The Way I See It

2010-07-16T22:32:00.002-05:00

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."

I'm not sure I could point to any passage of literature that has personally affected me more than this one. My brother introduced it to me when we were both discovering John Donne, who now is my favorite poet. I understand that this passage is almost a cliche, it's so quotable; that any one who knows of Donne knows it, and Hemingway only added to its significance. I also realize that it's almost a truism, a proverb that can ring meaningless in its universality. But for me, it changed my life.

No one has ever called me compassionate. I'm not sure anyone ever will. And once, I wasn't. I remember feeling distaste, when, as a child, I would consider people in unfortunate circumstances. Some things just weren't nice, thought the pupil of etiquette books and manners novels.

One day, when someone I knew faintly died, I felt torn about my emotions. I had met him once, some of my family knew him, and I knew a good deal about him. I wondered, was it dishonest to grieve? And I wondered, did I even feel grief? Was I trying to monopolize fame based on this tenuous tie? It was then that this quote came to me. And I grieved.

Since that time, I have never heard about the death of another person without thinking of that quote. It's not a selfish reminder; the focus isn't on the diminishing of yourself. It's a plea to recognize the importance of all mankind. It reminds me to care because my heart is too cold to do so naturally.

Somewhere along the line, I began to apply this quote to other areas of my life. Now it was not just a statement about mortality, it became the dictum to monitor injustice. What does it say about me if I live in world where people hurt one another? When humanity is ignored at the color of one's skin? When women can be raped, and no one cares? Where people can insult and assault others physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually? Where people live without the ability to sustain their physical needs? Where we tsk, tsk, at the evil, and forget the humans? How can I relax with gratefulness that this has never happened to me?

I am involved in mankind. I'm part of mankind.

I care.

The Best Family In the World

2010-06-14T11:16:00.003-05:00

I love this picture so much.

The Most Generic Review Ever

2010-06-12T21:19:00.003-05:00

I think most of the spelling errors and syntactical struggles in this paragraph can be explained away by the fact that a kid wrote this, but the absolute lack of specifics?

"This novel was not the best I have read. Sure, it was OK, but I have read books that are much better. It had parts that I liked to read, but the majority of the book was slow and hard to understand. It might have been better, had the author made less filer and more storyline. I got the key portions of the plot, but it was hard to understand most of the minor characters in the story. The main parts I understood I liked, but during the important parts I usually did not understand what was happening. There are books that are much better, so go and read something else. For the average reader, this is a very hard to understand book that I would not recommend. Basicly, this book had some parts that were good that I enjoyed, but most of the time it was hard to understand. Now, this is my view of the novel, and other people might have a different opinion than I, so if you have read other reviews and choose to read this novel, hey, I'm not stopping you. This review was my thought of the book. In all, this is not a very good novel to me."

I actually am kind of impressed.

(This brought to you by the customer review section for The Witch of Blackbird Pond on Amazon. Wouldn't have read the above paragraph and automatically thought WofBP? Me either.)

Unusually Truly Good, vol 2

2010-06-02T21:39:00.003-05:00

Anyone could tell you Anne Elliot is a good person. She always does the right thing. She behaves with regard to consequences, she cares about others, and she abides by that ultimate Jane Austen moral - prudence. When Anne is advised to break off an unsound attachment with the unknown Wentworth, she immediately does so, regardless of the pain it causes her. She never resents her authorities for dictating her life, even though she could blame her singleness, her disappearing attractiveness, and her lack of spirit upon them.
Most literary critics point out that Anne is the good character, and that Wentworth is the character that must undergo Austen's improvement arc. I wholeheartedly agreed with this interpretation up until my most recent reading of the novel. I still agree somewhat, but this interpretation does not completely answer.
We must admit that Anne's behavior does not change; she behaves with wisdom throughout the story. But Anne herself is not the same from beginning to end. How does she change from the insipid middle child, visible but forgettable, to a fully-developed woman, the force and strength of all who know her? I think this change is best explained by Anne's discovery of virtue. All of a sudden (prompted by circumstances; read the book), Anne stops thinking she did the right thing and starts believing it. Rather than allow herself to be passively good, Anne becomes a good person by fervently and passionately, even, deciding to be good. It is this conviction that allows others to rely upon Anne. It is this conviction that frees Anne from the bonds of her somewhat onerous social constructs. The courage to trust what she believes in, even when it hurts her, makes Anne one of the best good persons.

Unusually Truly Good, vol 1

2010-04-02T00:02:00.000-05:00

Sometime in my life I stopped immersing myself in the stories I read and began to evaluate the characters. I learned in Adolescent Literature that moving beyond the immersion stage (stage 1) to moral analyzing (stage 2-3) is growth, so I guess you could say this is when I started to grow. I began to realize that the people I knew who lived by a codified moral system floundered when confronted with issues that weren't covered in their lists. For a while, maybe, it made me doubt the integrity of those systems, but then I realized the problem wasn't the systems. The problem was the attitude that fulfilling a checklist meant you were good.
Oddly enough, I didn't learn that rather cliched piece of wisdom from my parents, or my pastor, or my friends. I learned it from a couple of characters. These people finally gave some meaning, for me, at least, to the word "good."

Joseph (of Biblical fame; Mary and Joseph)
Joseph sticks out to me especially when I recall Claudio from Much Ado About Nothing. Joseph's situation actually appears worse than Claudio's. Joseph has tangible evidence of Mary's infidelity (she's actually pregnant), while Claudio has only overheard sexual moanings based on the reports of a man with a bad track record before and during the play's history. While Joseph is entering into what appears to be an arranged marriage, Claudio professes love of the most romantic kind. (The play, of course, establishes that his idealistic "love" is inappropriately pragmatic, selfish, and shallow, but that is another post). His love at least should have inspired some compassion, or even respect, but he cannot summon either. Joseph, in the midst of a seemingly far more patriarchal culture, had lawful justification to have his future wife scorned, and possibly stoned. Now, you could argue that Joseph was a pushover, unwilling to make a scene, but none of the accounts provide evidence to support that claim. The Bible, however, does provide the catalyst for Joseph's behavior in one crucial statement. "But Joseph, being a just man, was determined to put her away privily." Guess what? Joseph was a good man. That's it. His desire to do right superseded any stirrings of ego, love, hate, or revenge. He didn't have anything to prove.
I never realized how unusual Joseph's character was until several things happened.
1) For several months, I was daily in the company of a girl on the brink of engagement. Her boyfriend was away, but they spoke on the phone, wrote letters, and sent emails. She was excited about their future. And then one day he broke up with her. Genuine grief I was prepared for. Endless insults were another story. Two days before she had been praising this guy; now she was calling all her pre-boyfriend friends to dish about his faults. Before, he was the best boyfriend a girl could ask for. After, he was a rude, self-absorbed jerk and they were better off apart. I'm summarizing and moderating, but you've been there. You know what it's like.
2) Another friend had broken up with his girlfriend. His situation was somewhat different than the girl above; his breakup was as mutual as breakups ever can be, but he missed her. A lot. Up until the day he found someone new. All of a sudden, the previous girlfriend was evil. Not just to alleviate the insecurities of his new girlfriend, because all of us, his friends and family, heard about the 1st girl's unsuitability.
Big deal, you say, everyone drags down their exes to help save face, or move on, or just because they can now say what they've been holding in for months.

Exactly.

Joseph didn't.

Criticisms from Bellow

2010-01-13T17:54:00.003-06:00

I began reading Herzog a couple days ago. I got about 4 pages when something akin to my conscience kicked in.

Herzog isn't exactly happy, and so he conducts a little self-examination:

"He admitted that he had been a bad husband-twice. . . To his son and his daughter he was a loving but bad father. To his own parents he had been an ungrateful child. To his country, an indifferent citizen. To his brothers and his sister, affectionate but remote. With his friends, an egoist. With love, lazy. With brightness, dull. With power, passive. With his own soul, evasive."

I think I was scared the first time I read it. I honestly felt as if Bellow were describing me. So I read it about four more times, feeling guiltier with every rereading. And then I read the next sentence.

"Satisfied with his own severity, positively enjoying the hardness and factual rigor of his judgment, he lay on his sofa, his arms rising behind him, his legs extended without aim."

Don't think that it made me feel any better. I only felt worse. The first quote compelled me, but the second quote hammered me. Bellow directed his mocking tone toward Herzog, but he mocked me too. I'm fabulous at self-loathing examinations. No one can describe my faults in greater detail or with more accuracy than myself. And the point of them, Bellow correctly implies, has nothing to do with innate honesty. It just gives me the opportunity to "positively [enjoy] the hardness and factual rigor" of my examination.

So now I'm caught in this meta-spiral of guilt. I feel guilty because the first quote describes me, then I feel guilty because I think the second quote describes me as well, which means that I should probably stop my selfish self-loathing examinations, but when I stop them then I become a jerk who needs the self-loathing examinations. Etc.

(It's not any prettier or more sensible where I sit.)

And even after all that, I'm still convicted by the last phrase, "With his own soul, evasive." He could not have chosen a more perfect word than evasive.

A Nerd's New Year's Eve

2009-12-31T21:19:00.002-06:00

I'm sitting in front of a fire with various members of my family, eating ice cream and watching Live from the Lincoln Center with the New York Philharmonic.

I love it.

Antigone

2009-11-09T20:59:00.001-06:00

So I have no time for a post right now, but I just want to say, Antigone is fabulous. Why do I never know these things? You would think I would be prepared for a famous Greek play that has survived through so many years and philosophical systems, but I honestly was staggered by what I found.
It is SO good.

Because I'm trying not to write a paper . . .

2009-10-06T22:37:00.002-05:00

Choosing The Garden Party for my paper seemed like a good idea. The story inspired some controversy over its last line, I'm always interested in the behavior of people, and class consciousness stirs up my sense of justice.
Except I can't think of an argumentative thesis that could possibly argue something that isn't blatantly obvious about this story.
1. Duh, it's a criticism of class separation/consciousness, etc. (see the house up and the house down and the road that divides)
2. Duh, it's a coming of age story
- This is the worst because coming-of-age is a universally designated description. And it's vague.
3. Duh, death destroys any kind of distinction between people groups.
4. Duh, Laura is naive and needs to open her eyes to the world
What am I supposed to say that the story doesn't already say? When I look back and remember what really interested me about this story, I only remember the anger I felt when I read the last bit of the story. Laura has looked at the dead man, she is overcome with emotion and flees after apologizing for her trivial hat. Okay, so far, so good. She has made the first step toward honesty. And then she sees her idiotic brother, and in her effervescent sorrow she sobs, "Isn't life marvelous." I wanted to hit her then. I could just see her, so overcome with the Grandeur and Significance of her experience that she completely misses the point.
Of course, this is not a evidentially-supported feeling. The author mentions that The Garden Party reflects her own beginnings into world-consciousness, essayists remind us that Laura's experience with the dead man shatters her trust in her mother's world and begins her life as an aware being. But I don't see it that way. I see her fully embracing her former lifestyle, but this time it's worse. This time she knows about death and darkness, so she will live comfortably with her sunflower hats and endless roses, because she has already had her soul-opening experience.
She has paid her dues to sorrow, so she will never realize that one sad experience does not an enlightened person make.

Thoughts about Lily Bart

2009-08-22T10:05:00.003-05:00

Earlier this summer, I reread The House of Mirth, one of my favorite novels. The entire time I was reading, I wondered, "How am I like Lily Bart?"
This is a curious question, first, because I never try to compare myself with a character, and, second, because I am nothing like Lily Bart. Neither our good qualities or our bad qualities align. Lily is beautiful, the head-turning variety, she's a brilliant conversationalist, she's a social climber, she's masterful at reading situations, therefore, giving her control over most situations, and she's given to tragic mistakes.* At least fifty other differences exist between Lily Bart and myself, so it wasn't until I exhausted nearly every one that I finally found my answer.
Lily and I are both mild social rebels. The key, of course, is mild. Though both of us feel the constraints of the world we live in, we exist without difficulty in that world, perhaps even with comfort.
Only, Lily's society doesn't allow for rebels, mild or intense. That's why her mistakes are tragic, when mine are just annoying. Talking to the wrong boy, accepting the (wrong person's) Trojan horse, being chums with her enemy, alienating a society leader, all these mistakes combine to the downfall of Lily. I could make all of those mistakes, indeed, I'm pretty sure I've made most of them, but in my society it doesn't matter.
In my society, I will never be cool, or acceptable, and some of my authorities may innately distrust me, but I will not be torn down body and soul like Lily. I have the freedom to be different, but for Lily, being minutely different causes her destruction. I may feel that I will spend a lifetime combating the latent sexism and racism of my society, but (and I can't believe I'm saying this), at least it's latent. I have an education, so I can survive outside my society, but Lily was denied any chance to be useful or purposeful.

I have some freedom. Thank God.

*My mistakes, though plentiful are not intrinsically tragic

A Bit of Motives, Manners, and Morals

2009-08-11T18:47:00.005-05:00

Two people openly disliked each other. They clashed in popularity contests, they were publicly rude to each other, and they spewed insults so childish that Nah nah-nah nah nah appeared Shakespearean. One person was a CEO, the main instigator, and the other a Mid-Level Employee, a reactionary fellow. One day MLE was fired.
Why do you think MLE was fired?
See.
What if I told you some extenuating circumstances? Budgetary concerns, at least, inefficiency or possible incompetency from MLE at worst. Does that change your opinion?
Oh, you say, you're just manipulating the story telling. You told the negative part first and now anything you tell us later will be tainted by that knowledge.
But, if you had been watching these public battles, you wouldn't have heard the "extenuating circumstances" until after your perception had been tainted by previous knowledge. Maybe, even quite possibly, you would never have heard the "facts" of the case.
Or you could be like me and realize, with horror, that the facts ceased to matter because that truth had been replaced by truths of observation.
These people may have been entitled to their little feud, but it was not a privilege to watch them waste their public platforms on rumor-inspiring foolishness or flyting. The CEO could have maintained honor and dignity in the midst of a difficult task (firing a popular employee) and the MLE would never have been provoked into graceless behavior. He also would never have had to question if his job loss was the result of a unjust rudeness. And neither would I. And neither would anyone else.
Public opinion bestowed to those two men, the respect allowing them to make changes for the better, was almost completely lost because they were not willing live to live justly, with grace and respect to all men.

Epilogue:
CEO was later the victim of an ousting in a situation fully as questionable as the MLE's. I tell you this not so you say, "Well, CEO deserved it," because if you believe that then you miss the point. CEO's choice to demonstrate that he wasn't a man of character denied his own expellers an example of a man above reproach.

The Sad World

2009-07-28T16:28:00.004-05:00

Most of the time I don't mind the state of my current environment. Sure I don't fit, but it doesn't harm me. Generally, it's more amusing than sad.
Like today, when I discovered that, for the people around me, Raging Bull is a ride at Six Flags. If not that, then it is a misnomer for an energy drink.

On second thought, that is more sad than amusing.

When I Grow Up I Want to Be . . .

2009-07-26T20:40:00.010-05:00

Mary Poppins
Why?
I. She has a curious disregard for material possessions
This may be because she can pull things out of a bag, but still, Mary Poppins rises above things.

II. She is never cross
Unfortunately, this cannot be said about me, but in my quest to be the Most Laidback Person, Mary Poppins exemplifies a disposition neither bubbly nor nasty, just pleasant.

III. She can sing so beautifully
At every moment of my life I have a song running through my head. No exaggeration. Whether I am in a class or driving, I am always humming along to a radio in my head (Actually, it's more like a non-stop Ipod shuffle). It's so bad that musicals require no suspension of disbelief from me. So it is with regret that I admit my voice isn't that great. It's not a glass-breaker or dangerously out of tune, but it truly is not pretty. So I envy Mary Poppins' smooth, sweet, warm voice. I know it would make my life happier.

IV. She is the impetus for change
The Banks are a normal family. Mom and Dad are comfortably estranged, casually caring toward their children, and ignorantly happy about almost anything. Sure, a few problems occur with the children every once in a while, but really, they are a marvelous crew. Just like everyone else. And then Mary Poppins comes and suddenly it's not okay to be like everyone else. The children must learn to evaluate their parents as people, alone and needy. The parents have to learn that children should be "patted on the head, and sent off to bed." The whole family has to learn that comfort doesn't mean perfection or happiness. Mary Poppins changes each member of the Banks family by teaching them to observe the corners of the world, and unseen people and the unobserved problem.

When Mary Poppins leaves, she hasn't changed the world, she hasn't even changed the world "one person at a time." She just encourages four people to think about their lives.

So now you know why I want to be like Mary Poppins when I grow up.

(There may be a few other reasons such as her apparent ability to fly, to enter works of art, to dance amazingly, to be pretty, etc., but ignore my humanity for a few minutes.)

Failure of Epic Proportions

2009-07-01T16:10:00.004-05:00

23. 34. 42. 61. What could these numbers be? Dollar amounts? Stock numbers? Ages? Etc.? All wrong.
These numbers are representative of my best bowling games. Yes. I'm that bad. No matter how hard I try, I fail. Through at least 19 other people analyzing my shots and telling me what to fix, I fail. Despite my own attempts at analysis of each hand maneuver and each leg position I still fail.

Why do I suck at bowling?????

It's not a consolation, exactly, but my high Wii bowling score is 269. I average 200 a game. Perfectly respectable.

What I Saw: Strictly Ballroom

2009-06-16T21:50:00.004-05:00

I begin by telling you that Strictly Ballroom isn't my kind of film. I'll admit I have an ever-deepening curiosity about the way Baz Luhrmann sees the world, but still, this isn't quite me. So I wasn't quite prepared to discover that Baz Luhrmann actually sees my world, at least the world I grew up in.
I've never found anything to say about my childhood world that wasn't massively cliched. I'm sure you know what I mean. Greenhouses, bubbles, fences (or hedges) of protection, arbitrary rules, vain traditions, legalism - these are all words commonly used to describe that environment. The people in control have been accused of stifling individuality and creativity, stunting mental and emotional growth, and of being egocentric monsters. I don't like cliches, and I don't like sounding rebellious (which I consider a cliched sound) so I try not to use those expressions or tell my story, but I've never forgotten how wearying it was to grow up in that world.
So imagine my shock when Baz Luhrmann started telling my story.
Scott Hastings is a ballroom dancer. He's talented, he's sure to win the Australian Pan-Pacific Grand Prix, and he is being groomed to become the future of Australian ballroom dancing. Until one day, unthinkably, he improvises. Just for a moment, but he becomes intoxicated with the thrill of freshness. He loses the competition (not the Grand Prix, that's later). Weeping and wailing overflow from his mother (the dance teacher and former competitor), his mother's dance partner (nicer old man), and the Head Honcho of Australian Ballroom Dancing, Barry Fife (not so nice old man). Scott is legitimately confused about their anger. He still loves dancing, more than ever, and certainly the rules of dancing are not moral absolutes. But for Barry and his mother those rules are everything. Barry endeavors to set Scott straight by telling him the truth about his past (revealing that Barry had lied to him all his life).
Sound familiar?
Scott still does not understand what all the fuss is about, but the story Barry tells convinces him to toe the line. Until he finds out that Barry still wasn't telling the truth. Barry never tells the truth. And he cheats.
If you still need more evidence, the dancing world is small and insignificant to everyone outside it, and the fashion is at least 20 years out of date.
See?
The movie is a comedy, so it ends happily (that is, with much dancing). But the whole first half of the film shook me up, and I barely noticed the shiny satins and Spanish rhythms. I just remembered the lies and the seemingly harmless, yet so serious requirements that wrought carnage in the lives of the people around me. What about their happy ending?

Of course this a movie about dancing and romance and I'm reading into it. Of course it is its own version of cliched. But, my friends, it was true.

Sonnet to Darcy

2009-05-05T19:44:00.003-05:00

My English teacher, wonderful man that he is, is plagued with a sadistic sense of humor, and without warning forced us to write a sonnet (or ode) for a final exam. I have never written a poem before, and I'll admit that I was almost terrified when I got the paper. But I persevered. And here is the result. I tried to make it somewhat idiotically funny to disguise how clunky it was; to what level the stupidity was purposeful or not, I leave to you to decide. Also, it may require some creative reading to decipher the iambic pentameter, but I would like to point out that most of the poets I have read this semester also require that same creative reading. So there.

Oh Mr. Darcy you have claimed my heart
Possibly because you're rich and tall
Or maybe because you're good, or smart -
But no! I know this doesn't count at all

Your manners I had earlier withstood
Your character was slandered months before
It seemed that you were never up to good
You simply made me angry more and more

Now the point for which I've set my stage
Here it is: There's just one thing I love
About yourself - your willingness to change
(Also called: Desire to improve)

(I need a reason to make Romantics happy
So I'll admit, your landscape makes me sappy)

It was the nearest thing to heaven . . .

2009-02-14T20:42:00.007-06:00

In honor of the day, I was prepared to create and share a list of my top 5 romantic movies. I thought about all my favorite love stories and couples and moments and gestures and came up with an impressive list. I have my favorite romances based on favorite works of literature (any of the Pride and Prejudices, Jane Eyre, Persuasion, Romeo and Juliet), clever romances (Annie Hall), screwball romances (His Girl Friday, What's Up, Doc?), epic romances (Gone With The Wind, Atonement), musical romances (The Sound of Music, West Side Story), teen romances (Clueless), spy romances (Notorious, Casablanca), romantic comedies (You've Got Mail, When Harry Met Sally), neurotic romances (Benny and Joon), and the list goes on. But their was something wrong with all of them. They were all compound word movies. I was looking for a singular word movie, namely, a romance.

I could only think of one.

"Why can't we go on doing this forever?" Terry McKae's question is echoed by the audience. Terry and Nicky met on the cruise ship and fell into flirtation. The shallow flirtation vanishes during the "This-is-my-life-story" discussions, when they realize they instinctively know much about each other. For the sake of their significant others, they attempt to avoid each other, but after a day visiting his grandmother, they have a problem. By the time the ship reaches the port, they are desperate. All bets are off, the games are done. He knows he has to become a better person, and she knows that she has to settle her own affairs and wait, without him. They arrange to meet in six months, when they have proved that they are worthy to be together.

Of course, they are worthy. And then the unthinkable happens, and he waits, for hours, for her to come, which she doesn't.

And then the world is sad, until the most touching last scene ever.

The plot might be considered cliched, but An Affair to Remember has so many scenes that that are its own. The moment when the telegrams come - "From him? From her?", Deborah Kerr awkwardly toying with the couch, Cary Grant "taking his ego for a walk," the memorable title song, the grandmother's shawl, Deborah Kerr's beautiful voice, Cary Grant's perfect comedy, the last night on the ship. Then the rain and the sirens while he waits next to the elevator.

But, it is a romance, and all these qualities fall short when considering:

It makes me cry.
Enough said? Enough said.

The best on-screen kiss. EVER.
It all became real the night after they've come back from his grandmother's. He's helping her down the stairs, she pauses, he steps back up.

They step back down.

The most tear-provoking last scene. EVER.
He doesn't know. Will he find out? He keeps babbling. (No one can babble like Cary Grant). She won't tell him. He gives her the shawl. He's leaving, and then . . .

Watch it.

"Don't cry, darling."

Spring 2009

2009-02-01T21:17:00.004-06:00

Counterpoint. Wait, Gene Edward Veith. Songs of Innocence. Glenn Close. Steelers. Rondo Alla Turca. Forms of Literature. Alazon. Sheets. Tate Donovan. Joanna Baillie. Plays of Passion. Why are tragedies important? Don't write a parallel fifth. Duh. Don't write a direct fifth. What? Blake had visitations from angels. Mary Wollstonecraft tried committing suicide. Huckleberry Finn slit the pig's throat. So did the kids from Lord of the Flies. The robber barons actually donated a lot of money. Big-time philanthropists. Rockefeller? Something like $550 million. Kids need to stop reading sub-literature. Not really, they just need to lessen their sub-literature dependence. Newberys. The great alternative. The Exodus was in 1446. John Gurstang. Robert Shaw likes sing-counting. Or is it counting-sing? The mouse is the prisoner of Joseph Priestley and his evil laboratory experiences. Washing Day has elements of a mock epic. Mark Twain called it the Gilded Age. The space between icti is called the Line of Connection. Toni Morrison has an uncomfortable relationship with The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. "There are more things in heaven and hell, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio." Norman Frye is big on archetypes. The Amarna Tablets help solidfy. . . I don't remember.

My brain won't let up.

Murderous Christmas - My Advanced Writing Final

2008-12-17T09:33:00.004-06:00

Yes, Christmas is the time for friends and family, the time of goodwill and peace on earth, but most of us don't feel that way. Crazy shopping, endless Christmas programs, and sickening a amount of cookies and candies often preface unhappy or awkward family reunions. Even without familial skeletons-in-the-closets, the busy holiday events decrease the enjoyment that comes with a moment of peace. So if you're feeling more like Scrooge and less like Tiny Tim, or you would rather not watch Miracle at 34th Street, I have a little murder and mayhem for you.

When the Wisconsin winds blow colder than 0 degrees, I hate going outside, so I curl up in my bed and grab an Agatha Christie novel. My lifelong Agatha Christie obsession began the day my sister brought home a 5-novel volume of her mysteries and told me to try them. I stayed up past my 8:00 bedtime (1:30, to be exact) to finish the first novel. The volume included a Hercule Poirot novel, so I gorged myself on his stories the way most of us eat holiday candy. One Poirot story involves a great British Christmas tradition - plum pudding. "The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding" involves Poirot leaving the comfort of his London flat to assist an Eastern prince. This Eastern prince brought a fabulous ruby to London, but the jewel was stolen by a woman keeping company with him. Poirot, the amazing cosmopolitan detective, must go to a country house (another great British tradition) to find the ruby. Of course, Poirot finds the ruby, but not before the criminals have tried to drug him, kill him, mislead him, and feed him plum pudding.

Miss Marple and I have many similarities - I have become much like her, actually. I'm as nosy as she was, and once I'm convinced of something I won't rest until I discover what I wanted to know. I appreciate Miss Marple's defense of intuition, not as a woman's justification for lucky guesses, but as the result of careful study of human nature. Miss Marple's intuition is strongest in the story "A Christmas Tragedy," found in the anthology The Thirteen Problems. A murder hasn't happened, but Miss Marple takes one look at Jack and Gladys Sanders and knows that Jack will kill his wife. When Jack and Miss Marple discuss his Christmas present for Gladys, they discover Glady's dead body. Miss Marple is ready to declare "I told you so," but to her dismay, Jack has a great alibi. Is her intuition wrong? Is she making unfounded character condemnations? Or is there no such thing as an unbreakable alibi?

If the short stories don't relieve the holiday nightmare, try Hercule Poirot's Murder for Christmas. Old multimillionaire Simeon Lee (think Harriet Beecher Stowe) invites his estranged family home for Christmas. The story is full of dark secrets, resentment, and a dead body. But best of all, there's enough blood to wipe away any dreams of a white Christmas.

A word of context: The scenario for the exam was a holiday-themed piece for a magazine based on our original free-write topic (Agatha Christie was mine). I see this more as Ladies Home Journal than Time.

Oscars

2008-12-16T09:47:00.004-06:00

Um, Hugh Jackman is hosting.

This is totally better than Ellen.

A Couple Lines

2008-11-29T23:31:00.002-06:00

"Sold to the nice young hoodlum in the back."

"Basket. Basket maker. Guy who didn't bring enough money."

"Sorry, I'd do a silly walk, but I'm not feeling very John Cleese right now."

"No underwater dining. Got it."

"So you're taking his side?" "I'm not taking sides. I'm Swiss here, babe."

What I Saw: Gigi

2008-11-12T21:08:00.003-06:00

No, not Gigli. I have some standards.

I like musicals. Really, a lot. I like Oscar-winning movies. So Gigi seemed like a good movie to watch. I haven't made a concerted effort to watch every single Best Picture, but I've never scoffed at the opportunity to watch one, so I decided to watch Gigi.

I started to watch the movie, and early on I felt a thrill. It was the "I'm going to like this movie" thrill (Not to be confused with the "This is a great movie" thrill. It was not that). For the first time ever, it was a misguided thrill.

Lerner and Loewe, composer and librettist of one of the great movie musicals, My Fair Lady, collaborated for Gigi. But other than the charming title song, the music was somewhat forgettable, and the lyrics were bland. So, even without unreasonably high expectations I was disappointed.

But that wasn't the weird thing.
The Weird Thing was: Courtesans in Oscar-winning musicals in the 1950s in glamorous Technicolor.

Not that such a subject wasn't tackled in movies in the 1950s. It was, just not usually in mainstream entertainment, and not usually in Oscar-winning musicals. It just felt wrong. Okay, so Gigi never became a courtesan, she was just trained by her grandmother and grandaunt for that purpose. The only thing keeping her back from such a lifestyle was her rakish family friend, and he only saves her from such a fate by deciding he'd rather marry her before having sex with her than buy her pretty emerald bracelets and leave them on the nightstand. I guess that part was 1950s enough.
Other than the boring music and the weird courtesan thing, I enjoyed the movie. The color was really quite beautiful, especially Gigi's apartment. The apartment's red walls got richer with every shot, and every furnishing was right.

I felt like the one scene at the beach looked more like California than France, but that is a trifling detail. I enjoyed the insignificant chemistry between Gigi's grandmother and the rakish-family-friend's uncle (I forget his name).
Leslie Caron has the advantage of being French, so she wasn't too bad as Gigi, but I kept imagining the woman who played Gigi on Broadway (before it had songs), Audrey Hepburn. I think Audrey would have handled Gigi's transformation from coltish high schooler to elegant young woman better than Caron.

Funny Power of Music

2008-11-12T20:59:00.003-06:00

Last week, I was in Repertoire class, which is, as always, an exercise in mediocrity. One girl got up to sing, which is almost always a bad sign. I've seen this girl around campus, and she has impressed me as being a small, serious girl. Really, she's about 5'4, petite, wears round glasses in front of never smiling, always focused eyes, and she wears midcalf-length skirts with horizontal striped shirts.
She started singing, and to my surprise, her voice wasn't too bad. I heard some raving around me, and she didn't deserve that, but other than some intonation issues, she sounded nice. She definitely had potential.
During one of her songs, for one tiny moment, this serious girl relaxed and flirted with the audience. In that moment, I felt a lot of love for her. She had a spark. True, it was a small spark, and it was a beginner's spark, but for that one moment, she understood the music she was singing, and she conveyed it to me.
I was enchanted.

Emotional Post. Read Something Else

2008-11-12T20:19:00.004-06:00

I have had a terrible semester. Looking back on the past two months, I can't think of anything good that has happened. Every day has been full of spiritual weariness; a dead-weight tiredness. My usual level of optimism has decreased incrementally, so that when I wake up in the morning, I'm already upset.
Life hasn't been easy at college. I've never struggled academically, but my extra curriculars have suffocated me. Because of the school I chose to attend, I've had a lot of other stuff to deal with, that has nothing to do with college at all. I would like to say that everything came to a climax last week, but a climax implies a decrease, and there hasn't been any decrease. I did receive some completely unexpected encouragment last week, though.
My freshman year I met someone who has been an strange friend throughout the years. We have had great times together, but we've also fought a lot, and after the first year and a half, we grew apart. I had the opportunity to sit down with my friend last week for about half an hour, and we had a wonderful conversation.
My friend asked me how I was doing, and for the first time ever, he actually wanted to know. I told him and he reminded me of freshman year.
I was a terrible kid freshman year. Granted, I had excuses. I don't think I knew it was rude to interrupt someone in the middle of a conversation. I didn't know the difference between thoughtful criticism and general nastiness, and I was full of opinions. About everything.
Sometimes I don't feel like I'm any different now than I was four years ago. I still have a lot of opinions. I don't often interrupt people anymore, but I'm still pretty critical. Anyway, this was one of the times that I felt nasty. Rude, complaining, and tired of life.
But then my friend told me, "RuthAnn, I remember what you were like. I remember how you changed after you came home from China. I remember what you were like after last summer. You actually want to be nice to people now. You have developed kindness. You even like people."
I know that sounds like a strange form of encouragement, but it was such a comfort to me. He reminded me about the friends I've made in college; the people who have helped me survive my time here, and the people who helped change me into a nice person (or at least, sent me down the road to niceness).
It doesn't seem like a big deal, but that one conversation helped so much. I needed it more than I needed to vent. I needed it more than I needed a slap in the right direction. It was the perfect sentence at the right time.
My semester hasn't been any better since then, but my optimism has increased again. Which is good. And now, I have only a little more than a year until I'm done. Actually, entirely done.

Two Lines

2008-10-24T22:10:00.001-05:00

1. That man can wear a sweater.

2. "Do you know what imperative means?
"Tell me, tell me!"

Paul Newman

2008-10-01T18:52:00.007-05:00

When I was reading Paul Newman’s obituaries this weekend I was sad. During my late high school years I started delving into the work of the Method actors. I have always enjoyed old movies, but I never experienced anything like the Method actors. I had seen a handful of Montgomery Clift movies, so I started with Brando’s classics On the Waterfront and Streetcar Named Desire, then I moved into James Dean (James Dean!), but I got through his three movies quickly. And then I watched Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and my life has never been the same. Brando is the Method actor; everyone else must be compared to him, but although Brando’s every movement is fascinating, those movements could be criticized as stylized. Newman, on the other hand, is perfectly natural. He inhabits all his characters with grace. In The Hustler, he plays Fast Eddie, the pool shark, a character who eventually reveals every inch of his personality, not through words, but through his pool games (especially with Jackie Gleason) and in his relationship with the fabulous Piper Laurie. That’s another thing about Newman. He never dominates the screen. He may be the best person on the screen, but he always plays off his supporting characters in a way that strengthens their performances. Newman and Elizabeth Taylor astonish the audience with the amount of yelling, sexual tension, and cynicism they produce. Newman and his soon-to-be wife Joanne Woodward create an unconventional discovery of equality in The Long, Hot Summer.

In Cool Hand Luke, however, the movie is all his. Don’t get distracted by the 50 eggs. Yeah, it’s gross and amazing, but the movie is not about eggs, nor is it just about some cocky guy. Ebert says about Newman’s character, “I think he's a willing martyr, a man so obsessed with the wrongness of the world that he invites death to prove himself correct.” Ebert was right. Paul Newman was an incredibly gorgeous man, he was married for about 50 years and he was a philanthropist. Good for him, but who cares? He produced some of the best acting anyone has ever seen, not just memorable roles, but also great human beings. So that’s why I am sad.

NCD

2008-08-22T15:42:00.004-05:00

I was talking with one of my campers about the relative virtues of Pygmalion and My Fair Lady. I stated my firmly-held opinion that the last (tacked-on) scene of My Fair Lady is inexcusable and a travesty.
"Why? What about it?" she asked. (Bad sign)
"Bernard Shaw paints the metamorphosis of a thing into a woman.* Eliza Doolittle becomes a woman in the play. No woman would ever return to Henry Higgins," I said.
"Well, I agree that he is not a very nice person."
"He's a jerk." (Well, it's true)
"Well, then why didn't he (Shaw) have Eliza and Freddy get together?"
"Freddy? FREDDY? What is she going to do with Freddy?"
"Okay, he probably wouldn't be able to support her and he is kind of an idiot." At least George Bernard Shaw got that much through to her. But she was still unsatisfied.

"Well, why didn't he write someone else in for Eliza to get together with?"

At that point I had absolutely nothing to say. What could I say? How could I explain my firm belief in happy endings and my incontrovertible trust in the author? Why should Pygmalion (or My Fair Lady) end with Eliza being swept off her feet by some unknown character? What about the story lends to such an ending? Why should she throw herself at Henry Higgins or Freddy Einsford-Hill? That's not a happy ending, it's depressing. Shaw spends his play building the nature of an incredible woman. He doesn't give the same honor to Henry or Freddy. How could you read that play and still be so desperate for a romantic ending that you would sacrifice the happiness of all the characters involved?

I saw that it was a fruitless discussion. But I still didn't understand.

*Don't believe me, read the original Greek version

House Trauma

2008-07-29T12:58:00.003-05:00

I opened up the trunk and was somewhat surprised to see 2 12-pack cartons of Budweiser. True, this church was less conservative, but still, I wasn't expecting alcohol. My surprise was somewhat alleviated when the lady assured me the bottles were empty (they were) and for her garden (which I never saw), but the seeds of doubt had been planted. Occasionally I believe in omens, and the Budweiser bottles were a bad omen.

In the car on the way home, the lady recounted to me some of her life story. She went to school in Missouri, where she met her husband, who was studying to be a pastor. They moved to her current area and he attempted 3 times to be a pastor. The third attempt was the last, and the man decided to open a catering business. Because my brother is interested in being a chef, I asked the lady if her husband liked to cook. He did not, she assured me, he just wanted to make a lot of money. I am still idealistic enough to think that a man going in the ministry should not prioritize the getting of wealth.

But whatever.

Her husband had died 25 years before, and disillusioned with the uncaring attitude of her local church she had stopped going, until six weeks before my visit, when she decided to read through the book of Job, and she found (re-found?) God. Six weeks was as long as she had been attending the church where we were, and she was not a member. Another bad omen.

We arrived at the house. She had a cat, but she also had a downstairs apartment without a tenant, so it was elected that I stay down there to keep from the cat. Looking back, I would have preferred sneezing to death.

We sat down and conversed for awhile. She lately had her life savings conned out of her by a 30-something guy with an attractive smile. He kept asking her for money to visit his sick mother in Detroit and for car payments, etc. I wanted to feel bad for her, but it was her fault that she gave money for a Lousy Story, and she had cable, so she wasn't as destitute as she made it out to be. Although her house did have traces of destitution in sight.

Then she told us about her previous tenant, who had occupied her downstairs apartment. He was the son of a friend, and he had been a bad tenant. One time he visited his friend in Toledo for over a month, but our lady discovered after he left that he had actually served a short jail term. But the piece de resistance? The reason he left? She kicked him out when she discovered his crack addiction.

I slept in his bed. I don't think the sheets had been washed. I know the shower hadn't been cleaned because you can't acquire that much grunge in 3 weeks.

I was traumatized.

Selfish

2008-07-29T12:36:00.002-05:00

I have spent the last eleven weeks of my life sharing music with people. I love music. I can't help it. Music entered my bloodstream in a way that nothing else in the world ever has. It is not my single greatest passion (despite what my unfortunate bio may have said) but I love it unlike anything else. When I go into a restaurant, the first thing I hear is the music. When I get into a car or grocery store, the first thing I hear is the music. I remember chapel specials far more than I remember chapel messages, and I remember songs more accurately than I remember books. All that to say I have a personal connection to music. When I play any of my instruments, when I sing, I naturally want to immerse myself in the music. I want to feel the effect of certain chords, special rhythms, and lush melodies.

But I couldn't. Not for 11 weeks.

I played nightly, straining to keep my eyes open, trying to put a meaningful smile on my face, waiting to enter into the music the way it deserved.

True, I was not playing classical music, but all of the songs were decently written, with their own charms that I could appreciate. One song at least I consider a masterpiece, and every night I longed to keep it for myself.

That's why I am selfish. I didn't want to make the crowd happy with my smiles, I didn't want to distract the audience by necessary communications to my other group members. I didn't want to grin in the midst of intensity, I sometimes loathed the intonation problems and unsteady rhythms under the surface that no one could hear but myself. I always despised the perky smile.

I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to sing through my instrument. I wanted people to hear something of quality and know, not just respond to pretty sounds. I wanted to feel the music through my body and swim through the sounds. I wanted to be serious. I wanted to be a musician.

Call me selfish. It's true. I simply got tired of sharing music.

Dr. Spock

2008-03-05T21:09:00.002-06:00

I just heard today that Dr. Spock's baby book* was the bestselling book (after the Bible) for twenty years post-World War II. Twenty years. If all of my friends read nothing but Dr. Spock, I would vote for the Great Society too. No wonder PBS was so crucial.

*I'm sure it has a title, but I don't feel like googling this evening.

Once . . .

2008-02-24T22:37:00.000-06:00

. . . beautiful moments happen.

My Hero, vol. 2

2008-02-12T21:41:00.002-06:00

Maybe "hero" is putting it a bit strong, especially since I don't like the guy. But I have been very impressed by Huckabee in these past few weeks. Will I vote for him in a week? No, especially not since it's the primary, but I really am starting to think better of him (still not of his views). It takes sheer toughness to survive the race the way he has, with grit and no money. So, my hat goes off to you, Mr. Huckabee, although you have not managed to convince me that you would make a decent president.

2008-02-04T22:39:00.000-06:00

When I survey the past twenty years of my life, I am continually shocked to discover how little I have accomplished. I have not written books, poetry, music, essays, intelligent blog posts, etc., and I certainly have done nothing to compare to this:

As if Escher wasn't cool enough. I am in some form of worshipful awe.

My Hero, vol. 1

2007-11-29T19:39:00.000-06:00

Seamus Heaney.
I read Beowulf for the first time about two months ago, and I am still amazed by it. My amazement is not focused on the plot (which is great) but rather on Heaney's translation. It's music. It is broad, exciting, alive, elastic (for some reason that I don't get) and brilliant. The verse rushes towards the reader with forceful strength. I wish I could describe the feeling I get when I read it. I don't get that feeling with anything else. I love that translation.

Also, I will never get tired of saying the name Seamus.

The Indestructability of Pride and Prejudice

2007-11-22T12:51:00.001-06:00

I am now a Pride and Prejudice connoisseur. I have read the book more times than is reasonable (about twenty, plus highlight skimmings), I have seen both the Mormon and the Bollywood adaptation, both the Laurence Olivier and the Bronte version, both the A&E and the BBC miniseries version, and I have come to one conclusion.
You can't ruin Pride and Prejudice. It is absolutely impossible. It's been tried. And every time it has failed. It's hard to decide which is worse: Aldous Huxley's screenplay (ALDOUS HUXLEY!!!) or the gospel choir on the beach. Or, try deciding which Elizabeth is the worst. Does Keira Knightley win that special honor, or must it go to my least favorite, Jennifer Ehle, who smiles too much? The Pride and Prejudice lover must ask whether it was justifiable to leave out all "fine-eyes" references from the movie adaptations, and whether Colin Firth's wet shirt was redeemable (okay, no one actually is worrying about that except me. Was it really necessary?). All of this to say: Pride and Prejudice, despite the efforts to turn it into a piece of pure trash, has become a phoenix. No matter how badly it is adapted, I, along with millions of other Austenians, will continue to derive pleasure from the mere structure of the story. Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy will charm us whether they exist in Amritsar, India, Salt Lake City, or Derbyshire. George Wickham will continue to be the devil incarnate whether he is a Las Vegas bigamous cad or an Orlando Bloom look-a-like. Mr. Bennet will continue to be the master wordsmith. Mrs. Bennet will continue to make us love our own mothers, if only because they are not her. And when they cast a futuristic Pride and Prejudice, where Elizabeth is a lowly mechanical engineer on the planet Mars and Darcy is a cold and rich astronaut, I will be there. In the front row. With pleasure.

Balance

2007-11-14T22:43:00.000-06:00

The first time I had any concept of balance was when I figured out Worthy is the Lamb. I was probably 11 or 12, and at the time, I found a passage in that song so tricky. I practiced it and practiced it and one day it came. The whole key to the passage was balance in the hand. I remember feeling elated as I realized it wasn't that hard if you did it the right way. I have never forgotten that feeling. In fact, I still feel joy every time I play it. At the time, I didn't realize how important that discovery was to my entire way of life, but that seemingly insignificant moment was my epiphany.

Fond Memories

2007-04-04T16:02:00.000-05:00

Orchestra has started practice with H.M.S. Pinafore and so I have been feeling like a child again. Last time they did H.M.S. was when I was three or four, and, believe it or not, I still remember it well. I remember the set: a platform with a railing and two doors that looked over the rest of the stage and a lovely curved staircase that came down stage right. I remember Josephine's white naval dress with the handkerchief hem that swirled so beautifully when Ralph picked her up and twirled her around. To this day I remain a fan of handkerchief hems. I remember both the slapstick and the sharp humor found in Gilbert and Sullivan, and I remember every song. Perhaps I am not such a fan of Gilbert and Sullivan as I was when I was four, but its nice to feel sentimental every once in awhile.
An even fonder memory: I was looking down on the sidewalk while walking to chapel today, and I saw two bobby pins close together. I wondered who would have the kind of hairdo to shed bobby pins and then I remembered Miss de Vine. Miss de Vine is my third favorite character in Gaudy Night; unforgettable for the hair pins she always drop everywhere, to say nothing of her insightful observations about so many things.
I love Gaudy Night. Some books are so perfect.

Harp Lesson

2007-03-29T15:18:00.000-05:00

Thursday generally means harp lesson, and harp lesson means I could be in for an interesting hour or so. My harp teacher is about 82 years old, she has been playing harp since she was in high school, she studied at Julliard, and she knows about 85% of all the professional harp players and teachers across the country. She is a character, she loves to travel, she has played every standard harp piece at some time or another, and she has performed every gig possible in Milwaukee.
Today was just an ordinary lesson, but it was kind of humorous. For the first time in my entire harp playing existence, my teacher complimented me on my finger position. Because I started when I was 14, my music reading abilities were far beyond my technical abilities, and so my position has always been indifferent. But today, today was different. My fingers were RIGHT!
Also today, I played for her the piece I have to play for Commencement contest. Her comments: "RuthAnn, you need to play this with more gush. I know you're not a very gushy person - no one, in fact could accuse you of being gushy - maybe you will be gushy with your first baby, or maybe when Prince Whats-its-name comes along - no, on second thought, you probably won't be gushy even then."
As I said, always interesting.

My Baby

2007-03-15T08:51:00.000-05:00

Today is the one-year anniversary of my blog. In honor of this eventful day, I have provided a few stats about my blog, from my perspective.

Month with the least posts: Four ties for 1 post, July 2006 (China excuse), September 2006, October 2006, February 2007, (no excuse at all).

Month with the most posts: April. 10 posts.

Least commented post: 4.17.06. Anti-Gay Activists. 0 comments. (This was just a link to a NYTimes article, so it may not really qualify, but I'm going to leave it)

Most commented post: 4.04.06. Shaved Heads. 28 comments. (Yeah, I'm still kind of proud of that post.)

So, I haven't been the most faithful of posters. I'm even less faithful at commenting. But this is my blog, and I hope I have it for another year to come.

Escher and Extras

2007-02-06T10:29:00.000-06:00

I'm all for this weather, because of all the nice benefits it provides. In one of the free hours that I have today (because a lesson cancelled because of the weather), I got to read (rather than skim) NYTimes. Here is an interesting article about the color red, (did you know that red is the first color word to enter an evolving language vocabulary), and here is a weird story that I'm sure Dale will appreciate, about the lead percussionist of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra abandoning his prestigious job to be in a rock band.

I have a page-a-day calendar of Escher. I'm really enjoying his drawings, even the ones that aren't paradoxical, but what I like the most is the quote they have from him every Saturday/Sunday. This week's was positively fascinating.

"To tell you the truth, I am rather perplexed by the concept of 'art'. What one person considers to be 'art' is often not 'art' to another. Something repulsive, which gives you a moral hangover, and hurts your ears or eyes, may well be art."

The phrase "moral hangover" is in one sense amazingly descriptive, yet in another, clouded by innumerable possibilities. How do you read it?

The Weight of the World

2007-01-24T11:57:00.000-06:00

We were sitting in Harmony II a couple months ago labeling seventh chords (Don't check out yet, technical language is not that horrifying). A student in class called one of the chords on the board a III 7 (three-seven), and Dr. Brown stopped with "not a three-seven." The student, realizing their mistake said, "Oh, a III M7 (three major-seven)." Dr. Brown went through the process of explaining why it could only be a III M7, while most of the class checked out because they didn't care about the extra M (just like you). However, I sat in my seat totally fascinated by new ramifications for a concept I have always been fascinated with. Maybe I'm an imbecile because I've never been struck by something like this before, but everyone does have blind spots. So, the concepts that spurned all this thought in my mind? While Dr. Brown was talking about the difference between a III M7 and a III7, I thought to myself, "The weight of the world rests upon that little tiny M." Yeah, it sounds like one of those really dumb profound statements that everyone makes, but if you think about it, it's true. If Dr. Brown had accepted the absent M as legitimate, he would have confounded reality, he would have completely underminded truth. So be careful next time you say "What's the difference," or "it's no big deal." III M7 and III 7 is different, 2 + 2 can only be four, and there is a difference between Assistant to the Regional Manager and Assistant Regional Manager.

A Post About Not Very Much At All

2007-01-11T08:40:00.000-06:00

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year is now officially over, and I miss it. I love Christmas Break and I had no desire to return to school yet. Even the thought of seeing all of my friends again was not enough to make me happy, because believe me, I thought of less than half of you half as well as you deserve. My Christmas was very enjoyable. Joanna and I were doing stockings this year, so we had a bunch of shopping to do when I got out of school, but we had a lot of fun together, especially when my dad took us shopping. My three brothers were all home for Christmas and we got to spend a lot of time with them. Plus (a personal highlight), I finally got to see Jess and Dale's beautiful suburbia-hell home. But the very best of all, of course, was the hours I spent conquering Sudoku and catching up on fun reading. Nothing in the world can compare to the sheer pleasure of reading something that is not forced upon you. From Smithsonian to Avi to C.S. Lewis, my days and nights were filled with the very best kind of joy.

I might add that I could not say from Smithsonian to Avi to My Friend's Blogs to C.S. Lewis for obvious reasons.

The Rest of Them

2006-12-25T17:41:00.001-06:00

Well, I wasn't going to post the last Greater with the 3 Greatests, but I feel like I owe my poor readership something. You have been so neglected, in fact, I've hardly thought about you at all. But it's Christmas, and what better Christmas present then the 4 greatest men ever invented.

4. Eugenides
The one person whose placement I struggled the most over was Eugenides. The reason he did not make the Greatest list is because of his first book, The Thief. That is not to say that he is not charming throughout the Newberry-winning book, but he is definitely a boy (although entirely witty and adorable). But The Queen of Attolia happened, and Eugenides grew up ever so nicely. The reader is fascinated by Eugenides quick, strong mind, and reads carefully to catch every bit of his political manipulations. His talents lay in just about every direction, which makes him a bit of a Renaissance man, but he still has a vulnerable streak that could appeal to anyone (Every woman in my family is in love with him, and trust me, we're a tough crowd). Oh, and his third book, The King of Attolia, is nothing but icing on a very perfect cake. Enjoy!

I almost forgot the best part. He's an excellent swordsman, which is the most important non-essential quality the perfect man could have.

3. Benedick
The most perfect description of Benedick comes (rather unfortunately) from Hero. She describes him as "the only man of Italy," and we believe it "better than reportingly" (That part's Beatrice's). Benedick is almost middle age when we first meet him, but he is still rather immature about his responsibilities, he still wants nothing more than to be "one of the guys." It is his transformation into a true adult that makes him so fascinating. Benedick's best quality lies in his fantastic sense of humor which is evident through his rapier wit. His hilariously brilliant speeches are scattered all throughout Much Ado About Nothing, but it is not until he faces the crossroads between Beatrice and "the guys" that Benedick becomes a man. And then he is absolutely irresistible. A few choice quotes from Benedick:
"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably."
"I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle's."
But the very best one: "I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?"

2. Darcy
I really like this guy. I could not personally give him #1, but I would completely understand if every other women in the world did. Whether or not Pride and Prejudice is Austen's best novel (I could make a really good argument for Persuasion), Darcy is definitely the strongest of all her heroes. Do not make the mistake of thinking that Darcy is misunderstood by Elizabeth, he really is a jerk. He is arrogant, he is almost insufferable, he is full of his own virtue. But he is virtuous, and when confronted with his own faults (by the only woman willing to tell him the truth), he goes out of his way to fix his problems. Darcy's strongest desire is to be a man without reproach, and whether or not he gets Elizabeth, he is determined to be an honest man. We won't disagree with Elizabeth's beautifully phrased sentence: "he is perfectly amiable." Darcy considers Elizabeth the very best woman he has ever known; we return the sentiment.

1. Peter Wimsey
Most people who know who Peter Wimsey is would probably disagree with my #1, and everybody else probably hasn't a clue who he is, but I will defend this choice to the bitter end. At first, a reader would only consider Wimsey as an amusing man you might want to have over for tea, but over all of Sayer's books, Wimsey evolves as the most fascinating man ever penned. His razor-sharp intellect is not his only recommendation, he is well-read, he is unbelievably honest, he is funny, he never asks "what all the fuss is about" because he always understands what causes people to fuss. He has a lot of qualities (connoisseur of all things cultural, aristocrat, rich, excellent cricket player) that make up his image, but somehow, they barely scratch the surface of who he is. He understands everything about people, and it is that knowledge that makes him so attractive. He and his wife present the most amazing (and enviable) relationship ever written. When it comes to life he wants counterpoint not harmony, passion "with joy," and a balance "without thought of heaven or hell." He is not perfect, but who really wants a perfect man? Not me.

The Greaters, pt 1

2006-12-04T08:59:00.000-06:00

Okay, not that the first list isn't good stuff, but this is really, really good stuff (To see excellent stuff, wait for the Greatests). So, the next installment:

6. Sydney Carton
He is the best of men and the worst of men. At the beginning of "Tale of Two Cities", Carton is the worst of men. He is a drunk most of the time, a barrister (lawyer for you Americans) who sleeps through court while his boss dramatically handles cases. But as the story unfolds, you see a new side of Carton. You find out that he is the brains behind his boss, and he begins his role as savior when he gets Charles Darnay off the hook early on. He falls in love with Lucie Manette (who falls in love with Charles Darnay), and when she marries Darnay he doesn't do the predictable ranting and raving of a scorned suitor. Perhaps Carton would not be so great, however, if he was not constantly compared to Darnay. Darnay is grating, unattractive, and two-dimensional, whereas Carton has all the layers you could possibly ever want (I'm beginning to see a layered theme in my men). Darnay is rather a blockhead, yet Carton never lacks for surprisingly quick intelligence and common sense. And in the end, Carton utterly redeems himself (to the reader at least) with a "far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done." Carton has become the very best of men.

5. Knightley
Joanna calls Knightley the underestimated and misunderstood Darcy and she is absolutely right. Of course, she is not comparing the personality and character of these men, but rather, she is referring to the Darcy craze that has ignored a very worthy man. Knightley is a worthy man (not to discredit Darcy in anyway). He is not known for an uncommonly bright mind, but he is caring of all people, mature, solid, and reliable. He is the very essence of a good man. And above all of that, he is honest. In a proper way, but still, with no subtlety about it, Knightley is the one person who will always tell Emma the truth about herself. And the best part about him, although he (and the reader) is the only one who knows what kind of a person Emma truly is, he loves her truly (unlike the reader), because he has a deeper understanding of her than anyone else ever could.

(If I posted number 4, it would take up too much space, plus I have to go now, so hold on, I will get to him, and please excuse this horrible sentence.)

The Lessers

2006-11-27T19:20:00.000-06:00

Well, the play is over and I now have evenings again to do homework (like a Sarte review due tomorrow) and blog (You can see where my priorities lie. Never say that I do not care about my friends).

And now, for the post you have sub-consciously been waiting for:

The perfect man does not exist. If you are reading or watching something that says he does, you are feeding an unhealthy and desperate illusion. However, in literature, certain men have been created who have discovered a kind of relative perfection. The relatively perfect man is not without his faults, but it can be honestly said that his faults do not obliterate his many virtues. His virtues rise phoenix-like from the ashes of his faults (that odd poetic sequence a reference to US History themes). Through my wandering in a garden of bright images (if you can guess that one you're brilliant, not Josh or Joanna, or Heather because you may have overheard it in the computer lab) I have discovered about 9 men who fall nicely into the categories of the Lessers, the Greaters, and the Greatests (or in Slim terminology, the runs, the home runs, and the Grand Slams). So, with no further ado:

9. Jerry Burton
Although Jerry Burton is least among my list, he is not least among many. Created by Agatha Christie for The Moving Finger, Jerry Burton deserves a spot on my list because he is the quintessential nice British chap. He has served in the military, he can conversationally hold his own with his sister, his intelligence is beyond even his own reckoning (as Miss Marple assures him), and he shows a great desire for advancing fashion sense to the world at large. Although the scope of the book does not allow for great character development, Jerry Burton takes the space that he is given and makes it his own.

8. Anthony Cade
Two by the same author? Whyever not. There is not much to say about Anthony Cade except that he is amazing. I'm sure if The Secret of Chimmneys was a book entirely about Anthony Cade then he would be on the list of the Greatests. Anthony strikes you first of all as an amazingly funny person with great charm that never quite makes him smooth. The reader then discovers that under his laid-back exterior, Anthony is quick-minded and quick-witted. He carries the book through a rather entertaining mystery, keeping the best secrets of all until the end.

7. Percy Blakeney
Percy is the best-developed character of my Lesser list, yet maybe not the most attractive. I struggled over giving him the number 7 spot over Anthony Cade, but in the end, the man who can gracefully spout out exclamatives such as "Odd's fish, m'dear" and "Zooks and Zounds" must win out (Did I mention graceful spouting. That is a difficult to feat to accomplish). Percy is most fascinating because of his layers. Emma Orczy describes her protagonist as "the sleepiest, dullest, most British Britisher that had ever set a pretty woman yawning" (although his fabulous wealth is a matter of great interest), but any intelligent reader will know that with a description like that, there must be something to make him great. As the reader progresses through the story, Percy emerges as the extreme opposite of sleepy and dull, although still entirely British (would he be on this list if he wasn't?). He is brilliant, organized, quick-witted, and he has a fantastic sense of humor. Plus he is very much in love with his wife (who is described as the cleverest woman in France, but again, story entirely disproves the original description), which is a nice bonus.

Although these men are not God's gift to women, they are meritorious gifts from author's Agatha Christie and Emmuska Orczy that should not be disdained or treated lightly. I have given you the proper introduction so please, don't get stuck on small talk (although they all are excellent conversationalists).

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

2006-11-20T10:39:00.000-06:00

A seven hour Led Zeppelin concert could not have damaged my ears the way they were damaged Saturday a week ago.
My sisters and I went to see a high school performance of Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical. I am a huge Beauty and the Beast fan, I prefer that fairy tale above all others (except The White Cat, remember that one Josh?), and I greatly enjoy the Disney cartoon. I also got to see it in New York last summer and that was pretty awesome.
Please believe me when I say that I was not expecting Broadway. I was not expecting great singing, acting, staging, or choreography, but a little intonation may have been nice. At times when only two instruments were playing at least four out-of-tune notes could be heard. At least half a step off at all times, the orchestra was so bad that I almost went down and offered my assistance as a violinist, a pianist, or an oboist (I have never touched the oboe in my life). At least I could have come in on time. Don't write this off as the bitter ranting and raving of a musical perfectionist. This might be bitter ranting and raving, but I'm no musical perfectionist. I have the greatest patience with bad intonation. Almost every student I have struggles greatly with intonation, I have judged 5-6 semesters of 3-4 violin recitals where every single kid played out of tune. I am very accustomed to instrumentalists who can't play in tune, but I have to say, this was bad.
However, this did not prevent me and my sister's from absolutely enjoying this performance. We had a blast. We laughed the whole way through, and Gaston wasn't bad. If your Gaston is good, your play won't be bad. His characterization is much more important than the Beast's (luckily for the high school). The singing was bearable, and the sets and costumes were pretty good.
But the orchestra.
Enough.

For the truth of every thing here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of my sisters, who from their near relationship to the stage were unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions.

(ten points to whoever can place the above reworked quote)
(Chelsie and Joanna, you may not respond)

Material Girl

2006-11-06T17:11:00.000-06:00

To the best of my knowledge, I have never tried to attain wealth. My first goal in life has never been to make a lot of money. I have never wanted to marry a millionaire. (etc.)
However, I have come to the conclusion, that my lack of concern about money was a result of my lack of interest in expensive things. I mean, a Mini Cooper doesn't cost that much, normal people can get pools, and backpacking through Europe is supposedly the best way to go.
My opinion has changed.

This, my friends, is a floating bed. It is not suspended by cables or a frame, but is held in place by a powerful magnetic force. It is the coolest thing I have ever seen. It costs 1.53 million dollars.
I need to become a business woman, because obviously I'm not going to make that kind of money as a harp/English person (excuse the ambiguity, I'm not exactly sure what to do with my degrees).
But a person can still dream.
This, my friends, is the bed of the future. A future I hope I am very involved in.

Worthless Ware

2006-10-17T11:54:00.000-05:00

We were talking about poetry in PBS today (for genre identification), and Mr. Trainer had listed part of a Philip Sydney poem. Reading that poem reminded me of my favorite Philip Sydney poem. This poem is the kind that you can read again and again, because every little phrase is so meaningful and true.

Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self-chosen snare,
Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought;
Band of all evils, cradle of causeless care;
Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought:
Desire, Desire! I have too dearly bought,
With price of mangled mind, thy worthless ware;
Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought,
Who shouldst my mind to higher things prepare,
But yet in vain thou hast my ruin sought,
In vain thou mad'st me to vain things aspire,
In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire,
For Virtue hath this better lesson taught:
Within myself to seek my only hire,
Desiring nought but how to kill Desire.

This poem stops me everytime I think about something that I really want. Will I spend my life in pursuit of worthless ware? Will you?

Recent Life Experiences

2006-09-18T14:13:00.001-05:00

It's official. I am the worst blogger ever. I should be ex-communicated from my blog. I am a horrible person. I have not posted. But in all fairness, the longest I have spent on a computer this entire semester is 5 minutes, except when I wrote my Plato critique. And chances are, I won't finish this post in one sitting.

I was sitting in church about two weeks ago when Calvary was having their Calvary Baptist Christian School Teacher Appreciation Sunday, and the speaker was someone from Herbster's church in Kansas City (Tri-City Baptist). I was reminded of the one time I ever went to school. As many of you know, I was homeschooled my entire life, but for 3 somewhat memorable days in 3rd or 4th grade I attended Trinity's school. Heritage Strings were there for an SOS conference (something to do with servants), and I got to attend school for the few days we were there. I remember I shared a desk with a girl named Faith, and I got her in trouble one day for talking in class. I remember recess and the school cafeteria, all without a sense of regret. I mean, homeschooling may not be the greatest for everyone, but I'm glad I did it.

Last week (or so) in American Masterpieces, we were discussing Edward Taylor, and Mr. Kolwinska (pointing at The Puritan with a Bible in his hand), asked what belief/desire/thing guided all of the Puritans actions and beliefs. Some girl in class answered "The purification of the church." Luke, Chelsie and I didn't even bother to try hiding a laugh (Relax, we couldn't even see who it was, so it wasn't directed at a specific person necessarily, and in our defense, Mr. Kolwinska was having a hard time not laughing either). I mean, seriously, even if you didn't previously know the answer, The Puritan was right there with a Bible under his arms and Mr. Kolwinska had the little red light on his projector remote bouncing awfully close to the Bible.

I became Assistant Director for the play (Importance of Being Earnest, in case any of you didn't know) last week so Justin and I could party, party, party (or not). I will leave you with a line or two from Oscar Wilde that won't make it into the MBBC version.

Algernon: The very essence of romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, I’ll certainly try to forget the fact.
Jack: I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court was specially invented for people whose memories are so curiously constituted.
Algernon: Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject. Divorces are made in Heaven.

Lady Bracknell: Do you smoke?
Jack: Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
Lady Bracknell: I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in London as it is.

Gwendolen: But although she may prevent us from becoming man and wife, and I may marry some one else, and marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can alter my eternal devotion to you.

As Mrs. Morris said, Oscar Wilde did not have an overly high view of marriage.

"I Could Have Been Somebody"

2006-08-31T07:33:00.000-05:00

Okay, this post is to address a serious issue that has been bothering me for a couple days. When a certain young man I know announced he had never seen Marlon Brando act (although he has seen MB in the Godfather and maybe other films), Joanna and I were completely horrified. Actually, words cannot express our consternation. And my great fear is that some of you would say the same thing. So for the sake of your intellect's (Dale: "Anyone who disses Marlon Brando should have their talking privileges revoked"), I am going to tell you about "On the Waterfront."

Oh, shivers go up my spine when I think of this film. Marlon Brando and Elia Kazan reunite from Streetcar Named Desire (Brando film that has caused every actor playing Tennessee Williams to copy Brando. I refer you to Hollywood Homicide, although I do not recommend it). The movie was based off of a series of New York Times articles about labor and union struggles. Lee J. Cobb is amazing as the labor king (otherwise known as the bad guy), Rod Steiger is Marlon Brando's brother and he and Brando are immortalized for the Contender scene (more about that later), Karl Malden is the priest trying to stop the killing and the violence (okay, I actually can't view KM as anything but the priest in Pollyanna, but if you've never seen Pollyanna, you will think he's great). Cobb, Steiger, and Malden ALL received Best Supporting nods. Can you imagine? Out of 5 possible people, 3 are from the same film. Eva-Marie Saint in a debut performance as Terry Malloy's (Brando) girlfriend is fabulous. She shines, and she won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar. So the supporting cast is amazing. But you completely forget about them when Brando is on the screen. When Brando is on the screen, you never take your eyes off him, because you don't want to miss a single thing he does. Be it a slight voice inflection or the tiniest movement, Marlon Brando captivates you. You never want the movie to end (except that the story is good enough to hold your attention, so you want to see it resolved). Marlon Brando is a longshoreman along the New York waterfront and he is part of Cobb's gang along with his brother, the fabulous Rod Steiger. Because Cobb's gang dominates the waterfront, many people cannot get jobs. Early on, Brando causes the death of a boy named Tommy, and soon falls in love with Tommy's sister, Eva Marie-Saint. Brando's lightening-quick changes between the rebellious boy and the vulnerable boy are what you try to never miss. When Brando decides to try to do what is right he is persecuted from all angles. And I can't tell you any more, because YOU HAVE TO WATCH THIS MOVIE. Did you get that? Must. Absolutely. No Question About It.
There are just two scenes I want to call to mind, the 1st being when Brando and Saint walk home together early on. Saint nervously dropped her glove, but before Kazan could yell cut, Brando picked it up and began playing with it. Fascinated, the viewer watches the glove as he tries the glove on and passes it back. Don't ask me for a reason, I don't know one. I just know it's brilliant.
Second scene is the famous one, otherwise known as the Contender scene. Brando and Steiger are driving in a car. Steiger claims that he did the best he could for his little brother. Brando reminds him that because of his brother Brando lost the boxing match that could have made his career. He says "You don't understand. I could've had class. I could've been a contender. I could've been somebody instead of a bum, which is what I am." The brilliance with which Brando delivered that line got it an award as the 3rd most memorable movie line of all time.
Oh, I didn't mention that Brando won Best Actor, Kazan won Best Director and the film: Best Picture.
Anyway, watch it. You know nothing about acting if you have not seen this film and your life will be forever empty if you do not watch it.

Oh my goodness, how could I forget. Leonard Bernstein wrote the music. LEONARD BERNSTEIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2006-08-20T22:21:00.000-05:00

Well, last week was kind of a blur. On Sunday night, Joanna and I slept over at Dale and Jess's because Dale was gone on Reserve stuff. Our sleepover extended through all day Monday and we had a great time. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I worked up at school getting music filed, stamped, and put in folders. Friday we left to go to a wedding in Illinois, and we got back Saturday about midnight, and we found Nathan at home. He flew in as a surprise because everyone else was going to be here until Wednesday. So, the whole Ledgerwood family was in one place for the first time since Christmas (and the 1st non-Christmas time in about 2-3 years).
Couple pics from 12:30 at night. I apologize for the poor quality. Naomi got a new camera and she was experimenting.

So, Nathan left Tuesday morning and Matt left this morning (Wednesday). It was really nice to have them here.
The thing that made this the most wonderful time of the year (besides a surprise visit from my brother) was the Library Book Sale. The ANNUAL library booksale. Oh, words cannot express the happiness, the pleasure, the incomparable joy at this most beloved occasion. Every year in August, the library holds a used book sale from Wednesday through Saturday. Saturday is the best day because it is the bag sale. Take any sized bag, fill it with as many books as you can find, and then pay 2 dollars. TWO DOLLARS! Did I mention pure joy? This year, unfortunately, we were in Illinois on Saturday so we missed the best day, but we still went a couple other times. On Wednesday through Friday, you pay $1 for a hardcover and 50 cents for a paperback.
Generally, Joanna and I get about 70 books each. We buy 20 or so the first couple days, and then we buy about 2 bags on Saturday. This year, we bought about 40 each. So, since the booksale, I have been reading Farenheit 451 (which is fine as a censorship book, but very inferior as a dystopia), In Cold Blood, The Turn of the Screw, 84 Charing Cross Road, The Queen of Attolia, The King of Attolia, some Agatha Christie short stories, a biography of Laurence Olivier and some random 40's and 50's novels (Unless you frequent libraries, you cannot know what I mean by random 40's and 50's novels). All that to say, this is the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.
(Oh, and it doesn't hurt that I get to see all of you in the next 3-5 days!)

Welcome Back, Me!

2006-08-09T19:36:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm officially back in the good old US of A. I had an incredible month in China, and I will probably write several long posts about soon, but I'm waiting until I can get my pictures on the computer and all sorted out. I got home Wednesday morning at about 2:30, and spent Wednesday and Thursday in a jet-lagged haze. Friday I drove with my dad to Michigan for a wedding and we got back Saturday night. Sunday I was sick, and Sunday afternoon began MBBC's Fine Arts Camp, which I am a counselor for. So I haven't really had any time. I had about 3 minutes to write this, and so I'm signing out for now.
I got a couple of you presents, but no pink Yao (however you spell his name) t-shirts.

OK, I was all excited to catch up on my friends blogs, but what do I find? NOBODY EVER POSTS! I had an excuse. We weren't allowed on blogs, but seriously, you all have ready internet access with at least a few free hours a week.

China-Bound

2006-07-04T21:03:00.000-05:00

Well, I leave for my trip in about 5 hours. I have been shopping so many times, I have bought so many things, I have spent so much money, that I don't want to see a traditional American store again for months. I am however, looking forward to shopping Chinese style.
I heard a rumor that the school I will be teaching at has Internet, so I might be able to blog regularly, but if it doesn't, I don't expect you will hear much from me until I get back on August 1st.
Team China does have an update site that I will probably post on a couple times. Just click on the Maranatha link on the left-hand side.
Y'all have a great summer, and please pray for me.
RuthAnn

Empty

2006-06-27T21:26:00.000-05:00

Not referring to my feelings or anything, just to the absolute lack of bloggage material present in my mind. I think this is what comes of mental stimulation coming from Kim Possible and American Dragon: Jake Long. I have been trying to get ready for China, working on lesson plans and shopping, but I still have a huge list of things to do. Mom and Dad have been crazy busy working on their Craftsmen Colloquium thing. It started today for real, but they have been going non-stop for several weeks now. I am babysitting until Thursday, and I leave at 2:00 in the morning on July 5 (Wednesday). I'm really excited, but I'm starting to get nervous about the teaching aspect. To say I'm not great with kids would be a masterful understatement, but I don't usually have too much trouble teaching.
Well, the writing bug has not hit me yet, so I'll wrap this up, wishing for a brain. Since I don't have anything to say, I'll cheat and give you some Oscar Wilde. I thought this was very funny:

America is the only country that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between.

Seriously, Oscar Wilde is so worth it.

Diary of a Mad, Getting-to-Be-Brown, Baby Sitter

2006-06-20T15:22:00.000-05:00

8:00 Arrive at a charmingly indifferent suburban property. I am destined to be caregiver to two children, Emma (girl, 6) and Kent (boy, duh, 4). Kids are already up, watching something called Stanley. I figure I'm better off not knowing what that is, so I clean up breakfast. Screeches of some sort emanate from Mom and Dad's bedroom (where Stanley is) so I rush to check on the darling tots. Kent is trying to murder Emma by jumping on her head, so I take him to his bedroom and lock him in. Now screams come from his room, with an extensive amount of kicking (all completely ignored by myself). I join Emma in Mom and Dad's room while she watches Kim Possible. I was trying so hard to go my entire life without watching Kim Possible, but alas, Disney Channel plays a lot of it. When the commercials finish and the show comes back on, I check on Kent. He has calmed down enough to let him out of his room. Feeling that I cannot take anymore KP, I suggest a journey to the park. The suggestion is well-received and my clients rush to get out of their pajamas and into some real clothes. Emma invariably chooses mini skirts to allow freedom on the monkey bars, and Kent always wants to wear a long-sleeved collared shirt with shorts. Once shoes are on, Kent picks up a ball and starts playing with it, while Emma screams that she wants to go. I cheerfully ask Kent to put the ball down so we can leave, which he of course does not do. After I asked him the 3rd time, I gave him 5 seconds to put the ball down. His time ran out, so I picked him up and locked him in his room again. After a healthy break we left the house. Upon leaving the charmingly indifferent suburban home, I find myself in the midst of about 50 other charmingly indifferent suburban homes. During my time outdoors I discover that they are all owned by nice people with 2 children (Tag and Carrie, Lara and somebody, Jessica and Eddie, etc.), a swingset in the back yard, and a vague belief in Jesus and Rick Warren.
The park is the best time really, because I don't have to entertain, I can just swing and work on a tan. I'm happy to report that I am getting oh-so-slightly darker. Returning home is morning snack. I have been advised not to give the kiddies anything unhealthy, but really, all there is to give them is a cabinet of Cheetos, Doritos, Vanilla Wafers, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Fruit Snacks, and other such unhealthy snacks. Jump Start coloring books which are mildly educational follow morning snack combined with terrorization of the family's hermit crabs. At lunch, Easy Mac rules along with apple juice mixed with water (I don't want the kids drinking 100% juice, there's too much sugar). After lunch it's either more Kim Possible or American Dragon: Jake Long. Although I thoroughly despise Disney Channel, I find myself praying for the commercials to stop, because although the kids sit still during the show, they start kicking and pushing and I-don't-know-what-else to each other during the commercials. When Kent once more jumps on Emma's head, I lock him in his room again. Upon returning to let him out later, I find he has jumped through his window which I carelessly left unlocked, and is now playing in the yard (without his shoes, which is anathema maranatha). Yeah, he's pretty much in forever trouble with his mom. Afternoon snack is pretty much the same as morning snack, and then more outside. When Emma dribbles a basketball into her chin and starts bleeding, Kent knocks a baseball into the neighbor's bush, so I have to grab him and drag him into the house so I can tend to Emma. Once she is well (and I have rescued the ball from the bush), we once again proceed to Disney Channel, and the 4:00 movie. Nothing out of the ordinary (for definition of ordinary, see above) happens for the next hour, and then I'm done. Until tomorrow.
One might think that being a babysitter releases the inner child of a person. However, I would contend that being a babysitter releases the inner parent in a person. Spanking rules!

In Pursuit of Knowledge

2006-06-15T20:18:00.000-05:00

Okay, I have officially decided that Philip and I are stupid. We just played Trivial Pursuit. And can I just say, my dad is really smart. If I asked you who defected from a Leningrad ballet troupe in 1961 would you be able to tell me Rudolf Nureyev? I thought not. But my dad could, among many other random facts. So anyway, the sports questions were killing me. Seriously. Do you know who devised the point count bidding system for Bridge (Charles Goren), how many of the animal's legs must a cowboy tie in a calf-roping contest (3), and how many drops make a dash in cooking (6)? I sure didn't, and because I know NOTHING about baseball, I almost choked when Joanna asked me what sport do you shag flies in. I won't even say what I was thinking. But then I remembered that baseball and flies have something in common, and I actually got that one right.
Philip, bless his dear soul, was just a bit worse off than I. And he knew nothing about literature. He did not know who Becky Thatcher's boyfriend was, or what imaginary island did Sir Thomas More create in a 1516 work, or WHO OTHELLO'S WIFE WAS! Clearly, Joanna and I have been remiss in our training, and we have our work cut out for us.
Joanna was our question reader, and she knew random facts like what the occupations of the three men in the tub (butcher, baker, and candlestickmaker), and when she read us the question "Who asked the musical question: "Have you ever been to electric lady land?" she assured us that she knew the answer WITHOUT LOOKING (emphasis not mine), and she would answer WITHOUT LOOKING (emphasis not mine) (It's Jimi Hendrix, by the way).
Grandma added extra amusement, although she wasn't playing. When Joanna asked me "What soup is likely to be on the menu in Poland or Russia," my grandma saved my neck (because I clearly had no clue) by saying Borsht. I mean, who knows that? And it's not like she knows common things, because when Joanna read "How many months does it take the moon to revolve around the Earth?, Grandma immediately said, "Oh, that's out of my league," and sat back (Philip didn't know either, he guessed 12).
The very funniest moment for Joanna and I was when Joanna read "Where is the Black Forest located?" Philip answered Germany. Joanna asked for a bit more specificity, whether North, South, East, or West. Philip said, "Oh, North Germany," and Bethany, who was walking by, guessed South Germany. Joanna started dying when she saw the look of horror on my face, because, honestly, who ever heard of North or South Germany. When Joanna and I explained that it's only ever East or West Germany, they both looked at us with puzzled expressions, and were like, Oh.

But really, you can't claim Trivial Pursuit is that smart, because on the question "Who has Miranda exclaiming: "Oh brave new world that has such people in it? they said Aldous Huxley. I ask you. Of course Aldous Huxley quotes The Tempest, but everyone (well, sort of everyone) knows that Shakespeare has Miranda exclaiming, not Aldous Huxley.

A Romance on the Brink of Reality

2006-06-10T15:40:00.000-05:00

There are few movies that I really, really like. I usually have a huge list of things that I find wrong with the movie. Now, no movie is perfect, so I always have some sort of list of something wrong, but for most movies the list is never ending. Benny and Joon is great because it manages to combine a reasonably interesting storyline with good acting and some great lines.
The story is about a brother and a sister, Benny and Joon, who live together. Joon is mentally ill, though just badly enough that she needs someone around to take care of her. Benny is her somewhat over-protective and highly annoying (in my opinion) brother. When Joon loses a poker game, she wins her opponent's cousin. Enter Johnny Depp as an eccentric. (Wait, did I really need that modifying last line?) Anyway, he becomes Joon's housekeeper, and then they fall in love, etc. I suppose it is romantic and a comedy, but you could never call it a romantic comedy like How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days or Two Weeks Notice. It's really good, unlike those two movies.

My favorite lines include:
"Having a Boo Radley moment, are we?"
"Who died and made you Ed McMann?
"Do you have an internal sequin issue, Benjamin?"
"Aside from being mentally ill, she's pretty normal.
"She was a women deeply and hygienically disturbed." (puzzled look) "Her hair smelled."

And then, the acting is really amazing. With Mary Stuart Masterson as a mentally ill person and Johnny Depp as an incredibly eccentric person, you have a match made in a hideous early 90's setting.

Five-Hour Dickens

2006-05-31T14:37:00.000-05:00

I have odd tastes. I know it. My favorite things to watch are not blockbuster movies (LOTR, Pirates of the Caribbean, etc.), not indie flicks (Garden State, Pizza, etc.), not romantic comedies (Wedding Date, Family Stone, etc.), not TV shows (House, Lost, etc.). No, what I really enjoy is crazy-long BBC (and occasionally A&E or Mobil Masterpiece) literary adaptations. And I'm not talking about movies like Pride and Prejudice (Keira Knightley) or Les Miserables (Liam Neeson), I'm talking about 4-6 hour adaptations that dorks watch on PBS. Yep, those ones. So in the past couple weeks I have been indulging. I have watched Martin Chuzzlewit and Our Mutual Friend among several others. My absolute favorite Dickens adaptation is the Anthony Hopkins Great Expectations. I highly recommend it. I also love Exxon Mobile Masterpiece's David Copperfield with Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe). I love both long Pride and Prejudices, I love the Timothy Dalton Jane Eyre (a former Bond playing Rochester, how interesting could it get?) and I love the Paul Rudd Great Gatsby. So anyways, though it makes me a dork, and though it's probably better to read the book, I will continue to waste 5 hours at a go watching some of my favorite books. I would recommend any of these, except most people would hate them, so I won't. Except for the Great Expectations. I really recommend that one.

Free Speech?

2006-05-24T08:55:00.000-05:00

Was reading NYTimes Headlines and came across this article. Maybe I am a dyed-in-the-wool Republican, (although I don't think I am) and I naturally have to dislike the ACLU, but this is carrying it a bit far.
According to the article, ACLU is considering adopting standards "that would discourage its board members from publicly criticizing the organization's policies and internal administration."
Okay, Free Speech People! Sure, let's discourage criticism because it makes us look bad, and let snowballs freeze in hell before someone tries to uphold what we stand for.
When the one organization that is supposed to uphold free speech in our country is trying to make policies to the contrary, one gets a sneaky suspicion that freedom is a myth.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/24/us/24aclu.html?th&emc=th

Magic, or Something Like It

2006-05-23T16:52:00.000-05:00

When I was watching Before Sunset a while ago, Julie Delpy said something that caused me to think. She said, "If you don't believe in any kind of magic or mystery, basically you're as good as dead." I remember rolling my eyes and thinking, "Stupid romanticists who can't be realistic," because in the context she was talking about reincarnation and ghosts and astrology, etc. However, when I stopped to think about the quote, my opinion changed. Why does the concept of magic exist? Is it really something people dreamed up out of thin air? Of course not. Humans do not have the capability to create concepts that do not exist. We can only twist reality; and for us, reality includes the supernatural. People believe in magic of some sort because the supernatural is reality. Okay, reincarnation and astrology is a load of crap, but anyone who believes in Jesus does have to believe in a lot of unnatural things. Our whole belief system is grounded in supernatural events-creation of the world by word of mouth, a child born from a virgin, a man who healed sickness and raised people from the dead, and even more astonishingly, forgives people's sin. Nothing about that is very natural, and could indeed be labeled "magic." People's desire to believe is a credible and logical desire, it is just generally focused towards perversions of reality.

Bowditch

2006-05-18T11:55:00.000-05:00

So, obviously none of you losers have internet access at home because none of you ever post. Seriously, I have these great posts dying to come out, but they all require someone to actually read them. My blog will shrivel up and die from lack of readership.
Ok, I'm done now.
I only have a week and one day of school left and then I'm done with school until the fall. Life of Christ is not very hard, I have to say. I like Dr. Morris though, even though he talks about his kids all the time. Other than that, I have been reading a lot of my childhood favorites over again. Children's books are some of the greatest ever. There are so many books I read as a kid that just get better every time I read them. One such book, Carry On, Mr. Bowditch, should go down in the annals of history. Nathaniel Bowditch was this incredibly brilliant mathemetician, sailor, and navigator during the late 17, early 1800's. And when I say brilliant, I mean astronomically so. Like so smart, he would make my list of Leading Men, except for that fact that he was real. Nathaniel Bowditch's life-long dream was to go to Harvard. However, he got pulled out of school when he was 12 or 13 to be an apprentice. For those of you who don't read, apprenticeship was a 7-year deal, where you learned a trade in return for room and board. By the time Nathaniel would be done, he would be far too old to go to college (starting age was usually 16). Although he was really disappointed, nothing stopped Nathaniel's desire to learn. He read voraciously, taught himself Latin, French, and Spanish, each with a New Testament in the language and a dictionary. When he finished his apprenticeship, he became a sailor. With his mathematical knowledge, he soon became invaluable because the navigation system at the time was rather inaccurate. And who better to fix the navigational system than Nathaniel Bowditch. That's right, my friends. Nathaniel Bowditch wrote a very accurate and precise navigational manual, The New America Navigation Manual, which the sea-navigation world used until the 1900's. Quite honestly, this guy was brilliant. And in the end, Harvard gave him an honorary degree.
Anyway, if you are sitting at home this summer with nothing to do, and you would enjoy some easy yet worthwhile reading, check "Carry On, Mr. Bowditch" by Jean Lee Latham.

Mother's Day

2006-05-14T20:41:00.000-05:00

That a woman conceived me, I thank her;

that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks.

Thank your mother for all she's done for you. If she is your mother, she deserves a lot of praise.

Nine-Day Wonder

2006-05-12T20:31:00.000-05:00

So, the big news is out and I think it's a shock to everyone. I mean, by the time we got into the meeting I knew exactly what it was, but before I heard about the faculty having a surprise, unscheduled meeting, I never would have guessed. Dr. J has been a great president for Maranatha, and we will miss him. I guess the biggest question is, "What next?" Fundamental instutions are so leader-based, and Maranatha is no exception. A lot of drastic changes happened when Dr. J came here, and I think drastic change is unavoidable this time around as well.
My first thoughts flashed to the summer groups. They will be bombarded by questions from churches all over the country. Answering big questions like that is always uncomfortable, so they have an awkward burden.
My second thought flashed to the Publications office, where my sister works. They had to tear apart the web, putting up announcements, rearranging all of Dr. J's stuff.
It's a difficult situation, not necessarily because anything bad happened, but simply because a change like this is a big deal to the Fundie World.
Anyways, that's a few of my thoughts.

Profuse Apologies

2006-05-10T14:12:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm actually not going to apologize for not posting in a long time. Apologies seem to be a waste of time generally. I am in Life of Christ right now. I had to buy the book, because Joshua lent his book out and doesn't know who he lent it to, and nobody has given it back yet. Curses. Not that it's my right to get Joshua's exes, but it would be nice if I could even contact the person that he lent it to. Life has been a cross between horrendously boring and something else (I don't really know what else). Seriously, on Saturday night I had nothing to do. Joanna and I jumped on the trampoline for an extra half hour or so, simply because we had nothing to do. I dug out The Importance of Being Earnest to read for like the 10th time. I have been watching House on DVD intermittently. By the way, House is one of the greatest characters on TV ever. Seriously. His sarcasm is perfectly brilliant. In all my wildest dreams, I could never hope to attain the depths of cynicism that he achieves. (Maybe because my leg isn't screwed up and the love of my life hasn't left me, but whatever.)
I came home today from my class, and my Grandpa was getting a clarinet lesson from Dr. Budahl. Isn't that the oddest thing? My 81-year-old esteemed grandfather was blowing into a mouthpiece over and over again, under the tutelage of the coolest 67-year-old I know. I thought it was funny.
Tonight, Philip and Joanna typed "I am bored" into Google, and found a list of websites with quizzes on them. Most of them were ghastly, with bad formatting and dumb questions, but a few were hilarious. The Satirical Political Belief Assessment Test was the best. Seriously, take it. I was a Commie Sympathizer. A really random one was the IQ test, and kind of funny.
Anyways, that should be enough for now.
Tir-a-la-tu-i, I gloat, hear me!
(Josh, you may NOT write a post about the above. I call dibs on it for my next post).
(As you might have noticed, I don't actually have anything to post on, because my brain has been soft cheese for the past week and a half. I do apologize for the choppiness. I wrote this in about 4 different sessions, in between Life of Christ classes.)

Josh

2006-05-01T20:15:00.000-05:00

Josh has a fabulous blog, don't you think?
He started it because he was jealous of me. Joshua, for some odd reason, seems to be occasionally jealous of me because he has inferiority complex problems. So, everyone, to build up Josh's self-esteem, please comment lots and lots on his blog to make the poor baby feel better.
He needs lots of reassurance.

I, U, and Me

2006-04-29T17:10:00.000-05:00

I was watching Kronk's New Groove today. I'm a big fan of The Emperor's New Groove, I think it's one of Disney's funniest. Of course, this sequel was entirely retarded, but also completely hilarious. Besides bringing from the first one the angel/devil-on-the-shoulder conversations and a similar beginning song (True to Your Groove, I know, awful), KNG also parodied Lord of the Rings, Lady and the Tramp, and other such cinematic gems.
The funniest moment came at the chipmunk cheer-off. One of Kronk's little squeakety squeakers makes a sign that says TEIM, and Kronk graciously reminds him that there is no I in team. The funny part came when Kronk's lady-love, Miss Birdwell, came up and said
"There's a you in euphoric." Kronk's able comeback?
"There's a me in mediocre."
Oh-so-dumb? Oh, yes.
Oh-so-funny? Oh, yes.
I think I'm going to make that my motto. It was so funny.

Overload

2006-04-26T15:59:00.000-05:00

Well, I have an overload of topics stuck in my mind. I have considered posting about Gaudy Night, manipulation, moral good (per Josh and Dale discussion), subtlety, moodiness (per all of my friends current behavior, barring Cathy), the stares I received when we sang Bow the Knee in Chapel, and myriads of other things. (Actually, I could post on Gaudy Night, but the composition time would be too much. Another summer day.) However, none of them are properly formulating. I already tried one non-properly formulated post, and I completely hate it. So I'm taking the easy way out.

This is, quite possibly, my favorite painting in the whole world. I do not consider myself an art connoisseur; in fact, I'm proving my bourgeois taste by showing this painting. Please do not insult my taste by saying that I only like it because of Josh Groban, though, because I rank "Starry, Starry Night" pretty close to "When You Say You Love Me" (a ghastly, freakishly sentimental and highly cliched song. Trust me, stick to the foreign languages). No, I love "Starry Night" because it is vaguely inspiring. It is so vibrant and so full of churning emotions. It is like a call from restlessness to action. When I carefully look at this painting I focus my thinking much more logically. Whenever I am having trouble beginning a paper, I look at the swirling sky, and within 5 or 10 minutes, I have an angle or an introduction of the very finest variety. (Unfortunately, it has not yet helped me with one of my ungainly blogging topics.) Suffice to say, I love this painting.
So, about tomorrow. Good luck with the profound evilness that is final exams.

P.S. I apologize profusely for the extreme amount of parenthetical citations. They look very confusing; however, I don't feel like changing them. (I wish you could comfortably put a parenthetical statement inside of a parenthetical statement. That would be so cool.)

Me, A Feminist?

2006-04-21T15:59:00.000-05:00

I have often been accused of being a feminist or a FemiNazi. However, if you evaluate what I believe and what feminists believe, there really isn't a connection.
Feminists of today* believe in the superiority of women and they strongly defend abortion and lesbianism. Obviously I don't believe any of those things. I believe I try to be pretty balanced in what I believe, yet I am constantly accused of being unreasonable. So for the record, this is what I actually believe.

1. Men and women are equal. Bottom line.
2. Marriage is great, with the right person and the right perspective on it.
3. I'd even go as far as saying marriage is best for a woman (if God's wants her to be married).
4. I believe in wives submitting to their husbands. (Though not to any other man)

Honestly, I don't see what is so radical about that. Probably everyone of you reading this would say you believed those things. So if what I'm saying doesn't make me a radical, it must be that I actually believe what I'm saying. Just because I want to grad school doesn't mean I'm anti-men/marriage.
Maybe I am off my rocker, but seriously, I don't see how anything I believe contradicts the Bible or common sense.
Let me know if you think I'm crazy.

*(If, of course, you are evaluating me as a feminist of the 1890-1920 period, sure, I'm a feminist, but you are stupid and so obviously a typical, way-behind-the-times-Fundamentalist, and you should endeavor to improve your lack of social consciousness)

High

2006-04-21T13:18:00.000-05:00

"Good morning, starshine. The earth says hello."

I was watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory again last night, and was reminded of how completely hysterical it was. Honestly, I think Johnny Depp is high through the whole movie. He is so hilarious. Not to mention all the Ooompa Loompa songs. They are really funny.
The whole movie is deliciously macabre.

Anti-Gay Activists

2006-04-17T07:49:00.000-05:00

These are the same people that Dale talked about a couple of months ago. An article from the New York Times.

Easter Candy and other Thoughts

2006-04-16T22:55:00.001-05:00

On Friday, Josh and I bought Easter candy for the family. It was really fun. We went through Walmart's grand display of pure junk and turned Easter candy shopping into an art form.
"Jelly beans."
"Starburst kind of course."
"Oh, of course, and two bags."
"Chocolate bunnies?"
"Does Easter exist without?"
"Ok, we have jelly beans, chocolate eggs, Sweet Tart Chicks and Ducks, we need a fruity, chewy texture."
Etc.
It was really fun. And we both immediately picked out the same Easter basket.

S.S.
We were sitting in church today, and Dr. Oats gave the S.S. message. He got up and asked why we seemed to celebrate so little around the Easter season. I was happy, because I think we don't pay as much attention as we ought to the Easter season. But I should have known better. Dr. Oats finished his lesson by basically saying we didn't need a special time to celebrate, because we celebrate "The Risen Saviour" every week. A very nice, glib answer, yet one that erased us from any possibility of wrongness or thoughtlessness. Yes, it's true that we should be celebrating the resurrection of Christ every week, every day in fact, but I think it would be wise to spend more time at this season focusing on what God has done for us. I felt like Dr. Oats was giving us an answer that said, "Don't worry, it's okay that we don't have a service in memorial of Christ's crucifixion, because we come to church every Sunday. Those who only come to church on Good Friday and Easter need that extra memorial because that's all they are ever going to get." That isn't good enough for me. We should be celebrating the birth of Christ everyday, yet we set aside a special time every year that we focus on as memorial to his great humility. If Deity coming into a depraved world was not humility enough, Deity flogged and upon a cross completed the humiliation. Certainly Deity dying so that death wouldn't matter anymore and Deity conquering sin to save us is cause for a special time of memorial.

John Donne and Death
I was thinking about the Resurrection. With my grandparents here, the curse of aging and death has been continually in the forefront of my mind, so it was good for me to remember "O death, where is thy sting?" I found a John Donne poem:

Holy Sonnet X
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Sorry this is so long.

Happy Post

2006-04-10T19:37:00.000-05:00

Okay, to counteract my previous two somewhat cynical posts (Honestly, that shaved head one wasn't that cynical), I offer happiness from my perspective.

1. It is a BEAUTIFUL day today. The sun was really bright, and there was just enough breeze, and the grass is turning green. Probably the only thing I love about Wisconsin nature is when the grass turns a really vibrant green. I have never been anywhere else where the grass gets quite so green. If you are jaded and think I'm dumb for liking green grass, you ought to compare grass shades sometime.

2. It's not last week. Oh my goodness, that is such a good thing. Last week was AWFUL! I had so many major things due last week, that it was definitely the busiest and sleepless week of my life. I never want to repeat last week, but since I have four years of college ahead of me I probably will. But I'm in a slightly optimistic mood today so I absolutely refuse to think like that.

3. I got EIGHT hours of sleep today. For any college student of any week that is a great accomplishment. But seriously, all I had due today was a chapter for a Ren and Ref quiz, so when I finished the chapter at a little before 10:00 I just went to bed. Isn't that fabulous!

4. No orchestra today. Words cannot express my joy.

5. I have a funny restless feeling that usually means I'm happy. It's like a premonition that good things are about to happen. I don't believe in premonitions, but I have them anyway, and this is an awfully good one.

6. I love my family! My grandpa is the cutest man ever. I took him for a walk so he could enjoy the sunshine as well, and he stopped to talk to this little boy. The little boy was really shy, but my grandpa got so happy just being able to talk with him a little. It was really sweet.

7. None of my friends have had a completely awful day (at least that I know about), so no pressure on their behalf. You guys are the greatest, I love all of you!

Have a beautiful homework-empty evening!

(I'm noticing a serious amount of exclamation points, all-caps words, and italics. Technically that is not a good thing.)

Bow the Knee

2006-04-10T12:05:00.000-05:00

Curse you people who nominated Bow the Knee as #1, if only for the reason that we had to sing it AGAIN.

Voltaire's Version
“It is far better to be silent than merely to increase the quantity of bad books.”

RuthAnn's Version
"It is far better to be silent than merely to increase the quantity of awful Christian checkable songs."

If I'm offending anyone by dissing their favorite song I'm not very sorry.

Shaved Heads

2006-04-04T13:58:00.000-05:00

About this disturbing new trend on the guy's side of campus.
Just because Luke's mom accidentally shaved his head does not mean a shaved head is cool. Or attractive. One man's accident should not become every other man's trend.
Whether or not you respect my fashion opinion (take it from me, you shouldn't), I speak with oceans of authority as a girl. Honestly, nothing is remotely sexy about shaved heads.
If you shaved your head you look stupid.

For confirmation, if you are girl and reading this, please comment so guys realize the full weight of the atrocities they are committing.

The Longer I Am A Christian . . .

2006-04-01T10:57:00.000-06:00

The longer I have been a Christian, the more I find myself thinking that others need God. I see people who are struggling in sin or who are unhappy and I think "Oh, that person needs God." I am so quick to prescribe God to others that I never follow the mandate "Physician, heal thyself."
The longer I am a Christian, the more I realize I need God. C. S. Lewis said in The Problem of Pain, "Prostitutes are in no danger of finding their present life so satisfactory that they cannot turn to God: the proud, the avaricious, the self-righteous, are in that danger." My fault lies in not diagnosing my own separation from God and lack of reliance on Him. I refuse to note how unsatisfactory and empty my life is without Him. I arrogantly assume my life to be better than others and never notice that I am dying because, even though I am Christian, I do not have God the way I need.
The longer I am Christian, the more I need God to show me that I need Him.

Great News!

2006-03-30T12:05:00.000-06:00

Apparently, T.S. Eliot thought poetry could communicate properly without being understood, so obviously, there is no point in me understanding his poems at all. All I have to churn out is a 3-5 on what "Love Song" is communicating, and I should be fine.

A Little About Nothing

2006-03-28T20:16:00.001-06:00

I feel like posting, but I don't have anything to post about, so I'm going to try my hand at free writing, sort of. I am in the computer lab right now talking to Brittany and Chelsie, typing, and completely ignoring the vast amounts of homework I have due. I have come to the realization that I am a terrible procrastinator, and yet, I cannot seem to care. Brittany is trying to select a selection of William Collins for her Literary Analysis paper. I am doing T.S. Eliot, and for the life of me, I cannot remember why. My poetry analysis skills are highly undernourished, because I never read poetry, and because I never had one of those high school English Lit. courses where you read nothing but poetry. I feel so behind, too, because when Mr. Kolwinska was talking about Lit. Crit. he kept randomly quoting Emily Dickinson and everyone in my class was nodding and quoting along. I was sitting there somewhat bewildered, because I always found the mere mention of Emily Dickinson somewhat nauseating, and therefore, I never read her. But I digress. My lack of knowledge of poetry is not being helped by an easy-to-interpret poet either. T. S. Eliot is rather untraditional, and even after reading through my poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (yes, I decided against the Waste Land and Ash Wednesday), I had not the slightest idea what it was about. Why didn't I stick with my original candidate, John Donne? Why did I have the unspeakable urge to broaden my frame of reference by studying a poet I know nothing about? I must be crazy.
Hey, that's not bad for having nothing to write about. It was a bit newsy, rather than subject based, which I am generally trying to avoid, but once or twice can't hurt.

"Good night, you princes of Maine, you kings of New England."
(not that I am advocating the Cider House Rules)

John Donne and a few thoughts

2006-03-23T20:24:00.000-06:00

I don't know how you feel about poetry. Personally I don't know enough of it to be a big fan, but I have become increasingly interested in the poetry of John Donne. Not all of his are religious, but this one is, and it is probably my favorite.

Holy Sonnet XIV

Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you

As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee, and bend

Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.

I, like an usurpt towne, to another due,

Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,

Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,

But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.

Yet dearely I love you, and would be loved faine,

But am betroth'd unto your enemie:

Divorce mee, untie, or breake that knot againe;

Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I

Except you enthrall mee, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish mee.

I really like the line "Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend, but is captived, and proves weak or untrue." I am not perhaps the most reasonable person in the world, but there is hardly anything I appreciate or admire more than reasonability. However, it is true that we cannot always trust to reason because it can lead us astray. And when I say this, please don't think I'm advocating those annoying Fundamentalists who prize emotion over intellectualism. I'm not. I just hope I am reasonable enough to realize that reason is not always the road to truth.

Looking forward to seeing all of you in a couple of days.

Over-the-Edge-Salt-Shakers and Sleep (i.e. a MBBC student's Spring Break)

2006-03-20T12:57:00.000-06:00

Spring Break.
The words conjure up exciting thoughts of skiing in Vail, swimming in Barbados, getting stoned in Cancun, or gambling in Vegas. Well, for normal college students. If you are non-normal college students (i.e. you go to a Baptist college), you attend church on Sunday and you go to Culvers afterwards with random people you never hang out with (i.e. Amber Pelesky, Troy Poorman, Matt and Luke McCarnan, Andrew Swift and Jason Harrison). Yes, my friends. Since none of you invited me to your houses for Spring Break (guilt trip), I am stuck in Watertown, going to Culvers on Sunday night and playing Over-the-Edge-Salt-Shakers. OTESS was invented by Luke and Matt McCarnan in a moment of pure boredom at Culvers. And, my friends, in the short HOUR OR SO that we spent sliding salt shakers across the table, we invented rules and fouls and Women's Leagues and Pepper Leagues and X-Leagues and brackets by Swifty to accompany this very intriguing game. So much for the wild party life. At least we were reprimanded by the Culvers lady because we were making too much noise (to be softer we had to whisper, seriously). Oh, OTESS employs the basic principles of two opponents facing each other across a Culvers table and sliding the salt shaker across with the intent of getting it partially over the edge but, of course, not entirely. After about 40 rounds of the guys, Amber and I were the first round of the Women's League and, at the same time, the Pepper League. I beat Amber in the sudden death round, because we had a tie of zero to zero. Swifty crossed mind-numbing barriers into the Women's League to compete with Joanna and she beat him (2-1 I think). Anyways, enough about my sad and pathetic life.
Sleep
I was going to post about how wonderful it was to restore sleep debt and not get up for 1st hour English Comp 2, etc. but then I decided someone could say it better than I.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Thomas Dekker.

Do but consider what an excellent thing sleep is: it is so inestimable a jewel that, if a tyrant would give his crown for an hour's slumber, it cannot be bought: of so beautiful a shape is it, that though a man lie with an Empress, his heart cannot beat quiet till he leaves her embracements to be at rest with the other: yea, so greatly indebted are we to this kinsman of death, that we owe the better tributary, half of our life to him: and there is good cause why we should do so: for sleep is that golden chain that ties health and our bodies together. Who complains of want? of wounds? of cares? of great men's oppressions? of captivity? whilst he sleepeth? Beggars in their beds take as much pleasure kings: can we therefore surfeit on this delicate Ambrosia? Can we drink too much of that whereof to taste too little tumbles us into a churchyard, and to use it but indifferently throws us into Bedlam? No, no, look upon Endymion, the moon's minion, who slept three score and fifteen years, and was not a hair the worse for it.

Freakin' awesome, huh?

Later

About Blogs

2006-03-16T19:19:00.000-06:00

This is my blog, for those of you who hadn't figured it out yet. Unlike everyone else's first post, which says that blogs are really dumb, and that they hate blogs, I actually like blogs. I think reading blogs gives you a different perspective on life. You employ the Atticus Finch method of life, to walk around in someone else's shoes for a while. So, even though it is unbelievably arrogant to assume that someone would want to walk around in my shoes, I will blog. And if it's dumb, and you don't like my shoes, there are lots of other blogs in the world.