jumper

new animation and just for fun

New Intro for Transformers

Dinobots!

rainy day

To say that the view out my window is “gloomy” is an understatement. It’s cold, rainy, dark, and depressing. Usually, when the weather acts like this, I can curl up on my couch in a really soft blanket, have hot chai tea, watch movies, and be glad I’m not a worm drowning in the dirty sidewalk puddles. Instead, I’m sitting in my cubicle at work, with nothing to do but stare at the cold noodle soup on my desk next to a zip lock bag of unappetizing oyster crackers. I’ve decided to post some sunshiny things to take everyone’s mind off this dreary weather. Bob Marley's Three Little Birds kicks it off. Enjoy!

46664

"AIDs is no longer just a disease, it's a human rights issue." -Nelson Mandela

46664 was Nelson Mandela's prison number when he was incarcerated on Robbin Island, Cape Town for 18 years. 46664 is a global movement fighting against HIV/AIDS in Africa and around the globe.

Below is the video for "Say It's Not True," by rock legends Queen and Paul Rogers. Both are Ambassadors to Nelson Mandela's 46664 HIV AIDS global campaign.

According to the 46664 Campaign, in the 25 years since HIV/AIDS was first identified as a disease, over 65 million people have become infected and over 25 million people have died of AIDS related causes.

• The epidemic has spread across the world and no country has been spared.
• Every day 8,000 people die from AIDS and 18,000 men and women are newly infected.
• The incidence of HIV AIDS is highest in Sub-Saharan Africa.
• Latest estimates show that almost 40 million people are living with HIV.
• South Africa has the highest prevalence of HIV AIDS in the world, with almost 6 million people living with the disease.

Join the campaign HERE. Join the cause on Facebook HERE.

Watch Nelson Mandela's speech below, from the 2007 46664 Concert.

paper cuts

Peter Callesen is an incredibly talented artist. His works range from drawings, performances, snow and ice pieces, and the ever-impressive series of "paper cuts," on both large scale and A4 size paper. His themes center around childhood memories and a "reinterpretation of classic fairytales." Original and artistic, Peter Callesen brings a level of fascination and awe back to the basics of studio art material.

His work is represented by the Helene Nyborg Contemporary Gallery in Denmark. View his collections HERE.

femininity

People will sometimes ask, what are the best and worst aspects of being a woman? Some will automatically guess, child birth or something similar is the worst aspect, the best being something like multiple orgasms. Caught off-guard by this question, I never knew how to answer, until now. I would think the act of giving life, and being a mother, is probably the best aspect. This will be confirmed at some point in my life, but right now, that's my guess.

The worst aspect, I've concluded, is being underestimated. I've felt the repercussions of this, professionally, as well as people (including those close to me) being quick to judge and unwilling to listen. The cultural notion that causes this is fueled by some women who I'll tag as "drama queens" and others who complain about trivial things and whine about problems they invent for themselves.


Women also tend to be caddy, which adds to the falsity that we are "too emotional" and "irrational." Even women in power attack each other without remorse. I'm an Obama fan, but was surprised to hear Michelle Obama's response to Hillary Clinton's accusation that Barak Obama doesn't know how to run the country... Michelle Obama responded with something along the lines of "If you can't even run your own home, how do you expect to be able to run the country?"

To the women out there:

Stop complaining. If you have air in your lungs, clothes on your back, and food in your stomach, you're in good shape. Be strong. Don't be discouraged by anyone who tells you, you can't. You can. Don't seek out or cause unneccessary drama. There are more important things in life to occupy your time and cognitive ability.

Pictured above is Mary, Sub-Saharan. Painting by Mckenzie Ditter.

for the boys- a quick word of advice

A few of my girlfriends are having boy issues. I'm single, therefore exempt from any relationship issues that cause unnecessary stress. This makes my life a little bit easier, however, the various dating encounters I've had in the last year, while not "relationships," still prove to cause some confusion in my life. That being said, let me state just a few words of advice for the boys.

Treat others how you want to be treated. Girls don’t want to be hidden, forgotten, tossed aside, or only exist as an afterthought. If she's upset, most of the time, a hug will make things better. (this does not mean it will fix everything- but it will help) I can’t speak for every girl, but all I want is someone to say the following.

• MTV
• Music Videos
• MTV Shows
• Entertainment News

Bonus*** Every girl has the same name. Address her as “hey beautiful,” and you’re guaranteed a smile.

the first day of the rest of my life

People say that life goes on. I don’t necessarily agree. Time continues to pass, and we continue to exist, but our lives have been changed forever. Things will never be the "same," after you lose someone you love. Nothing returns to “normal” or the way it was, or the way you thought it was intended to be. The quiet of an empty night in the dead of winter is eerily comforting to me. Perhaps it's because I can pretend that time stands still.

Chris always had a sense of adventure and didn't wait for anything. At times I wonder why I didn't join him in the islands sooner. Some friends have said that Chris wouldn't want me to continue to be sad just because he's gone. They say he'd want me to go on, and live life because he can't. I know he'd be irritated with me if I wasted much more of my life being unhappy, and sorry about things I didn't do. There's nothing standing in my way right now. I'm young, I should take risks, make mistakes, and enjoy the time I have.


Moving to the islands and living in paradise with Chris, paycheck to paycheck, was my "Plan B" if I didn't get into grad school. I'm already living paycheck to paycheck, so it really would've been a step up. That plan is on the back burner now. Maybe I'll live in the islands one day, but I'll have to work up to that. For now, I've come up with another Plan B... which I guess is actually Plan C at this point, which is appropriate- Plan C for Christine. My plan.

Short term: Tomorrow is my first kick boxing lesson. Monday will begin my introduction to yoga. Starting in late March, I'll be learning how to breakdance. (this is not for public use- just my personal enrichment and bruising of my body)

Long term: It's no secret that I've applied to graduate schools for the fall semester. However, I have a large knot in my stomach comprised of massive anxiety and panic as to whether or not I'll be accepted into any of the programs. With the encouragement of my uncle, I've decided that if I don't get into grad school, I'll go to China to teach English in Shenzhen. Even if I do get into school, this is something I intend to pursue after graduation.



Teaching English in China for almost a year, that'd be a change. The program would run August through June. Housing is paid for, and some meals are included. You get a monthly stipend of approximately $600. You take Mandarin lessons at Shenzhen University, and then teach English to children. Shenzhen University is prestigious, so having that on my resume would certainly be an accomplishment. I'd get to see China- the Great Wall, Imperial Palace, the Forbidden City... and it's safe.




Volunteering abroad with several programs offered by the Global Volunteer Network, out of New Zealand, is also on the agenda. A chance to see the world, and help where help is needed most. Community development at a Liberian Refugee Camp in Ghana... arts and education programs with orphaned and vulnerable children in Tanzania, as well as a women's center, giving education to AIDS orphans in Uganda... working on community aid programs in India, Cambodia, and Nepal... the opportunities are endless. Although I'm tempted to throw in a 2 week volunteer trek in Costa Rica helping the leatherback sea turtles.

i still hold your hand in mine...

my chris

He had soft brown eyes that seemed to look into your soul. I met him freshman year of high school. He put a secret admirer note in my gym locker while I was at lacrosse practice. Ever since then, we were best friends.

We all had our rough times, and he helped me through mine, selflessly. I leaned on him in more ways than one. Chris understood me. We were both writers at the time. Even at 15, he knew how to read me, and how to be there. I was a drama kid. He was a techie. I remember sitting on his lap in the lighting booth after school, just talking, or painting sets outside. He raked leaves with me at my mother's house. He helped decorate our Christmas tree. We set off firecrackers in my street for the 4th of July. We went to Italy together on a class trip. I remember being on a boat in Venice, just looking at him. He looked back at me and I thought, this person is a part of me...

After high school, we lost touch until 2 years ago. The second he walked in the door, it was just like it always had been, and we were best friends again. We talked on the phone all the time. Neither of us had any money so sometimes we would just drive around, or sit outside on the hood of a car, and just listen to the quiet...

He moved to the islands a few months ago. We still talked on the phone every week, and we'd text back and forth every few days. He'd say he missed me, and tell me to move to St. John and be with him. He texted "mwah". It was the last text message I got from him, at 1:40am Friday night, a couple weeks ago. I called him since then, but just left messages. He didn't have great reception. Now it rings and goes straight to his voicemail. I keep calling it to hear his voice. Part of me hopes he'll answer, and say it was all a cruel joke, and he's ok, and he's coming home...

I dream about him now. It's just like always- he shows up at my apartment, on a whim to surprise me. He says, "hey girl," as if I were the only girl. We sit and watch Fear and Loathing, intertwined on the couch like little kids. Nothing romantic anymore... we decided to let that go for now, until he got his addiction under control. But we would still sit together, his arm around me. I might fall asleep. I felt so safe, and comfortable, with someone who knew me so well, and who loved me with such genuine sentiment.

People get hurt in life, and we were no exception. Sometimes he would disappear, but I always knew he'd be back. In and out of rehab... he called me crying one night, apologizing for the way he had treated me and our friendship, apologizing for the way he let heroin take over his life. I told him he didn't need to apologize, that I was just so glad he called, and he was ok. He insisted. I accepted his apology. He came over, and we took a long walk together around the neighborhood. He was in my heart; nothing he could do would ever change that.

My dreams now go back and forth from nightmares to Chris, and back to nightmares, and then Chris will be knocking on the door, and I wake up and I get angry because I know he's not at the door. I lay back down, and try to get back to that dream where we're together like always... it's not. It's another nightmare. Dead rats in my bed, I carry a live one to the attic, it keeps trying to bite me. There's a laundromat there. I give the rat to my mother. I turn around, go down the stairs, and there he is. He's on the couch with a blanket, and looks at me. He says, "c'mere girl," and lifts the blanket, inviting me into my favorite spot on the couch. I put my legs over his lap, and my head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around me, his other hand holding a newly lit cigarette...

I can't speak very much now. I have a constant knot in my throat. If I say anything, it's a short whisper. Anything more and I lose it. People talk to me, but I don't listen. I stare at the ground or my cigarette... I was never a big smoker. But it smells like him. The viewing is tonight. Funeral is tomorrow morning. "Morning" was not a familiar concept to Chris.

When I found out what happened, I broke down. I was shaking and crying hysterically. I went home and watched Fear and Loathing, and slept. I got two goldfish, one orange, one black. They didn't have a speckled one. Chris idolized Hunter Thompson. I was going to name the speckled one "Gonzo." The man said to come back in 2 weeks, to let my new tank become an environment. He was talking to me as if he was worried I was going to kill the fish. The tank looked cloudy this morning. Maybe he was right.

Nothing matters anymore. I can't pretend I'm ok. There's a show tonight at a local bar. I'll try to go. Not for very long, just a little while. It might be healthy to remind myself of the people in my life that are still here... Time seems to be passing like an eternity now. I prefer the suspended reality in my sleep.

I miss him. I'll love him always...