This Guy Again?? Geez.....-cc

So here we are again amidst another Jackson controversy. We go through our daily lives focusing our attention on another media feeding frenzy over some guy that we will all pretty much agree is not all there. Now, I won't lie, I danced to Thriller and have to say that Off the Wall was one of the best albums of the 80's, but it doesnt change the fact that the guy has a few screws lose, or has just screwed one too many times. Okay, I know thats gross, but seriously, how is it that we set aside so much time out of our days talking about something that really has minimal importance in the greater scheme of things? Do we not remember that there is a war going on???

Anyway, if we have to talk about it, here is what I think. First of all, there are more holes in the stories (on both sides) than on a block of swiss cheese. I was checking out an article on Smoking gun and I noticed there was allegations from the defense that these kids were running lose around the ranch and that they supposedly stole alcohol that Micheal had bought for guests. My first question is, what guests are those? Since he usually surrounds himself with children and he supposedly doesn't drink, the only guests he would have are like 13?!
And whats up with these kids parents? Shouldnt they be on trial for leaving their kids there for weeks at a time without supervision, just cause Jackson has money? Money does not mean safety. And how was it that these kids were able to run crazy through Neverland Ranch? Doesn't Micheal have security? Hmmm.... makes you think. Now I'm not saying that he didn't do it, I'm inclined to think he did. However, I'm gonna need a little more evidence proving his guilt. So far the witnesses have been about as useful as a seeing eye dog for a deaf person.
Check out some recent articles and you tell me how reliable the witnesses are. Somehow the kid can remember, in graphic detail, everything that happened a few years ago, but cant remember a conversation he had with his school dean not that long ago. Weird right? And if they were so frightened by Micheal and his security, why didn't they turn to authorities sooner. If you ask me, I definatley think some hanky-panky went on there, but I think the parents were equally as responsible for letting it go on for so long, and then deciding that it might not be a good idea for their kids to spend night after night, missing school, with someone as obviously removed (from earth) as Micheal. Um...hello?

The Real Christen-CC

Every year, children around the world awake from a one eyed sleep, to scurry to their living rooms in anticipation of finding their Christmas dreams come true. Some get baseballs, in hopes that they will one day play for their favorite team, some get dolls that they dress up and make their own. On a similar morning about twenty years ago, one little girl got a typewriter, and so began the adventure that she would create for herself.

I was born in Hartford, Connecticut on November 25. Shortly after my parents divorced in 1989, me and my brother Stephen were more formally introduced to the world of the arts. Since they we lived with our father, we spent most of the time with our mother on the weekends, which were usually occupied by whatever theatrical production she was involved in.

Surrounded by actors and writers at an early age, I was inspired to become a writer and began my own newspaper, The Freestone Flyer, at the age of 9. Following a neighborhood scandal involving the town I grew up in and the local residents, I decided that I would be the one to speak up, when others did not know how. The first edition of the Freestone Flyer, a monthly newsletter, was an early example of my journalistic tendencies.

In following years, I was active in the music community, touring Europe at the age of 16 with the United States Youth Ensembles choir.

At the age of 17, I attended Central Connecticut State University. However, I left after two years to pursue a career with Cydcor Marketing. After completing the management training program in 1 year, I was one of the youngest managers in the company. Upon arrival in Chicago, I decided to leave Cydcor to pursue a career as a writer.

I currently attend Columbia College as a journalism major, and hopes to work in the magazine industry, or as a producer in broadcast news. Having supported myself since the age of 17, I still works full time, presently in the blues industry at a local and renowned blues club in Chicago.

Recently, in one of my classes we were reading excerpts from dream prose. All this talk of dreams keeps bringing me back to the bizarre dreams I've been having about my dad and my family back home.
Especially the dream where I had skulls in my mouth. There is something particullarly disturbing about that one. Perhaps it is because I remember it so vividly, when often my dreams escape me as quickly as random thoughts daydreamed at the most boring parts of the day.
There has to be some reason that I keep having the dreams about home. Do I subconciously miss my old life while my aware exterior enjoys the freedom and independance of the life I have created here and now?
And how 'bout that dream I had this morning during the precious two hours of sleep I got due to my anxiety causing insomnia.
I was at my Dad's house in CT, hanging out with him, when someone broke into the back porch of the house and stole a pink bike. I never had a pink bike, but somehow it was mine. And I must of had some serious attachement to it (or just really big balls), becauseI went after it. Once I had located the white van it was in and recorded the license plate number, I had every intention of calling the police, but apparently I didnt know how. It was at this point in the dream when my newly founded balls (or courage) begins to disapear and the dream becomes fuzzy.
At least this time there were no skulls in my mouth, that dream still kinda freaks me out!

Where do we find our road? I always thought that at some point there would be some magic map handed to me along the weathered path. It hasn't been till recently that I realized that I am the magic captain of this crazy ship of dreams, and without a compass or map, and I would have to find my own way. And along the way I have discovered things rivaling Stonehenge or Mayan Ruins......... Friends, good friends anyways, come once in a great while. And when you discover these friends, hold on tight and enjoy the ride. Some are like the ferris wheel, scenic and predictable, but always amaze you when you get to the top, some are like the Teacups at Magic Kingdom, crazy and unbalanced. At any moment you feel certain that your not quite sure where you are but you feel a calm when you see the familiar face in front of you smiling and laughing along the way. But no matter what the ride, they are always there. Sometimes they are not even the same people. In my life I have moved on to different people and friends as quickly as cities, but I always find a home. The point isnt having someone to hold your hand down the path, but someone to walk along with you and make the trip more fun.

So I'm beginning to think that life is like a peep show. You give a little, you get a little reward. You give a lot, you get a little reward. In all my wanderings, I'm beginning to question whether it is possible to do it all.....within the confines of what is available. For example, I'd like to see the world, travel without destination, kneel down in the street of a place that begins to blend in with all the others and just be thankful that I am alive. I want to get drunk in a tavern of a town so small that there is no name. I want to look into someone's eyes, and communicate with emotion and without words. There is so much to see, but how is it possible?
In the chemically treated, raw, and dismal truth of things, there is so much bullshit. So many factors that you involve yourself in without even being aware of them. Do I sell my shit and just run free, breaking my lease and obligations that you could barely consider wanting to be obliged to? Sell my furniture and possessions and buy a plane ticket just to be penniless and without sanctuary in a foreign land? Put all my goals, and expectations on hold and just wander? Of course it may seem bleak, but I know it would be worth it. Seeing one sunrise on an African Safari, or stumbling through words I can barely understand in a Asian marketplace, would make it all OK.
What kills me is that people always say that there are the watchers and the doers. My biggest fear would be to be a watcher. I cannot fathom living a life without awe and seeing the unimaginable.
No matter how bad things in life can get, and as inevitable as they may be, the fear of what may never be, is worse than the fear of what can and will.

Apparently, these are the best years of my life! I just wish I had some time to enjoy them.
Today is the perfect example of my life. I get up, throw on some clothes, spray some perfume so that I may maintain that feminine persona even though sometimes I feel more like a slug, I work, I sit for like 5 minutes and cram in some homework into my overlly swollen brain, and then go back to work.
Its a vicous routine that most wouldnt have the heart or the stamina for, but I guess I bring it on myself. I've tried the mellow route, and to be completely honest, unless I have soemthing to do all 24 hours of the day, I slip into a lethargic depressed state. I need to feel I have some purpose, no matter how trivial. I often wonder how many people are out there like myself. Scrounging, scraping, sweating, and loving every minute of it.......

Everyday we wander through life trying not to stumble upon our own thoughts while making certain that our focus lies straight ahead and avoids the obvious flaws around us that scream for our attention. I can't honestly say that my life up till this point has even begin to live up to the expectations that we are taught to place upon ourselves, but I can say that I am painfully aware of the days that pass by, and with them comes new expectation.
My father is a realist. The perfect picture of practicality with just enough cynicism that it makes you smile. I learned from him that you must always have a goal, some guidelines to follow. Without them, life would be nothing more than a biology experiment gone wrong.
My mother is an idealist. Filled to the brim with optimism and contempt for anyone or thing that stands in the way of whatever idea (no matter how frivolous) she may have.
However inconceivable there match up may have been, I was conceived. And with my introduction followed years of seeing the spectrum of life from very different angles. So now, living an independent life in the hustle bustle city of Chicago, miles away from what family I have and the security that goes along with it, I discover a new reason to appreciate the very different values I was given.
But is it possible to be a realist and an optimist?
I have my moments when I hang my head in shame and lose respect for the human race as a whole, (I am employed as a bartender....enough said), but then there are those moments when I breathe in the life and energy around me and am given renewed faith in the world and wish that for only one moment someone could share that feeling with me.