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.