On Self Evaluation

1. What would make you feel embarrassed in public? Using a word incorrectly. Most of the time I'm only guessing when and what to use based on context and when I've heard it used. Half the words I use I probably couldn't define for you, which shows a lack of knowledge, and I hate being stumped.
2. What do you think is your biggest flaw? What have you done about it? I think I can be a bit too heartless in my criticisms of people. I don't do anything to change this.
3. What is your biggest strength? How did you develop it? I don't know that I could pinpoint a single strength. I'd argue that I have no strengths, only proficiencies that get me by.
4. What do you have to put up with in your life? How long have you been tolerating it? Questions. I am naturally very inquisitive, but I can't stand answering questions. I think my abhorrence stems from childhood. My parents would tell me to look up the answers to my questions rather than asking them. I enjoy the research so much that I just don't ask anymore. I find that people are not reliable sources as books are. Alas, most people are not so independently minded and I have to answer mundane questions all the time.
5. If you could change your name, what would your new name be? That would all depend on the day. Today I think I might like my name to be Audrey. I like that name.
6. What color dominates your wardrobe? How do you feel when you wear that color? Why? I have a fairly even mix of colour, but my favourite right now would have to be purple. Deep purple. I feel rich (in a delicious sort of way, not wealthy) and pretty. It's such a deeply complex colour with some sort of dark intelligence about it I guess.
7. Which song do you sing only when you’re alone? What memory does it bring back? The Garten Mother's Lullaby brings peace and no memory, but a hope that one day I can share it with my children.
8. Whom do you secretly envy? Why? I don't think I really envy anyone right now. I'm very happy to be where I am, and I think I'm bloody fantastic.
9. What do you really want?  Family. Not like parents or siblings or aunts and uncles, just people who can be my family.
10. What is the way you often sabotage yourself? I take tangents rather than sticking with something. Then again, I stick to something and can't put it down when something else needs doing. I'm all sorts of self sabotage. I'm a walking contradiction.
11. Who would you like to please the most? Myself.
12. What do you think a stranger’s first impression of you would be? 'Well she's awful quiet. Is she dull?'
13. What would you try now if you were sure you wouldn’t fail? Falling in love. I have yet to let that happen. There's too much risk in admitting to it, and the last thing I need is a broken heart. Muddles the head.
14. What was that thing you never tried because you were afraid of failure? Falling in love. I'm telling you, I have a dreadful fear of it. When I commit, it's a big deal. I read somewhere once that INTJs take commitment very seriously and try the hardest of any type to make it work. This about sums me up. I'm not going to throw myself at anybody unless I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I can make it happen. Hence I have never had a relationship because I'm just too danged scared.
15. What was your greatest disappointment in life? No regrets. That's my motto.
16. As a kid, what did you dream of becoming when you grew up? At five I wanted to be a cashier and strike at buttons on a register. At twelve I wanted to be a veterinarian. At fourteen I wanted to be a zoologist. In high school I wanted to go into linguistics or archaeology. In college I started out toying with archaeology and art, but ended with theatre. Now I don't know what I want to be, but I want it to be history related.
17. What are you really good at? Anything I want to be really good at.
18. What can you do better? Better than what? A penguin? I can walk better than a penguin can. I certainly sing better than a penguin sings.
19. What worries you the most when you think about your future? That I will die utterly alone and without having made an impact. Stupid really, as most people will say that, but isn't legacy what we all crave in the end?
20. What really sucks in your life? Who has the power to change it? My financial situation could always be better, but I don't know that it can really be helped.
21. What is your life really about? What is your purpose in life? My life is about getting by. My purpose is to be satisfied with myself and to be a better Christian.  
22. What are you grateful for? I'm grateful for the people in my life right now. I've undergone a complete social shift, and I feel that I finally am who I've always been. I can finally say I'm wholly honest, because I'm not putting on some facade to impress some comic book nerds or valley girls. What you see is what you get.
23. What time of the day do you feel the most energetic? And what do you usually do in those moments? Lately it's been when I've been getting ready to walk out the door at the beginning of the day. I feel so energetic that I have to run around the house a couple of times.
24. If you knew you had only one week to live, how and with whom would you spend it? I would probably spend it alone. I'd go away somewhere I've always wanted to go, see what I want to see, meditate, and find peace with death. 
25. Why do you think your most favorite film touches you so deeply? Ever After? Well, it's historical fiction based in 15th (16th maybe) century France, it has fantastic costumes, and it's about an intelligent girl who can't expect much but in the end gains everything because of her wit.
26. If you could be a fictional character from a movie or a novel, who would you want to be? Why? I would like to be Jane Eyre. She's just... everything I want to be. Gaw, it's a late night, and I can feel myself melting into a romantic sop. I hate this part of the day.
27. What are you really bad at? Paying attention. When you have to talk aloud to yourself to think on one thing while your brain is stuck on another completely different topic, that's when you know your thoughts are too much. When you aren't allowed to think aloud then, you're easily distracted in trying to multitask thoughts.
28. Who would you like to forgive and forget? Myself.
29. Do you often hear your inner voice? What does it usually tell you? This is preposterous. Yes, I do, and we carry on some lovely conversations about a great many things. It tells me mostly that I'm awesome and that I don't need to worry like I do.
30. When was the last time you cried without anyone seeing you? And why? July I think. I'd had to talk to my boss about a secret shopper review that was not the greatest, and it hurt my pride. I felt like a failure. It was the second in two months, and I've been trying to be more pleasant with customers, but when I don't care about you I just can't fake it. I don't take to failure too well.
31. What do you want people you meet for the first time to think about you? I'd hope they think that I'm intelligent, however this is doubtful since I'm very socially awkward, so I probably come across as very slow in the head. 
32. If you had the opportunity to go back in time and make a change, would you still want to have the same parents? Honestly no. I love my parents, but I've lost respect for them. They are no longer the omniscient beings I took them to be when I was five. I'm curious to see how I would get on with smarter parents.
33. If you could go back in time and change things, how would you alter the last ten years? I wouldn't.
34. If you could get rid of one of your responsibilities today, what would that be? Paying bills.
35. What is the biggest lie you tell yourself? I'm worthless.
36. What do you think is missing in your life? Love. I feel valued, but I don't feel love. I think that may be because I don't love myself. I don't love anything except maybe my dogs. I value myself highly, but I don't know that I really love myself. Love is just too... human.
37. What do you think is the biggest injustice that was ever done to you? I feel that I've been jilted out of the education I deserved.
38. What type of person angers you the most? The type who asks questions and doesn't accept the answer. And those people who take pride in their ignorance.
39. Who never fails to make you feel good about yourself? My friends.
40. If you could start all over again, what would you want to study? I am starting all over with history. I should never have given it up.
41. Which type of intelligence do you wish you had: kinetic, visual, interpersonal, linguistic or mathematical? Linguistic
42. What is your biggest pet peeve? Inability to use acceptable grammar. I'm not even talking about perfect grammar, I just want to hear something that at least sounds as though it's correct.
43. What was the one opportunity you always believed you’ve missed out on? I don't feel like I've missed out on anything. I see what people are doing, and I look back on what my peers were doing, and I think I'm happy with the way I've conducted my life.
44. What do you like about yourself the most? My passion. I'm very passionate about a great many things. 
45. What do you regret the most? My passion. I'm very passionate about a great many things... 
46. What would you like most to be acknowledged for in your life? The fact that I made it through and found what I wanted. I feel close, but I don't quite understand the route yet.
47. What is the first thought that usually crosses your mind the second you open your eyes in the morning? If I'm washing my hair today, I better get up... OR I washed my hair yesterday, so I'm good for another day which means I can sleep for another fifteen minutes.
48. What is that thing about yourself you’re sick and tired of? My hair. No doubt about it. I hate my hair.
49. Who really depends on you? Why? Tonks. My dog. No surprise, as domesticated animals are hardly independent. 
50. What was the most frustrating period in your creative life? I would have to say that it's now. At least artistically speaking, I have no muse and have lived without one for many years. Nothing inspires me to draw anymore, and I feel as though I'm not progressing artistically because she's up and left me. I want to progress so bad, but I just... can't.
51. Do you love yourself? I sort of answered this already, but I suppose I do. I just don't know what love is to be absolutely sure.

Fifty one questions I found that are supposed to challenge me and make me open up to myself. Well. Isn't that interesting. As it turns out, I'm already completely honest with myself and fairly happy. Huh.

It's one o'clock and I'm hungry. Blast.

On The Pearl and Cain

I'm trying to dive into The Pearl of Great Price, something I've been avoiding for quite a long time as it's a bit of a make or breaker for me testimonially speaking. I once tried out an Institute class on the book and upon some research of my own in regards to its origins, I decided that I was simply not strong enough to handle that little firecracker just yet. Am I strong enough now? No, probably not, but my approach this time is a bit different.

First of all, the book is apparently drawn from ancient texts found with mummified remains bought by Joseph Smith. He then proceeded to translate them into what would become part of the text. There is much controversy concerning the Book of Abraham in particular, because the facsimiles are now known to be from the Egyptian Book of the Dead. This is just the sort of thing that I would take to be solid evidence against the Church, and a couple of years ago I struggled to find a reason to believe in a religion that was scripturally based on lies. Since then I've taken to heart the words found in Moroni 10:8:

And again, I exhort you, my brethren, that ye deny not the gifts of God, for they are many; and they come from the same God. And there are different ways that these gifts are administered; but it is the same God who worketh all in all; and they are given by the manifestations of the Spirit of God unto men, to profit them.

Yes, it doesn't help me much considering that this little bit comes from a book also contested to be false, but what it does suggest is that it really doesn't matter. Whatever the source of a scripture is, it is still meant to profit men. Whatever we can gain from morally is good. All good things are of God. So what does it matter to me that The Pearl of Great Price is originally a lie made by a possible con man trying to start a cult? Considering what these scriptures teach, they are good and of God. This is the approach I've adopted in studying any religious text, and I'm ready to take on a previously daunting (size means nothing, as we've learned from Napoleon) task.

Tonight I'm reading Moses 5, which basically runs through the story of Cain and Abel. Cain gets some major slack in Christian lore, and I don't want to undermine that in the least. Cain worships Satan. Cain hates Abel. Cain kills Abel. Cain gets in trouble with God. Cain STILL worships Satan. Okay, really? If God were talking to you in such a straight forward manner, wouldn't you not have done the things to get you in trouble with Him? But hold on a minute, do we really expect that kind of intimate communication between God and Man at that time?

It seems to me that we sort of expect more from scripture than we should. It's why we have such a hard time believing now. 'If God talked to men then, why doesn't He now?' What makes you think he doesn't now, or that He didn't talk to them the way He talks to us today? When you feel that God is telling you something, isn't He then talking, if not literally?

Let's assume then that Cain wasn't talking to God directly, face to face. He wasn't talking to Satan face to face either. Both he and Abel had nothing to go on save for their own intuition and the things their parents had told them about God and Satan. They were the first to have to show faith rather than perfect knowledge, making them all the more subject to falling away from God. In those early days I would think that the problem facing the children of Adam was apathy towards God, not so much sin, since sin wasn't quite invented yet.

In this go around with Cain and Abel, I was struck most with the sacrifices the brothers make to God. Bearing in mind that they were both in touch with God and Satan no differently than we are, I don't know that it's completely fair to say that Cain made his sacrifice because Satan told him to. At least, not knowingly. Isn't it the way of Satan to tempt us in stealth? After my own sort of revelation in writing on the subject of sin some time ago, I should know that sin isn't always so straight forward and blatantly obvious.

Perhaps, then, Cain did love God. Perhaps he loved God more than he thought he loved Satan. That is, after all, a harsh accusation to make. I can imagine that Cain was a good kid who did what his parents asked and worked hard in the fields. He wasn't some shady figure with fingers tapping against each other and a grimacing smile twisting across his face. Not at all. Cain's problem was his spiritual apathy.

No Man's Land is where we find ourselves on the spiritual plane when we entertain apathy. We're easy targets for either side. Being caught in the crossfire, it's hard to tell where the bullets are coming or going. We don't want to be shot, but a bullet is still a bullet, and once shot, there's really no telling what side is responsible for our wounds. You have a better chance of being killed running around out there than safely situated on either side, making apathy more dangerous even than being on the side of Satan. This is where Cain could become a sympathetic character. We all suffer apathy from time to time. Being a cautionary tale, however, we shouldn't feel sympathy at all for his plight.

Cain makes a sacrifice to God after being told to by Satan whom, I believe, is imitating the Holy Spirit. Don't we sometimes feel the need to make sacrifices to God? Only sometimes, and never consistently. Faith isn't something that can grow and strengthen after a sudden burst of spiritual energy. It's a muscle that needs to be worked. This was Cain's mistake, and this is what God called him out for. Of course, in Godly fashion, it was done out of love. A gentle, chiding wake up call to prompt Cain into a more active faith. Cain doesn't deserve sympathy then because he chose to do otherwise.

I must reiterate here though that Cain can't have caught on to God's prompting. I imagine that Abel was granted blessings for his faithfulness expressed in his sacrifice. His consistency would be commendable. Cain must have been hurting and in need of some blessings. Perhaps he prayed and felt that the answer was to make a sacrifice. One sacrifice. His burst of spiritual energy, hoping to lose a few pounds off his apathy gut in one fell blow. But we know it doesn't work like that. It's not fun giving up what you think is alot, only to reap nothing, while your brother gives and gives and gains everything. I think that the murder in question came about because Cain was at his wits end in desperation by the time he thought to make a sacrifice, and when it didn't work he cracked. The story is all the more tragic and frighteningly close to home in this light.

We may be good at dodging bullets, and perhaps we haven't had to dodge them at all, but all it takes is one to take us down. Best it be a shot of faith and not malice (an imperfect analogy, I know), but unless we work to get out of Apathetic Man's Land then we are essentially up for grabs. This is a lesson to be learned from Cain and Abel. We can only survive so long before we either see the truth or give in to darkness without really knowing it. I don't think Cain was in his right mind in the end. He probably just struck Abel with a shovel in the middle of an argument.

Thinking this over in the few minutes it took to read chapter 5 of Moses, it makes the story all the more potent for me. Cain wasn't evil. None of us really are. Cain wasn't even really bad or vindictive, I think. He was simply aloof. The moral? Get your act together.

On Bad Christmas Songs

Last Christmas I gave you my heart. The very next day you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special.

What is wrong with this picture? Maybe it's just me thinking too much on the trivial things that don't deserve such thorough contemplation, but I don't get it. I don't get several things. This merits an eye roll from my audience; especially if they know me personally because they'll understand. I really need to stop overthinking things.

Back to the song. It is the questionable Christmas song of the year, and I always have one. Last year I think it was 'Mary, Did You Know?' I question the lyrics ad nauseam to anyone who will listen, and this course of action often results in quiet mutterings to myself since I know I'll never tire of listening to myself question things. What is wrong with 'Mary, Did You Know?' For one thing, why are you questioning her about events that she would have had no way of preconceiving? She's not Cassandra. Of course she doesn't know. I'm certain, however, that she knew her unborn rug rat was pretty gifted since she was told by God that this kid was the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. And she was a virgin. Anyone with child who has never engaged in intercourse is going to have one special tot. If not in a godly way, they would at least be special in a handicapped way considering they'd be missing a chromosome or two. So what is the point of the song? Why do you keep singing in questions that will never be answered anyway because Mary died about two thousand years ago? This song is officially on my top ten worst Christmas songs list.

This year we are plagued by 'Last Christmas'. This song comes in a wide variety of recordings and is played on the Sirius Holly station at least once an hour, as though it's the only Christmas song aside from the trash produced by Mariah Carey. At the very least I have not had to endure 'A Wonderful Christmastime' by Paul McCartney at all so far this season. That is the Number One Worst Song of probably all eternity. Forget Christmas. I wail like a bleeding banshee when I have to hear it. I don't think any other song can do that.

The problem with the song 'Last Christmas' is the plain stupidity of the notion of making the same mistake twice. So you're going to give your heart to someone special this year, that's great. That sounds pretty foolproof to me. Wait... no. No it doesn't. Because no emotionally healthy person is going to just give their heart to anyone anyway, so the person who got it last year and gave it away was someone special and deserving at that time... right? Right. Logically then, that emotionally healthy person would have learned better than to give their heart out like Halloween candy again the next year because, well, that's a mistake you learn from. Let's pretend that giving your heart away is as comparably momentous to giving away virginity. Most people take it seriously, and I think that if it were returnable, most people would not be so hasty to give it away again so soon. Especially if they gave it up on Christmas and were dumped the day after. So what the Dickens is this song doing in existence? Why are you making the same stupid mistake again? What sort of emotion should be boiling in my being as I listen to this song? Do you want sympathy from me, because I can't give sympathy to idiots who are asking for disappointment.

As a final note, if there was a song called 'Meg, Did You Know?' and one of the questions was "Did you know that one day there'd be a sequel to the dogs barking Jingle Bells and that it'd be Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer meowed by cats in autotune?" I would answer "Yes, I did know that." Because there will be. It will be the biggest Christmas hit of 2012, signalling the definite end of the world.

On Drama

I have never had to suffer at the hands of a high school drama queen. Though it was long ago, I remember that high school was relatively easy going. I had drama free people with which to spend the lunch hour, and during summer I didn't even have to deal with them.

Wait a minute, that's a lie. My dear friend Richard and I call it the 'incident', and at the time it was major crisis. It took about two weeks before reconciliation could be met, and met it was by sighs of relief.

Richard sat right behind me in French class. We kept to the back of the room with our friend Jessica so we could talk and play card games rather than pay attention. We figured we were too smart, since we used French in daily conversation anyway. This behavior wasn't discouraged either, as I remember distinctly one day being caught by the teacher with my book open during a test. She asked me why it was open and walked away. I got an A in the test despite my cheating. For the record: I only cheat when it's too easy and/or I have no respect for a teacher who shows no indication of intelligent thought.

This 'incident' came about early on in the school year. Richard had taken to snapping my bra for giggles, which annoyed me to no end. I would tell him to stop, but he persisted, laughing like a bleeding hyena. he had a habit of goofing off. I would look behind me in class, only to see him smiling at me like a madman, his face turning red as he held his breath, his knuckles going white as he clutched at the edges of his desk. He would start shaking until he couldn't hold it in anymore and the giggles would seize him. He's still the same way.

My bra came undone under my shirt during a lecture to which I was actually paying attention. The little blighter had taken it too far, and I wasn't amused. I chided him in a whisper as he apologized. I couldn't very well fix the dang thing in class, so I sat quietly until afterwards when I got mad at him. It wasn't much of a deal after I let it be known that I was upset. The drama came later when I told my parents in passing conversation. They were livid. They were not pleased that I'd taken to the company of a boy claiming to be gay, and this was a golden opportunity. They called the school, Richard was assigned to after school service, and I was never to talk to him again. We played telephone through Jessica, who was growing weary of it very quickly, and she orchestrated our renewed friendship. We've been best friends ever since.

See, nothing should ever really be a big deal. Nothing is worth enough to be considered damnable because most every crime against each other is either a misunderstanding or completely remediable. Most feuds between people can be fixed with a bit of reflection and forgiveness. If I'm ever upset, I let the other party know, and then I carry on like normal. I don't need a big apology, just something sincere. Since sometimes sincere apologies have to be waited for, I like to carry on as normal with a friendship. Doing this helps me; I know we're still friends and that we'll overcome the obstacle. I guess this just doesn't work for everyone. Some people just need to hold on to whatever it is that is making their lives miserable.

Drama is born out of this unwillingness to let go. I don't get it, personally. I don't understand why people are so willing to stay angry at each other. No, we can't help trespasses. We aren't perfect. But if we're all so imperfect and making mistakes all the time, what justification is there to stay cross when we fall victim to those mistakes that we could very well make ourselves? It's selfish and counterproductive to hold a grudge. Secondly, why are people paranoid that others are out to get them all the time?

I'm suffering this high school drama now, and it's been longer than two weeks. I could really care less about this problem I'm facing, and I don't even think about it as often as I do other things. Really, this is at the bottom of my list. A fly buzzing around my head while I watch my house burn down. She thinks I'm out to get her, but why would I be out to get her? What benefit would I find in her demise?

I just don't get it. Things can go over any way she wants to try them, but my tactic is to continue this state of apathy until it blows over. However, one can only tolerate a fly for so long, and my patience is wearing thin. I need a miracle.

On the Irish and Slowing Down

I will keep this as short and sweet as possible.

ITEM ONE

The Irish aren't good at a great many things. Speaking intelligible English. Saying anything worthwhile, for that matter. Sobriety. Humility. Not gossiping or getting into fights. Ethical business practices. Heck, ANY business practices *cougheconomycough*. Plus they've produced some real blackguards like Bono and Colin Farrell.

What can we credit them for? Guinness. Corned beef and cabbage. The Book of Kells. Fantastic music (I don't mean U2). CS Lewis. The best traditional artwork of any peoples on the planet. Kenneth Branagh. That about does it.

ITEM TWO

People need to slow down. I was walking home from the market (three miles away, and a good long while to ponder), listening to The Cranberries (a credit to Ireland), and thinking about how people driving must not see anything except for where they were going. This isn't bad, I suppose, as we wouldn't want them to get into accidents, but do people ever just sort of take it slow and enjoy life? Why are we so caught up in this idea that we must be on the move all the time?

Discounting the myriad of possible answers for a moment, I just want to suggest that it is the rampant disbelief in God that compels us to pace our lives in such a way. We create meaning for ourselves. That's existentialism. Oh no, you might say, let's not open up this Costco bulk size can of beans. I won't. Or rather I will, but I'll just open the Albertson's size can of ATHEIST existentialism.

So here we go, creating meaning in a world that is essentially meaningless. We drive our cars to work, we make phone calls, appointments, drive home, pat the little ones on the head, and REM cycle our way back to the beginning. It takes a whole twenty four hours to do this, and not a moment is spared for anything except what our nature demands. The catch? None of this still matters, even though you want it to. It's your meaning, your calling. We're too afraid to not have meaning because all there is to do outside of busy work is walking down that hill after the boulder and contemplating our own mortality.

Camus lied. The truth is that there is plenty to ponder, and there is plenty of meaning to be had without doing anything. We eat, we breathe, we think. Being busy may give us meaning, and maybe it is scary to have nothing but death otherwise, but even if you don't believe in a deity or some ulterior intelligence, we still have this planet. We have animals and plants that don't need to be understood with a microscope to be fully appreciated. We have ingenious innovations using terrestrial components to convey and engage us extraterrestrially (I'm using the literal Latin meaning here, mmkay?). Just stop for a minute and see. You might just realize that life doesn't actually need to have complexities in it to give it meaning. Maybe it's enough just to be.

But it's not, of course. Because we do think, there MUST be something. A reason. You can go on living by the fundamentals set down in existentialist thought and rely on yourself. Thinking selfishly is how we survive. It's moving too fast that renders our delusions completely redundant. Atheists: if none of it matters, why not slow it down and bask in your own cleverness? Theists (more specifically Christians): If God is in control and you trust entirely in Him, why rush things? Where is it going to get you? Yes we are mortal, but we are living longer. We have plenty of time. Don't you see that this speed high we're on is why we're spiralling backwards from Enlightenment? We celebrate the carnal nature of Man because there is no God (or there is, we've just forgotten), and nothing matters. Yet we live life as though it matters too much. Am I making any sense whatsoever?

There's too much to say, and I have no skill in organizing my thoughts, I know. You didn't read this anyway.

On Mom Caves

Kim Cook seems eager to share with the world this new trend of women seizing control over space in the home for what is being called a 'Mom cave'. What a crock.

I came across this article in the Deseret News today while munching on my break. It comes as no surprise to me that the Deseret would want to share this story. The paper is full of fluffy feel good Mormonesque stories that really have nothing to do with real life. It's all fodder to facilitate the bubble in this state, and this article isn't even the worst of the day. That honor goes to the story on some study conducted at BYU that suggests that slapping an R rating on a film will guarantee decreased income. They didn't bother to mention the logistics of the study, giving me cause to believe it was all conducted within Utah county lines. Of course you aren't going to generate revenue from an R rated movie in Provo. Duh.

Back to the 'Mom cave'. It was enough to draw an eye roll from yours truly, of course. I know it's a stupid fluff piece, but really? Can I just sit and stew for a moment on this? Why do women keep trying to claim that they have nothing for themselves? All we seem to do is take and take, hence our society is spiralling out of control economically because of frivolous spending on nonessential consumer goods. It's all at the fault of females! A woman's place is in the home. You have a kitchen, you have a sitting room; you are in control of the decor and daily business of the household, ladies. That is your job. That IS your space. Appreciate it for what it is and get over yourselves. If you need time away from your children, you have a bedroom to retreat to. Is that not enough? Now you need to retreat from your closest ally?

I see this (apparent) trend as further removal from the natural order. Thank you feminism. Villainizing the children and husbands and demanding individual freedoms. It's a sickness that is destroying unity within the home and is contagious especially among the very young. I don't know if this species is evolving into an isolationist social structure (I'm one to talk, you might say, but bear with me.) or simply expecting too much, but individuality is not the key to a happy community. I'm not saying we should trample people down and treat them less than human. Personally I follow the idea that the worth of souls is great in the sight of God, but I realize that this isn't a philosophy that can comply with every worldview. If not God, then why can't we just appreciate each other as the individuals we are and sacrifice ourselves to each other because society is the greater good? Give credit where credit is due and demand nothing, because the Golden Rule works. Perhaps if we all just respected each other more and gave each other some space, we wouldn't need to resort to staking claims and border bickers within the home because this is Katrina's room, that's Dad's office, stay out of Mom's cave. If one person starts in a family, the others will catch on, and we won't need to nest sanctuaries within the one place that should already be a sanctuary.

Furthermore, the fact that this article ran in a newspaper that is targeted at a predominately Mormon audience is only stronger evidence in the case against Mormon culture. With a religion emphasizing more than ever that the family is the fundamental foundation to a happy existence, and the home is a spiritual sanctuary from the world, what does this idea of claiming space for the individual say about that sanctuary? I can only imagine some mother in Draper sending her kids off to school and settling down for a quick skim of the paper at lunch. Her eye catches the colorful photograph of cute pillows in the Life section, and she quickly reads the heading. A mom cave? What a perfect way for her to get away and craft for awhile, or read, or... whatever it is moms want to do. A space for her and no one else. An opportunity to extend ownership over something, and what should happen if that be intruded upon by an upset child? That opportunity quickly becomes a door to contention. If contention is of the devil, then you've just opened up this previously established haven to a slew of demons. Couldn't you have crafted at the kitchen table? Read on the living room couch?

What it comes down to is this:

1)Feminism is the point in which humanism becomes less about people and how we relate and more about me, me, me, I, I, I. Mom caves only serve to extend this notion of selfishness among women and this is contrary to gospel principles.

2)Mormons reading this article, trusting that the Deseret News would NEVER lead them astray, are only being fed the half truths of the devil, and this is why mormon culture is quickly corrupting what is already a good thing. Remember that the solace you seek is found in your relationship with God. This idea of personal space is twisted truth; all the space you need is in the home, with your family. We weren't meant to be isolated. We have family units for a reason. If you need personal TIME (a different concept altogether), that is something you need to work with your family. Teach your children to respect time rather than demand it.

And my last point to close: What's this about needing a cave anyway? We're civilized and enlightened human beings, not neanderthals!

On Blogging

Just for the record: I have too many thoughts and tangents to go off of and I have no idea how to organize it all in under five hundred words let along two or five thousand. I've quite a stack of unfinished blog posts building up, and each of them is too loaded a topic to package up with a nice red ribbon. It sufficeth to say it all ends in a criticism of feminism and modern ethics. I'm a proponent of traditional philosophies of days gone by, despite being a product of today's society. However! Being subjected to current trends in philosophy, I'm very much aware of the incongruities of the 'old days', and therefore am unable to fully justify my opinions because you can't apply enlightened thought to a degenerated species insistent on celebrating their own carnal (and very unenlightened) state of being.

This whole world is spinning backwards, and I'm just trying to not spiral down with it. How am I doing? Oh. Well. I try to be optimistic. I'm confident in my survival.

On Sin and Revelation

I haven't been exactly the most active in church lately, preferring to sleep in and play hermit rather than walk the four blocks (in heels) to spend time with people who are... well... people. It's not that I don't like church. Or people. On the contrary I do like church because I think I get something out of it. I don't feel uplifted spiritually, but the contemplative state in which I find myself is refreshing. As for people? Oh, they're rather necessary to the experience, I think. Otherwise I'd just be sitting home alone contemplating the same thing, just without input.

Last Sunday I did happen to go. Relief Society comes first on the menu rather than Sacrament Meeting, and the lesson was on sin and repentance. Fairly basic doctrine to cover, right? I've heard it before, I'll hear it again, and I probably will never think anything o-hold on a tick.

I don't think I believe in sin.

I don't think I believe in sin?

Oh, sure, there's a right and a wrong. I believe in those. But when the girl leading the lesson asks us 'What is sin?' I was struck with the idea that I wasn't certain. For the majority of my youth, it was easy enough to define; doing drugs, engaging in premarital intercourse, theft, and various other temporal damnations. Having moved past that phase of life and not involving myself in anything particularly devilish aside from perhaps disobeying my parents, I'm beginning to wonder when the sin kicks in. I'm not trying to suggest that I'm perfect. I'm not perfect, though I fail to see what it is I do on a daily basis that could be considered a sin.

I believe that my imperfections are not so much a hindrance to my eternal salvation. They aren't weaknesses that Satan can really employ in temptation. Rather, they are what make me less than a god. They're apart of my given nature. While I realize that the devil does exploit them (according to belief), where does he exploit mine, and when do my shortcomings diverge from a state of mere inclination to a state of sin? When I get angry, is the fact that I'm angry the sin? Or rather is it only a sin to act upon that anger?

Sin, from what I understand, is action. There can be no sin unless you act. Satan, being banished from the presence of God, can have no access to our souls. Even if we sin, we have repentance to remedy the eternal consequences. The only power Satan has is over this temporal state, and that, I've already established, is where I don't have problems. I do get angry, but I rarely act upon it, unless making a snide remark counts against me. I don't see how it could in a macrocosmic way. So should I worry? Am I a sinner? Is this enough to damn me eternally?

No matter how much I thought it over in Relief Society, I could not come up with anything that I do on a daily basis that could be considered a sin. I get distracted at work, but that's not hard to do, and I can't really help it. I prefer some people over others, but those I'm not fond of aren't bad people nor do I wish them ill, so that can't be a sin. Otherwise I clock in on time, I follow protocol like a champ, and I avoid confrontation. So if there's no sin, then it doesn't exist, right?

Wrong. As it was pointed out to me, sin does exist in other people. There are still people who kill, lie, cheat, etc. Those are undoubtedly sins. So I suppose the question for me isn't so much 'What is sin?' as it is 'How do I sin?' I must sin in some way, if not in doing something then in not doing something. I think this is what it comes down to with me, and this is a question I think I can answer.

My problem isn't so much following the commandments, it's believing that following them means something. I haven't attended the temple since I was in high school, although I could, and I rarely ever take the sacrament, although I should. While I can't find any reason to not do these things, I don't feel worthy of either. We're taught that we need to be spiritually prepared to enter the temple or take the sacrament. Am I? Can I do these things without a perfect faith in Christ or even God? There is no doubt in my mind that we were created by a higher being(s), and I know, at least, that Jesus Christ lived. So what is it? What is this sin that nags at me and is the reason for my denial of necessary ritual? Is it my doubts in religion itself? This can't be it, because sin has already been established to be an action, not an inclination.

I think, in the process of writing this blog, I have found the answer. It is not withdrawing from God because my sins are too great and repentance is incomplete. It is withdrawing from God because I believe I am unworthy of His Grace because of my own lack of faith.

Alma 32:21 comes to mind (emphasis added): "And now as I said concerning faith-faith is NOT to have a PERFECT knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye HOPE for things which are not seen, which are true." My knowledge is far from perfect, but I rely on it too much. My sin is in acting upon this idea that perfect knowledge, rather than the hope I have, is what I need to be worthy. Therefor I deny myself the blessings of temple attendance and the renewal of baptismal covenants, which stifles my faith, and creates a hindrance upon my eternal salvation. Furthermore, Moroni 7:17 says that whatever thing persuades us to NOT serve God is of the devil, thereby qualifying my inactivity as a sin.

This is a pretty fantastic revelation. Having now had it, I think I'll work on repenting. There's only one thing I don't understand. Why is this my greatest temptation rather than something normal like lying?

Ramble Bramble

Here I find myself in a pickle.

I often wonder what it is I'm doing. Yes, I realize that questioning one's existence is rather commonplace, but I think... I'm not sure of what I'm still doing here, if you get my meaning. Having graduated, I have exactly what I came for and I just don't see any point of continuing. I could go to law school. I could get a masters in something else. I could get that ever desired PhD and teach for the rest of my life, but the point is: I'm done. It's terrifying to think about, but without school I am absolutely nothing.

Near the end of high school I was caught up in a crisis such as the one I face now. I hadn't applied to any schools my senior year, I hadn't taken all of the AP classes I'd wanted to. I didn't have the right science credits. I hadn't taken any of the tests I was told to. All I was riding on was the prospects of community college as a buffer until I got a university figured out. As for uni, well, that turned out to be just as lackluster and conveniently last minute. You see I can't plan. Anything. Either it is feasibly easy for me to achieve or I don't bother. I don't reach above and beyond because above and beyond has too high a risk factor for failure and I am not a failure. Preach all you like that not trying is in and of itself a failure, but I'm not convinced. It's a safety net. Accepting the possibility of failure is illogical. It's often also a waste of money. Money that I don't really have to spend.

I would cry myself to sleep during those last few months. What was to become of me after graduation? Would I ever be a real college student? How would I pay for school? What if I never got married (Mormon expectations be damned)? What if I couldn't decide on a major? These are all questions that still haunt me, even after I've chosen a major, been a student, and paid for school. School isn't going to end, and yet it could. This could very well be the end, and I could be forced out into the world as a working adult. I don't want it yet. I don't want to end up working 40 hours a week in some drab office with no prospects of ever doing anything. I'm too important for that.

Which sounds pompous. Yes, I admit that I can be quite a bit self righteous, but do you have any idea how important my thoughts are? I could make a huge difference in this world, but my education is not complete! I realize this is all very disjointed and I'm talking crazy and very candidly, but I think this is what they call a brain fart. Which is disgusting, by the way. Anyway, this is where it all stands. Right up at the precipice again, just like it did almost seven years ago in the twilight of May 2004. I can go on and continue my education, but this too will pass and I will have to face reality and be just. Like. Everyone. Else. Or... I could die.

Now I don't consider myself to be suicidal. I was suicidal in middle school. Nobody seemed to understand that there were more important things to life than anime and drugs and sex. I wasn't on par with the South Park craze or dressing like they did on Dawson's Creek, and when all you want is acceptance by your peers, not having that is just like the end of the world. If these people don't accept you, there is no point in living. Ten years later, I can't say I actually care about being accepted. I've come to realize that while people may not accept me, it doesn't mean I'm any less of an awesome person. If anything, not having a social life has opened up doors to learning that I wouldn't get otherwise had I been more attentive to college parties and debauchery. Knowledge is power, and when these animals are no longer capable of taking care of themselves, it'll be up to me to come in and fix things. That's how it always works. But they don't deserve it. I don't know if I want to help them. Is it worth it to me? Because I'm still going to be alone. Is that really the problem?

No, it's not the problem. The problem is... semesters off kill me. I'm bored. I have nothing to do. I might as well commit suicide if anything to not be bored. Oh, and the prospects of life post post grad are grim. I don't. Want. A desk job. I want to... educate. I want to... pass down this expanse of knowledge in my brain so I don't have to carry it anymore. So someone else can carry it so it doesn't die. That's it. I have to teach. Or rule a small country. There can be no other option.

Thanks for letting me ramble at you. For the record, I'm not going to kill myself. Today at least.

On Prayer

There is a point we all come to in life where we must question our loyalties and where they lie. Are you with God, or are you against him? It seems that no matter how hard I try to stay true to one side or the other, I can't manage to maintain any sort of status. Perhaps this is a good thing. It can be argued that constant self reevaluation is a good thing, but in so far as spirituality is concerned, this sort of reflection isn't the goal. The idea of self reevaluation is encompassed within a set gospel of your choosing. Mormons either are or aren't, and because we have living prophets, there is no questioning anything. Yet we're told to. We have to gain a witness for ourselves. What if we gain witness that what they say is wrong? Is it a minor issue? I don't doubt that these men are men inspired by God. It's the stretch of that inspiration that I question. Can they claim to actually talk to God, or are they merely inspired by the IDEA of God?


To answer this I'm required to reflect on my own experiences of inspiration. To mind, I cannot say I've received any definite epiphanies in result of prayer or fasting. Does this mean God doesn't listen or answer? I'm not sure. While answers don't stand out to me as definite, I can't say I haven't received anything. After fervent prayers I have felt a peace at heart. As events unfold, I find that they unfold in the best way possible. They may not always carry through the way I would have had them, but I feel that up to this point in my life everything that has transpired in this short span has been for my benefit. There have been ups and downs. I've been chronically depressed and suicidal. I've been utterly alone and yet happier than ever before. I don't know if these are the answers they talk about, because I don't see the hand of God there.

Prayer in itself is a meditative state wherein I may very well find the answers for myself. Perhaps this is true, even within the bounds of Mormon doctrine. Richard G. Scott said in May 2007 (emphasis added), "Often when we pray... Heavenly Father will give us gentle promptings that require us to THINK, exercise FAITH, WORK, at times STRUGGLE, then ACT. It is a step-by-step process that enables us to discern inspired answers." This suggests to me that prayer is more active than passive on our part. We shouldn't expect to get all the answers directly whether now or later. We should be actively living and working for an answer. He later says in the same talk, "You are asked to look for an answer to your prayers. Obey the Master's council to 'study it out in your mind.' Often you will think of a solution; as you seek confirmation that your answer is right, help will come. It may be through your prayers, or as an impression of the Holy Ghost, and at times by the intervention of others."

I once had an atheist tell me that the problem with Christians was their inability to take credit for themselves. In trying too hard to look selfless, we give the credit to a deity whom we've created in our own image, which is in and of itself selfish. Contrarily, Christians believe just the opposite. Give all credit to God, because it is only through Him that things come to pass. I can't say I disagree with either. I will be first to admit that I have my best interests in mind. I make my own choices and live my own life. There is no external force to do this for me. However, the choices I make are not made entirely because I will them. God does have a hand, or rather; He DID have a hand in how decisions are made.

I believe in a creator. I believe we were fashioned in that creator's image. Why not in any other image? Because this creator identifies best with itself and knows that there are certain biological elements best suited for a creature of this magnitude of intellect. We do the same when we create alien races for sci-fi programs. The more human the race, the more we can relate and understand them. These species are then perceived with genetic traits that play into the way their general psyche works. When I ask you what a Vulcan would do in a situation, you could give a fairly educated guess based on what you know about them. But Vulcans aren't human, so how would you know what they would do?

Getting back to prayer. God created us and set the world spinning. We pray for inspiration to do what it is we need to do. The answers have already been set into place within ourselves. Prayer is only the beginning to our answers. It is the act of coming to that God for help. We look inward because we are taught that it is our heart that will guide us, for therein lies the Holy Spirit. We meditate. The next step is outlined by Brother Scott. We think through the issues at hand, we exercise the faith to carry on and trust that the answer will present itself, we work and struggle until it is found, and then we act on that answer. God doesn't actively present the answers, but He did give us the power to find the answers. If He knows all, then He has always known that we would come to these moments, so He created us to find the answers for ourselves. He deserves all credit after all.

So let's say that I've prayed and come to my conclusions. What am I to do when these conclusions counter what it is those living prophets tell me? If all I can trust in this world is that God exists and has some sort of plan, can I fully trust these men? When they tell me to find witness to the truths they preach and I don't find that witness, do I keep meditating until I come to their conclusions, or do I trust this instinctual truth that I believe is the answer God meant for me? The root of my problems, I think, is the simple fact that I can't easily trust people. For if I'm as vindictive and cruel as I know I am internally, yet able to call myself a genuine and honest person then the rest of THEM are just as hypocritical and unworthy of my trust. The truth is that people terrify me.

On Eric

I'm thinking of a day some years ago. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, carrying on with a project, when she was approached by my brother with a concern. He held up his new lunch bag, soft and cushioned with plastic. Inside was a tag with an exclamation that bothered him.

I'm insulated!

Holding up the tag for her to read, Eric's face held a most somber expression. Mom read the tag and looked up at him, asking what the trouble was. "TJ planted this in my lunch bag," he retorted bitterly. After a moment, Mom caught his drift and smiled. The poor boy thought he was being INSULTED.

I miss my youngest brother and what he once was. Why must they grow up into people like the person he is becoming?

On Being a Conundrum

How many times do I have to apologize for only writing about fashion? Here we go again down that very familiar road, though so far it's only been me on this route. When you're a costume designer, this is what you think about. To call myself a costume designer, for the record, is beginning to sound stranger and stranger everyday.


This post may be twofold, and in some odd way they are related, much like the running and role play entry I wrote some weeks ago. The first issue at hand is the status of my Halloween costume. Yes, Halloween is juvenile. Yes, it should be left to childhood. Furthermore it should be left to Catholics, as the Day of the Dead and All Hallow's Eve are Catholic holidays and I don't do Catholicism. However I do enjoy dressing up, and since my current place of employment allows and even encourages participation, I feel as though I should include myself in the festivities. The problem is that this year I have really no idea what I want to do. I've been a pirate every year since the dawn of my own free will. I can't help loving piracy. I'm a cold hearted criminal at heart, all I want is to leave you penniless and marooned in the middle of nowhere. Should you find yourself hoodwinked, that's you're own dang fault for setting yourself up!

Anyway, today after work I went with my good ole buddy ole pal to meander through the mall. She was heading for a train, I was looking for ideas for my Halloween costume. I've got this idea of going 1920s, but not flapper. I'm thinking of something more Thoroughly Modern, if you catch my drift. Just a bit of something to catch the attention of a certain Mr. Graydon, eh? (That John Gavin was attractive!) I only need a few things to be 1920s secretary appropriate, and all items could potentially be discovered in some mall boutique. Alas, 'twas not to be. No appropriate cardigans, no perfect blouses. I'm starting to get discouraged. It always seems to be that the essentials are nowhere to be found. My next stop is the DI. I don't know if I'm going to pull this off. I may just don my most excellent fedora (acquired from my father, whose head is too large) or perhaps my acceptable bowler and... call it a holiday. In the very least I did purchase some excellent butterscotch boots with beige and white striped spatting.

The second part of this blog is made up of mostly thoughts on the train immediately following my expedition. What on earth has happened to females? As my comrades may tell you, this seems to be The Question for me, and the answer is not 42. I feel that I am quite a conundrum. I don't think people quite get it, and I certainly don't understand it myself, but I just don't belong here. I certainly shouldn't be associated with females in general. I don't understand why they dress the way they do, or why they've ever dressed the way they do. I think this is key to what makes me a lousy costume designer; I'd much rather dabble in the menswear and design suits than dresses. I don't care for what modern women wear now. The best it's ever been was in the first half of the 20th century. Ready made, feminine, yet tailored and professional enough to compete with suits. Given, this was because it was the suit that they were trying to emulate. There was still a distinction between male and female, but after Jackie O, things fell apart. Maybe it's because the seventies were so atrocious, followed by an even more disgusting period of shoulder pads and pant suits. There was a rebound this past decade, with Mrs. Kennedy as the apparent inspiration. Things were good four to six years ago. Until about 2008 and the rise of the hipster.

These Neo-hippies have brought us right back to what killed off clean cut conservative wear in the 60s. They make things up, draping fabric and notions here and there with no logical reasoning behind any of it. Why do you have a zipper sewn diagonally across your abdomen? Why does said zipper not even function? Is this art? Are you expressing yourself? REALLY?! How is anyone supposed to take you seriously? When are you going to grow up and get a life?

These are questions I mentally ask hipsters. Then I realize that these inquiries apply to me. When AM I going to grow up and get a real job? Never. It's not that I don't want to grow up. On the contrary I feel as though I was born to be old. I was born to be a crusty old scholar. I've already mentally retired in fact. I will never have a real job because all I want to do is study things, and that isn't a paying job. This is why my life isn't fair and nobody seems to get it. As much as I am disgusted by Catholics, I wish I was one. About seven hundred years ago. Living in a monastery amongst the privileged few who were educated. I want to be Hildegard von Bingen. I would even settle for being a guy today and get to wear clothes that make sense and do whatever I please because I wouldn't be restricted by this stupid nagging in the back of my head to be a mother. I could be a happy bachelor with no children and no female roommates to bother me.

The real conundrum? I enjoy being female. I'm a bleeding walking oxymoron, I am.

This blog didn't exactly turn out the way I figured it would, and I would have more to say and some editing to do, but I don't edit. I write it all at once and send it to sea because I know I'm better than the majority, and I can get away with it. Cheers.

On Clownish Suits

Another blog on fashion. A rant, per chance, but a light hearted one despite my tendency to come off otherwise. I am by no means a consistently serious person, though it may be argued that I am. I feel more akin to Beatrice from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. Insulting, blunt, and honest, but all in good fun. If you take me too seriously, it's your own sense of humor that should be examined.

To the matter at hand: I can't claim to be an expert on suits. I don't wear them, nor do I tailor them, but I can admire them. I also can't claim to have a perfect sense of fashion, but I know I have good taste. I'm something of an artist and I'd like to think that I have a good sense of what is aesthetically pleasing. Not only this, but there are just some things that should be common sense, and if you wear any sort of suit or really anything above the casual fashion tier you should be well aware of some of the rules.

First of all is fit. I had a whole slew of bad suits come in to work within a six hour period, and these are the mistakes I want to address. One particularly ill worn suit that came in was obviously what I'd call a returned missionary, or RM. It was a dark navy, from what I recall, or something fairly nondescript from a Mr Mac store and likely bought for that extra dollar. The chap so adorned was obviously too small for said suit. This is what makes it (the suit, not the gent) an RM. This suit looked like it'd been around; apartments, shacks, single family homes, churches, and Heaven knows where else. It had been walked and biked all over tarnation, and the body enveloped in its cheap fabric had, in two years, lost considerable body mass in all that work. This suit, which had fit perfectly two years ago, was now too worn and hung like baggy old skin. Gents: when you get home from your missions I would implore you trade in your old suits for something better fitting. No one will take you or even your God seriously if you can't take your attire seriously.

The next two examples pertain to ankles. The first was a pinstriped gray suit with a cheery butter yellow shirt and tie set. Cute. Not my choice, but cute. In considering this ensemble walking over to the registers, I had to give it a full look over. Aside from the yellow, I rather liked the suit itself. The fit in the shoulders was near perfect, the fabric was well cared for, and the pants were nicely pressed. Which brings the eye down to the cuff and the socks and the shoes. Strike that. Reverse it. Shoes... socks... oh dear. This poor suit, for all its promise was seriously lacking in length. I mean, it's as though the owner took the trousers in to the tailor and said "I have an important client looking at some property in the Everglades this afternoon, can you hem these so I don't get swamp muck on them?" I can understand that it's a bit frustrating to have hems fray and tatter, but that is why there are guidelines to be followed. Men haven't had to wear knickers and hose since the end of the Regency period. Tailors have had nearly two hundred years to figure out the perfect place to set a hem, and it's not above the ankle. You should never EVER be able to see socks. Thank you though for wearing black trouser length.

Unlike your friend from the library. Walking to work I typically meander mentally to some alternate reality unless some interesting fashion ensemble catches my eye. Today it was a lad coming up the stairs in the library. His suit was a gorgeous navy worthy of a monarch. The well pressed shirt was in a deep violet sans cravat. A bit casual, but it framed his face well. There was a hint of seventies leisure in the fit. He had one hand in his pocket, showing off the cut of the jacket very nicely, his head bent over an iPhone. Now the eye comes down to the knee, the cuff (slightly flared and sitting where it should), and his ascending lift to the next step shows just a bit of skin. Skin. No socks. Oh dear deities, the boy isn't wearing any socks?! Okay, so maybe I get a bit crazy and overtly critical of the way people wear their clothes, but really? Do you have any idea just how perfect you look, how dashingly perfect, and your lack of proper socks (of ANY socks) turns all of that image on its head and you are nothing more than a hipster with a suit. You may as well be wearing sandals. Ugh.

Last, but not least, is the waistcoat. Whether alone or incorporated into a three piece, the waistcoat always looks good, right? Well... I'd beg those gangly lads with height to be wary. If you've got a long torso, you definitley want to forgo that courderoy vest all together. Waistcoats shouldn't be so short fitting that you get a bunch of shirt showing between that and your belt. I hope that one guy doesn't read this... He looks good and he knows how to put together some flamboyantly colored sets with some panache, but when he adds a waistcoat it just looks downright bizarre. His choice in footwear doesn't help either, but that's another blog entirely.

That felt nice. I had to get it out. I have several other atrocities I could cite, but it may bore you to tears. I don't even want to revisit that deplorable bus ride to work with the man that could not match colors to save his life. I felt like a cat in water. I would just like to leave you with this piece of advice: unless you're on a yacht, don't ever wear a navy jacket with white(ish) trousers. Boston is not to be trusted on this one. I will magic a straw boater from thin air and stick it on your head. Really. It's like... wearing your old prom dress to a state dinner. That's great that it still fits you. It looks good. It's formal. But it's not appropriate for anything but a prom.

Interlude

A rant, if you will: gratuitous uses of words and phrases should be ended. I'm guilty of it myself, yes, but that's why I try to carry a thesaurus with me. They're very useful in cases where words may be used to redundancy, however the downside remains: you may find yourself being ridiculed for not being able to think up synonyms. For the record, my vocabulary is advanced enough that synonyms aren't simple enough because I'm already using the fancy equivalent.

I have an acquaintance who uses a particular word to a point comparable to listening to nails on a chalkboard. Bonding is a reaction between chemical agents to fuse two opposites together. Glue bonds. Tar bonds. Bonding is also an activity in which you build a repertoire with a dog, in which this dog comes to understand that you are its master and that it must obey you. This is somewhat akin to the bonding you experience in infancy with your mother. It can be used to describe a moment in which you become spiritually intimate with a friend. You don't plan 'bonding' sessions.

This acquaintance of mine doesn't seem to understand this. Everything is a bonding session, which to me sounds like some sort of therapy appointment. Personally I always figure that 'bonding' would describe some sort of reaction shared by two people in the wake of some tragedy, building a friendship out of a sad happenstance. With this female, however, it's any time she has with anyone. Ever. As intimate as it is, it applies to any situation in which she bears her soul and gets the coddling and cosseting she thrives on. I can't describe exactly why it's unnerving to me, the way she uses this word, but I feel as though every time she says we've 'bonded' over some movie or what not she's establishing her dominance over me. This isn't just a bond of friendship, it's a bond of domination. As though I were her dog. I've been conditioned to come when called, to apologize with no apparent fault at hand, to feel guilty for feeling wronged. What kind of bond is this? I didn't ask for it in the first place. I don't actively seek out the companionship of females.

Good riddance to bad rubbish. Bond with some other sap (harhar), because this sap is hardened against you. I don't trust females.

On Alcestis

I can't say I'm terribly familiar with Greek theatre. I've mentioned before my former dedication to the mythology of the Hellenes sometime in my early adolescence. While I've studied much, I've forgotten much (adults are wont to forget a great many things, I'm coming to find) and it shows in my particular lack of knowledge on the subject of Alcestis and her sacrifice in the name of her husband. Most who write about this play concentrate on the title character, as Euripides is famous for strong female roles. I would rather move this in the direction of her husband.

Having graduated, I'm no longer so active in theatre as I was, but I still hold some interest. Hence I go to as much theatre as I can (afford), to hold true to some form of culture. Euripides' staging of Alcestis is currently being produced by my alma mater, and being faithful to the University of Utah Theatre Department, I found myself in attendance. I was not previously (to my memory) acquainted with the myth in question, but with a slight amount of research via Wikipedia I was ready for whatever was thrown at me, no matter how thickly Jacobean the translation may be. (It wasn't, but I always expect it to be for some reason.)

Alcestis is the wife of Admetus, the king of Pherae in Thessaly. Admetus bargains with the Fates to lengthen his lifetime under the condition that he find someone to die in his place when his death knell rings. The terms are simple, surely an aged parent would not be opposed to stepping in? They are near expiration themselves after all, right? Pheres, Admetus' father, will have no part in this foolish scheme. Alcestis, however, loves her husband enough to die for him and does so.

This is not at all the end of the myth, but in my discussion I will be compelled to make interjections. The first problem presented is that of paying up where it is due, or: Don't Tempt Fate. Having grown up in a WASP nest, I really have no clue where to start in trying to understand and identify with ancient Greek theology. Normally one would jump to the conclusion, in trying to relate Christianity to Greek mythology, that Zeus and God co relate. It makes sense. Zeus is the King of the Gods; God is King. Zeus smitteth the same as the Christian God, etc. I want to contest this viewpoint. (I'm starting to formulate an interesting tangent, but now is not the time. Blast writing structure and conforming to main points! That's not how the human mind works! But it's logical, and I can't argue that.) After some consideration, I would beg to argue that it is the Fates who are more like God. Now I can talk about tempting deities.

What Admetus doesn't seem to realize is that the Fates are all knowing. We should know this, as the cliche 'Don't Tempt Fate' seems to suggest, but is it always that obvious to the common man? I don't know that the fact that God, or in this case the Fates, having infinite power is really the force in question here. I would think that if anyone were so foolish as to propose a bargain with a deity they would immediately be struck down dead, if that were the case. In regards to the Fates in particular, considering their jurisdictions, I think that the problem in tempting them is in forgetting that they are Timeless. (This is where Zeus differs from God. There is nothing I'm aware of that claims Zeus as anything beyond time.) I recall a chapter in CS Lewis' 'Mere Christianity' talking about the relationship between God and Time. He suggests that time is a line, and that God is the paper on which that line is drawn. He is there, in every moment, at all times. He knows what will happen because He is living that moment as surely as He is living the day you were born, and as surely as He is living the day Charles I lost his head. The Fates must be the same way. Therein lies the danger of this temptation. The Fates, no matter how drunk they are, still know that Admetus will not find a replacement, and that Alcestis will take his place because they're living in the moment of her death.

Promptly after this tragedy, Heracles arrives at the palace in need of a place to stay. Admetus is renowned for his hospitality, having before shown great courtesy to Apollo. This is in direct violation of a vow he made to Alcestis that he would remain in mourning for the rest of his days and make no merry spectacle. Spectacle is hardly avoidable in the presence of Heracles. Alcestis' death is kept secret from the guest; Admetus' obligations to entertaining house guests takes precedence. In good Heraclean fashion, the super man launches himself into debauchery and booze, much to the dismay of the household staff who are in sorrow. He takes it too far, and one of the servants snaps and tells him all. And, in good Heraclean fashion, the hero of ages takes it upon himself to bring Alcestis back from the Underworld. He does so, and Admetus is reunited with his beloved wife.

We can already establish that Admetus, despite being very generous in hospitality, is very self interested. He's a politician, and politicians have much to be concerned about when it comes to public perceptions. Sure, he may have noble intentions in opening his home to such guests as Apollo and Heracles, but there is a time and place for rejection of principles on behalf of a more noble cause. Admetus' vow to his wife should be of the utmost priority at this point. Perhaps I read in to this too much as a 21st century spectator. Perhaps the Greeks understood that a man should always stand ground against silly promises made to silly girls because women are subject to men first, not the other way around.

I don't quite buy that, and I turn to Orpheus and Eurydice, another myth that continually came to mind in the duration of the performance of Alcestis. I was struck with the parallels of a man losing his wife and having to bring her back from death. But which myth came first? What myth is the standard, and what myth stands to counter it? As it turns out, Orpheus and Eurydice comes after Admetus and Alcestis in myth chronology, however it was the latter that came first in oral tradition. So the Greeks had to have seen these parallels also, and I would venture a guess that Admetus' betrayal of Alcestis would have been seen as inappropriate as well, or at least commented on and debated. If one man may go down and appeal to Hades for the soul of his beloved wife, what would stop another man from attempting the same?

I personally found Admetus to be obnoxious and selfish. In the first half of the play he shlumps around moaning about the impending death of Alcestis instead of actively looking for a solution to his problem. If this were a man, he would have realized his folly in tempting the Fates and died honorably. I don't think he loves Alcestis at all in the same way she loved him or as Orpheus loved Eurydice. He loves getting what he wants and having his way. In the end he gets what he wants, but he does nothing to deserve it. If anything, Alcestis is rewarded for her courage and unconditional love for him by having her life restored. Her child is no longer without a mother. Admetus is still a pompous ass who has yet to learn that there are consequences to his actions. He cannot be redeemed by his hospitality, no matter how Euripides spins it. It only shows that Heracles is a better man, sinner as he is.

What is the moral this king learns, I wonder? If we can apply CS Lewis' theory of God and Time to the Fates, then they knew that Alcestis would be brought back to life. They saw Heracles fighting off Death to win her soul. The lesson to be learned here is that they are all seeing, all knowing, and that it is useless to try to tempt them for your own personal gain. They aren't so horribly vindictive in this case since they knew she would return to life. This is all just a good lesson to learn, right? Does Admetus get this? I'm not convinced. When she is presented to him by Heracles in the guise of a lowly maid servant, he rejects her out of love for his wife. It doesn't take much for him to change his mind though. Politicians are all show and no sincerity that way.

I did enjoy the piece. Short as it was, and simple as Greek theatre tends to come across, it was enough to get the gears turning. The play is often labeled as a tragicomedy. For myself, I think the definition is fitting in the outcome of the story. The tragedy is the moral regression of Admetus' character. The comedy is the irony of duping omniscient entities.

On What I Find Interesting

I am an obsessive person. I pick some time period usually, or some school of philosophical thought, obscure film genre, art movement, etc, and I study the crap out of it before I move on to another topic. I have to know everything I can, and it's always been that way. I don't know how many children in elementary school do this, but I do. When I became proficient enough at reading in about first grade, I spent the library hours looking up all the books I could for a specific topic. I wasn't interested in the picture books or the fiction; I wanted straight facts (or speculations).

I think one of my first scholastic endeavors was the study of paranormal phenomena. Actually, I dare say that my interest in the paranormal has held the longest, always standing prominent whilst other interests have waxed and waned. I remember having a particular interest for some time in spontaneous human combustion. I had gotten to the point where I was familiar with the more notorious cases of SHC. One book had gone into detail about the demographics of this phenomena, and I was terrified that my mother would suddenly go up in flames one day since, according to this source, she fit the profile perfectly.

Studying the paranormal led into a period of fixation on sea tragedies, namely that of the Titanic. This had nothing to do with the movie being released in 1997. I was in second grade when I first came across the disaster. I don't even remember the trigger, but for years it was all I wanted to read about until the movie came out. I think I was in sixth grade when the movie caught everyone's attention. There were girls in my class who would try to compete with me as the expert on early twentieth century ship sinkings since they all saw the movie four times. I begged my dad to take me to see it, but he wasn't about to let me into a PG13 film. I had to wait for the video, and that was after I'd decided that it wasn't worth it. Those stupid girls had ruined it, and I was more interested in Greek mythology by then.

Greek mythology was one of my better phases. It overlapped for quite some time, battling the Titanic for my academic affections for a long time until the aforementioned Cameron flick. I took that to more of an extreme, studying Greek society, government, history, though I did skip philosophy. It was good preparation for the Greek Festival at my new middle school. Each class was assigned to a city state, and each city state would choose representatives for the academic decathlon. We spent all afternoon sitting in a classroom answering questions while the other kids ran around outside in bedsheets. I placed third in thirty, though I'm sure alot of those kids just wanted to go out and play.

Other topics of personal study included: Anne Frank, The French Revolution, Shakespeare, Adolf Hitler, cryptozoology, The American Revolution, The Civil War, Adolf Hitler, Abraham Lincoln, World War II, Vlad Tepes, Elizabeth Bathory, The Byzantine Empire, The Gauls, Tolkien, English history, Arthurian legends, Walt Disney, Wall Street, the Middle Ages, the Borgia family, etc. It wasn't until the Harry Potter books that I started to find myself attracted to more fiction. I've come to dislike fiction for the most part. I'm attempting to read through the classics. I need a good overview of Western literature, and I feel as though my knowledge is lacking.

As I grow older too I realize that I have missed out on so many good sources on previous fixations. I never did actually read Homer until I was older, although I would have liked to. My early encounters with Shakespeare were from graphic novels based on his plays rather than the scripts themselves. Having someone to guide my studies would have been very helpful, and I think I would have ended up somewhere very different today. I feel inadequate in many respects. Though in this life I don't suppose it will be possible to read everything I need to to feel academically sound. There's always more to be read and known. I hope there is a next life, and that I may spend it in deep thought.

On Bounding from Thought to Thought (Roleplay and Running)

This is the part where I embarrass myself. Only I'm not certain I can embarrass myself so early in a blog when I have no readers to be embarrassed for... though I suppose if anyone should ever decide they want to read back they may come across this and I could be embarrassed in retrospect, though I don't really think I will care. That and the only way I would know anyone had been here to witness this and give me cause to be embarrassed is if they told me. The Internet, however, being a wide and wondrous place with billions of users who may come across this humiliating entry gives me reason to believe that many may read this, none will admit to it, and I may live in unembarrassed and ignorant bliss until the duration of my life has come to an end.

I will admit now that I am a geek. WAS a geek. I consider myself to be in remission. That's not the embarrassing part. There are actually a great many things that I will probably never admit to about my geekish period of life that would be ten times worse to share. The hesitation I'm showing is in admitting that I was very heavily involved in roleplaying a la Dungeons and Dragons. The saving grace is that I concluded after many attempts at this abhorrent game that it was not my cup of tea. So I took my character and cofounded a group of writers who wanted to base their play in Middle-earth and revise some of Tolkien's works and write new legends. It was by far the better way to go, and relations were good for a time. Things were more democratic, and dare I say deistic (Tolkien being our god). It all turned sour in the end, as do most friendships amongst females (One of many reasons why I prefer camaraderie with males), and it shattered my world. It was actually one the best things that could have happened to me, actually, but it was devastating nonetheless when it transpired.

I have a point, and I'm getting to it. In fact, this almost has nothing to do with the main point of my writing today, but I often make leaps and bounds in my thinking, so forgive me for asking you to humor me a bit longer.

I delve deeper to humiliate myself further. I haven't talked about characters in probably years, but one of these was an elf. Now this particular elf was mentally unstable. I haven't been able to peg down what exactly was wrong, but I think it was some sort of disorder related to autism. The idea was to explore elven society and determine how handicaps would be treated by a people who are otherwise considered to be perfect. I could go into how this would work with a race that hails from Valinor where people really are perfect, but that would be far too boring for you.

So being an elf with autism living in a forest such as Mirkwood, one can imagine how often she would get lost in exploring the surrounding wood. There was much fun had in being captured by kobolds and escaping, fighting giant spiders, etc. My elf was very fond of running off into the darkness, and I must admit (I'm digging a grave here) that I am very much the same way. Plop me down in the outdoors and I am as happy as a lark. I will desert my companions and hide out to enjoy the time away from people. I think. I don't think. I laugh. I sing some songs. I listen. I sort of start going a bit crazy...

So really going out hiking is my sport of choice as you can probably guess. I was thinking about it today while taking a turn around the park across the way. This is where I get to my point. I really like hiking. It means something to me, and it does something for me. What I don't understand is running. I say this because I see a lot of people running around my neighborhood and they look ridiculous. I understand running around a track or loop. Sugar House Park is a fantastic place to run. I definitely understand running away from something or running after something. This is a game I play all too often with my dog. I even get running in a large organized group in sync and behind a commanding officer. Running a dog is fine also. It's when you're just running aimlessly, solo or accompanied by a friend, that you just look stupid. Where on God's green earth are you going, and why are you taking that route? I can't help but wonder this, and yes I'm over thinking it, but that's what I do. Someone has to do it. It may be the volume of runners I see that looks silly, because they run in all different directions like it's going out of style. Perhaps I'm too accustomed to running around a track in gym class. I know they're running for exercise, and that is commendable. For me it's a phantom itch that I can't seem to find; there's just something that isn't clicking right in my mind.

If you're in the habit of running, I'm sorry. I don't hate you. It's great that you can run because it's fun. Just be mindful that you look silly (Unless it falls under one of the aforementioned exceptions). At least to me. You may as well be flailing your arms above your head, screaming as you attempt escaping a Jabberwock. It's what my elf would do.

Endnote: Yes, I drew that. For the record, any pictures I use for entries that are not otherwise noted as being mine are not mine.

On a Few Frustrations Late at Night and Beyond All Cognisance

Could I just quickly say: I have work early in the morning, and instead of going to sleep I feel the need to read over the myths surrounding the god Bacchus. What is WRONG with me?! Why do I always go back to these Greco-Roman legends infused with British history and ideas like it was going out of style? Come on, I can do better than that. I need to show more interest in Sri Lanka or Botswana or something. I know this stuff like the back of my hand, and I'm starting to think that maybe I should be the one writing the books about them. Who does this? Where is this all going? Where is the method? This is madness! (I know, I know... I asked for it. Blasted... Spartans... movie. It was utter garbage!)

I will NOT research Western civilization anymore.
I will NOT research Western civilization anymore.
I will NOT research Western civilization anymore.
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On Tshirts: The Published Rough Draft in Which the Author Stumbles and Trips Over Thoughts, Giving a Glimpse into the Inner Workings Thereof

So we move right back into the fashion blogging. I can't help but feel as though there needs to be something said about the way people wear their vestments, and I, by my own divine (Oh dear, you might say, there she goes again with the god complex!) decree, have the right to say something.

Screen print Tshirts. Really, they're quite a genius bit of advertisement. Originating in the early 1950s as such, it seems today that no Tshirt sold is stores isn't some sort of ad for something. I live in them, mostly because they're rather practical for my current job. They're easy to wear during the summer (I'm typically a fan of layers, but layers are not wise in a desert climate). But most of all, by wearing these advertisements, screen print Tshirts are a great way to express yourself and your views (Or rather, companies profit from your willingness to buy said shirts and make their friends want them too. Teenagers. Get them young, get them hooked!).

Actually, I have a confession to make: I hate screen print Tshirts. Despite the fact that I wear them all the time, it's only for the first two reasons given. There was a time in my life (high school) when Tshirts were simple; and being the awkward geeky girl with ink rubbing off onto her nose, it was my uniform of choice. It wasn't until college when I began getting some positive attention from boys and negative attention from other girls that I started to think more about what I was wearing. I discovered that not only are clothes fun to draw and make up for characters in alternate histories, they're fun to mix and match and express just as much if not more than a Tshirt. So, when winter hits I'll be back in proper clothes except for the days when I'm feeling lazy.

To the matter at hand: these articles of clothing which have since become staples of American fashion need to be trimmed down. I support the advertisements. It makes sense. What doesn't make sense is all the prints that are not associated with any given brand or company. You have a funny statement to make? Make it. Don't wear it, because then you'll be making that same statement over again in a couple of weeks and it gets old. And they're the same things you see in chain mails, on bumper stickers, coffee mugs, etc. I don't care if you can only please one person a day and that my chances of being that person today or tomorrow are improbable. All your shirt is telling me is that you are a slovenly blackguard who can't dress their person and in all likelihood couldn't please me in any life anyway. Or why does your shirt have a random bird and a random mailbox on it? I don't believe in randomness, so please explain the logic. Why that shirt? Do you really like mailboxes and birds? Together? Separately but at the same level? What are you trying to express in wearing this Tshirt? Also: tattoo shirts. Congratulations on looking so vintage with your rococo styled tattoo print, I'm sure they were all the rage in Paris during the Revolution.

I'm getting rather short today in this blog, and it is a bit more of a rant than anything. I'm going to end it here before I get carried away with complaining. Yes, I realize that I could save the draft and come back to it, but this is a subject that I am going to let go. It's been eating at me all weekend while lounging away watching relatives interact with their horribly cheesy Tshirts on, but I'm starting to think that perhaps I should have had a notebook on me to draft in. My thoughts two days ago were so much more meaningful. In any case, all desire to explore the matter has been spent, and I have an LSAT to study for. Or there is a nap to be had.

On THAT Day, and the Mosque in Question

I wasn't here for America's bicentennial, and the chances of me witnessing the tricentennial are slim. Just over two hundred years as a country, but about four hundred since the first English colonies began settling along the east coast. That's quite a bit of time to build, tear down, build over, etc. People reproduce in that time, they expand boundaries, dump mud and rubbish into bays as landfill to continue expansion until someone decides it's time to stop filling out and start building up.

Hence you get New York City. One of the oldest settlements in the country, New York boasts an impressive history and is well on its way into legend as one of the greatest cities of all time. Americans take pride in this shining beacon by the sea. It is our Paris. Our Rome. Our Athens. So does it not make sense then that it would be a target? A wound to the heart?


I remember the morning well. I had to be to church at five in the morning for zero period seminary. Outside of Utah, Mormon kids have to go in the morning, and as I was taking gym as a zero period class I had to go to an earlier seminary class. Ugh. I'm not at all a morning person. I came downstairs to get breakfast, my dad perched in his chair as usual, watching the stock market. This was my favourite part of the morning during high school. Today being September the eleventh, however, meant that the morning ritual of discussing Wall Street was interrupted. There were more pressing matters at hand.


I asked what was going on. I recognized the towers, but not as the World Trade Center. They were simply the twin towers to me at that time. High rise wastes of material dedicated to some businesses that I knew nothing about, didn't care about, and probably would deem unnecessary. Then again I think that much of what has come about in the past century has been unnecessary. I digress. Instead talking over what was happening with the Oracle stocks I was interested in, Dad and I mused at how much the damages would cost to repair. Little did we know that this plane that had crashed into the first tower was an airliner and not a small private plane. In the wee hours of that morning, that's what they were telling us on the west coast.

I was the only one in the seminary class who knew. I was telling everyone, and no one seemed all that interested. Most teenagers don't seem to care for the news, let alone that early in the morning. We carried on with group projects about some scripture from The D&C, did some presentations... the next thing I remember is climbing into the carpool. By this time everyone knew, and this particular minivan was tuned in to a particular radio station that was speculating that terrorists were threatening shopping malls across the country, the Pentagon was hit, and the second tower was also hit. It was mass panic. The rest of the day went by in a haze. Some of my classes carried on as normal, but how could ANYONE just go on that day? My one concern was that my friend was visiting her aunt in New York and there was no way to get a hold of her. This was before texting, so there was no simple instant message to her phone. We couldn't call for days. She ended up stranded there for weeks. One of the girls I knew had gotten word that her cousin had jumped. Her last moments falling were aired on television.

Now there's talk going around of a certain religion wanting to refurbish an old building into a place of worship. This has the country in an uproar. Politicians are jumping on some bandwagon, thinking that their opinions on the matter will buy them votes on both sides of the line. Extreme Christians and relentless nationalists stand opposed, and others are ready to move on and let the mosque carry forward. I happen to think that no matter what happens, no matter whether there is a mosque built near Ground Zero or not, it's high time that Americans realize that places like New York will carry on. That history places upon them all sorts of strange contradictions.

Take for instance Rome. Rome is one of the oldest cities in the world, and the funny thing is that it's overrun with Catholics. The bleeding Vatican is in Rome, and why is that funny? Because this city was the center of an empire that stifled upstart religions like the cult of Christ. Christians were enslaved, used as lion fodder, persecuted, and murdered. Oh the irony of it all! They end up turning Rome on its head and rebuilding a new empire based on this upstart religion from the Middle East. What does this mean? Well, in this case, it means that New York has come to the point of historical maturity, of significance, in history. It's become a palimpsest of new writings upon old. A new mosque on an old ruin, both being related, funny enough, in that it was extremists of that religion who made that ruin.

Where am I going with this blog post? Oh I don't know, this one is rather rubbish I think. It's hard to put into words what I want to say this time. I have these ideas I want to put down, but there is no real rhyme or reason. I guess what I mean is that there is a time where people will have to let go. That's history, that's how other cities in other countries have been moving for centuries. The Dome of the Rock is smack dab where we have to build the Temple of Jerusalem. It may be too soon for New York; nine years went by very quickly, but what are we to do? People grow old and die, and someone in the future may try the same thing, and what do we think of that? We can't stop it. Does it really matter? Is it absolutely necessary to delay the inevitable for our own emotional reasons?

Ultimately, no matter how much politicians want to campaign this, the decision should be left up to New York. I'm over it. I've moved on. I get though that many people drive by that site everyday and probably (at least once a week or so) think of the people they knew who perished. What happened in 2001 was a national crisis, what's happening in 2010 is a local concern with national interest attached.