Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Will you be my Valentine?
Here it is; the long awaited Valentine's day rant. First off, were it not for the candy and greeting card industries, there would be no holiday, especially for those of us who are... romantically uninvolved. Forever. Before this spirals further into self-pity and self-depreciation, I will change the topic. At my school, there is a pageant for senior boys known as the Mr. North pageant wherein the contestants have to raise as much money as possible for charity. Fine and good. However, on Valentine's day, you can pay money to have a "Val-o-gram" delivered by one of these strapping young lads dressed in a tux for the occasion. For an extra dollar or so, you can have the messenger sing the contents of said Val-o-gram. Now, allow me to ask, who would enjoy receiving such a val-o-gram? That's right, enamored high school girls. Is it likely that these girls' boyfriends would be terribly excited to shell out $3-$7 for another boy to sing a sappy valentine to his girl? I would guess not. So, logically, the majority of the valentines delivered will be from these girls' fellow girl friends. Friendship, however, is not the point of Valentine's day, romantic love is. Therefore, the entire concept underlying the Mr. North Val-o-grams is fallacious, and the whole venture ought to be abandoned. Plus, the word Val-o-gram is just dumb. A valentine is already a message, and adding -gram onto it is just redundant. On the other hand, maybe I'm just bitter. Yes. That's probably it. Sorry.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Scenes from my life.
I sat down at my lappy, intending to rant on my blog about Valentines' day and eventually spiral into complaining that for some unfathomable reason NO BOYS LIKE ME, but, upon further reflection I decided to save that can o' worms for closer to the actual day in question. So. Here I am, looking for something to rant about. I'm coming up empty.
Well, I suppose I'll give in to my all-pervading narcissism and talk about the mundane events of my life. I'm finished with that lame health class, thank God (and I mean that literally), and have replaced it with Japanese 5. It's amazing how much one can forget in seven or eight months. Not speaking as much as writing. Kanji, in particular. For those who don't know, the Japanese, in keeping with their history of utter craziness, decided to write some words in- why not?- Chinese. So, in order to pass as even mildly proficient, you have to memorize thousands and thousands of characters. At last count, I knew around 100, making me almost as literate as a Japanese first grader. Whoopee. On an increasingly depressing note, I am also taking British Lit. Sounds like an interesting class, with texts I probably would have read on my own anyway, but the catch is that it is the class for Seniors who didn't want to take AP. So, yes. I am in the loser, non-academic Senior English class in addition to the mind-meltingly difficult AP College Lit. Just another perk of getting four years of work done in three. To give you some idea of my plight, I give you a scene from AUBRIANNE: the Musical.
TEACHER: Class, this book is very difficult, but you're all Seniors, so you should be able to handle it. What are some of the things we look for when we read a very difficult, grown-up book like this one?
(A pause. KID IN BACK ROW flicks rubber band as SHALLOW, HOT GIRL, who squeals girlishly. AUBRIANNE, with her head on the desk, raises her hand)
TEACHER: Yes?
AUBRIANNE: (head still on desk) Motifs. Themes. Symbols. Voice. Diction.
TEACHER: (writing these on the board) Very good. Who can tell me what a symbol is?
(A longer pause. SHALLOW, HOT GIRL pulls out her phone under the desk. AUBRIANNE sighs and raises her hand)
AUBRIANNE: (in a monotone, quoting her other English teacher) A concrete representation of an abstract idea.
TEACHER: Excellent. I'm going to put "something that stands for something else" instead, though.
(Lights dim. AUBRIANNE moves downstage and dies of boredom in a spotlight.)
So, yes. That's about how I feel. The sad part is how little embellishment that took. Hopefully, you will accept this as a legitimate excuse for why I have had no deep thoughts for you, my readers. Maybe by summer, I will have managed to thaw my brain out enough to articulate some pearls of wisdom for all y'alls. At the moment, the best I can come up with are things like "Why is it that almost anything you put on toast is good?"
In other news, I finished Psychonauts. Excellent game. Now I'm working on getting all the items you can collect to get a rank of 100. Currently, I'm at 96. Yes, I live a sad and pathetic existence. Also, I finally got around to starting that book Wild at Heart. I had a few double takes, since some of the stuff I've said looks like I ripped it off from that book. Weird.
Edit: Another thing gave me the same double-take kind of feeling can be found here. Ah, cello humor. Good times.
Well, I suppose I'll give in to my all-pervading narcissism and talk about the mundane events of my life. I'm finished with that lame health class, thank God (and I mean that literally), and have replaced it with Japanese 5. It's amazing how much one can forget in seven or eight months. Not speaking as much as writing. Kanji, in particular. For those who don't know, the Japanese, in keeping with their history of utter craziness, decided to write some words in- why not?- Chinese. So, in order to pass as even mildly proficient, you have to memorize thousands and thousands of characters. At last count, I knew around 100, making me almost as literate as a Japanese first grader. Whoopee. On an increasingly depressing note, I am also taking British Lit. Sounds like an interesting class, with texts I probably would have read on my own anyway, but the catch is that it is the class for Seniors who didn't want to take AP. So, yes. I am in the loser, non-academic Senior English class in addition to the mind-meltingly difficult AP College Lit. Just another perk of getting four years of work done in three. To give you some idea of my plight, I give you a scene from AUBRIANNE: the Musical.
TEACHER: Class, this book is very difficult, but you're all Seniors, so you should be able to handle it. What are some of the things we look for when we read a very difficult, grown-up book like this one?
(A pause. KID IN BACK ROW flicks rubber band as SHALLOW, HOT GIRL, who squeals girlishly. AUBRIANNE, with her head on the desk, raises her hand)
TEACHER: Yes?
AUBRIANNE: (head still on desk) Motifs. Themes. Symbols. Voice. Diction.
TEACHER: (writing these on the board) Very good. Who can tell me what a symbol is?
(A longer pause. SHALLOW, HOT GIRL pulls out her phone under the desk. AUBRIANNE sighs and raises her hand)
AUBRIANNE: (in a monotone, quoting her other English teacher) A concrete representation of an abstract idea.
TEACHER: Excellent. I'm going to put "something that stands for something else" instead, though.
(Lights dim. AUBRIANNE moves downstage and dies of boredom in a spotlight.)
So, yes. That's about how I feel. The sad part is how little embellishment that took. Hopefully, you will accept this as a legitimate excuse for why I have had no deep thoughts for you, my readers. Maybe by summer, I will have managed to thaw my brain out enough to articulate some pearls of wisdom for all y'alls. At the moment, the best I can come up with are things like "Why is it that almost anything you put on toast is good?"
In other news, I finished Psychonauts. Excellent game. Now I'm working on getting all the items you can collect to get a rank of 100. Currently, I'm at 96. Yes, I live a sad and pathetic existence. Also, I finally got around to starting that book Wild at Heart. I had a few double takes, since some of the stuff I've said looks like I ripped it off from that book. Weird.
Edit: Another thing gave me the same double-take kind of feeling can be found here. Ah, cello humor. Good times.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
10 things that I find highly overrated
A quick post before bed.
Without further ado, in no particular order:
In other news, I realized that the thing I'll miss most while in Slovakia is probably Japanese rice. How weird is that? I won't have chopsticks or miso soup either. How will I live?!?
Without further ado, in no particular order:
- High School (let me out!)
- Shoes (feel the floor!)
- Napkins (If you don't make a mess, you don't need a napkin.)
- MySpace (I don't need a website to know that I have no friends)
- Having a social life (who has time?)
- Silverware (chopsticks forever!)
- Sanity (nobody really has it anyway)
- Multiplication tables (repeated addition. that's all it is.)
- Nail polish (it'll just peel off and look worse in a week)
- Orlando Bloom (he's so ugly! POTC 2 should never have been made)
- Accurate counting skills (Hint: this is thing #11.)
In other news, I realized that the thing I'll miss most while in Slovakia is probably Japanese rice. How weird is that? I won't have chopsticks or miso soup either. How will I live?!?
Friday, January 26, 2007
Sinners!
You will all be relieved to know in advance that I am NOT going to make this a random rant about ostriches, peanut butter, toast, and/or spoons, and that I actually intend to delve into some deep water today.
Theoretically, I am first and foremost a child of God.
However, the title of "Christian" has many, many unpleasant stigmas attached to it, including, but not limited to, the Crusades, televangelists, witch burnings, abortion clinic bombings, "Christianizing"/killing off millions of Native Americans... the list goes on interminably. It may be fair to say that the number of wrong, messed up things done in God's name is almost equal to the number of good things done in His name. Also, the number of positive things done by non-Christians is probably equal to those by Christians.
We've given ourselves a bad reputation, and, worse, we've turned God into a figurehead for a political agenda.
Christians forget that even homosexuals, women who have abortions, and liberals are every bit as loved by God as "we" are. Sure, they're sinners, but no more so than you or I. I'm not going to condemn them for their actions unless I've got my act together, which is not going to happen. (I believe that humankind is sinful by nature and that we are all doomed to hell unless we throw ourselves on God's mercy, but that's a topic for another post. Most of my Christian readers will agree with me without thinking, but others (this means you, Adam) will question that statement's veracity.) Besides, how exactly is "you're going to hell unless you do what I say" the kind of thing you want to say to someone who needs God? He wants to woo us into a willing relationship with him. Are you helping or hindering the process? Is God working through you or in spite of you?
Theoretically, I am first and foremost a child of God.
However, the title of "Christian" has many, many unpleasant stigmas attached to it, including, but not limited to, the Crusades, televangelists, witch burnings, abortion clinic bombings, "Christianizing"/killing off millions of Native Americans... the list goes on interminably. It may be fair to say that the number of wrong, messed up things done in God's name is almost equal to the number of good things done in His name. Also, the number of positive things done by non-Christians is probably equal to those by Christians.
We've given ourselves a bad reputation, and, worse, we've turned God into a figurehead for a political agenda.
Christians forget that even homosexuals, women who have abortions, and liberals are every bit as loved by God as "we" are. Sure, they're sinners, but no more so than you or I. I'm not going to condemn them for their actions unless I've got my act together, which is not going to happen. (I believe that humankind is sinful by nature and that we are all doomed to hell unless we throw ourselves on God's mercy, but that's a topic for another post. Most of my Christian readers will agree with me without thinking, but others (this means you, Adam) will question that statement's veracity.) Besides, how exactly is "you're going to hell unless you do what I say" the kind of thing you want to say to someone who needs God? He wants to woo us into a willing relationship with him. Are you helping or hindering the process? Is God working through you or in spite of you?
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Eating trail mix
First, the peanuts. The bane of the trail mix.
Next, raisins and other assorted nuts, except the cashews.
Cashews last. Bite them in half, find the tastiest one, and eat it last.
Nothing left but a handful of M&Ms.
Sort the colors. So.
Only one green. I eat it first.
Two browns.
Hmm. A dilemma. Three each of orange and red. I eat them in alphabetical order.
Nine yellows.
Thirteen blues.
The way people look at me, you'd think they'd never seen trail mix before. In my own defense, the only thing I am not willing to compromise on is that the M&Ms must be last. Who wants to finish a handful of trail mix with peanut-taste in their mouth?
Augh. I wish I had a life I could write about. Not badly enough to do anything about it, mark you...
Next, raisins and other assorted nuts, except the cashews.
Cashews last. Bite them in half, find the tastiest one, and eat it last.
Nothing left but a handful of M&Ms.
Sort the colors. So.
Only one green. I eat it first.
Two browns.
Hmm. A dilemma. Three each of orange and red. I eat them in alphabetical order.
Nine yellows.
Thirteen blues.
The way people look at me, you'd think they'd never seen trail mix before. In my own defense, the only thing I am not willing to compromise on is that the M&Ms must be last. Who wants to finish a handful of trail mix with peanut-taste in their mouth?
Augh. I wish I had a life I could write about. Not badly enough to do anything about it, mark you...
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Superiority
Today I was unusually smart-mouthed in orchestra. When Bill (the teacher) said that Mozart was rolling in his grave, I said that maybe that way someone would be able to find it. Since nobody knows quite where he's buried. It made me laugh, but nobody else got it. Then, when we were playing the middle school-worthy edited version of some Les Miserables songs, Bill mentioned that the play took place during the French Revolution. Needless to say, I had to interject that it was, in fact, the second French Revolution, which pretty much got squished. After the first revolution, after all the chaos got to be too much, they put the freaking bourgeoisie back in power. What did they expect? Ah, those silly French are always revolting.
Anyway, the point is that all these comments of mine made me feel superior to everyone in the room, which is one of my favorite feelings. Right up there with eating exorbitant amounts of chocolate. Unfortunately, both are very unhealthy. I think that, secretly, I am afraid. I am afraid of being inferior, so I compensate by making sure everyone else thinks I'm better than they are. Smarter. Happier. More busy. While this superficial superiority makes me happy, it doesn't make me humble. I suffer from pride because, deep down, I know there's not much to be proud of. I make mistakes. I lie. I antagonize people. I'm a snob. I'm only mediocre at the things I do, but I pass it off as exceptional through sheer force of attitude. That may be the subconscious reason I didn't do Youth Symphony this year. In just plain old Orchestra, I can appear to be the best because I pretty much am.
I blew off the girl who wants to be my friend at lunch to study for my history test, and here I am, not studying. Go figure. I'd better figure out what happened between the civil war and the turn of the century.
Anyway, the point is that all these comments of mine made me feel superior to everyone in the room, which is one of my favorite feelings. Right up there with eating exorbitant amounts of chocolate. Unfortunately, both are very unhealthy. I think that, secretly, I am afraid. I am afraid of being inferior, so I compensate by making sure everyone else thinks I'm better than they are. Smarter. Happier. More busy. While this superficial superiority makes me happy, it doesn't make me humble. I suffer from pride because, deep down, I know there's not much to be proud of. I make mistakes. I lie. I antagonize people. I'm a snob. I'm only mediocre at the things I do, but I pass it off as exceptional through sheer force of attitude. That may be the subconscious reason I didn't do Youth Symphony this year. In just plain old Orchestra, I can appear to be the best because I pretty much am.
I blew off the girl who wants to be my friend at lunch to study for my history test, and here I am, not studying. Go figure. I'd better figure out what happened between the civil war and the turn of the century.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
10 things that, when dropped innocuously into a conversation, sometimes make me laugh for no reason
- Spoons
- Coconuts
- Toast
- Bananas
- Marmalade
- Pineapples
- Toenails
- Elephants
- Pickles
- Deranged Ostriches
I'm not sure what it means that 6/10 of these items can be found in the kitchen. The kitchen is not a particularly funny room to be in. Oh well. Just a post to let all my loyal fans know I'm still alive. Oh, and I'm going to Slovakia. Don't know where in Slovakia, but will eventually. I find myself unable to come up with anything deep to say today, so I gave you Deranged Ostriches and Marmalade instead. College applications have stolen my mind out from under me.
Monday, January 01, 2007
At the end of the day you're another day older...
Seventeen years ago today I began my sojourn on this plane of existence. Today I am seventeen years closer to moving on to heaven than I was then. On a less cosmic scale, it's my birthday and I feel like a grown-up. It's strange. I told a five-year-old friend of mine that I felt like a grown-up, and she asked me how many more years I had until I was a grown-up, and the best answer I had was "Well, it depends on the person." So is this it? Am I done being a kid? When I was little, my parents taught me the difference between "growing up on the inside" and "growing up on the outside". (Pretty hilarious side bar: Growing up with a mom who was a teacher and a dad who wants to be a professor when he grows up has some unavoidable side effects. The other day, we went to see the Pirates of Penzance, which is fan-flippin'-tastic, and as we were walking around the parking garage looking for our car, Mom said, and I quote, "So, based solely on the content of the opera, what societal changes were Gilbert and Sullivan commenting on?" In case you want to know, the answer is that they were satirizing devotion to duty taking precedent to common sense. This kind of thing happens all the time. And people wonder why I'm so tweaked out. Thus ends my very long, parenthetical anecdote. We return now to our previously scheduled nonsense. You may want to go back and read what I was talking about before I opened this can of Pandora's boxes. Go on. I'll wait.) I feel grown up, both on the outside and the inside. On the inside, I feel like I should be doing more grown up things. I should be able to drive myself places. I should be able to wake myself up in the morning consistently. I should be able to cook for myself (after all, why learn to cook if you can just make Tanner do it for you?). I've got enough maturity to take care of myself, but I'm not competent enough. So it's a bittersweet birthday. I never really felt like a high school student, even though I go to high school. I just found out the other day that I missed all this year's football games, so now I never will have gone to a high school game. Would that I hadn't. (Subjunctive tense!) Oh well. Maybe I'll make it to a baseball game... maybe. I'd rather just be done with high school as soon as possible. Only 105 days of compulsory schooling left!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
A pointless ramble.
Alright, so it's winter break. Whoop-dee-doo. I still have to do a boatload of schoolwork and just plain old work-work. Oh well. At least I get to stay home in my jim-jams all day. I've been watching a lot of BBC shows lately, so pajamas are now jim-jams. According to motto #1, (The secret to creativity is hiding your sources,) I shouldn't have told all y'alls where I got the word jim-jams and just used it like I made it up myself. Unfortunately, then I'd lose my link to what I actually wanted to talk about.
Anyway, between items on my 6.2 mile long to-do list, I've been watching this very British TV show called Doctor Who. (I might as well admit, I think the new Doctor is pretty darn handsome. You can all thank my mom for pointing out that all the guys I think are handsome have kind of big noses.) Wow, I'm getting distracted really easily tonight. Alright, back on topic. There was an episode or two with these Cybermen, they're called, and they gave me the creeps. They are robots with people's brains inside, except with the emotions removed. As I was lying awake last night, unable to sleep because of the creepy monsters I stupidly put in my head right before bed, it occurred to me to wonder why the Cybermen were so much creepier than other villain-type robots and aliens in the show. The answer I came up with is that it could be any of us that got our brains cut out and stuck in a metal body. (stick with me, there was a point I set out to make...) Then I wondered, "Why am I afraid of losing this body? It's not like I get to keep it forever. It's not that I even like living in it all the time." It did kind of help to think of it in those terms. I'm so glad to know that there's a better body than this one waiting when I wear this one out. I have nothing to fear from death, or robots, or demons, or aliens, or autopsies on CSI, or computer generated blood that squirts out when you fall down in that skateboarding game we have on the xbox, or anything else Satan can hurl out at me. For some reason, though, I still get freaked out. Wow. I never knew there were so many things I was afraid of. That's odd. I thought I was fearless. Hmm. Not the first time I've been wrong.
Well, as it turns out, I didn't make much of a point after all. It's just one of those thoughts that kind of rambles. The phrase "Train of thought" doesn't do the process justice. Like a plant, it seems simple enough until you try to extract it and find innumerable roots shooting off in all directions. Ah well. I should go to bed. I should have gone to bed two to three hours ago.
I am now 16.98905 years old. Freaky.
Anyway, between items on my 6.2 mile long to-do list, I've been watching this very British TV show called Doctor Who. (I might as well admit, I think the new Doctor is pretty darn handsome. You can all thank my mom for pointing out that all the guys I think are handsome have kind of big noses.) Wow, I'm getting distracted really easily tonight. Alright, back on topic. There was an episode or two with these Cybermen, they're called, and they gave me the creeps. They are robots with people's brains inside, except with the emotions removed. As I was lying awake last night, unable to sleep because of the creepy monsters I stupidly put in my head right before bed, it occurred to me to wonder why the Cybermen were so much creepier than other villain-type robots and aliens in the show. The answer I came up with is that it could be any of us that got our brains cut out and stuck in a metal body. (stick with me, there was a point I set out to make...) Then I wondered, "Why am I afraid of losing this body? It's not like I get to keep it forever. It's not that I even like living in it all the time." It did kind of help to think of it in those terms. I'm so glad to know that there's a better body than this one waiting when I wear this one out. I have nothing to fear from death, or robots, or demons, or aliens, or autopsies on CSI, or computer generated blood that squirts out when you fall down in that skateboarding game we have on the xbox, or anything else Satan can hurl out at me. For some reason, though, I still get freaked out. Wow. I never knew there were so many things I was afraid of. That's odd. I thought I was fearless. Hmm. Not the first time I've been wrong.
Well, as it turns out, I didn't make much of a point after all. It's just one of those thoughts that kind of rambles. The phrase "Train of thought" doesn't do the process justice. Like a plant, it seems simple enough until you try to extract it and find innumerable roots shooting off in all directions. Ah well. I should go to bed. I should have gone to bed two to three hours ago.
I am now 16.98905 years old. Freaky.
Friday, December 22, 2006
I'm back!
Hey, guys! Long time, no see. As I predicted, I'm coming out of post-Narnia depression, just in time for all the family to come over for Christmas. I got a letter back from Rotary yesterday and now my future has been decided. Well, the next year of it, anyway. It turns out that I will be going and living abroad next year! Before you ask, I don't know what country yet. Rotary doesn't let you choose, but they let you choose your top three-ish choices, but that doesn't mean you'll get to go to any of them. My top three so far: Belgium, Sweden, and Denmark. My semi-plausible plan: go abroad, come back, go to college, then come back over winter break and guest star in Narnia (maybe as the witch!).
While it's great to know what I'll be doing next year, I'm just slightly freaked out. Suddenly, I'm a grown-up, moving away and living under my own steam. Everything is so final. This is my last Christmas at home. My last birthday (17!). I've been crying a lot lately. I don't know why, but I tend to cry at the silliest things sometimes. Even when I'm not particularly sad, I just well up sometimes. Then I feel silly, since it doesn't really fit with my picture of myself. Motto #3 of mine is "'Cause I'm fearless". Fearless girls like myself shouldn't get all emotional like that. (I've been watching Firefly, so I kinda start thinkin' in Malcolm Reynolds-style half-western fancy talk.)
For your reading enjoyment, I'll list out as many of my mottoes as I can.
#1. The secret to creativity is hiding your sources.
#2. Don't force it, just get a bigger hammer.
#3. 'Cause I'm fearless.
#4. It'll grow back.
#5. Never put a sock in the toaster.
#6. "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." -Einsten
While it's great to know what I'll be doing next year, I'm just slightly freaked out. Suddenly, I'm a grown-up, moving away and living under my own steam. Everything is so final. This is my last Christmas at home. My last birthday (17!). I've been crying a lot lately. I don't know why, but I tend to cry at the silliest things sometimes. Even when I'm not particularly sad, I just well up sometimes. Then I feel silly, since it doesn't really fit with my picture of myself. Motto #3 of mine is "'Cause I'm fearless". Fearless girls like myself shouldn't get all emotional like that. (I've been watching Firefly, so I kinda start thinkin' in Malcolm Reynolds-style half-western fancy talk.)
For your reading enjoyment, I'll list out as many of my mottoes as I can.
#1. The secret to creativity is hiding your sources.
#2. Don't force it, just get a bigger hammer.
#3. 'Cause I'm fearless.
#4. It'll grow back.
#5. Never put a sock in the toaster.
#6. "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." -Einsten
Friday, December 08, 2006
Narnia
Tonight was the first Narnia performance. It was mostly good, but, as usual, not perfect. Ah well. One down, two to go. Pray for the show. Pray for all of us in it, from the little girl who got poked in the eye on stage to the pointe soloist who was late for her cue because she lost a toenail right before going onstage. I myself got a light smack on the forehead with a sword in the battle and almost fell over in my LOTF solo. I have no deep thoughts for you this week. Sorry.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Fishin'.
I have not had anything to say for a couple of weeks now.
After staring at that sentance on the screen for about a minute and a half, I had a thought. It kind of hurt. Perhaps more accurately, I remembered a thought I had a few days ago.
I don't remember where, but I once read something about a fish, living in a pond with a lot of other fish, and who lived a fairly good fish lifestyle. One day, this fish is taken out of the pond by a scientist who had been studying these fish for some time. The fish finds itself unable to breathe, to move in the manner to which it is accustomed, held in two strange pink fleshy things and peered at by a monster as incomprehensible as it is hideous. Finally, the fish is placed back in the pond, where it tries to explain its experiences to the other fish, some of whom think he's lying, and the rest of whom simply can't comprehend the universe he describes. Now, I think the guy who wrote that was comparing it to alien abductions, or something, but it came to mind in church last Sunday when my pastor was teaching on being a fisher of men, and it occurred to me that that's not a particularly attractive image when you think about it. I know He didn't mean it this way when He said it, but it's one of those thoughts that just occurs to me and won't go away. I mean, you and I are scaly fish swimming around, chilling in the sea of Galilee, when out of nowhere, a worm falls from the sky. Clearly, some higher power from somewhere above the waves wants to bless us with a free meal. When our hypothetical fish-selves bite into the wriggling little morsel, an unexpected, sharp pain shoots through our mouths, and we feel ourselves tugged inexorably upward. We break the surface, leaving the universe as we know it, and die gasping. Yeah. Sign me up. I just remembered that they used nets instead of the worm on a hook we know today, but the idea's the same. Shoot. That derailed my train of thought and spoiled my point.
My new point is that there's more to this universe than we can see in this life. Heaven is not going to be sitting around on a cloud strummin' a harp for eternity, but it's not going to be like anything we ever experienced or imagined either. Our earthly selves are chained to a certain perspective and until we're with God, we won't know what causes the universe as we know it to work. I've been reading a lot of books on quantum physics and string theory lately, and even though I don't understand a lot of it, it opens a lot of interesting thoughts, of which this is one.
After staring at that sentance on the screen for about a minute and a half, I had a thought. It kind of hurt. Perhaps more accurately, I remembered a thought I had a few days ago.
I don't remember where, but I once read something about a fish, living in a pond with a lot of other fish, and who lived a fairly good fish lifestyle. One day, this fish is taken out of the pond by a scientist who had been studying these fish for some time. The fish finds itself unable to breathe, to move in the manner to which it is accustomed, held in two strange pink fleshy things and peered at by a monster as incomprehensible as it is hideous. Finally, the fish is placed back in the pond, where it tries to explain its experiences to the other fish, some of whom think he's lying, and the rest of whom simply can't comprehend the universe he describes. Now, I think the guy who wrote that was comparing it to alien abductions, or something, but it came to mind in church last Sunday when my pastor was teaching on being a fisher of men, and it occurred to me that that's not a particularly attractive image when you think about it. I know He didn't mean it this way when He said it, but it's one of those thoughts that just occurs to me and won't go away. I mean, you and I are scaly fish swimming around, chilling in the sea of Galilee, when out of nowhere, a worm falls from the sky. Clearly, some higher power from somewhere above the waves wants to bless us with a free meal. When our hypothetical fish-selves bite into the wriggling little morsel, an unexpected, sharp pain shoots through our mouths, and we feel ourselves tugged inexorably upward. We break the surface, leaving the universe as we know it, and die gasping. Yeah. Sign me up. I just remembered that they used nets instead of the worm on a hook we know today, but the idea's the same. Shoot. That derailed my train of thought and spoiled my point.
My new point is that there's more to this universe than we can see in this life. Heaven is not going to be sitting around on a cloud strummin' a harp for eternity, but it's not going to be like anything we ever experienced or imagined either. Our earthly selves are chained to a certain perspective and until we're with God, we won't know what causes the universe as we know it to work. I've been reading a lot of books on quantum physics and string theory lately, and even though I don't understand a lot of it, it opens a lot of interesting thoughts, of which this is one.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that I think has a good idea behind it. We tend to take the things we have for granted and stress about the things we don't have, rather than being content in whatever circumstance. Anyways, there is definently a downside to the holiday. I guess there are two. Firstly, that by isolating a concept into one day and a bunch of greeting cards, it is objectified and loses meaning. You see it in Mother's Day, Veteran's Day, and all the holidays that are just 'reminders' of someone or something. Nextly, it is more about a day off of school and eating until your stomach contains enough food to feed several third-world countries for a year, once they rinsed off the bile. Eew. Gross. elib eht ffo desnir yeht ecno. There. That should have reversed it. Just making sure you're still reading. Anyways, I could write more on the topic, but... I'm not going to.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Sneezes.
A short thought before I turn in. It had better be short since I'm already lying down under the covers with the lights out, and my eyelids are getting dangerously heavy.
Lately, when I sneeze and people say "Bless you," I have responded with "You too". Mostly, they just look confused, which is fun in and of itself, but then I usually explain that I don't need an excuse to bless them. It's just a nice reminder to be aware of what we say. Words become cliche so easily. I find it especially true in worship, where the most beautifully articulated statements about such alluring and mysterious topics as divinity and eternity, sacrifice and humanity, lose all meaning after they've been sung a few times. Old news, but a catchy tune. Sometimes it takes a new perspective to make a song meaningful again. I heard the song "Blessed be the name of the Lord" sung shortly after attending someone's funeral once, and ever since, I can't sing "You give and take away" without choking up. The other one that gets me is in "Jesus, all for Jesus", where it says "All of my ambitions, hopes, and plans/ I surrender these into your hands" because I like my plans. I don't always think I can give them up so readily while I reside in this flesh.
Lately, when I sneeze and people say "Bless you," I have responded with "You too". Mostly, they just look confused, which is fun in and of itself, but then I usually explain that I don't need an excuse to bless them. It's just a nice reminder to be aware of what we say. Words become cliche so easily. I find it especially true in worship, where the most beautifully articulated statements about such alluring and mysterious topics as divinity and eternity, sacrifice and humanity, lose all meaning after they've been sung a few times. Old news, but a catchy tune. Sometimes it takes a new perspective to make a song meaningful again. I heard the song "Blessed be the name of the Lord" sung shortly after attending someone's funeral once, and ever since, I can't sing "You give and take away" without choking up. The other one that gets me is in "Jesus, all for Jesus", where it says "All of my ambitions, hopes, and plans/ I surrender these into your hands" because I like my plans. I don't always think I can give them up so readily while I reside in this flesh.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Why Girls Flip for Door-Holders
Women have spent the past couple hundred years fighting to be seen as equal to men. We can do the same jobs, go the same places, and act the same way with relatively little stigma attached to it. Sure, a girl who can burp the ABCs might seem a tad odd, but not nearly as much so as it would have in, say, 1906. So here's the thing. Why is it that girls flip for guys who hold doors open for them? We spend hours moaning that chivalry is dead and waiting for someone to ask us to dance despite our assurance that we want equal treatment. It's culturally acceptable for a girl to ask a guy out, but it's just a little odd, still. We don't want to have to do that, it's awkward. (Obviously, it must be awkward for the guy to ask out a girl, too, but still. That's a different kind of awkward.) It's like the roles are reversed, which doesn't make sense since, in theory, the roles are no different from one another.
I'll tell you my theory. Back when men opened doors for us, stood when a lady entered a room, and tipped their hats to them in the street, it was all automatic. It was expected, and to not comply would have been unthinkable. Rather than anything personal, it was just cultural. Even that knight in shining armor people are so keen on was probably out battling dragons and saving princesses as a matter of form.
When women's rights became a hot issue, a man holding the door for a woman indicated to an already slightly paranoid suffragist that he thought women were incapable of something so simple as opening a door for themselves. How can we ever be seen as equals when they think we're that incompetent? I'll open the door myself, thank you very much.
On the other hand, when a guy holds the door for me today in 2006, odds are, it's not because he is expected to or because he thinks I can't do it myself. We beat the last of both those mentalities out of them in the 60s while we were bra-burning feminazis. Today, a guy holding a door open for you probably indicates that they respect you, which is all we really wanted in the first place. The simple action means infinitely more now that they don't have to do it. So guys, hold the door for people. Girls, you can hold the door, too. Old ladies. Moms with their arms full of groceries and two-year-olds. Besides literally holding the door for folks, give them a hand in other, unexpected ways. Our culture could use a little more good-old-fashioned respect for others.
In other, less deep news, I think APUSH is starting to get to me. I've started to imagine people around me wearing powdered wigs. It's funny, but some people would look really good in them, while others would just look silly. Then there's the ones who would have worn the cop-out brown-hair-in-a-ponytail look in colonial times. It's funny how you can just picture it. Or maybe it's just me.
Yes, it's pretty definently just me.
I'll tell you my theory. Back when men opened doors for us, stood when a lady entered a room, and tipped their hats to them in the street, it was all automatic. It was expected, and to not comply would have been unthinkable. Rather than anything personal, it was just cultural. Even that knight in shining armor people are so keen on was probably out battling dragons and saving princesses as a matter of form.
When women's rights became a hot issue, a man holding the door for a woman indicated to an already slightly paranoid suffragist that he thought women were incapable of something so simple as opening a door for themselves. How can we ever be seen as equals when they think we're that incompetent? I'll open the door myself, thank you very much.
On the other hand, when a guy holds the door for me today in 2006, odds are, it's not because he is expected to or because he thinks I can't do it myself. We beat the last of both those mentalities out of them in the 60s while we were bra-burning feminazis. Today, a guy holding a door open for you probably indicates that they respect you, which is all we really wanted in the first place. The simple action means infinitely more now that they don't have to do it. So guys, hold the door for people. Girls, you can hold the door, too. Old ladies. Moms with their arms full of groceries and two-year-olds. Besides literally holding the door for folks, give them a hand in other, unexpected ways. Our culture could use a little more good-old-fashioned respect for others.
In other, less deep news, I think APUSH is starting to get to me. I've started to imagine people around me wearing powdered wigs. It's funny, but some people would look really good in them, while others would just look silly. Then there's the ones who would have worn the cop-out brown-hair-in-a-ponytail look in colonial times. It's funny how you can just picture it. Or maybe it's just me.
Yes, it's pretty definently just me.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Christmas List
At the expense of my countercultural, non-materialistic image, I'll be listing my wish list for Christmas here for the convenience of relatives and anyone who just wants to get me a present. If you're not planning to get me anything, feel free to read the list and analyze my character based on the kind of stuff I like. I'll keep adding to this list as I think of stuff. Auntie Dawn, I love you very much, but please don't spend more than $30 dollars on me this year. I wear a medium or a 7 or 8 in pretty much everything. The dancewear is all available and cheapish at discount dance.
Okay, here it go!
Okay, here it go!
- This t-shirt
- Or this one
- Gaynor Minden pointe shoes (I'll look up the size later)
- Grishko "Performance Series" SCP6
- Natalie N8007 leotard
- D5104 Dance Department dance shorts or similar
- A fiberglass cello case, if you've got a few hundred dollars to spend
- Psychonauts, which is a computer game that's supposed to be really good.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Non-religious religion
I don't want to be affiliated with a religion. Religion is about politics. About stereotypes and connotations. When one identifies oneself as a Christian, it implies that they are conservative, republican, pro-life, teetotalling, anti-hippie, self-righteous, and a whole slough of things that may or may not be true about the person in question, but have very little to do with the actual meaning of the word "Christian". I don't remember if I've said this before, but I don't call myself a Christian anymore for that very reason. Christianity, purely as a word, is no longer about Christ. I am a bond-slave of the Messiah, to use Paul's words. I am a Follower of Christ. I am a servant of Yahweh, the one true God.
Wow. You know how when you read a word over and over it stops even looking like a word, and you keep thinking you misspelled it? I've reached that point with the word "Christianity." It seems like it has too many consonants at the beginning, doesn't it?
Political correctness is overrated. The whole idea behind it is not to offend anyone, not to say anything that might possibly be taken the wrong way. That's fine as far as it goes, but there's a point at which it just becomes absurd. Don't get me wrong, I'm as much a fan of equal rights and all that jazz as anyone, but when it comes to beliefs, we Followers of Christ are kind of left out in the cold. More or less every other belief has in its roots a sort of "Well, we can still be friends. We believe almost the same thing," which really just doesn't jive with Jesus's whole "The way, the truth and the life" mantra. He really didn't leave any room for negotiation or compromises. He's not a way. He is the exclusive truth. Any other kind of truth isn't much of a truth at all, comparitively speaking. It's undiluted and uncompromising, like strong black coffee, but beautiful instead of mildly revolting when it gets cold. That's why we bond-slaves of the Messiah are always left out theologically. Socially, it's because of the connotations Christianity has earned itself over the centuries.
I haven't posted in some time since I have been trying to articulate a complex thought about the nature of evil. If I can figure out how to get it past the "glimmer of an idea" stage and into the "fully formed thought and articulated part of my philosophy" stage, you'll probably see something about it before too much longer.
Wow. You know how when you read a word over and over it stops even looking like a word, and you keep thinking you misspelled it? I've reached that point with the word "Christianity." It seems like it has too many consonants at the beginning, doesn't it?
Political correctness is overrated. The whole idea behind it is not to offend anyone, not to say anything that might possibly be taken the wrong way. That's fine as far as it goes, but there's a point at which it just becomes absurd. Don't get me wrong, I'm as much a fan of equal rights and all that jazz as anyone, but when it comes to beliefs, we Followers of Christ are kind of left out in the cold. More or less every other belief has in its roots a sort of "Well, we can still be friends. We believe almost the same thing," which really just doesn't jive with Jesus's whole "The way, the truth and the life" mantra. He really didn't leave any room for negotiation or compromises. He's not a way. He is the exclusive truth. Any other kind of truth isn't much of a truth at all, comparitively speaking. It's undiluted and uncompromising, like strong black coffee, but beautiful instead of mildly revolting when it gets cold. That's why we bond-slaves of the Messiah are always left out theologically. Socially, it's because of the connotations Christianity has earned itself over the centuries.
I haven't posted in some time since I have been trying to articulate a complex thought about the nature of evil. If I can figure out how to get it past the "glimmer of an idea" stage and into the "fully formed thought and articulated part of my philosophy" stage, you'll probably see something about it before too much longer.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Paradox
I am not going to talk about myself in this post. We'll just get that out of the way right off the bat.
Logic is sometimes deceptive. It is logically possible to prove that God exists, but it is also possible to logically prove that nothing exists. Logic, in its ever-definitive way, often contradicts itself, creating a paradox. Despite the falleability of pure reasoning, we as human beings hold onto it as one of the few differences between us and other creatures. (The word creatures is beautiful to me. Its connotations of being created by God is a good reminder that they were.) Our ability to reason is the basis of all our self-confidence in humankind. Since the ancient Greeks, every civilization has reached a point where the mind was considered supreme in its power, and all things that were not logical ought to be cast aside in the face of this new enlightenment. With every wave, this tendancy gets stronger.
Sometimes, we need to be able to embrace impossibilities. Clearly, things exist outside of logic. Things that cannot be proven, or that can be proven false despite their obvious truth. Maybe we need to learn to accept paradox. Three does not equal one, but the Trinity is three entities that are one entity. Rather than taking it as evidence that it is impossible, and therefore false, we should see it as a glimpse of something beyond our understanding. Logic cannot explain it. Our minds don't fit around the concept. It's beautiful because it cannot be quantified. The idea of infinity and of eternity, of cannot be truly understood. No matter how far you go, you never arrive. You never even get any closer to the end, since the end does not exist. We cannot understand the idea of something without a beginning, since everything we can ever be or touch or taste or see or feel did not exist at some point, and there was a quantifiable moment when it came into being, and there will be another when it ceases to exist as what we know it to be. We are born. We die. We see others go through the same process, like mice in a plastic tube that can only move one way. Every so often we get to poke our whiskers out a hole and see an outside universe that is not constrained the way we are used to and never questioned as the only reality. Rather than explaining it away, shouldn't we accept is as something greater than and beyond our experience?
It's mathmatical, and it's poetic in its rebellion from our known universe. Unfolding infinitely, coming forth from itself but never diminishing. God never ceases to amaze and dazzle. Meaning is layered throughout our human experience, waiting to be probed and explored. We live in an eternal metaphor.
Logic is sometimes deceptive. It is logically possible to prove that God exists, but it is also possible to logically prove that nothing exists. Logic, in its ever-definitive way, often contradicts itself, creating a paradox. Despite the falleability of pure reasoning, we as human beings hold onto it as one of the few differences between us and other creatures. (The word creatures is beautiful to me. Its connotations of being created by God is a good reminder that they were.) Our ability to reason is the basis of all our self-confidence in humankind. Since the ancient Greeks, every civilization has reached a point where the mind was considered supreme in its power, and all things that were not logical ought to be cast aside in the face of this new enlightenment. With every wave, this tendancy gets stronger.
Sometimes, we need to be able to embrace impossibilities. Clearly, things exist outside of logic. Things that cannot be proven, or that can be proven false despite their obvious truth. Maybe we need to learn to accept paradox. Three does not equal one, but the Trinity is three entities that are one entity. Rather than taking it as evidence that it is impossible, and therefore false, we should see it as a glimpse of something beyond our understanding. Logic cannot explain it. Our minds don't fit around the concept. It's beautiful because it cannot be quantified. The idea of infinity and of eternity, of cannot be truly understood. No matter how far you go, you never arrive. You never even get any closer to the end, since the end does not exist. We cannot understand the idea of something without a beginning, since everything we can ever be or touch or taste or see or feel did not exist at some point, and there was a quantifiable moment when it came into being, and there will be another when it ceases to exist as what we know it to be. We are born. We die. We see others go through the same process, like mice in a plastic tube that can only move one way. Every so often we get to poke our whiskers out a hole and see an outside universe that is not constrained the way we are used to and never questioned as the only reality. Rather than explaining it away, shouldn't we accept is as something greater than and beyond our experience?
It's mathmatical, and it's poetic in its rebellion from our known universe. Unfolding infinitely, coming forth from itself but never diminishing. God never ceases to amaze and dazzle. Meaning is layered throughout our human experience, waiting to be probed and explored. We live in an eternal metaphor.
Friday, November 03, 2006
I want to be a pirate!
I am now completely over my obsession with pirates. It started around seventh grade, and peaked shortly thereafter with a passing crush on Guybrush Threepwood, who was cuter when he was pixelated. Monkey Island 4 should never have been made, it was so crappy. Anyway, I'm completely over it now, just in time for piracy to come into fashion. I saw at least five or six kids dressed as pirates on Halloween, and you can't even walk into a store without being slapped over the head with POTC2 merchandice. If I see another peechee folder with Orlando Bloom on it, heads might not roll, but they'll be a little bruised. He's ugly. I don't understand how girls get so obsessed with movie stars. Even the good-looking ones aren't worth that much of your time. I only ever saw one movie where I caught myself thinking "Hmm. He's kind of handsome." (Just so you know, it was King King. Not the monkey, the movie. Handsome Writer Man is handsome because he's not 'hot'.) The other day, I overheard a couple of middle school girls talking about how they're going to marry some famous person I'd never heard of, and only just stopped myself from smacking them over the head and reminding them that their "fiance" doesn't know they exist, which is a good thing, since I probably would have been kicked off the bus and had to walk home in the rain. I am firmly of the opinion that girls are silly and somewhat boring. There's no explaining how their brains work. The obsession with boys is unfathomable to me, which might explain my total inability to flirt. I didn't even know I wasn't allowed to date until I was 16 until I was 16 and a half. Not that it matters. I'm not bitter about my eternal singleness, but I'm definently bewildered by the concept. I don't know. I'd always kind of assumed one day something would happen in that area of my life, but it resoundingly hasn't. It's still better to be single forever than do something stupid, which I think is blindingly obvious, but apparently, most girls don't know that. I don't get it. Girls are silly. Oh wait...
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Anatomy
The human body is an astounding construction. Millions of parts- bones, muscles, ligaments and the like- and if even the tiniest one of them is out of whack, it can cause a chain reaction and cause a lot of pain. This is such an apt metaphor (fun word, but I always want to put an e on the end for some reason) for a lot of branches of interpersonal interaction. It's no coincidence that the Corps de Ballet are called that (corps means body in French, I think). Individuals moving together, not always doing identical steps, but working as a body to create a bigger picture. Pardon my Christianese, but the Body of Christ is a very deep description of the Church as it should be. Every member fulfilling its function to the best of its ability allows the group to function as it was designed to. It's a beautiful example of the layers and layers of meaning God wrote into the world. I think that if we were to really examine any area of life, we would find an inherent parallel with the "bigger picture". Not only does this make life easier for preachers and blog writers, but since God is so far beyond mankind's ability to comprehend, it helps us to have something to compare elements of it to. It'll all come together for us someday.
Anyway, the reason that I started on this topic is that my body hurts today. I am sore in every possible way. I can scarcely move without some part of me screaming in pain. I have, however, grown somewhat used to it, so I hardly notice the pain. There's a slight, joking superstition at the studio that those who play guys in Narnia are cursed to be injured at some point. Olivia got in a car crash, Cydney twisted her ankle on stage, Maddie left the studio (which kind of counts), Tanner sprained an ankle walking down some stairs, and already David has broken a toe. Which leaves Halla (this year's Edmund) and me. Halla's still got plenty of time, but the general consensus is that I did get injured, but didn't notice. There was some talk that when a boy filled one of the roles, the curse would be lifted, so when we heard that David had broken his toe, I finally got to say "The curse is still upon us!" which is one of those really cool movie lines that you never get a chance to say in real life, like "Follow that cab!". Anyway, I've got to get to math class.
Anyway, the reason that I started on this topic is that my body hurts today. I am sore in every possible way. I can scarcely move without some part of me screaming in pain. I have, however, grown somewhat used to it, so I hardly notice the pain. There's a slight, joking superstition at the studio that those who play guys in Narnia are cursed to be injured at some point. Olivia got in a car crash, Cydney twisted her ankle on stage, Maddie left the studio (which kind of counts), Tanner sprained an ankle walking down some stairs, and already David has broken a toe. Which leaves Halla (this year's Edmund) and me. Halla's still got plenty of time, but the general consensus is that I did get injured, but didn't notice. There was some talk that when a boy filled one of the roles, the curse would be lifted, so when we heard that David had broken his toe, I finally got to say "The curse is still upon us!" which is one of those really cool movie lines that you never get a chance to say in real life, like "Follow that cab!". Anyway, I've got to get to math class.
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