and ready to go from before you even go to college.  I still have no idea what I want or how any of the crazy jobs or hobbies I've had in the past will relate to what I decide to do.  But I want to do them.  All of them.  Just because there's no way to know how they might shape who I turn out to be.

Wandering, but not lost,
Rachel Leigh

On Being Tall

I have spent the last couple of weeks using the phrase "#tallgirlproblems" (no, I do not pronounce the hashtag) to describe my life.  As a 5'11" female, I was happy to find a Twitter account that sympathized with my Tall Girl Problems.

What is a Tall Girl Problem?  Like a #firstworldproblem or #collegeproblem, these problems are problems that exist only because I am in a comfortable enough position to complain about them.  Tall Girl Problems are problems that exist solely in virtue of absurd height.

#TallGirlProblems

Never being able to find pants that fit.

They do not make pants that are made to fit legs that make up 2/3 of your height.  Everything I own fits like a pair of floods.  Also, good luck wearing knee-high boots or knee socks.  They're great if, by "knee," you mean "awkwardly squeezing your mid-calf."

Not knowing how to walk in heels.

5'11" + 3" heels = ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING.  As such, I have never learned how to walk in heels, which is great for those rare occasions when you actually have to wear them.  When my ankle is in three pieces on the floor because I can't balance in a pair of heels, you will understand.

Constantly being asked to get things for shorter friends.

Can you reach that?  Can you just grab that?  I can't reach...help me out?

Constantly being asked to get things for strangers.

Can you get that down off the top shelf?

Being taller than your prom date...and your Dad.

I wish I were kidding.  Love you, Dad.

Nobody gets it.

You know what's great?  Complaining about your incredibly inconvenient height, and having everyone respond "But you're, like, MODEL-tall."  As if that makes it better.  It's actually kind of irritating.

Fellow tall girls, I love you. I delight in your presence. But if I accidentally elbow one more person because my arms are so freaking long, I might consider donating my lower-legs to the vertically-challenged.

#TallGirlProblems,
Rachel Leigh

On Schadenfreude, Falling For Your Best Friend, and Terrible Television

This post is decidedly not intellectual in the slightest. Please do not try to decipher an intellectual or pseudo-intellectual message from within it. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.

So, my darling readers, as I'm sure you've come to understand, I have an addiction to bad television. And good television. Okay, just television in general. And my roommate does not help with this matter.

Recently added to our repertoire are such delights as Blue Mountain State, which I have to confess is actually ridiculously funny; Ridiculousness, which really just makes me want to lock Rob Dyrdek in a cupboard somewhere until he agrees to stop trying to be Daniel Tosh; and, thankfully, new episodes of South Park which, while mildly offensive and occasionally depressing, give me faith in the world's ability to laugh at itself. But what I really want to talk about is a new show on MTV called "Friend Zone."

The concept is slightly adorable, I confess. A guest on the show comes on and admits that they have feelings for their best friend and would like to take it to the next level (move out of the metaphorical Friend Zone). The episode progresses with the friend helping them to plan a date for "someone special" and then right before the date is supposed to begin, the guest reveals their feelings to their friend, in hopes that the friend will agree to go on the date that was really intended for him/her.

This concept is cute...supposing the friend says yes or returns the feelings. But let's take a moment to look at this a different way -- what if they say no? I have two major complaints here. The first is that it seems incredibly sadistic to watch someone get their heartbroken on national television. This show would be entertaining if the endings were always happy, but to delight in watching some poor kid who put their heart on the line get turned down (and probably ruin a good friendship forever), is a kind of schadenfreude that leads me to worry about the human race. Not that a lot of things don't do that. See Rob Dyrdek's "Ridiculousness" for examples of other things that test my faith in humanity.

My other problem here is that anyone who legitimately cares about your feelings, I would think, wouldn't turn you down on national television. If someone is really your friend and they ask you on a date on a reality show, your thought process should probably be "I may not like him/her like that, but the only thing worse than getting turned down would be getting turned down in front of millions of viewers." And then you suck it up and go on the date...then break the news to them after. Because someone who would knowingly humiliate a good friend on television probably needs a lesson or two in what being a friend entails. Like, y'know, a bit of self-sacrifice and some compassion for the people you supposedly care about.

Just my input. Anyone with some quality/terrible TV suggestions, I would love to hear them!

Lovingly yours,
Rachel Leigh

On Things That Taste Better Than Skinny Feels

My darling readers, things annoy me. (Wait, really?)

There's this phrase that floats around the thinspo students of the internet. Thinspo, in case you're unaware, is the process of people (usually girls) who are attempting to lose weight in either healthy or unhealthy ways (usually unhealthy) providing themselves with "thinspirational" images, quotes, and life advice to help keep them on track.

The quote is that











My problem with thinspo comes from not the idea itself, but from the ways in which it has been perverted to encourage girls to starve themselves to be some bizarre definition of perfect.

I've seen some pretty decent advice on how to keep yourself on track for a diet...and I've seen some disturbing things. Like "if you're hungry, eat naked in front of a mirror and see how much of an appetite you have then." A lot of the advice not only allows girls to hate themselves but encourages a sense of self-loathing as a motivator. Which is twisted.

There are times when I use thinspo on the internet...as a reminder to keep my body issues in check. I may not like my tummy and I may weigh a little more than I would like, but seeing images of girls who are verging on emaciated and reading advice that encourages me to despise the way I look and the person I am reminds me that I need to keep it in perspective.

And by the way, anyone who says nothing tastes as good as skinny feels has obviously never had bacon.

Deciding not to skip dessert,
Rachel Leigh

On Making Drama "Facebook Official"

Today, I want to talk about two little words. "It's. Complicated." People who list their facebook relationship status as "It's complicated" confuse me.

First of all, it's complicated can mean a lot of things. "We're dating, and it's kind of serious, but it's kind of not." "He thinks we're together, but so does he. Oh, and him too." "I love you, but I'm just not in love with you, as a matter of fact, I think the entire idea of dating is just some part of the archaic, consumerist, misogynist patriarchy designed to keep women in their place and reinforce rigid gender stereotypes." "Love is too mainstream."

Whatever. Point is, people in healthy relationships do not describe their situations as "It's complicated." And I don't mean that somebody asks how your relationship is going, and then you respond that "It's complicated." Because sometimes it is. But why would someone choose to broadcast to the world that their situation with someone is currently so screwed up that the only way to describe it is "It's complicated?"

Realistically, I think it's because people are so afraid to appear single that they would rather admit that they can't figure their crap out than not have everyone in the world know that they're hooking up with someone.

I'm personally the kind of person that thinks that, if the only way you can feel like there's any legitimacy to your relationship is publishing it on facebook, there are deeper issues at hand than "It's complicated" can sum up.

It's NOT that complicated,
Rachel Leigh

On Exam Week

It's a Sunday afternoon around 12:30 and you're beginning to wonder where everyone is. Campus is completely deserted except for the occasional resident of the city of Richmond who has wandered over to campus to find a place to walk their dog and, for some reason, pay $8.50 to eat lunch in an overpriced cafeteria. You wander in circles aimlessly, stopping to get some food in said overpriced cafeteria (because meal swipes are cheaper than real money) until it gets to be 1 and you decide to get coffee in the library. It is at that moment, as you close in on a line of 30 people that has somehow formed in the 2 minutes since the coffee shop opened, that you realize where everyone is. The library. And then you remember that it's the day before finals begin and you should probably have spent your weekend doing something more productive that screwing around on tumblr, hopelessly refreshing webcomics, TFMs, and Texts from Last Night, or skypeing. Like maybe studying. Maybe.

...Just finished my last major (non-exam) assignment of the semester, which is due tomorrow at noon! Congratulations to ME!

And, to those of my readers who are:
a) Still reading
b) In college...

Happy Finals Week and Good Luck on Your Exams!

Even MorOn College

So the last couple weeks have been pretty hectic. I've had papers due left and right (thank you, professor, for making us turn in a two page written assignment analyzing every reading we do for the next 3 weeks. I appreciate that, especially when I have three other classes to do work for), and it seems like I have club meetings or lectures or chances to hang out every time I turn my head. So, needless to say, my blogging (and many other things) haven't gotten the attention they quite deserve.

So today, in between my 10:30 class, which ended early, and my 1:30 class, which I don't need to leave for for another hour, I have gotten in touch with my roots. Namely, I've spent the last hour on RollingStone.com catching up on all things musical. I just finished reading every album review they have posted since July. The fact that I had to go that far back should tell you how badly I've been slacking. The results were about what I expected: mixed reviews on Lady Gaga's Remix album, praise for Brandon Flowers' solo work (while mocking his hair...understandably), and a commentary on Of Montreal's new album that left me incredibly confused about what I might be getting myself into.

I then proceeded to walk myself to D-Hall (the UR dining hall) in the pouring rain (Thank god for new rain boots!), where I have set up shop with my laptop, a bowl of some kind of crab soup that smells delicious but I don't particularly want to eat, and a glass of delicious BLUE DRANK. I had intended to just sit by myself and blog, but a friend of mine and her big walked up and are now eating with me. We've been discussing...poverty! It's really interesting to be discussing this at a school where very, very few people have any conception of going without.

So...needless to say, college has been intertesting thus far.

I'm going to actually interact with the people I'm eating lunch with now.

Don't Stop Believing,
Rachel Leigh

More On (but not Moron) College

So, as a proud college student, I feel the need to talk about some things about being a proud college student in my blog.

In my previous post, I referenced being a Westhampton College student. Which, to some people, produces a "lolwut" response because, well, I'm a freshman at the University of Richmond. When originally founded (like most colleges), Richmond was an all-men's college. In 1914, they decided to incorporate a women's college into the University: Westhampton College. To this day, though classes, housing, and most activities are now not separated by gender, the women entering UR enter Westhampton College and the men enter Richmond College. The things that stayed separate? The deaneries, the student government, and a lot of the traditions. For example, the girls have a tradition known as Proclamation Night which is apparently a pretty big deal, but I don't quite understand it yet. Maybe I'll elabor (credit: Max) after Proclamation Night once I understand it more.

Other things about college:

Well, I just left the URMUN (University of Richmond Model United Nations) interest meeting. There are SO many interest meetings. Last week there was a Student Organization Fair and I, like most freshmen, signed up for about 10 different clubs. I do not fool myself into believing I will be able to participate in every single one. I will feel accomplished if I manage to participate in like...3. But it's just insane the number of things there are to do: activist groups (UR Body, UR Choice; Dems; Global Health), fun things (like Ballroom Dancing, which I wish didn't conflict with my Wednesday night class), general nerdliness (URMUN, Quidditch, etc), and...about a million other things. Like Meditation Club. Which sends out really funny emails. There is literally just more stuff to do than I previously imagined possible. Which is funny, because there are other things that have to have time, too.

...Like class. I have it pretty easy most days. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday I only have one class. Friday I have two. But Wednesday? The same day that they have Ballroom Dancing, which I really wish I could participate in? Well, I have three classes on Wednesday. One of which runs from 6:30-9:30 every Wednesday night. Head, meet desk. Desk, meet head. The rest of the time, I love my schedule, but Wednesdays, I want to kick small children.

What I find with college stuff is just that I have so much I want to talk about, and so little of it that fits with what I'm trying to say. There is no overarching, deeper theme to this post. It's just college.

Future posts (honestly, this list is as much for my reference as yours, because I don't want to forget what I wanted to talk about):
-When really awesome/important people come to UR and what I think about it
-Why I'm not worried about the Freshman 15
-Probably some reflections on things I've learned in class

...Speaking of, my classes:
-Introduction to Public Policy
-Introduction to American Government
-Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies: Sexual Violence and War
-First Year Seminar: Shakespeare and the Politics of Leadership

...yeah, it's awesome.

Cheese and rice (the topic of the last Meditation Club email),
Rachel Leigh

On Freshmeat

So, this is the first time since having left for the University of Richmond (UR, Richmond, U of R, and any number of bad puns involving the abbreviation "UR") that I have taken a seat and flipped open my laptop with the intention of putting my fingers to the keys to blog.

I have been a college freshman for almost 3 weeks now. And everyone on campus can tell. Forget the obvious trademarks of the Class of 2014 (or, traditionally, any freshman class): an overabundance of lanyards, the green Westhampton College (I'll explain this in a later post) t-shirts (our class color), that predominant look of complete confusion and disorientation when you stumble outside of your normal stomping ground. And don't even get me started on the troves of lost freshmeat wandering around the University apartments, completely lost. Guys: there are maps. Find them. Learn them.

The fact of the matter is that, while I've tried to overcome these obvious freshman-markers, there are other things. Like, for example, the fact that I have braces. In college. I met a girl the other night who said it was cute and reminded her of Indonesia, because apparently it's a trend there to have braces into your 20s?

I just wish it weren't so obvious. It's like having a target placed on my back that says "I'm new, I have no idea what's going on. Please, take advantage of this." It's frustrating.

In future posts:
-Why I'm a Westhampton College student and how coordinate colleges work
-When REALLY Important/Awesome People Come to Richmond
...and more

Ta for now,
Rachel Leigh

On...Good-byes? Maybe?

4 is an absurdly small number when it comes to facing the biggest transition in your life. It hardly seems like enough time to pack and get ready to go.

It's astounding and disconcerting how soon I'm leaving. It's kind of scary that I'm saying good-bye. Last night, I said good-bye to several good friends (and a few acquaintances) who, in all likelihood, I will not see before I leave in 4 days. And then I may not ever see them again (though I sincerely hope this is not the case (I have found out that I can go to Philly from Richmond by bus in about 8 hours for about $35 round-trip (thank you Megabus.com for running from DC to Philly for $20!))). I never thought I'd feel this way. Of course I'm excited, but it's all kind of tinged with these negative emotions (anxiety, sadness, nostalgia). To be honest, I'm even kind of feeling regret about opportunities I've missed and things I wish I could have changed before I left.

I'm so ready to start my life: to be independent, to go by my own schedule, to live (and learn, and love, and laugh, and lose, and everything that goes with those things). It's just hard to reconcile that excitement, this beautiful feeling that this is the step I need and want to take to be who I want to be, with the fact that I have a life that I like, a life that I'm comfortable and happy in, which I'm going to have to leave behind to make this change.

In a way, I hope most people are going through what I'm going through. I know a lot of people are just excited, and it kind of surprises me, because I always thought I'd be one of them: ready to walk away and never look back and never regret a single moment that passed without me. I don't think that's true anymore. I still can't wait to go to college, to be a spider, and to live my life. I just don't think I'll be able to turn my back and pretend I don't miss my family and my hometown and my friends anymore.

Love, Love, Love,
Rachel Leigh

On Change

Normally, I start my blog posts with a title and a clearly-defined purpose: “on…whatever.” Right now, if I were to do that, the resulting title will be “On…I’m not quite sure.” Maybe I’ll keep that title. For now, I just need to talk.

Last September, I was applying to college and I wrote an essay about a wall. Not THE Wall, not the Great Wall, but MY wall. My wall was a 68 square foot, multi-media (as in several media, not as in flashing, twinkling, music-playing) collage. I thought I had a picture of it. I don’t. I would take a picture now, but, as it turns out, in addition to my leaving for college in 2 weeks, my family is also moving.

So, long before I was ready, my precious wall has begun to come down. This is what my wall now currently looks like. About half of it remains on my now depressingly-periwinkle (previously not visible) wall. The other half is now in a silver plastic tub to be put in storage somewhere.

I guess it’s time for change. My wall has been a huge representation of who I am for the last two years, but I’m moving on to another point in my life, and maybe my wall won’t be the representation of who I am in this new stage.

Hey look, I found a slightly deeper angle! Sweet. I can now name this post something other than “On Wall.”

In Metamorphosis (Shedding my exoskeleton and growing some wings),
Rachel Leigh

On Extended Breaks and Razor Bumps

It has been over a month and I have yet to impart on you, my darling readers, any fun, moderately offensive, or sarcastic commentary on life, the universe, and everything.

I blame this partially on graduation and the rather hectic weeks leading up to it, partially on personal issues and illness, and partially on somewhat of a lack of things to say.

Part of me felt the need to blog anyway, but I found that nearly every time I tried, what surfaced was mostly just a commentary on whatever entry I had read that day on The Seventeen Magazine Project [http://www.theseventeenmagazineproject.com (which, while now finished, has been followed up by a new project run by the same somewhat fascinating mind, http://www.teenagerie.com)]. I found that while my interest in reading and frequenting other blogs increased and became more consistent, my ability to come up with somewhat original content was slightly hindered. (To be quite frank, the comments about my blog being apologetic, pseudo-intellectual, and offensive certainly didn't help).

I am (hopefully) proud to say that I am (hopefully) back, as the summer between senior year and college shows the potential for many reasons to rant and rave for a couple of paragraphs on a regular basis.

One of my more personal problems with the summer season is, I feel, actually pretty common. In all honesty, I do not like shaving. In fact, between razor bumps, cuts, dry skin, and general time consumption, I find it to be the least enjoyable part of my summer. Do not mistake me, I find smooth legs to be as entertaining as the next person, because soft skin is more touchable and fun. But summer finds me in need of shaving...pretty much everywhere. Bathing suits mandate a clean bikini line, t-shirts and tank tops and such require well-groomed underarms, and shorts, skirts, swimsuits, and pretty much any clothing suitable for 90 degree weather demand shaved legs. I, like many girls, find this whole process annoying and also find that, 9 times out of 10, my knees are still stubbly after shaving.

And you know what I've noticed? The only people who really seem to care are other girls or the ill-shaven themselves. The people asked to marvel at a well-shaven leg? Close female friends. The person most likely to comment on your hairy knees? Yourself. The one most likely to comment on your bikini line? ...Okay, a lot of the time that's a guy. I've just noticed that, assuming that nothing is absurdly grotesque, the only person who really cares about your shave is, well...yourself. So maybe it's not such a huge deal after all. No one gives a crap about your hairy knees. Go in peace.

Back and better than ever (hopefully),
Rachel Leigh

On Emily Post and the Antiquated Art of Etiquette

Sitting outside on the grass today was a challenge. As spring has sprung, I have gotten into the habit that many girls my age adopt around this time of year: embracing the skirt and dress (sans tights or stockings) as the most fun and weather-friendly clothing option.


Needless to say, when one is wearing a skirt, her sitting options are severely limited. Especially if she is insistent on sitting on the ground. Basic etiquette says a young lady wearing a skirt must sit up, on a chair or other raised platform, with knees crossed. Let us return to our dear ground-sitting friend who wishes to be comfortable on the groud. Her options seem to be as follows:

1. Become a nuisance by stretching her legs out completely in front of her.


2. Risk the hopefully-avoided panty-flash by sitting either cross-legged or with her knees up in front of her.


3. Take a page from the Marilyn Monroe Book of Narrowly-Avoided Social Faux Pas, and use her hands to strategically hold down her skirt.

Why is it, though, that in 2010, we feel the need to characterize all of these sitting positions as "un-ladylike" and un-befitting of a young lady? I blame Emily Post. Born in 1873, and formally published as a "philosopher" of all things proper in 1922, Emily Post has been the go-to source for good manners for almost the last century. Though she died in 1960, the Emily Post Institute continues to release guides for proper manners and etiquette in social settings, at work, and even online.

It makes perfect sense, I suppose, to allow the 19th-century guidelines of someone who was born a decade after the Civil War to dictate the 21st-century Netiquette. After all, when much of interpersonal communication is now done over a screen, it makes sense to base its laws and rules on a set of standards established in the early days of the telephone.

Personally, I think Emily Post's world has been dead for years now.

When Playboy bunnies, rather than being hidden in paper bags in the back shelves of skeevy magazine racks, have their own television shows watched by over 2 million people, and the stars of Disney movies can continue their careers after naked photos of them have been leaked to the internet, it's time to stop judging girls by 1920's standards of propriety. So what if I want to wear a skirt without sitting like I have something shameful to hide? I'm not suggesting that girls should go around showing off their lady-bits to everyone they see. I'm just saying maybe it's time we stop judging girls who don't feel the need to subscribe to the old world etiquette of Emily Post.

Always lady-like (regardless of how I'm sitting),
Rachel Leigh

On Gaming

I hope you know what TED is. For the good of all mankind, I hope everyone with internet access knows what TED is. If you don't know what TED is, I hope for the good of all mankind, you go to this webpage (http://www.ted.com/) immediately and find out.

For a quick synopsis, TED is a website devoted to three things: Technology, Entertainment, and Design. The goal of TED is to promote the spread and growth of ideas through brief (usually 20 minutes or less) lectures on anything and everything related to technology, entertainment, and design.

Last year, one of my classes began to integrate TED lectures into the lesson plan, to help foster ideas and generate informed and empowered discussion. And, God, it works. Today, we began watching a talk by a female gamer (yes, they exist, as a matter of fact, according to a study by the Entertainment Software Association in 2004, they make up 34% of all gamers, and 43% of online gamers) who talked about the importance of playing video and online games in mental development in problem solving.

Jane McGonigal, PhD, the Gamer Girl to whom I am referring (smart, beautiful, AND a video game designer), said that she thinks the world's problems could be more easily solved if, worldwide, we spent 21 billion hours a week (that's approximately 1 half-hour per person) in search of gaming's fabled "epic win." This means, of course, that if all 6 billion people on the planet are expected to get their game on, we need...more Gamer Girls.

And this, my friends, is my point: if you know me at all, you know that I think girls can kick ass. From a young age, I was started on video games: Duck Hunt when I was very young, FPS's like Goldeneye 007 as I got older, Super Smash Brothers and its more developed counterpart, SSBB,... To this day, I frequently transport a device I call "The Brick"... a 1989 GameBoy, which, combined with Tetris, Super Mario Brothers, and Pokemon Yellow, served as my childhood.

There's some stigma against girls who play, especially in "guys games" like FPS's and, one of my favorites, Grand Theft Auto. It's almost like we've been relegated to games that need to have fairies or elves or princesses (though Link is pretty awesome and Peach kicks butt) in order to not be looked down on as inferior.

We don't need to be 34% of the gaming population, ladies. When women make up 51% of the WORLD population, we should be making up 51% of the gaming population...though maybe not WoW. I've seen too many people disappear down that path.

Girls...stop the mind games and pick up the video games. You'd be surprised what you can do. And if Jane McGonigal is right...maybe we can even save the world.

Stop reading and start playing,
Rachel Leigh

On The Gospel According to Ann

Hello hello hello again, readers!

I'll admit it: this post is mostly a shout-out to my friend Jamie at http://www.theseventeenmagazineproject.com/. The idea is pretty simple: 30 days of fashion, beauty, and social commandments as issued by our Lord and Master, Ann Shoket, editor-in-chief of Seventeen Magazine.

I have a dirty secret: I'm a subscriber. Yes, I turn in my family's Coca-Cola Coke Points for 6 issues of garbage. I started getting it when CosmoGirl stopped printing and they moved my remaining subscription to Seventeen. Most of it serves as the basic material for my wall (including a really fantastic picture of Anthony Michael Hall smoking a joint in classy black Wayfarers from my favorite movie of all time, The Breakfast Club, from an article discouraging girls from hitting the THC), which is a 60-square-foot monstrosity of a collage done in a lot of shiny, semi-glossy magazine print.

Being my cynical self, though, I do have to question it. I keep most of my back-issues for collage material or just petty entertainment, but a lot of the girls and the lifestyles it promotes annoy me. For example, Whitney Port and Lauren Conrad have been cover girls for Seventeen multiple times in the last year. One issue I have, I blacked out both Whitney's eyes and mouth...which I kind of wish I could do to her in reality. These are two girls who gained fame for hook-ups, break-ups, and drama, and have used their not-so-earned fame to...what? Release a clothing line which they designed partially by themselves? Write two pieces of trashy teen literature about girls behaving exactly like they do? It's kind of shameful that these are the role models we as readers have been given.

What about Emma Watson's animal activism? She's beautiful, famous, AND has a cause that gives girls something to look up to. Or better yet, how about the young, female moguls and entrepreneurs they mention deep in the depths of the magazine in the 100-something pages, after the make-up tips and "Styles to Make You Happy"? Aren't THESE the girls we should be aspiring to be? Beautiful, independent, creative, strong?

So why Whitney and LC?

Waiting on the world to change,
Rachel Leigh

On Secrets

This might seem a bit contradictory to my previous post. Surprisingly, though, it isn't, and once I outline my point, I'll explain why they make sense together.

A lot of the response to the views expressed in my last post were a little bit upset, I feel, because I didn't stress that honesty is always the best policy. I don't believe in secrets. I think secrets hurt the people they are kept from and do irreparable damage to the person keeping them. I rarely do keep secrets, and when I do, 99 times out of 100, it's because the secret isn't really mine to share.

For example, there was an inside joke between one of my best friends and I last year which revolved around a mutual secret. When people wanted to understand the joke, I would have explained it myself, not really caring about what a creep it made me look like. I have been through worse. This secret, however, was not merely mine to share. Because everyone who knew of the inside joke knew it was a mutual secret, if I had spread my secret, I would also have spread hers, and I cannot knowingly do that to someone I care about. Their secrets will always be safe.

Back to the point at hand, though. I think secrets are painful and altogether stupid. There shouldn't be anything that you need to keep a secret, because if you need to do so, you're clearly ashamed of it. I really don't think you should ever do anything you know you're going to be ashamed of.

How does this not contradict my policy on when honesty becomes selfish? Well, simple. The secret shouldn't be there in the first place. Those secrets gain the power to hurt people by being kept secret, and they amplify in power over time. There shouldn't be a secret to keep from someone you care about, but if there happens to be one, the longer it has been a secret, the more vital it becomes that it stay secret.

Secretly yours,
Rachel Leigh

On Honesty

Here's a fairly simple question with what I fear is a fairly complex answer: At what point does honesty become selfish?

My first instinct is to say that honesty is never selfish, because people lie to cover their own flaws, and so therefore, when they tell the truth, they expose themselves to criticism, drama, and hatred.

But I don't think that's true, completely. At first, lying is caused by an urge to mask one's flaws. But the need to confess your sins comes later: when the guilt from your web of lies and secrets finally overrides the shame and negative consequences you anticipate for yourself when your secrets are revealed. The people who have gotten to this point, however, find themselves in a peculiar situation: when you have lied for months or years or weeks or decades, exposing that lie hurts everyone in its presence.

I know. I hurt someone who cares very much about me, and now feels they cannot trust me, because I kept a secret for months and then decided to suddenly drop it with no regard for their feelings. I did it to clear my guilty conscience, to make my life easier, and to make myself feel better about the things I had done. But all it did was hurt other people.

Maybe you're supposed to suffer a guilty conscience when you've done something wrong and lied about it. Maybe it's supposed to keep you up at night, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep and unable to bear being awake. Maybe that's your punishment for lying or cheating or stabbing someone in the back. And then, being honest to clear yourself of guilt you deserve, of suffering you've earned: that's just selfish. You'll hurt everyone in your path, and that's wrong. You have no right to ruin lives or break hearts or hurt others to clear your own soul.

So I suppose honesty can be selfish. Some secrets are better off kept, because opening up can mean opening up old wounds, creating new ones, or rubbing salt in ones that were just ready to heal. So either be honest from the start, or take your secrets to the grave.

I'll Keep You My Dirty Little Secret,
Rachel Leigh

A Nighttime Post

This is a nighttime post. As this blog progresses, these will become the norm. This is because, as a full-time student, most of my free time comes, shockingly, at night. There are also lovely filters on the school's computers which prohibit access to blogs and blogging websites. Something about wanting to make sure students are focusing on their school work during school hours. What the crap?

Anyway, did you know that the teenage body is supposed to get nine hours of sleep every night? I'm not entirely sure how that's possible. No teenager I know gets that much sleep. Our schedules rarely permit it. School, work, homework, studying, and socializing keep people up until midnight, if not later. And then we all have to wake up in time to make the first bell at 7:30. There aren't enough hours in the day.

Aside from that, research has been done that says that melatonin-production schedules in teenagers are contradictory to our current schedules. Melatonin is the hormone that puts the human body to sleep, and in teenagers, the hormone doesn't even begin production until 1 o'clock in the morning. This means that the teenage body is not naturally accustomed to going to bed in time to get those 9 hours of sleep it needs and still wake up in time for school.

Clearly, something's gotta give. And for most teenagers I know, what gets tossed to the wayside is adequate sleep. Hooray for nocturnal teenagers.

Sleep well, my darlings,
Rachel Leigh