I just watched this video discussing the book The Wal-Mart Effect, and found it interesting that the disparaging comments ultimately did not revolve around how greedy the corporation is, or how unethical their labor laws are. The focus was actually on the unequivocal power over the free market that Wal-Mart exerts.
A friend of mine who is often concerned about the government's intervention with the economy recently quoted George Orwell to me, saying, "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." The thing is, it appears that power can be exerted from anywhere, from outside the free market, and from the inside. Personally, I'd find it more satisfying to point fingers at that sinister yellow smiley face than anyone else. But, I'm still too sane to start doing that.
July 28, 2009
The Wal-Mart Effect
July 10, 2009
Answer Tips
July 8, 2009
Choose the Most Correct Response
I'll just blame that on the fact that most kids lack a clear concept of time. Otherwise, why would they consistently ask on road trips, "Are we there yet?" again and again, after having been told (likely over and over) how long it would take to get there? Well...I can think of other reasons too.
But while I'm on the subject of concepts that mature with age, I think I'll get into the real topic for today: Free Speech. First off, whenever I come to my parents house, I love to go through old books and papers in the basement. I happened to be intrigued this time by some volumes of a series called Out of the Best Books that used to belong to my Grandma Banks. Each one is a compilation of essays, poems, short stories, etc. for LDS families. Specifically, this series was created for a program of Relief Society cultural refinement back in the 60s. There are six volumes that begin with personal values and self-worth, then move on to marriage and family relationships, and then our role in the community.
In the spirit of Independence Day, I decided to read a section in the fifth volume about Freedom. I was particularly impressed with an essay by Walter Lippmann, "The Indispensable Opposition." His views on the value of opposition are very similar to that of the LDS church. He concludes that opposition is essential in order for us to arrive at the truth of a matter, or to more knowledgeably form our own opinions. I would like to share a paragraph:
"We miss the whole point when we imagine that we tolerate the freedom of our political opponents as we tolerate a howling baby next door, as we put up with the blasts from our neighbor's radio because we are too peaceable to heave a brick through the window. If this were all there is to freedom of opinion, that we are too good-natured or too timid to do anything about our opponents and critics except to let them talk, it would be difficult to say whether we are tolerant because we are magnanimous or because we are lazy, because we have strong principles or because we lack serious convictions, whether we have the hospitality of an inquiring mind or the indifference of an empty mind. And so, if we truly wish to understand why freedom is necessary in a civilized society, we must begin by realizing that, because freedom of discussion improves our own opinions, the liberties of other men are our own vital necessity."I think I'm probably guilty of missing the point of free speech. There are times when I treat the opinions of others like a game of Monopoly. I graciously wait while each player takes his turn, but am all too anxious for my own turn, so I can bankrupt them all with my newly constructed hotel on Ventnor Avenue. Of course, that didn't end up working the last time I played Monopoly. Well...getting at my point now, the right of free speech is much more than a fair and equal opportunity for everyone to express their own opinions, it is a right to continuously question and investigate what we feel is right, and to act on it.
I mentioned a few months ago that I participated in a panel on campus discussing what educational experiences have been the most valuable to me in school. I spent a bit of time talking about how important my experience in debate class had been. When the class began, I had very fixed opinions about many topics, but through the course of two years in hearing opposing views, arguing opposing views, and researching opposing views, I felt less certain about some issues, and in my opinion, was the better for it.
In a way, my answers to various questions now take on the form of those found in multiple choice questionarres, with the direction: choose the most correct response. Those tests are full of decent answers. The world is full of decent answers. But our freedom of speech goes beyond respect and tolerance, and extends to helping ourselves and others find the most correct answers for our lives. This perspective really does make the concept of free speech much more unifying and liberating to me. Anyhow, the essay is worth reading.
July 2, 2009
June 30, 2009
eMusic: Gems and Junk
I am officially ending my subscription with eMusic today after 10 months of loyal service. Well, not entirely loyal. I attempted to cancel my membership a few days ago, but they bribed me with a bonus package of 25 free songs to stay. Of course, I accepted their offer with the intention of immediately downloading a bunch of songs and then canceling anyway. Suckers! Anyway, I’ve now come to realize that I’ve added over 500 songs to my collection that’ve come from independent labels. Hooray, for me. It certainly was a goal of mine to look into…how did I phrase it then, “underground music”? I really wouldn’t consider myself a music buff without being fully able to spout off a bunch of no-names bands that, well, no one has ever heard of. And that is what this blog is all about, stuff that you have never heard of, and probably never will again. Yes, I am going to share what I’ve dug up in the “underground,” the gems and the junk.
GEMS
2. Lacrimosa – This band was also on the Wikipedia list of Dark Wave bands. I loved them immediately. All of their albums are themed, and they are all strictly in German. I really enjoyed listening to these songs while simply interpreting them from the emotion in the vocals and music alone. That is rare for me. I usually feel that becoming familiar with the lyrics and knowing what the song is about is a must. In a way, it is liberating that I don’t understand the words, and am in no way constrained by them. Their albums are really the closest I have come to going to an opera in a foreign language. They are fabulous.
3. The Crüxshadows – Also on the Dark Wave list! It is obvious that eMusic has introduced me to a new genre of music with which I can expand my horizons, eh? Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed that I really like this band. Firstly, because I suppose in some capacity it is considered Gothic. My mind always leaps to extremes when I hear the word “gothic.” I picture really depressed teenagers dressed all in black that hate everything (especially sunlight) except the few things that they are overly obsessive and passionate about (which likely has something to do with vampires). Second reason, kind of an extension of the first, take a look at the lead singer of the band:
4. Les Claypool’s Frog Brigade – Some time back when I really got into podcasts, I enjoyed the opportunity to hear some cover songs of Pink Floyd on Brain Damage. As a matter of fact, I made a colossal effort to track these songs down afterwards, and ended up finding a cover of the entire Animals album on eMusic. Of course, this album is based on the book Animal Farm by George Orwell. I still haven’t read that yet, but I certainly love this album. To hear the entire thing covered by a band as good as Les Claypool was pretty awesome. Hmm…I’ve always had a thought that marriage was like a good cover song (a sweet mixture of what’s new and what’s familiar). Maybe I should marry the Frog Brigade…
On second thought, no thanks.Symphony X writes songs based on stories from mythology, Poe, Lewis Carroll, and even a whole album on Milton’s Paradise Lost, among other things. I haven’t undertaken that book yet, either, but all in good time. I don’t suspect it will be a page turner, though. Anyway, I certainly have to be in the mood for this kind of thing, but it has a memorable place in my collection.
3. Magma – This one is pretty interesting, actually. These guys did concept albums that revolved around the premise of a group of people fleeing a resource-spent Earth to settle on a planet called Kobaïa. The band even created a unique language, Kobaïan, in which most of the lyrics are actually sung. I guess originally this had a sort of Tolkien appeal to me, as Tolkien constructed his own elvish language, Quenya, for The Lord of the Rings. Being a person that likes a fair bit of Progressive Rock, I don’t ordinarily agree with those that make the argument that the genre is repulsively pretentious. It took listening to jazz fusion mixed in with Kobaïan to see their point. Gag!
As if needing eight members in a rock band wasn't pretentious enough.4. Lycia – The concluding statement in the review given on eMusic for their album A Day in the Stark Corner, says, “a series of similar sounding pieces which work wonderfully as an extended mood setter.” My “extended mood” was boredom. Utter, utter boredom.
5. Ayreon – Well, here are the opening lyrics of Into the Electric Castle: “Welcome, you have entered the cranial vistas of ‘Psychogenesis.’ This is the place of no time and no space. Do not be afraid, for I am merely the vocal manifestation of your dreams. I am as water, as air, as breath itself. Do not be afraid. Look around, but linger not. Where I lead, you will follow. Mark these words well: Ignite my anger with your delay and punishments will come your way.” Nuff said. Except that the last line is pretty ironic, if you ask me.
Wow. They even look like morons, don't they?June 23, 2009
Can you still feel the butterflies?
Jimmy Eat World's Clairty Live release from their most recent tour is awesome. It includes "No Sensitivity"! I certainly enjoyed it :)
June 22, 2009
Microcosmic Dancing
A while back, in my "I Love the Devil (but not really)" entry, I committed to sharing some of the special experiences of mine that I had compiled into a list. I shared a couple, and then I forgot about all that for a while. But I was reminded of it again when I got to read another of my friend Stephen's poems last month. Hey, I don't know how it works, but you read one, and you've got to write one. I wrote this one a few weeks ago, but decided I might as well post it now. Go easy, this is only the fifth poem I have written in my life that doesn't rhyme. I'm experimenting.
Microcosmic Dancing
He fancied himself a dancer,
though at first he looked more like a buoy, bobbing
only slightly in the water. The thought
made me laugh and jest in his ear as I took
his arm and we shared a dance.
Now mocking my conception of a proper pace,
he teetered sharply back and forth
(a smirking pendulum).
“I don’t want to dance with a metronome”—
I pulled him in.
Time began to swish
more slowly, in that instant
I paused to sense it.
A word blasted in my brain,
a firework: “Microcosmic!”
It was a dance within a dance,
as little people swirling
in a shake of plastic snow,
or dancers in a music box
that’s sounding down,
with trembling fingers at bay--
to eagerly wind it up again.
June 20, 2009
Rush and Philosophy
I'm certainly glad that I keep up with the Rush is a Band blog, because as it turns out, there is now a Rush and Philosophy book in the works for the Pop Culture and Philosophy book series! If you remember, I was pretty dang excited about this series just a few entries back. When I came across the Beatles and Pink Floyd editions, I couldn't help doing a Google search for a Rush one as well. Of course, I wasn't surprised to find that such a book didn't exist, but that doesn't mean I wasn't certain that it would make a great edition. Apparently, others at "the top" agree with me.
While we welcome eccentricities in the World of Rock, our curiousity certainly heightens when we notice that for the subsequent tour Alex has gotten a larger set of amps, and Geddy has gotten an equally larger-sized set of...chicken rotisseries?!:
Okay, so Geddy is officially a little nuts. But I love him for it!
June 19, 2009
Run for Fun?
I warn all who know me very well, you will be shocked by this post. But don’t worry, I think you will recognize that I am still in my “right mind” as it all unfolds. Firstly, it seems as though I love fast food a little too much lately. I’m not one to usually care much about how unhealthy that is, or to mention anything about “watching my weight.” But I have definitely gained some weight lately, and I don’t like the fact. So, I’ve thought a lot more about…exercising. What?? Yes, you all know I generally hate that idea. I am the kind of person who has always loathed running, even as a kid.
Coincidently, my brother is also feeling the need to start exercising. Though, clearly, something needs to be done when you no longer have the energy to hop a low fence to retrieve a frisbee.
As luck would have it, Matt decided to get a treadmill for the extra bedroom.
Great, I don’t have to go to the gym. This has several advantages. You see, it has always been the case that when I want to do something that I find fairly distasteful, I require a novelty. So, I’ve thought about some things I can do that will psych me up while I run the treadmill to make the experience less torturous.
If reading about how to be more dangerous doesn’t psych me up for a good run, I can always conjure some aggression by playing some Street Fighter II.
Yes, the controller will reach. It’s a great idea! But I guess it could potentially be a little too dangerous to run on a treadmill and play Nintendo at the same time. Well, there’s always magnet poetry. Can’t get any safer than that.
Though, it might be pretty hard to place the words into properly aligned sentences like that. Drat.
June 15, 2009
Art Appreciation
Some time ago, while I was messing around on Facebook with this application where you pick your top five choices for various catergories, I realized that I have an insufficient knowledge of many subjects. While it is easy for me to pick favorite bands, books, and tv shows, there are other things that I haven't explored enough to distinguish my favorites. The main subject that caught my attention was the fact that I can't name my five favorite artists. I guess I just haven't been that into art. So, I've decided to finally establish some favorites!
Apparently, to get the effect of the light and colors of lanterns at dusk just right, he only painted at this time for about ten minutes a day, and it took him years to do it. I applaud his dedication, but I kinda feel bad for the girls having to put on those dresses every night.
Another picture that I had on my wall that I really enjoy got me interested in Edgar Degas (Dancers, Pink and Green):
I got a book of his work at the library, and enjoyed these paintings as well.
Four Dancers:
Singer with a Glove:
and Before the Curtain Call:
While I'm on the subject of art, I also had the opportunity to see two 1980s themed art shows this month. One of the shows specifically had a 1982 theme, and one of the artists showing her work was my sister's good friend Gentry Blackburn. I forgot to take pictures of her paintings, but I've attempted to recreate one of them for you:
Arguably, Khan is one of the sexiest older men in the history of cinema (especially against a backdrop of neon lasers!)
Umm...moving on. The other art show, at Signed and Numbered, was displaying and selling prints of paintings inspired by quotes from 80s movies. The movies included: The Goonies ("Hey, you guys!"), The Three Amigos ("You sons of a motherless goat!"), The Princess Bride ("Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!"), Labyrinth ("Smell bad!), and many more. They were so awesome, and certainly fed my nostalgia cravings for that day. I even bought some for my room. This one shows John Cusack from Say Anything:
The quote on there is, "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."
I also got one with a quote from The Outsiders, but I still need to get it framed:
It says, "Stay gold, Ponyboy."
I specifically wanted these pictures because they depict young characters who are making decisions to live their lives authentically and optimistically. That's a decision that I feel is always good to remember. However, I actually entertained the idea of getting a picture of Bluto saying, "Smell bad!" for the bathroom, but I'd hate to start off my venture in the art world with such distasteful instincts. Though, it still makes me smile a bit. As does that sinister picture of President James Buchanan I considered buying (don't worry, this picture had nothing to do with an 80s movie). So, that covers the beginning stages of my explorations with appreciating art more. I've offically begun forcing more "culture" into my life. Yay for me!
June 2, 2009
Langoliers are Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Sometimes I think that I should just let my childhood nostalgia live on strong, in memory, rather than to seek to revive it. It is always disappointing. A lot of the time, especially with this day and age, you can easily track down virtually any movie, tv show, or book that you loved as a kid. It’s almost too easy. Part of me is thrilled at the thought, and the other part of me knows that the best part of nostalgic back-flashes is the flash, and nothing more. Then again, the moment when you get your hands on something again that you’ve lost, the moment when you are sure you’ll get the chance to find out all over again exactly what compelled you so much when you were younger, is really a pretty exciting moment. That must be why the end result is so disappointing.
Regardless, I certainly am the sort of person who is much more given to exploring childhood interests than most people. In fact, Brady, you’ll actually have to comment this time, because I want you to remind me of the name of that Mexican punch that you and Dave used to like so much. I remember that I kept tasting it, trying to decide whether or not I liked it, and I had a sort of epiphany that the drink was like Nostalgia. And I suppose, I could call the punch by that name instead, but I want to track it down is the angle. It tasted familiar, but long-away so…and I simply could not tell if I liked it for its taste, or for its familiarity. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was drugged!
Speaking of your brother though, I’ll never forget the time he indulged one of my nostalgic cravings. I told him that I loved The Chipmunk Adventure movie as a kid, and one day he pulls out an old VHS tape with it on there for me to borrow. I’m pretty sure I snatched it, and literally jumped up and down, with a smile from ear to ear. It was probably about two in the morning when I got home with it, but I started watching it the second I got there, and loudly enough that I woke some roommates up, as I recall. Actually, when they asked me to turn it down, I pretty much didn’t. You must be excited about something to justify listening to it as loudly as you want in the middle of the night, right? Indeed!
Some things I revisit are much better than others (My Little Pony: The Movie). But it really is interesting to see how much of my heart is in silly little things like that. The best way I can conceive to keep these memories at their best would be to treat them like the memory of my cousins’ secret room. This room could probably be accessed by a door (somewhere), but I never knew of one. I only went in there once, and it was through a secret passageway underneath the bathroom sink. It opened up into this huge room with steps that led up to a reading area with soft pillows, and a wall painted with a giant rainbow. That’s pretty much the brightest rainbow in my memory. However, another came close a month ago. I actually saw it on the day I was leaving Logan. It was the first full rainbow I think I have ever seen, and it was so incredibly bright, that I had to pull over on the side of the highway to get a better look. It was a nice way to leave the valley.
Though, what I was getting at is that my childhood ought to be considered like that secret room, with a passageway I must concede that I simply can’t fit through anymore. Sure there’s probably a door I could go through to get in, but it wouldn’t be the same experience. The ceilings wouldn’t look so high on the way in, for one thing. And the rainbow wouldn’t be as bright, like Dorothy stepping into Oz for the first time. That’s corny to say, put that’s really the best comparison I have for it.
Although, next to the memory of the secret room, I’m embarrassed to mention the object of my latest childhood memory revival. I recently rented the movie The Langoliers, based on the book by Stephen King, from the library. It was mostly horrible. However, I could recognize a bit of what struck me with the storyline as a kid (not too young a kid at this point). Anyway, this plane flies through some rip in the fabric of time into the past. Although, the past is really not some awesome adventure like Back to the Future. It is completely empty, without people, smells, tastes, and sounds, except for a mysterious and foreboding noise that keeps getting closer. This noise is the Langoliers, who are described by one of the characters as creatures consisting of only hair and teeth, which come after all the lazy and unproductive children in the world, and eat them. His father had told him about them when he was a boy, to torment him into being an overachiever. Now they were real. And they were devouring the world, and the past. I guess the past is as useless as those lazy boys and girls. But anyway, the passengers must escape the Langoliers, and get back into the present.
Although the movie is mostly pretty awful in parts, I really love the idea behind it. For me, it explores the feelings and fears of not having a purpose. Although, maybe when I was younger it was the idea of loneliness or being unimportant that got to me. Don't ask why I like to reflect on my creepier childhood memories as well, I'm not sure about that. Anyhow, this story paints a picture that is maddeningly empty, with creatures that embody “the vast beast-whistle of space,” high on your tail to clear you out too. With a world full of Langoliers, you are always on the run. "And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking, and racing around to come up behind you again." Sorry, I started quoting Pink Floyd.
Anyway, it is evident that the procrastinating reminiscent types wouldn't stand a chance against these Langoliers. Gee, with me not having a job right now and all, maybe I ought to watch my back. Though, I'm pretty sure that if a Langolier tried to gobble me up, it'd burst in a painful shower of nostalgia rainbows. But as of now, I think I'm safe anyway. I am not entirely unproductive. According to a recent email, I made a couple bucks in royalties with this t-shirt I made a long time ago. That’s right, I have officially sold two of them. I think I made more money at work while I was killing the time making that shirt than I've gotten from selling it. On the bright side, though, at least a couple bucks will buy me 10 lbs. of potatoes.
May 24, 2009
I Don't Want to Live in a Wigwam
So, get this, the place that I moved into this summer has a movie rack with 18 seasons of Star Trek (all of the original series, including the animated series, the Next Generation series, and the Deep Space Nine series). It also has both the theatrical and extended versions of The Lord of the Rings movies, all three Tolkien cartoons (with custom covers and internet downloads to replace various atrocities), every Star Wars dvd (yes, the kind where you can view the original along with the pointless George Lucas reboots that came out about 12 years ago), and…need I go on? This person is obviously a hardcore nerd, right? Yeah, kinda, but more accurately, he’s my brother.
Matt shares a duplex in Salt Lake with my sister Ali and her husband. And, he's good enough to let me live here too until I graduate. So, really, we are once again a bunch of Dukes under the same roof. And already, it feels a bit like I’m reliving some of my childhood summers. I currently don’t have a job yet, so it especially feels that way. One of my favorite things about this location is that there is a park right on the other side of the fence in our back yard.
So it is fun to go for walks on the trails, and I am fully intending to get some yard games to play out there (croquet, all the way!). We also all want to start playing some tennis in the courts that are there in the park. I'm considering getting a retro bike for the trails, as well. I also love to go hang out there at night.
My sister and I actually played Dead Poets Society there one night. We snuck out with flashlights, and I read her what I consider the coolest thing ever to read aloud, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” It was actually a lot of fun, especially since my brother’s cute little kitties actually followed us, and started frolicking around during the reading. I love reading at night in the park! I read The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at night in a park in my neighborhood in Logan, and it set the mood so perfectly. So, we are certainly planning to try more Dead Poets nights again. My sis wants me to read her “something Greek” next time :)
Apparently, though, you aren’t supposed to be in any public parks around here at night. Ali actually showed me the sign that said it was closed from 10 pm to 6 am. Nuts to that! I don’t see the problem. On the plus side, it will make those Dead Poets nights more exciting, keeping in mind that we are truly doing something we aren’t supposed to be :>
I really love being here with my family! And think my brother is the best despite my cracks about his nerdish…leanings. Love ya, Matt! Also, my sister’s been wanting me to move out here for years, but I certainly have been taking my time getting through college. Now I’ve just got a Distance Ed. independent study class left to do this summer, and then I’m on to student teaching in the fall at (a lavish Neil Peart drum roll, please)…Northwest Middle School. Yes, I’ve decided to try my hand at a middle school. More details to come, but it should be exciting. I fully expect some tips from you sometime, Amanda.
I also recently had a birthday on Saturday. That's 25! It is a time of transition, I suppose. I was about to get all reflective about where I am in life, and where I want to be going, and what state of mind I have, and ought to, but now I am reminded of my first experience with a Yoga class (which I tried for kicks on my birthday). I was compelled by some of the things the instructor was asking us to think about through the exercises. It came as quite a surprise, actually. I’m at least a moderate skeptic about the point of New Age trends. Anyway, some of the ideas behind it really advocate a sense of self-awareness and acceptance of your current state of mind and body, with its strengths and limitations. I think that seems to be a pretty valuable concept however you go about exploring it. Also, it’s nice to clear time in your schedule for quiet reflection. Looks like for the moment, I have a bit of an abundance of free time. So, maybe I'll add Yoga to the list of things to try this summer. Most likely, I'll be spending more time than I want to doing homework. Blah.
Well, there’s the update. Thanks to those who got me a present/made me dinner, and such. Give yourselves a good pat on the back, from me (vicarious-like). No hugs, though.
May 14, 2009
I'll "Get" You, My Pretty, and Your Little Blog Too...
As much as I wanted to resist the trend of blogging when it was surfacing a few years ago, I think I can now admit that I’ve always enjoyed reading and writing them. I was just resistant because it was popular. I think that’s the same reason I avoided reading any Harry Potter books until about after the third film was made (even when my mom gave one to me for Christmas). In fact, I got an unwanted Harry Potter book on two separate Christmases. I came to find out later that the second incident was just a chance for someone to get rid of his ex-wife’s book. “Great…thanks…” But now, I honestly can say they are entertaining enough, but not my thing.
Oh, yes, so, what I was getting at with the fact that I like reading blogs is that I was the sort of child that practically coveted the idea of journal reading. It was honestly difficult for me to not read my family members' journals. Sad, I know. What’s worse is that I remember the time I cracked. I enjoyed learning that my brother had a crush on the star of the high school musical, yet, I also felt rightfully guilty. Now with people writing blogs, there is no more guilt to be had. The people that write them WANT readers, and comments, and…heck, maybe some of them want web-browsing strangers reading their blogs too (never saw the point of that personally, though). So, that curiosity I had as a child is now somewhat catered. Unfortunately, not enough people I know (care about) write one, and apparently not enough of my good friends and family share my curiosity, and want to read mine.
I was babysitting for my brother Scott the other day, and happened to mention something about my blog. He asked, “So, essentially, it’s a journal?” I hesitated for a sec, and essentially agreed. He seemed uninterested in the idea. Okay, so, that’s fine that he doesn’t care to hear about the life and thoughts of some stranger, but I think something that gets close to the journal of a family member sounds very interesting to read. In fact, at one time I thought it would be cool to be an English teacher, because they get to read so much of their students’ work, and thus get to know them better than the teachers of the other subjects, I would wager. I think that was the case for me. My English teachers seemed to know me pretty well. At least, they seemed to like me pretty well. Anyhow, I’m guessing there must be some people like me, or else there would be no need for those little diaries with the locks on them. I never had one of those. I guess I didn’t mind if someone read what I had to say.
This reminds me of a writing group I was involved with a few years back called Literary Den. I used to spend some time on the Bebo social network, as this is where a good friend (Beanbag Skratchbob) advertised and posted his music. We both ended up posting some of the chapters from books we were working on there as well. By way of that, I joined a small writers group that eventually evolved into Literary Den. As I came to find out, it was mostly a bunch of teenagers. But surprisingly, I enjoyed being a part of it despite the fact. I honestly found it fulfilling to learn about these kids from the UK. I read their stories, gave them feedback, and participated as a moderator for their website. I actually also found myself praying for personal concerns I knew that they were facing. I shared an email with my testimony to one of them, and shared the LDS.org website with another. It was an experience that I would say is completely the opposite of times on Facebook where you make “friends” with a bunch of people you know, but never talk to them.
My Beanbag Skratchbob friend (aka Dave), told me it was a neat service I was giving, reading these kids’ stories while I was at work (some being incredibly long), and getting back to them within a couple days. It didn’t seem that way to me at all. I enjoyed it. I felt that their work deserved some attention and praise after all the time they put into it. They deserved to know that the world was a little bit more aware of them. If that was service, I hope that the many other service opportunities I will have down the line will be so easy and enjoyable.
I admit, I’m not the most charitable person in the world. I am usually fully aware when I am doing service for people. I'm pretty sure there is something about that awareness and the spirit of the act that are incongruous. I need some practice with willingly (and unconciously) extending more service. How do you practice something that you hope to do unconciously? Yes, I ask more questions to avoid doing things...
I guess there is that one strength I may have regarding the matter, that I love getting to know people better. To this aim, it's really pretty fun and enlightening not only to read various writings, but to also inquire after the meaning behind music compositions, and works of art. My nephew Brandon is a pretty amazing artist, and was showing me a notebook full of his drawings. I asked about some of the creatures he had drawn, saying that they reminded me of C.S. Lewis's childhood drawings, as well as old Genesis album covers. Turns out, the creatures were the imagimary friends that he and his brother had as little kids. Honestly, what's more interesting than learning about childhood imaginary friends? Especially when they looked like satyrs and foxes?
I always wanted to have had an imaginary friend! I feel like I wasn't as creative or delightfully crazy (as kids are allowed to be) as I would have liked to be. So, looking at the sketchbook was truly the highlight of that day. Hmm, but perhaps the fact that I actually enjoy that sort of thing makes it, in fact, selfish. Lousy Immanuel Kant! No one is ever good enough according to him!
...well, thanks for reading. I actually started out with something more relevant in mind to say, but ended up with this. This. For your sakes, though, at least you know I like to read your blogs :)
April 18, 2009
Philosophies of Teaching, Puzzle-piecing, Pop Culture, and Book-reading
The other day I was out at Mt. Logan Middle School, sitting in the back observing class, taking notes, wondering if I would be mistaken for some sort of Billy Madison. Afterwards, I stayed to help prep students for the Science Bowl, and before we got started one of them asks, “So, you’re not a student, are you?”
“Actually, I AM,” I answered with wide eyes and a smile. Then, a deadly silence…”…at the university,” I clarified, and further explained.
I’m doing my clinicals at the middle school this semester so I can get an idea of the age group I want to teach. Believe it or not, I actually preferred my middle school years over my high school years. It was a very impressionable age for me, and somehow I happened to have a lot more confidence as a pre/young teen than at any other time in my life.
I feel like perhaps it is at this age that I can best accomplish some of my primary goals as a teacher: Help the students develop more enthusiasm for science than they had coming into the class, and cultivate an interest for science outside of the classroom. These objectives are actually fairly impractical to measure. My methods teacher last semester called me a hippie for my subjective values as a science teacher. Well, sure I want the kids to understand cell and organ function, chemical reactions, and evolution. But I would rather convince them of the importance of curiosity, observation, investigation, and imagination through science so that they can apply it to their own personal interests and pursuits.
I hope that a good way to facilitate this is by incorporating a few generally untraditional ways of exploring science. I first plan to incorporate more writing about topics in science than any of my teachers ever did. I also want to examine the history of scientific thought as well as the societal influence/inference of science, including ethics. Another helpful idea mentioned in one of my classes was letting the students read a variety of trade books for your content area. I love this idea. I never got to read a fictional novel for any of my science classes. Even a non-fiction book would have been fun, if it was something other than the text book. Actually, my professor liked this idea so much that he is letting us find and review some trade books that we would use in our classrooms instead of taking our final. I’m glad, as I was going to do this eventually anyway.
So, after I finished up at the middle school, I went over to Borders to browse what they had in the way of science books, and to browse in general. I actually came across the strangest jigsaw puzzle I’ve ever seen. It was of The Beatles' White Album!
I know some of those puzzle-lovers want a challenge, but, seriously, how is it fulfilling to put together a picture of a white void? How do you even put into words the progress of your puzzle assemblage?
What a boring way to spend your time!
Anyway, I actually found a copy of The War of the Worlds for $3.99 that came with a cd where you can listen to the radio broadcast adaption with Orson Welles. It also has the text to the radio broadcast, and a bunch of reactions from people that really thought that the world was coming to an end. Haha, classic! Plus, the foreword is written by Ray Bradbury, so, all around, this was a great find. I’ve actually been wanting to get into old science fiction (H.G. Wells, Joules Verne, etc.). Though, I'd really actually peg this early stuff as fantasy.
It’s really just entertaining to look back on the time that space travel was fantastic, when the aim in the writing surrounding it was to tell an imaginative story of adventure with the absurd charm of a dream or unease of a nightmare, rather than to predict what may actually happen in the future. Although, when such predictions explore the extreme and ethical ramifications that lie in wait of our potential abuse of science and technology, it is a great deal more interesting.
Besides the science trade books, I also stumbled upon this marvelous (I feel silly for using that word, but it IS) book series that I am really excited to get into. It’s called Philosophy and Pop Culture. Now, I’m sure that there’s a book for everyone in this series from Philosophy and The Legend of Zelda to Philosophy and Metallica. In fact, it actually happened that about 80% of the ones they had in stock involved my absolute favorite tv shows. There was an edition of Lost, The Office, House, The Simpsons AND Seinfeld. There was also a Batman one.
I was totally filled with glee! I mean, this is basically my favorite intellectual passion combined with my favorite television entertainment. They are actually $20 each, but just too perfect for my personality to pass up. If you want to know what to get me for a gift, there you have it. Except, I bought the Lost one already, so, not that one. I looked them up on the net, and there is also a Beatles and Pink Floyd edition, which sound particularly awesome.
Hmm, I don’t know why I buy so many books sometimes. I’ve only read about half of what I own, if entirely all the way through at that. It’s weird, I like books, but I don’t especially enjoy reading. For long. I’m actually a relatively slow reader, perhaps because, for one thing, I say each word in my head. I honestly thought everyone did that! In fact, I was pretty surprised when I asked people out of curiosity if they said the words in their heads or just processed the words, and they said the latter. Huh. I don’t think I can do that very well, if at all, really. But I can’t do Magic Eye, the Spock hand gesture, or even sprawl the toes of my left foot either, so, there are a lot of seemingly simple skills that I lack. Bogus.
The real problem with my inner narrator, however, is that she is picky about what books to read. For instance, I remember that in high school I only got one or two pages through Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and I couldn’t take it anymore. My sentences had become a grammatical train wreck, and it was so annoying that I literally chucked the book across the room. Yes, my rashness did result in some spinal injury. But whether that regards myself or the book in question, you are free to interpret as you will. I think that the beginning of The Sound and the Fury may have been a similar experience, but that version of my inner narrator sounded more confused than overly-animated, so it wasn’t quite as bad.
George Costanza’s character on Seinfeld actually reads the same way, but doesn’t like to read often because he hates the nasally sound of his voice. So, when he had to read a business management book for work, he pretended to have vision problems so he could get book on tape. The funny thing was that the person narrating on the tape ended up sounding exactly like him. But he had the right idea. Sometimes if I can’t take what the reading does to my inner voice, perhaps the best solution is to find a different voice.
You know how you can custom order just about anything? What if you could pick a book and a celebrity, and get a custom made audio book? Wow, that would be expensive! If I were rich, though, I may use this service to actually irritate the celebrities I don’t like. Okay Chris Rock, you get to read Sense and Sensibility, and Rodney Dangerfield, how bout you read The Epic of Gilgamesh? And Matthew McConaughey, why, you get to read Taber's Cyclopedic Medical Dictionary. Doubly, if you wanted to irritate anyone else, what could be better than popping in any one these horrific audio books?!
Seriously, though, this would be pretty cool if it were practical. Luckily, sometimes you just run into really serendipitous combinations of book and narrator. I got a free download of The Odyssey with Ian Mckellen! And I saw an audio narration of The Bible by James Earl Jones once. Just imagine Darth Vader reading the Old Testament! Oooh ho ho :0 But then you can switch over to Mufasa reading the New, if you like. Or if you like irony, imagine Darth Vader the entire time. Then again, the image of Vader doesn’t exactly invite the Spirit, so maybe you ought to hold off on that purchase altogether.
Speaking of audio books, if you are interested, there are a bunch of free ones available for download here. Maybe there’s something for you. I’m planning on giving Adventures of Huckleberry Finn a second chance sometime, now that I can get through it without allowing myself to take on a Southern drawl. Ugh. That was incredibly annoying.
April 5, 2009
Beautiful Drowning
I wonder sometimes whether or not we as Latter-Day Saints hold the content of personal revelation too sacredly. By that I actually mean, too privately. It’s true, there are many spiritual experiences that I certainly believe are designed to be a personal guide strictly for self, family, and close friends. I have had these experiences before, and shared them with few. However, I feel that there are many experiences that while privately revealed, are absolutely meant to be openly declared to anyone and everyone who will hear.
I had one of these experiences last year, and I only shared it in full with my friend David. Somehow, I felt like no one else would realize the depth that the experience had in my heart. I regret feeling that way. I share it now because I am discontent in holding it privately. I want the desire I felt to fill you, in some capacity. I want the realization I felt to reach you. I wish to know if and how you have been affected with similar desires and realizations, that I may thereby come to relive and continuously feel the sense of unity which invigorated me at that time.
Spoiler Alert: This message is for Bradford. Yes, YOU, Bradford. Sitting there at work...reading my blog. Be warned that by continuing to read this you will officially be forfitting your chance to interpret my poem,"Cosmos in a Workshirt," as I am about to unveil its meaning.
It begins with a man, which, a few of you may agree, I am entirely too preoccupied with. If any of you have ever wondered why I especially love Ralph Waldo Emerson, you get to learn more about that today. The simplest answer is: I feel he connects me to the rest of the world.
I remember the day that I bought my simple edition of some of his most popular essays. I had just begun to read the first essay, History, before my geology class, and I felt with a sudden sureness what I had never actually known before. History is really not about the past. It is about me, and the world around me. The same conflicts, emotions, and resolutions of purpose from the past are ongoing today. We rejoice in certain stories and events because there is something true and living about them. And as time goes along and we change, we identify with new writers and people. People like us-- more like ourselves than words on a page or ancient works of art lead us to believe. The past can have a likeness to our lives that feels almost akin to personal memory. This epiphany could have come in any number of ways, but it came through Ralph Waldo Emerson, after at least a year of college, through a book that cost me less than two dollars.
Not only did the ideas Emerson presented fill me with such happiness as this, but reading the words themselves reminded me of one of my closest friends in the world, David Moser. When he came home from his mission, I sent him a copy of this book of essays, with an inscription. I remember that I had told him that whenever I was in need of self-discovery, I returned to this book, and that whenever I returned to this book, I was somehow reminded of him. The first real connection—I found my friend in those pages when I was initially looking to learn more about myself. I felt we were both in there, in the same words. Little did I know, through reading Emerson, I was in store for much more than that connection.
About two years ago, I purchased a biography about Ralph Waldo Emerson called Emerson: The Mind on Fire. In it, I came across the story of a dream that Emerson once had, that thereafter served as one of the most powerful metaphors in his writing, which he would draw back on time and again. He describes it briefly:
“I dreamed that I floated at will in the great Ether, and I saw this world floating also not far off, but diminished to the size of an apple. Then an angel took it in his hand and brought it to me and said, ‘This must thou eat.’ And I ate the world.”
This dream, this image, became absolutely fascinating to me. It was so powerful. I wanted the same dream. The same revelation. But I also wanted it to feel personal, somehow. I wanted to sense that sort of literal connection with the world, to know what it felt like to take it in, to be strengthened by it. I wanted to experience this vision for myself. Believing that I had as much right to these impressions as Emerson, or any other great mind in history, I decided to pray for it. After all, it was a good desire. Though I pleaded for it, I can’t say I honestly expected it. Despite that, as surely as I had asked, I received an answer.
An odd fact came into my mind randomly one day, which I learned from reading in my meteorology text book. I recalled having read that the number of molecules in a breath of air is the same as the number of known stars in the universe. Suddenly, a distinct image came into my mind of myself surrounded by a miniature scale of the universe. And as I took a breath, all of the stars, planets, galaxies and beyond were coming into my body and filling my lungs. It was amazing! I felt full of extraordinary energy and light. I immediately knew that there was a connection beyond the scale and scope of the world in store for me to fully realize.
This image took a universe that I knew to be billions of years old, and larger than I could fathom, and let it pass in and out of my lungs within the duration of a simple breath. I felt that an individual soul was so much more valuable, undoubtedly more beautiful, and vastly more eternal than everything else that exists. In considering the limited grasp I had of how grand and incomprehensible the universe is, I knew more than I ever had in my life, at that moment, what was meant by, “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.”
As I mentioned a few entries ago, it was during the time I was in the mood to write poems that I decided to share some of my personal experiences with more people. So, I ended up writing a poem that relates this event:
That apple-sized world seized my fascination;
I wanted to dream it, hold it, eat it- possess it.
I might have asked, “How dare I crave that nourishment
That enlivened the likes of his prophetic mind?”
If I had not known him well enough.
The pages of his History,
Stone tablets, the width of perpetuity!
Each character carved deep. Each one repeats.
I own his mind? He mine? that apple is as good as mine.
I prayed for the invitation of his angel,
“This must thou eat.”
The same visitation-- unique.
For I wanted to feel the world, in me.
Though ardently I asked, I never thought
To see this image come to pass.
God must have had a love-filled laugh
When that joy struck, and bloomed…
To fill my lungs—ten to the power of twenty-two!
That is the number, more or less,
Of molecules within a breath.
Not of that alone, but also this,
The stars in all the skies.
This fact itself, coincidence, just
Worthy of footnote in my science text.
Till God let me watch and feel those stars
Gather inside my chest.
O, how I will outlast you, Night! Your lights go out
Within the time it takes me to exhale.
How beautiful you are, I know-
Yet compared with me, a brief faint glow!
My Emerson, I dare say this gift exceeds your dream
Of one mere apple eaten - the rest high in the trees.
Though with it in you, and you in me,
You’ll come to it at last. You’ll come to taste
Another world, afloat, eager to be grasped.
Even now, the world is bleeding,
That is an incredible song! The emotion he puts into it is overwhelming. I really am quite moved by the phrase, “beautiful drowning." I feel I know just what he means by it!
Anyway, this just isn’t the sort of experience you tell your friends about at parties. I don’t know how to share moments like these, the kinds that keep me believing in myself, and in the world, and in the power of prayer. I’d like to know how to revive this feeling from day to day. I want to hear about how those around me have come to discover this feeling. I want to urge those that don’t know personally where they fit in and connect with everything around them (with me, with you, with the past, with the future) to find a way. I’d like to think that all it takes is a spark, that they can keep feeding until they get a flame. Until the mind that connects us all is “the mind on fire.”
March 27, 2009
Black Magic Woman
Today I bought a children’s book that begins, “There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.” I don’t know about you, but this sounds like just the sort of book I’d love to read my children at bedtime. Then I could kiss them goodnight, gingerly close the door with a little “good night, sleep tight”-sort-of- smile, and then suddenly burst in a minute later brandishing a butcher knife. No, it’s not what you think! I’d also have a pan of midnight brownies…fresh out of the oven…in need of slicing. So what if the kids already brushed their teeth. These are my imaginary children, not yours. Yes, I know there are some of you out there who are deathly afraid of those insidious demons that incessantly gnaw away at your tooth enamel by night, and sleep comfortably in the cavernous decay of dental caries by day. You are even more afraid of them than the knife wielding maniacs out there. To that I say, “For shame! Chocolate tastes so much better after bedtime. "
Anyway, the book is called The Graveyard Book. I happened to catch the author on a recent episode of The Colbert Report, and was a bit intrigued by him. Firstly, he has an English accent. I’m telling you, the dullest chap in England automatically sounds more interesting and intelligent than your average American guy, just because of the accent. Since I consider myself such an auditory person, a compelling voice is a plus. The second thing I liked about this guy is that he was able to keep his wits about him in the midst of a Colbert interview. Stephen Colbert always takes witty jabs at his guests, and most of them don’t seem able to fully counter his attacks with their own confident and clever quips. This guy did pretty well. He also hates Tom Bombadil. But don’t we all! In case you don’t know who that is, he’s a pointless and irritatingly jolly character from The Lord of the Rings. Luckily, we don’t have to put up with him in the movie, because they cut him out.
I also got the impression from the Colbert interview that this book, which is set in a cemetery, had an ironic theme of facing our fears of the living. Of life. Of the people we pass by every day. This is a great message, and I can’t tell you enough how compelled I am by life and death juxtapositions and comparisons. Even scripturally speaking, I’m fascinated by Romans 6, because baptism represents both death and life. But now I’m getting into paradoxes. And you don’t want me to do that, because I won’t shut up. Essentially, I have high hopes that I will enjoy this book.
I also picked up a Dover Thrift edition of some Grimm’s fairytales. I guess it was a few years ago that I realized that all of my favorite fairytales growing up (Rapunzel, Rumpelstiltskin, Hansel and Grethal) were from the Grimm brothers. My mom was really such a wonderful story teller. That part of Rapunzel where the prince gets blinded by thorns and is later healed by Rapunzel's tears is certainly the most vivid image I can remember from those nights of bedtime stories. It's kinda morbid, but I've always considered it a very positive and authentic memory. Perhaps that is part of the reason why I love the character Rochester from Jane Eyre, and even why I sometimes have an odd compulsion to date a blind guy.
In recalling more childhood experiences with such stories, I also remember watching old tv programs based on the original fairytale versions of such Disney classics as, The Little Mermaid, and Beauty and the Beast. I cried when the Beast died, but I liked being affected that way. Getting older, my fascination for tragic and disturbing stories turned to an enjoyment of The Twilight Zone, the short stories of Edgar Allan Poe and Ray Bradbury, and the occasional Tim Burton or Stephen King movie.
With this in mind, the fact that there are so many other characteristics about me that have stayed the same reminds me of this on-going documentary I saw called The UP Series. It follows the lives of 14 children from the UK. During the first series, the children are seven, in the second series 14, then 21, and so on in spans of seven years between series. The point of the documentary is to illustrate the basis behind the saying, “Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man.”
After watching all of the finished series, it certainly did seem like most of the children stayed the same into adulthood. Although, the boy Neil, who I identified with the most and for whom I therefore had the highest hopes, actually ended up becoming a crazy and homeless hermit who wandered the open countryside of Scotland. That's sort of disturbing. I hope I won't share his fate. But now I've veered off the subject of my blog entry again with my all-too-constant fears of going insane.
Going back to the books I purchased, I also got one that has nothing to do with dark children’s stories. It’s called This is Your Brain on Music, with the sub-caption, “The science of a human obsession.” Hmm…I’ll admit, that sounds a little dark. Anyhow, it seems right up my alley. I actually wrote a research paper years ago about this weird theory I had that music was a part of everything. While I knew it was probably an over-exaggerated stretch of the imagination, I enjoyed researching it so much.
I remember having a keen interest in some of the thoughts of Pythagoras. Though, at times this guy had some wacky ideas. For instance, that every pair of opposites, say: day and night, hot and cold, up and down, etc., had a “good” and “evil” component. Seriously. And I’m sure if given the pair 'man' and 'woman,' he would have insisted that women were evil. In fact, I think he did. Perhaps you would agree, but that just means you’re a crack-pot too. On the other hand, some of his ideas have been monumental, like the Pythagorean Theorem and the development of the 12-note scale. Point being, I wonder, "Can sanity stray too far from genius?" (and can I stay off the topic of insanity?)
While his notion of “the music of the spheres” seemed ridiculous, the concept of the movements of the planets literally being in musical harmony was just so poetic that I couldn’t help but hope there was truly some scientific truth behind it. On the grandest scale, I love imagining this cosmic orchestra of worlds in motion. Even on the smallest scale, in picturing quarks consisting of what can basically be described as tiny vibrating strings, I hear music. It’s probably all just a thought I’ll secretly love despite its incongruence with reason (there's no sound in space). Just a fanciful myth, this “music of the spheres.” Despite that, it is an irresistible thought. Much like the obsession Dr. Frankenstein had for Cornelius Agrippa’s view that magic was the key to understanding God and nature.
Magic, of all things! But maybe those laughable passions aren’t as insane as they seem. I recall now the last words of the magician Angier (aka Wolverine…I mean, Hugh Jackman) from The Prestige:
“You never understood why we did this. The audience knows the Truth: the world is simple, miserable, solid all the way through. But if you could fool them, even for a second, then you can make them wonder. Then you got to see something very special. You really don’t know? It was the look on their faces…”
As crazy as he was by the end of this movie, I think he had a point about the value of magic. For my part, I am not ashamed to be scientifically minded and compelled by Pythagorean fables and gothic fairytales. For me, they provide a sense of wonder worth capturing. So long as it never involves drowning myself in a water tank every night.
March 23, 2009
In All Honesty, I'm a Moron, So Give Me Your Scholarship
This Wednesday I’ve agreed to participate in a student panel discussing what teacher has influenced me the most and why, things that have enabled me to learn the most deeply, and things that have hindered my learning in school. I also just received an email asking me to write a short biography of myself, including the answers to a few key questions, which will serve as my introduction to the audience.
One of these questions asked me to rank myself as a student (academically) as above average, average, or below average. I laughed inside myself, wondering if I should put “below average.” Every panel needs a below average student, and I can’t deny that I essentially do have a “C’s get degrees” mentality. And I am a slacker. But I’d never consistently describe myself this way, so, I answered “average”…and then had an interesting memory come to mind.
I remembered this scholarship essay I wrote in high school, that I titled “The Average among the Elite.” I think I had it in my head back then that honesty was one of the most impressive qualities a student could have, perhaps even more so than…academic success. Yeah, so, it is with great shame and much amusement that I present to you my essay for the ACCESS Scholarship for Women:
“Recently in my biology class, I had the opportunity to crossbreed fruit flies. Seeing as I was the only one to volunteer, I went to work by myself to anesthetize the flies before they reached sexual maturity and sort them according to sex and type. However, to my dismay, I used a tad too much “Fly Nap,” and accidently killed the flies instead. Oh darn, failure isn’t all that fun. Of course, I did learn from my little mishap and made sure not to make the same mistake again in the second attempt. Although, the next attempt was not successful either because many of the flies drowned in the banana mush I prepared as a food source, which I guess was a bit on the watery side. I’m certain that if a third attempt were in fact called for, little if nothing would go wrong.
You see, I have not always been the most qualified for a given task. Maybe someone else could have performed the fruit fly experiment with success the first time. But I was the only one that volunteered, and thus the only one who learned anything at all, in this regard. In pure honestly, my GPA and ACT score hardly qualifies me for this scholarship. Perhaps it is my willingness to learn from ignorance and to enroll in advanced courses despite my average profile that qualifies me to even seek such an opportunity of being awarded this scholarship. I am willing to try, to fail, and to learn next time how to do better. That is the best way to learn.
My interest in science classes has often puzzled people. As a sophomore my favorite class was chemistry, which I recall many people, including my parents, claimed they never really cared for and even hated. But I always found it easy to look beyond the equations and theories because of my interests in the applications chemistry had in how things functioned and how they influenced the world. I went into AP Chemistry as a junior with full knowledge that I wasn’t exactly above average, but I didn’t want to be deprived of higher learning just because I didn’t stand out as a “science whiz.” Along with some of the other students in my AP Chemistry class, I enrolled in a lab course at the University of Utah. Yes, I found the class a little difficult, but I managed to get a B in the end, which I thought was pretty good considering that Professor Ragsdale grades on the bell curve and that I was amongst such bright kids.
I was the only girl in my AP Chemistry class who didn’t drop out, and the first girl ever from Wasatch to complete the lab course at the U of U. Perhaps that is one reason why this scholarship interested me. I love science and have tried my best to pursue it despite the intimidation of being the only girl at times, and having a lower GPA and ACT score than other AP students. I even look back now and can’t believe that I sacrificed my Friday nights to stay up and do my equations rather than go out with friends and see a movie. Although, in the end I came out with the same grade as the rest of my classmates from Wasatch, I truly think that perhaps my efforts to achieve an average among the elite students has given me my own distinctive and unassuming way of standing out.
Throughout my years at Wasatch I have taken an interest in the basic and essential sciences such as biology and chemistry, and have come to especially enjoy physiology where both of them come into play. I hope to learn more about many areas of science and wish to be able to be given the opportunity to acquire this knowledge and grow from the challenges of doing so.”
Wow. I’m pretty sure that this essay got crumbled up and thrown in the trash after someone read, “In pure honestly, my GPA and ACT score hardly qualifies me for this scholarship.” Then again, maybe this person had a sense of humor, and read the whole thing before disposing of it. With that in mind, I wonder what happened when the panel judging the Sterling Scholar applications opened my friend Kendall's portfolio full of I.O.U.'s...
At least I can say that I now HAVE successfully completed an experiment with fruit flies (in my genetics lab a little over a year ago). In fact, I think that my partner and I were the most successful students in the class with that experiment. And I got an A in the course. So, I ended up all right. Perhaps that would not have been the case without those crazy days of drowning flies in banana mush and writing lousy scholarship essays about the value of determination. I dunno. But I think I’ll avoid discussing my fruit fly breeding experiences with the panel on Wednesday, at least.
March 19, 2009
The Window Seat
This poem is about an experience I had on my plane ride home from Mexico. I hope I don't offend Harry Potter fans, but I do find J.K. Rowling irritating sometimes.
The trip was over and I was flying home,
sitting in the window seat, staring
Else my thoughts would have been
by forcefully colorful adjectives
describing the faces of little witches,
which boxed in my imagination
My eyes would not have searched
from bottom to top -violet to red-
like rock strata on the horizon.
I gazed in joy and surprise.
I gazed…forever.
The moment did not end.
The colors did not fade.
And the sun did not sink.
What a chance of circumstance,
to travel west into another
It was continuously beginning to…
And I, the only one
I had only a fool’s faith in the window seat.
March 18, 2009
I Love the Devil (but not really)
A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to read through and comment on some poems that a friend of mine was preparing to get published, and it got me in the mood to write some poetry of my own. It was a pretty rare mood actually, as the only times I’ve ever written poems in the last few years have been times when I simply had nothing else to do. Sometimes I wrote them at work because one of the rooms I was stuck in for 5 hours didn’t have a computer, and if I forgot to bring something to work on, it was an incredibly boring work environment. There was always paper and pen there as a backup for something to do, though. Unfortunately, those poems I wrote at work always turned out…shockingly depressing. I say “shockingly” because I had no idea I was feeling that way until they were written. So, honestly, writing poems wasn’t ever an especially pleasant experience.
I remember one incident where I was simply waiting for some spaghetti noodles to cook, and decided to write some poems while I waited. Afterwards I told my roommate that I just wrote two poems while my food was cooking, and that one was a love poem, and the other was about the devil. I read one aloud to her, and she asked, “Was that one about the devil?”
I hung my head, “That was the love poem,” I answered, a bit discouraged and confused. To be fair, I think that perhaps I do have a bit of a dark sense of romantic attraction. For instance, if I were a fictional character in a story, I can very well see myself as the girl who is secretly in love with the villain. Like, if I were What’s-Her-Bucket in The Phantom of the Opera, I know I would go for the Phantom. Crazy though he is. Seriously, villains are far more interesting than heroes, in general, wouldn’t you say? Incidentally, the villain in a story I was working on a long time ago was based off of the guy whom the love poem was directed to. So maybe there is more to this, “Was that one about the devil,” madness than meets the eye.
I guess perhaps I’m getting at the fact that when I do decide to share my poems, no one really gets them. But writing for clarity, with poems, is never my intention, anyway, so, I’m not entirely certain why that is frustrating. In fact, I think that when I do write them, they are basically about very personal information that I have chosen to put in a short enigmatic poem, rather than to elaborate on and actually explain. Because that would probably turn out to be even more shocking to myself, and if I decided to share it, it would be more embarrassing if people really knew what I meant. On the other hand, what would be the point of sharing it, if people didn’t know what I was talking about?
Luckily, with this sudden mood to write poems a few weeks ago, for the fun of it and not because I was bored, I actually wrote about positive and incredible experiences that I had. In fact, that was really the best part of being in my poetry mood. I made a list of really wonderful or important feelings in my life that I wanted to share with people, however or whenever possible. I’m hoping to be able to share these experiences with those of you that read this blog at least. And I will give some details so that you don’t confuse my feelings on love for my feelings on the devil. That incident was just…so odd.
March 12, 2009
My Letter Box
I have a letter box that contains practically all of the written correspondence I’ve had since high school. I keep as many birthday cards and thank you notes as I can remember to stash away. I keep every wedding announcement – even if I didn’t know the couple so well.
Yet of course there are the important things, like the original draft of a letter I sent once, that came as close to saying “I love you” as I could at the time. And the reply, still wrapped in the original red ribbon. I think his girlfriend must have picked it out. Read the letter. Tied the bow. I used to read it all the time. I tried to read it out loud once, to a friend, but couldn’t. My voice…cracks. That’s probably why when I felt that way for someone new, I couldn’t say it either. I wrote it in a letter. This time there was no mistake. It said, “I love you,” clear and true. Then again, do written words really say anything? I wish so, or that letter box is just a box.
I consider myself courageous, sometimes, for the things I’ve allowed myself to share through a box, an inbox. My friend once told me that the internet was like a refrigerator door, a place to look at memos and information at a glance. Except, my letters were an extension of that. My feelings, in words, and occasionally unrequited words, may as well have been that cold. I’m a great friend…like an industrial refrigerator, which is, essentially, a giant box.
I can’t write him the way I used to. And now that courage has nowhere to show itself. Oh, I could share it with those I don’t trust as much. But I don’t think they would understand. That’s where the courage has run. But I don’t want it hidden. I can’t stand it that way. Incredible moments, feelings, and ideas are not supposed to stay in my head, or my journal, or my inbox. I can’t hoard them away, and mix the powerful with the mundane like I do the notes inside my letter box. That deep red ribbon is of much more value than that pristine and glossy white one from that random wedding announcement.
More than the fear that people may misunderstand, I know, is the fear that they will not care to. The fear that to them I am really nothing more than a refrigerator door, with a memo that reminds them to get around to reading that book, eventually. Or to pick up batteries at the store. But they forget the errand nonetheless. Useless fears. I must encourage my courage to come out to play. Or else these words remain inside...my mind (a box), my heart (a box).
March 10, 2009
Pig-headed Cures for Pig-hideousness
I think that I am prematurely turning into one of those bitter old cranks that spouts off the saying, "they ain't as good as they used to be" about basically everything. In the case of movies, though, I generally do mean it. Maybe there are still a good number of interesting, novel, and unpredictable plotlines and characters emerging in at least the independent genre, but how often do we ever get to see that stuff? Surely not on a monthly movie night basis. That's how often I'd like to go out to the movies, if I felt it were worth it.
To tell you the truth, I'm not concerned about wasting time or money on movies that aren't very good. Sometimes the bad movies are so entertaining that they happen to be a welcomed use of my time and money. But, that's not what I mean by "worth it" regardless. The issue is, I don't want my standard of what makes a great movie to be compromised.
While I'm on the subject, is it a bad thing if someone pays for your movie ticket (date or otherwise) and you start laughing at how absurdly awful the movie was afterwards? Particularly when you know the other person doesn't agree? Cause, I do that. Sometimes. I'm specifically remembering the incident after the latest Hulk movie. I imagine it must have been better than the previous one...but I honestly can't picture how.
I know what you are thinking, "Why should we listen to someone that loves movies like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure?"
And I'd say, "Come on now, you know that is truly Keanu Reeves' best work."
There are a few different things I could decide to go off on regarding what I don't like about a lot of the movies I've seen lately. But today I am irritated by the movies that promote inner beauty and self-acceptance, and then create a physical manifestation of beauty and social acceptance as the reward for having done so. That is clearly ironic, and clearly unintentionally so. And the combination of "clearly ironic" and "clearly unintentional" spells out, "WTF were you thinking?" Then again, that's the current Hollywood scene for you, in regards to romantic comedies at least.
What got me thinking about the inner-beauty moral was a movie I saw recently called "Penelope." It's about a pig-nosed girl that is cursed with this deformity until she gets a blue-blood (old money, aristocratic type) guy to marry her. Interesting thing is (and by that I mean it is entirely uninteresting), the girl is very attractive besides having a snout. So, right away we can see where this is going. The curse will be broken and she'll be beautiful once the prosthetic is gone.
And cliche of cliches, what actually breaks the curse is her own self-acceptance of who she is and what she looks like. That's not a bad cliche, except since this self-acceptance magically caused the problem to completely go away, doesn't that completely defeat the purpose? That's right, your strength of character and confidence in yourself is only good for acting as a mystical potion that dispels your nasty pig-hideousness. After that, you can trade it in for some equally bogus cure for vanity.
Now, we are all familiar with the movies about the pretty girls with low self-esteem who just get a make-over and suddenly they are Miss Awesome. That seems to defeat the purpose of the message that is trying to be communicated, that we shouldn't dismiss the geeky kid, or even the smelly one, because deep inside they are wonderful people. For that "inner-beauty" stuff to ring true, wouldn't the smelly kid have to stay smelly? And we just love him despite the fact?
That's not the crime of the modern film makers alone by any means. How bout that tale of the ugly duckling? A swan?! Oh, please. Why can't the "special" person really be ugly? And stay that way? Is it because wonderful people don't deserve to be ugly? That too tragic for your comedy? Or is it because we can't swallow the self-acceptance tripe we are dishing out? Either way, this trend is the hallmark of a bad movie. It doesn't quite rank up there with the mistake of using monkeys for comic relief in my book, though.
