On Oscar Dreams

I don't watch the Oscars. Usually. However, I did this year because my mom had never gotten the chance to do so and I felt a tad emotionally invested as I'd actually seen several of the major nominees this year and I definitely had my favourites.

What the Oscars did for me more than tickle me pink as my predictions came true was remind me of just how much I should (not want to, mind) be in film. Not acting. Good Heavens, I don't mean to act in movies, I just need to be up there one day holding one of those little statues in my hand as I declare my gratitude to the masses. You see, I'm fantastically talented in a great many things, and while I live forever in denial it's not because I'm humble. I'm really looking for compliments. I KNOW I'm freaking amazing, thank you, now feed my overgrown pet ego!

OM NOM NOM!!!

I think I could do it. As I watched Colleen Atwood win her Oscar for costume design (GREAT designer, but that crap movie didn't deserve SQUAT), I began to dream up my own Oscar acceptance speech. It goes a little something like this:

Um. Heh heh... Yeah. As it turns out, I totally saw this coming and I once blogged a speech that I was sure I would use and now I can't remember it. There are three groups of people I want to thank from the bottom of my heart for this. (Insert names of director, producers, etc, here.) I mean that's basically a given, you guys believed in me, and we made an incredible film. This is yours as well as mine. I want to thank my family for not believing me. I think I just made all forty two cousins jealous. Maybe. I've inherited a Spartan 'do or die' attitude, and every time someone tells me 'you can't' I say 'I will'. Who'd have thought a girl from Utah would have a date tonight with the one and only Oscar? Last, but not at all the least, I want to thank my Heavenly Father for not smiting me for emerging myself in what has been deemed a godless land of sin. It's simply not true, and I've been blessed beyond belief here. Thanks again!

Mostly I just can't wait to say "Hahahahaha! Suckers!" I'm very competitive. I think I get it from my dad's side. I have this unyielding desire to one up everybody, especially my own family, and I don't know why. It might be because I don't feel like I've gotten any support from my parents. I remember when I told my dad that I wanted to be an archaeologist, he said I wouldn't make money. Since when is life about money? I thought it was about surviving and being happy doing what you want to do? He always liked to point out too that all I was ever going to do with a degree was either be an educated wife or have a cubicle job somewhere. No. I don't think so. I will find a niche for my historically based, theatre induced, linguistic interests. Somewhere. Until then, I'm as happy as a clam searching for that niche. Happiness is not, after all, about the end of the journey but about taking the journey itself. I don't ever want my journey to ever end.

Keep the Oscar, I'm here for the ride.

On Colliding with Stationary Objects

I like to think of myself as a good driver. I once got really excited at two in the morning blasting 'Star Wars' and got pulled over for speeding (in the middle of nowhere, really?), but that is about the only thing I've ever done that got me in trouble. Every other ticket I've ever gotten was not directly my fault. I learn my lessons well.

However, I do have one slight problem; I can't back up a car to save my life. I understand that this is a side effect of being female and that I'm not alone, but I'm pretty much convinced that everyone can survive as long as I'm not backing up.

I don't know where I was going, but my dad had given me permission to take his convertible. I was still somewhat unseasoned in the art of driving, and my younger brother came out to watch me back up out of the garage. He wasn't doing a very good job at spotting me, because I suddenly heard a scraping sound somewhere from my right side next to the edge of the garage door. Oh dear. Put the car in park, turn off the engine, and dive out of the car to inspect the damage. TJ did me the favor of running inside to tell my dad the wonderful news.

There was indeed a scrape, and I had managed also to snap off a reflector. Dad was furious. He looked at the part, and he looked at me and shouted 'You're going to want to be gone by the time I get back, or it's your head!' Angry dads are scary.

I don't remember why, it may have had something to do with business, but Dad went back inside. I looked at my smug little brother and asked him what he thought I should do.

'I don't know, hide?' he replied.

Great. Where was I supposed to hide in an open yard with a neatly trimmed lawn and no trees? This was my head, we were talking about! I could lose it at any moment!

I glanced around and a thought came to me. The Pathfinder was parked in the garage next to the convertible. The Pathfinder was unlocked. BUT! The Pathfinder's trunk space was not the best concealed as it was a small sport utility vehicle, and there were windows looking in. Dad could still see me. I'd risk it.

I exchanged a tearful goodbye with my brother. This might be the last time I saw him with my skull still attached to my spine. My plan began to form in my brain as I opened the hatch to the Nissan. Dad would come out, he would be angry, he would see that I'd gone, and he'd go back inside. Then I would make a run for it and make my way to my friend's house and beg for sanctuary.

Well, Dad walked out. I was crouched down in a fetal position in the Pathfinder, shaking in my boots. 'WHERE IS SHE?!' Oh man, I was DEAD! There was no point in trying to hide...

I popped my head up and looked at my dad through the window and cried, 'I'M RIGHT HERE!!' When I say 'cried' I mean it. I was so scared that I'd fallen to pieces. One look at my pathetic attempt (and very much a failure for giving myself away) at trying to hide and noticing the tears in my eyes, he... laughed. He was laughing right at me as though he weren't going to kill me. What a sadist.

He opened the hatch and pulled me out, still laughing, 'Why didn't you drive away in the convertible? You have the keys, and it's not as though you smashed the thing to bits.'

That hadn't occurred to me. Blast it all, I COULD have just driven away, 'B-b-b-but you wer-r-r-e M-M-M-A-HA-A-AD!' I was still quite shaken and tearful. He pat me on the back lovingly and told me that he was, but that I'd just have to save my allowance for a while and fix it. No big deal.

The next time was worse.

It was the Pathfinder this time and a blue truck we'd gotten that was supposed to be my graduation present, only he'd made the mistake of making it a clutch rather than an automatic. I'm not stupid, but I couldn't for the life of me learn to coordinate the whole shifting mechanism in that truck, and so I never drove it. I think I'd hurt his feelings because it was a gift, but it really hurt MY feelings when we'd go out driving in the church parking lot and he'd yell at me in his drill sergeant tone that I was a bleeping idiot because I couldn't figure out how to drive.

So the truck sat on the street. We lived at the end of a court at that time, so you had to turn to get out of drive, and every time I turned, the truck would be right behind. I'd done it a million times though, no big deal.

One day, however, my parents were at Costco and had told me that I was not to take the Pathfinder anywhere without permission. Normally I wouldn't break a rule like that, but today was different. They'd be gone a couple of hours, and I could always refill the tank to where I started. They'd never know right? WRONG!

I backed up too far and rammed right into the truck creating a great dent in the side. What do I do then? Well, like any honest (and honestly stupid) daughter, I immediately put the car back and called my parents to inform them that I'd just made a big booboo. Better to fess up now than to suffer the consequences later, right? I try to take problems like this head on.

Dad was livid. According to my mother, he made quite a scene of it at Costco and drew too much attention to himself. 'YOU STAY THERE WE'RE COMING TO GET YOU!' he shouted over the phone at me.

Staying there would have hardly been instinctual. You usually read in the stupid news section about criminals making threats like this prior to committing a crime, only to find themselves under arrest when they arrive at the scene of the would be assault. If I valued my life, I would have run away. But I didn't. I sat like an obedient daughter on the couch and waited the forty five minutes it took for them to purchase the items they needed and drive the twenty miles home. This time he didn't laugh, but he had cooled down. I didn't cry, but I was very sorry.

Then there was that one time at the beach, but nobody knows about that. I've learned that what goes unnoticed doesn't need attention brought to it.

Adventures with Trixie and Boyfriend Bro: Couples and Pictures

I know I should probably write Volume II of Adventures with Trixie and Boyfriend 'Bro', but this takes precedence.

I don't understand relationships, and I don't think I ever will. This may be simply because I've never really had one. I might have come close. Once. The more I think about it though, the less I think it counts. It ended in tears, but it didn't take me too long to realize that I was too good for the guy anyway. The yellow belly had to do the heartbreaking online.

So far then, the majority of my experience with being in a couple has been via proxy. My first roommate was in a long term relationship and left to get married. I watched her agonize over whether marriage with this guy was right to making preparations. Given that it's been nearly three months since she moved out and she hasn't sent me an announcement yet... I don't think it happened. I could have told you that though. The long term, long distance thing just said 'stalemate' to me.

Now I'm in the middle of Trixie and Bro. While my previous roommate was fairly intelligent albeit rather zealously devoted to Fox News and Mormon culture, neither of these two seem to have an oxygen atom to split between their skulls. Too many protons I guess.

One of Trixie's early correspondences with me regarded her boyfriend. She seemed to want to clear it with me that her boyfriend would be around a lot. Okay. You're dating, and according to relationship protocol I understand that I can expect to see him once or twice a week. That's fine. I like to have people over once a week or so. No big deal.

Yeah. Right.

Trixie went to California this weekend to attend a wedding. Bro had to stay behind in his crate, and the whole trip lasted approximately 65 hours. Trixie came home at eleven pm on Sunday. Bro arrived at eleven fifteen pm. I'm pretty sure that their reaction was an accurate reenactment of Odysseus' return to Ithaca. After ten years. COME ON, IT WAS ONLY THREE DAYS!!! He stayed all night. He stays every night. He is here all. The. Time. I'm pretty sure I do suffer from severe social anxiety, because just knowing he's here stresses me out to the point of tears.

I don't really get it. Don't they get bored of each other? I may never have had a legitimate relationship, but I'm pretty sure that I would get sick of that person really fast if I saw them more than twice a week and/or talked to them every day. It takes me on average three days to notice that it's been awhile since I've talked to someone, but I don't start missing people until five days after last seeing them. This is usually perfect timing because, particularly with my family, I'm probably going to see them again in the next two days. So... what's wrong with once a week? You'll have a whole week's worth of events to talk about in a few hours and then you're good! Get on with your life and get a flipping hobby! Like photography! Speaking of which...

I also don't understand why people have to have so many pictures of the same things. Yes, photography is a great way to preserve memories, but firstly: what is wrong with your brain? Secondly: Who else do you really think is going to care to see a picture of your face ten million times? Take a portrait once a year, get some pictures of London to aide your memory in recalling exactly what Trafalgar Square looks like, but really? Do you need more than that?

Trixie LOVES pictures. I was sitting with Krissy on the couch, both of us engrossed in our laptops, when Trixie comes up from her powder puff cave of fluff. She's gone a whole hour with no one to talk to, and you can tell she's going crazy with all the wind blowing through her ears. She sits down on the couch next to Krissy.

"Hey, guys!" she chirps in her falsified feminine whine.

We grunt.

"Oh man, I feel like I should have my laptop," she remarks upon her keen observation that we are both busy. We carry on with our private giggles and seemingly random exclamations while she pulls out her iPhone to entertain herself with her own face.

After a few minutes of this, I say something about eunuchs. I'm pretty sure it came up because of Justin Bieber, and then I quoted something from 'Pirates of the Caribbean', and Krissy and I laugh. Trixie does not react the way she ought to.

"What's a eunuch?"

My goodness, do I really have to explain castration to this girl? People who know nothing about reproductive organs really have no business messing around like she does.

Anyway, somehow she gets the idea that she's now included in the conversation, so she starts changing the subject to something familiar for her like boys. Unfortunately for her, neither Krissy nor I really take petty interests in the opposite sex, so that was shot down fairly quickly. So she brought up her pictures and started showing off a gallery of people whom I could care less about. Krissy is more than falsely enthusiastic, while I completely shut down whenever people start sharing pictures. Trixie calls my attention to these pictures anyway, mostly of bald, underdeveloped people.

For the record, I don't dislike babies. I want some one day, but until I do have them I don't really understand the fascination. I'm just not one to fawn over infants, since they're not exactly interesting to talk to. They mostly look the same anyway. And laugh the same. And wail the same.

I try to smile at each face looking up at me, and I appropriately coo like I've observed in other people. After ten minutes of this, however, I've had enough and I promptly excuse myself for the night.

The next time I see Trixie, she has more pictures for me to look at. They're developed pictures, and she sticks them in my hands to thumb through. I do so politely, but it feels awkward. They're all the same picture. What is this I don't even...

Adventures with Trixie and Boyfriend 'Bro' Volume I

I've recently put two bedrooms in my basement up for rent online, and one of them has already been rented by Trixie.

Trixie isn't her real name, but in the course of my living with her, I will refer to her as 'Trixie'. This moniker is a derivative of the stereotype to which I associated her the moment I opened the door. Standing next to her was her 'Bro' boyfriend, and thus may he be forwith known. If you are lost in the blatant generalizations here, please see: http://stuffhipstershate.tumblr.com/post/179591308/bros-and-trixies-it-could-be-said-that-the

I didn't know how to say no to her. I don't know how to say no to anyone really, because I'm a sucker for looking good and reliable. I don't like to be the bad guy unless it is the most beneficial for me. The last thing I need is a stuck up snob from California thinking I'm a stuck up snob from Salt Lake City, because clearly we all know that people from California are always the snobs while people in Salt Lake are... actually, they're really awful here too. (To be fair, I've lived in California, but I'm not a Californian in really any sense of the word, but I do have experience with stereotypical Californians.)

Now I'll be stuck living with this girl, and while it may be a nightmare, I think blogging about it will lighten the situation and make it more tolerable. To be fair I have lived with airheaded females before who turned out to be really nice and good fun to be around, but those were short term flatmates in a distant country. This is a girl living in MY house for gods know how long. I have a very high tolerance for people, but this might be my breaking point.

Let's actually begin this story, shall we? Once upon a time I placed an ad on Craigslist and KSL for roommates. I specified that I would not take calls, but KSL requires you post a phone number anyway. I got two calls. The first call went like this:

"Hello?" (Here my voice cracks as my eyes adjust and note that it's eight AM on a Saturday. Bleeding bastard.)

"I am Michael. Like basement."

Like basement? What the f- ooooohhhh "It's for females only."

(Pause) "Oh." (Again) "Wife is female."

Are you kidding me? "Well, then your wife can live here. You can't."

"But-"

"NO." *Click*

The second call was from a woman looking for a place for her daughter. She seemed to be vaguely familiar with what I had advertised because she didn't ask stupid questions that would have been easily avoidable upon reading my very neatly written ad. However she had failed to notice the last sentence that stated that phone calls were unacceptable. Based on this simple principle I should have taken the call politely and told her the rooms were occupied, but no. Apparently I can't live up to my own laws. I also should have caught on to the fact that it was the mother calling and not the daughter, but no.

Really? You need your mom to call for you? Okay, so I depend on my dad to walk me through things sometimes, but those are things like buying a house, not inquiring about rentals. How old are you, and why can't you do things for yourself? Mom also mentioned that she was worried about where her daughter would end up because it's a dangerous world. Um, you DO get that this is Utah, right? So then after I passed with her over the phone, Mom informed me that I would be called that afternoon by Trixie. I was imagining that this girl was meek and maybe a bit awkward from years of being locked in her mother's house for her own protection.

Trixie called and the appointment made. She brought Bro, recently returned from his mission, and this is where I'm struck by their appearance. Trixie is super tan. Her hair is dark and stiff from the gobs of product residing therein. Her eyes are caked in mascara and dark eye shadow, attaining that ever coveted 'smokey' look. Her brows are meticulously shaped into wickedly elegant arches and her lips shimmer. Her form is petite and perfect, her hooker boots adding to her height.

To compare, I had hardly any makeup on, my hair was pulled back in a ponytail, my Tshirt sported a beloved character from some beloved childhood show, and my feet were clad in bunny slippers. I'd only been studying all day, why bother?

Bro was sporting a backwards cap, a baggy shirt, and some baggy jeans, "Sup".

This guy had just gotten off his mission. Now, from what I can tell about missions, they are the most life changing two years anyone can spend in their up-to-that-point short existence. Thrust into a foreign culture and expected to sell God to people who could care less and probably think you're gay or from the government, you really have no choice but to grow up a bit, right? Maybe learn how to deflect all that negative energy being directed at you for your white shirt and tie because everyone either hates the gays or the government or both. Then the expectation is for you to come home and be a bit older, a bit wiser, and a bit more grown up. I'm pretty sure that coming back as a 'bro' is like putting a banana in a blender for thirty seconds and pulling out the tree from whence it came.

"Hi," my heart sank because I was letting two neanderthals into my home, but I consoled myself with the fact that they wouldn't stay long and she probably would decide that I was too neanderthal for her. Was I wrong. Unfortunately for me, these rooms are amazing. This house is amazing, and while I may sometimes look like I've just crawled out of a cave, I have very excellent taste. My cave is always the best.

I showed them downstairs, and in a whole fifty seconds, she spun around, said it was cute, and was out the door. Done. Dun... DUN!!!

Over the next few days, Trixie would call or text, asking my questions like whether we had cable or if she could park in the garage or if it was okay if Bro was over all the time (she promised they wouldn't do anything, winkwink), etc. I was polite enough, still certain this girl was toast.

And then she said she was ready...

TO BE CONTINUED

On Caligu-Gaga (Self Deification and the Ramifications Thereof)

We have been graced with the presence of her most divine excellence, Lady Gaga, once again. Not only has she proven a true performance artist, but her newest album promises to bestow upon us the heroic tales of her humble beginnings as a mere mortal. Based on her new single 'Born this Way' and her arrival to the Grammys in an egg, it seems that she is on the path to apotheosis. Bow down and join the cult of Little Monsters, for the Mother has spoken!

Puh-lease. It's one thing to be a celebrated artist, especially in this day and age when art is dead, but it's another when you declare your own divinity to the rest of the world like some pretentious arse. What have we learned from history if not that self proclaimed gods DIE HORRIBLE DEATHS.

There are a few steps one must take to declare self-deification, and here I will lay them out for you.
I'm going to compare Gaga here to the emperor Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus (better known as Caligula) because they both have a deep passion for theatrics and they both meet miserable ends (yes, I have seen Gaga's future, and this is true).

Step 1: Legitimize your status as a god by publishing an origination myth that propagates your humility and humanity so people will love you and see you as one of their own.

This declaration of Miss Gaga's comes in the most generic of generically composed pop songs of the coming decade. 'Born this Way' is an origination myth hidden in the guise of yet another anthem of losers. The lyrics reek with encouraging lines meant to make teenagers feel artificial self-esteem. 'Oh how I hate myself, but if Lady Gaga can be born in a slum like me, then I can be something!' This is a lie. While I think people should think very highly of themselves, seeking self worth in such songs is not the way to come to grips with your own value. The lyrics are not about you. They are about the recording artist. Lady Gaga's song isn't about embracing your sexuality or ethnicity. It's about her. She tells the story of her mother teaching her to 'love thyself' and how to do horrific makeup. Aw, how sweet.

For Caligula this step was fairly simple. He was legitimate royalty through his great grandfather Caesar Augustus, the first emperor of Rome and a god in his own right. The Romans had no problem deifying Augustus after his death and did indeed see him as a true god, and Caligula had the birthright. Caligula also had that whole baby charm going for him too. The name 'Caligula' means 'little boot', a moniker lovingly given to the little tyke when he was but a boy running around like a soldier amongst his father's ranks. Who could resist an adorable little soldier smacking at their shins with an adorable little wooden sword? Isn't that just bleeding precious?! Not when that little boy grows up and turns into a psycho nut who regards his horse to be a political aficionado.

THUS SPAKE INCITATUS!

Step 2: Challenge the divinity of other gods.

In the song 'Born this Way', Gaga mentions not only her mother but also God, and thanks Him for making her who she is. 'But wait!' you might say, 'doesn't that make her a God fearing Christian like the rest of us? Can't we accept her then as something more than just another pagan heathen?' No. God may not make mistakes, Gaga, but humans do, so don't claim that everything you are is because of God. No Christian will tell you that you can be whatever you want because God meant for you to be that way. That is blasphemy and a challenge to the commandments set up by God to live a certain way. Now God may not hate you for the choices you make, but they're called choices for a reason. God has nothing to do with it.

Caligula had the audacity to demand a statue of himself erected in a Jewish temple. He further decapitated existing statues of his own gods and replaced their heads with a likeness of himself. This trend of likening gods to an existing monarch wasn't new and wasn't about to go out of style, granted. The very Christian image we have today isn't at all what Christ most likely looked like. It comes from the fourth century, and since then Christ has often been modeled after various monarchs and clergy depending on where the piece in question comes from. I still doubt that these monarchs demanded that their likeness be the treatment Christ would get. As far as I know Caligula was all about making the gods, male and female alike, his clones rather than the other way around.

Step 3: Make public appearances as a deity.

This was the final straw for me today as I happened across a video of Lady Gaga's 'walk' down the red carpet at the Grammys which apparently happened or are happening at this moment. I don't really care. The point is that she was resting on a sedan being carried by slaves -er- special individuals who should love themselves like she says in her song. To top that, she was an in an egg. A giant alien egg, incubating like a soon to be born self-canonized goddess. I don't know if this is so much bizarre to me as it is disturbingly like watching the beginning of a sci-fi horror. Scientists find crazy egg thing in the jungle. Egg hatches. Tentacles kill everyone except the hot guy and the cheerleader. Hot guy and girl kill tentacles and kiss. Maybe next year she'll burst out of some poor homeless man's thigh like Dionysus rips from Zeus.

Caligula liked to dress up for the public too. He liked to dress up as different gods, talk like them, have people worship. Which brings us to the next step...

Step 4: Start a cult.

Lady Gaga lovingly calls her fans 'little monsters'. And they worship her. Like crazy. I was once a fan of Gaga's on Facebook until I saw just how creepily cultish people got with their comments on her page.

Imperial cults are also not new to the Romans. The Assyrians had them, the Egyptians had them, and so did the Greeks. The Romans in particular kept this sort of worship to honor deceased monarchs. Caligula, on the other hand, had a temple built and forced his people to worship him before he was dead. What a pretentious twat.

Step 5: Face Your Doom, You Mere Mortal!

This step is not yet more than prediction by the cards for Gaga, but I think it will come in the form of some overdose or a fanatical little monster decided that a Gaga not locked away in their basement was a dead Gaga. If I were her I'd hope for the latter result. It worked for John Lennon (Much to my chagrin. I don't mind his music, but please. He wasn't a martyr for crying out loud).

Step five isn't one that any self proclaimed god wants or expects to face. Not when they're divine beings. So imagine Caligula's surprise when he noticed himself bleeding like any old nobody. Imagine the shock when he realized that these conspirators poking at him as though they were playing Whack-a-Mole were not happy with the way he was executing his divine right. That's right Caesar, you're still a damned human and still subject to the same laws of mortality that we all are.

If Gaga learns any lesson here, it should be that she needs to stop. It's one thing to think of yourself as a god, it's quite another to demand that everyone else do the same. The probability is more in favor of her looking on the bright side as she feels her heart slow: At least Caligula's psycho tendencies immortalized him for the rest of history as an interesting character.

Status Archive 12/29/10-2/10/11

So I spend alot of time devising witty statuses for my own amusement, but unfortunately they end up in the depths of Facebook Hades after so much status updating. Hence I will be ocassionally archiving them here, again for my own amusement.

12/29/10- "Think fast. Don't stress."
12/30/10- "I have a feeling deep down that one day, very soon, Phrygian caps are going to be all the rage again. However noone will know why they wear them or why they're cool. Nor will they be called 'Phrygian caps'. They will only know that when they're no longer in vogue they will be ultra geeky. Only I will think they're super awesome."
12/30/10- "I want to see Anastasia made into a musical. Do it, Broadway. Now." - Still true.
1/1/11- "'Morals are difficult things to talk about, but what has happened is that we have invented a moral sense, which is rotting now that we can't give it employment. And when a moral sense begins to rot it is worse than when you have none.' -White" - 'The Once and Future King' by TH White was probably my favourite read last year or at the very least tied with one or two others. It was so good that it's on my favourite book list now.
1/1/11- "How have I found myself sitting in my room all day in an agonizing lethargy that not even The Doctor can cure? Is this what we've progressed for? The right to be bored out of our wits? This is no existence, this is no life. What am I DOING here?!" - Panic: I was having a really bad weekend.
1/3/11- "Apparently, sir, the walls are not thick enough. This requires drastic refortification." - Bad weekend starting to lead me in the direction of isolating myself from human contact about now.
1/4/11- "My guts feel like they're twisting around themselves and have taken on minds and means of their own to laugh at me. I feel very near overthinking myself to death and it's scary." - Wow, this dragged on.
1/5/11- "What is this partiality for German composers and where did it come from?" - It's at this point that I turn to Beethoven and Mendelssohn for comfort.
1/5/11- "I'm pretty sure I suffer from a severe book addiction. I don't even look at titles anymore, and they're purchased under rather shady circumstances like having to meet behind buildings." - I bought textbooks that day off a guy who was only going to be able to sell them back for like fifty cents at the bookstore. Pathetic.
1/6/11- "Need I remind you: Britain has had an empire. What have we but the nouveau riche and a preference for sur'reality' television? My my, we are a proud nation indeed." - Stupid Americans...
1/8/11- "If you can't press three keys to spell out the word 'see', then you can't live in my house. If your last name is 'Stackwell', you can't live in my house. If you must ask if there is a washer/dryer available after reading 'Onsite laundry available', you can't live in my house! I really don't like new people." - Looking for new roommates is hard. Most people in the world really are dumb. Even if Jesus loves them.
1/9/11- "Today's themes: Poorly researched, barbarically slaughtered Greek mythology and the juxtaposition of archaic religion and modern technology. Face meets palm." - Clash of the Titans and the Percy Jackson movie in one day. It was awful.
1/10/11- "This renewed focus on Greco-Roman civilization takes me back to my days as a bright eyed ten year old with an insatiable appetite for mythology. It's like a bittersweet homecoming after years spent on a far off island. I think I've spent too much time amongst Anglo-Saxons; these once familiar gods feel so foreign." - I've been a bit obsessed with Britain for quite some time, but once upon a time I was very much enthralled to the Classics. My classes this semester all pertain to the classical world. Britain... what?
1/12/11- "As much as I like Greek names, I don't feel comfortable with using the name 'Euphrates'. I know it's the most appropriate given my education is based on Greek and Latin tradition, but even I have my qualms about extending that tradition to societies that were not inherently Greek or Roman. Discuss." - Not right now, of course.
1/16/11- "I did not make it to church today because... the police said go home. THAT IS A LEGITIMATE EXCUSE!" - Uh... pulled over for having expired plates, the car wasn't mine, sent home without a ticket and warned to get it fixed. End of story.
1/16/11- "Thank heavens my God is the only god I have to know, and the only other entities I really have to familiar with are Satan and Christ. Why are there so many generations of Greek deities before you get to the Greeks?" - Insert a 'be' in there.
1/17/11- "Here we go, Nook. You see these bound sheets of paper? They're REAL books, and they have about twenty years on you in trust building and friendship. Since I'm already biased against you, you have a long road ahead. You- don't give me that look! Don't you dare give me those puppy dog eyes! I hate you! Where were you when Alexandria burned?! You could have saved the world! Oh now don't cry. I'm sorry." - I very reluctantly got a Nook to read pdfs for class on. So far I haven't really used it.
1/18/11- "Magen is very stupid and ought to be fired. No, not stupid. Never stupid. Just misinformed."
1/19/11- "Dream: Chinese guerillas lead by a little girl in braids charge a middle school held by the 300 Spartans. Leonidas wets himself and commits a cowardly suicide in the janitor's closet, where he is found by his men and praised for being brave in the face of certain death. The Chinese then turn said middle school into a flea market where they sell knockoff hand bags and feather boas. WHAT?!"
1/20/11- "‎'If a man is killed by a random ox... uh... he was killed by a random ox.' Oh, Hammurabi..."
1/21/11- "‎'The scribe, he alone, records the output of all of them. Take note of it!'- Egyptian Scribal Exercise Book"
1/22/11- "And God commanded Magen: Go forth and build empires for a time upon the face of a PC. And Magen did, and they were good. And God said: Thy civilizations are many and these have brought blessings upon thee. But whoa be unto thee, for there must be a balance. Return ye to thy studying so that all knowledge shall be thine. And it came to pass that Magen said unto God: But I've been studying all daaaaay!!!"
1/23/11- "'So we built up empires. We stole countries. That's how you build an empire. We stole countries with the cunning use of flags.' -Eddie Izzard"
1/25/11- "Hey Jude, don't make it- Jude. Jude Jude Judy. "Don't call me Judy! I've told you!" Judy Jude Jude like Judas. Deriving thereof. Judas for boys, maybe Judi... Judi... Judia for girls? But that's a place. Judas comes from Judea and betrayed Jesus! Judas Judas Judas was a Jew. The Jews betrayed Jesus and then... aaaaaahh... Nah nah nah nanuhnana nanuhnana Hey Jude! (This is how things work really.)"
1/27/11- "My earliest memory? Being aware of myself and realizing that I had the capacity to comprehend complex thoughts and ponder complex questions. Then suddenly there is a void that isn't filled until much later when I don't have that capability anymore. True story."
1/28/11- "Freekish Greek geeking as we be speeking. (Spelling errors intentional.)"
1/29/11- "Alternative endings: 'What is the capital of Assyria?' 'Which one do you mean? Assur or Nineveh?' 'What? I don't know that... YAAAAHOOHOOHOOHOI!'"
1/30/11- "I miss playing in the woods like some wild fiend. Building hovels, collecting berries (I knew better than to eat them, of course), exploring the labyrinth of Dead Man's Pipe, finding animal skulls to wear proudly on a makeshift belt and show off to mom... Only she doesn't think it so admirable, so she throws them away. Not to worry, wild fiends aren't above digging through dumpsters. :)"
1/31/11- "Dash it all, why does this all have to happen now?! Why couldn't I have been born earlier and been able to see the great wonders of the ancient world before people went stark raving mad?! GAH!"
2/1/11- "So I reach up to warm my ears upon reaching the safety of heat. They've broken off. I have no ears. I didn't even feel that."
2/1/11- "‎'Lord, remember the Athenians.'" - Darius of Persia apparently had this recited to him three times before every meal so he would never forget the betrayal of the Athenians. I'd been betrayed.
2/2/11- "I wish I could express in a status just how exuberantly thrilled I am to be writing a paper. Then again, I think the fact that I'm willing to exert such a statement is testament enough. Who in their right mind says something like that?"
2/3/11- "I'm guessing a WWI era Austro-Hungarian great coat? In any case I passed out right there on the pavement. Silver buttons make me a bit weak." - This guy was wearing the coolest coat ever, only with a baseball cap and jeans which looked awful. I actually guessed right.
2/3/11- "I hate mock trials for these reasons: 1! Greeks had no lawyers, so how can I be one? 2! I'm not Greek let alone living BCE, so my understanding of justice is completely different. 3! Any trial concerning a woman means that the woman is going to lose. Trust me, I defended Medea like a champ, and I still lost because of the simple fact that she was a woman. Clytemnestra is going down no matter what." - Won that trial.
2/4/11- "Ares. War. Eros. Love. I think I get it." - I was struck with how similar the names are and yet stand for such opposite things.
2/6/11- "Astairacles is coming to life!" - My roommate is sculpting a bust for me based on one of my sketches. It's pretty fantastic.
2/6/11- "Matthew 10:39- 'He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.'"
2/7/11- "Once again I find myself doing all the work. This is what happens when you're the smart one. Then again, I would rather die than be the pretty airhead."
2/8/11- "Blast you alarm clock! Can't you see that Alexander's ghost is trying to tell me something about Bactria that could be very important? Stop interrupting him! Except now I've lost it and it's... I'm... barrius phasus? What the devil does that mean? Now I'm dreaming in fake Latin that might have something to do with elephants. Eegads."
2/9/11- "I can't lie: I really really REALLY like my life. It's pretty much the best life ever. Even when things are bad and could always get worse, they also can always get better and they usually do."
2/10/11- "Plato. CS Lewis. Epicurious experimentations in the kitchen. Cat nap. Good day."

On Human Potential

I was sitting in class one day during a discussion about a movie we'd recently watched, minding my own business and reflecting on my own thoughts on the film when I suddenly realized that this was a discussion. Not an interview between myself and an interviewer. I was very much aware at that moment that I was surrounded by people, all thinking about the subject we were talking about, and that they were giving input when I wasn't. This may sound absolutely ridiculous to you. 'Of course,' you may be thinking, 'because you just said yourself that it was a discussion, or do you not know what a discussion is?' Apparently I don't.

I realize that I'm a bit too self centered most of the time. I don't believe this is unwarranted since I am firstly human and secondly self sustaining. Being a survivalist naturally puts me in the position of being self interested and apathetic concerning the affairs of other people. If other people aren't surviving, that's hardly my fault and I don't like to dwell on the philanthropy I should be engaged in. In my defense, it's not that I don't care. I've said before that I actually do care quite a bit, but I try very hard not to care because I really can't be bothered at this point in my life. If I'm going to save the world I need to make sure that I can keep my ship sailing, right? If I sink, then you all would sink, and that does no good for anyone.

I can already tell that I'm about to go off on a tangent, which is not the goal of most writing. If I went off on a tangent, this prompt would never end and nobody- well, nobody reads these anyway. SO! I was sitting in this discussion when I was struck with how many people were there talking. They were projecting their own ideas on the meaning of this film, which was in itself a commentary on life. Here we are then, a group of people with different ideas and worldviews creating a collective commentary on life. It was AMAZING. I felt as though I'd been hit in the head with a great bolt of lightning and all my gears were speeding with new motivation.

These people, all strangers, were people. With brains. With thoughts, no less. These thoughts spoke to an underlying reality that cannot be perceived with our natural senses. While I didn't know anything about these people, and I'll admit that none stood out to be as particularly intelligent, I suddenly saw in them the potential to be gods. Most of them will probably never realize their intellectual potential, most of them probably don't even think on things like philosophy or the cosmos on a daily basis, but that doesn't make them any less brilliant than what they could be.

This epiphany sent me into a frenzy. I don't think much of people, but I was suddenly very excited to be one of them, to be sitting amongst them all in their deific embryonic states. I think the world of myself, and I realized that what I need in my life is to think the world of other people. Not because I like them. I don't have to like them, but I want to at least learn to accept them.

Why? Because I've never been able to accept other people. I have my reasons, and my behavior in life has been validated by those reasons. However they are not valid enough to continue living the way I do; certainly not if I am striving to live a Christian life.

God has commanded us to love one another, do unto each other, blah blah blah. I don't mean to undermine commandments here, but this is the attitude I've always had towards other people. They aren't deserving of any respect from me, right? What I was thinking though, after that discussion, was that God never commanded us to like one another. I don't have to like anyone I don't want to, but I have to love? How does that work? I think this year I'm going to try to figure that out, and this epiphany drawn from another ordinary class discussion is a window into what that means. I don't know any of those people, and I probably wouldn't even like ninety percent of them, but that doesn't change the fact that they have thoughts and godlike potential. I have realized that about myself, and it's a fantastic feeling. It's the feeling I need to have towards other people. I don't have to like anyone, but I found that I can love them for who they could be, or even have been and still are now: children of God.

So that's the goal. This year I will learn to love people for what they are in the eyes of God. There's more to be said on this, but I can't concentrate anymore. Too many things to be done I guess.

On Lessons Learned

When you don't have enough fingers to count the number of schools you've been to in your lifetime, the grades start to blend together. So I couldn't tell you when I learned one of the most valuable and life changing lessons so far on my life lesson checklist. I think this was maybe sixth grade though.

I don't remember much of sixth grade. This is probably due to the fact that I wasn't actually in school for much of it. There were at least two months lacking when we moved from Washington to California, and I was left to rely on my mother's limited knowledge to guide me through the 'homework' she gave us to do everyday in our extended stay suite in San Jose. Homework became rather a moot point as she could do nothing to correct us, and we had days on end where we could watch cable television or go out to the swimming pool instead. Who needs homework when your teacher isn't a teacher and being a fish is so much cooler?!

Anyway, what I do remember about sixth grade were these five important things:

1)'The Hobbit' was a book intended for young boys of adventurous minds. Young ladies could glean nothing of significance from its pages. I was very much into the whole 'defining gender roles' thing at this age since I was noticing that things were changing between us females and those males. Little good that did me; in retrospect I'm probably more an adventurous young lad than a coquettish young girl. This lesson went out the window when I caved in to the pressure my father had given me to read 'The Hobbit' and 'The Lord of the Rings'. Tolkien has since basically defined my life.

2)It's 'buck' naked, not 'butt' naked. Thank you Mr. Mayor, why was that relevant?

3)I have a certain violent streak. For Social Studies we had to do reports on various aspects of Inca life. Some people talked about the market, the roles of women, the hierarchy, etc. I chose to report on Inca ritual. Hardly that violent unless you happen to be offered the opportunity to make it a presentation, and of course I must be the best. I couldn't tell you a blasted thing about the Inca today, so I'm pretty sure I made all of it up just to have the best presentation ever.

I worked very hard the night before preparing my sacrifice, a stuffed llama that I liked very much and had gotten from a carnival game in Las Vegas. My llama laid on the altar, my weapon in hand, I explained to the class the various aspects of ritual worship for the ancient Inca. My poor llama, had he known what was about to happen and if he had been a real llama, would have bleated helplessly in anticipation of my intentions. My knife came down and proceeded to thrash the thing to bits. As well as I could stage it I pulled spaghetti out of the corpse, red with tomato sauce, and placed them in a dish. “LOOK AT THE GUTS!!!” I exclaimed happily. I'm sure my teacher was slightly horrified, but she praised my authenticity in any case.

The spaghetti was cold and lacked seasoning, but it was a better sack lunch than usual.

4)I really liked the name Phillip. I'd always really liked that name, but there was a boy who had that name, and when you're really into the whole 'defining gender roles' thing, you HAVE to like somebody. I never talked to him, nor do I remember what he looked like, but I liked his name, so I suppose that was good enough reason to like him.

5)The fifth and most important lesson of all from sixth grade was to never tattle or tell secrets. Shawnese and Emily were the two girls I paired off with most in class and group projects, and they loved to talk about boys. Boys this, and boys that, and I had to listen to it all the live long six hours of school. I could have talked about Phillip, but I didn't know anything about him and I've always tended to be a bit embarrassed about the subject.

There was a boy named Dominic that Shawnese and Emily both had a crush on. I couldn't understand what had possessed them to think such thoughts about Dominic. He would sit with us at lunch and do group projects with us, so as far as I was concerned he wasn't a boy at all. He was one of us. So I didn't think anything of it when I told Dominic that Shawnese and Emily both liked him. They did, and he had a right to know.

They were not pleased by this. Shawnese least of all. Dominic admitted that he liked Emily, and they started 'dating', or sitting together with his arm around her shoulders. Shawnese didn't talk to me for a long time. I felt awful. I realized that I had broken a cardinal rule of good relations: don't tell secrets. Yes, this was perhaps a small way to learn it, but when I feel guilty I feel REALLY guilty. I vowed never to tell secrets again, and so far I haven't told any secrets to anyone but my dogs.

I never thought I'd have to learn this lesson twice. For some reason the first time stood out so much in my mind that I'd never had to practice not telling secrets. In fact I still think of this incidence whenever I catch myself almost tattling. But it seems to have resurfaced in my life in a slightly different way in the past few months, and after much reflection, I think I've definitely learned something new.

Don't tell your own secrets.

This isn't to mean that you can't talk about things, but I certainly need to learn some discretion before picking topics to discuss. I like to think that I can be a very open person and that whatever I tell people can't come back to haunt me, because it's of little or no consequence. When you spend as much time as I do not doing anything, there's not much to hide. But what about the little things that maybe MEAN something to you? I don't do anything, but I think quite a bit, and it's more often than not my thoughts that get me in trouble. You never know if telling one friend something will actually tip off everyone else until suddenly you're caught up in this big story of how you shot JFK or something, and you KNOW it's not the truth because you only shot the neighbor's dog, JFK, with a pellet gun and he didn't even die. But EVERYONE is convinced that you went back in time and somehow managed to assassinate the 35^th president of the United States.

It happened to a girl I once knew in high school. Darby was infatuated with this guy the year above us. Again, I couldn't see the appeal. He was tall and gawky and looked like that one guy Anne Hathaway has a crush on in 'The Princess Diaries'. Again, I didn't get it. At the time I wasn't even interested in any guys because I'd decided by this time that they were a waste of time and a distraction from more important things like reading 'The Hobbit'.

Anyway, Darby had this whole notebook in which she devised poorly executed comics of this guy talking to her in the hall, getting locked in a closet with her, going to a dance, etc. It was all very silly and she made the mistake of showing it to her friends, myself included. One of us (not me of course, I'd learned my lesson!), somehow got copies of this notebook and showed the boy in question. Darby was humiliated and horrified, and I was beside myself with sympathetic- okay, so maybe I didn't care. It was WEIRD that she was doing this, after all. I'm pretty sure she learned to start keeping things to herself, and while I used to be very good at keeping my own secrets, it's the same lesson I've had to learn ten years after her.

How am I going to utilize said teachings now? Fake an interest in someone else's life from now on and keep my life confidential. Hoard the awesome.