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.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
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?
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?
Friday, October 15, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
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?
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?
Monday, October 11, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)