I just noticed a new story on In Character: Catwoman. Which includes this quote from the king of camp, Adam West, describing the actresses who have played the part, "They all gave me curious stirrings in my utility belt." Oh, Adam...
I can hear in the other room that Oprah is talking about erectile dysfunction and vasectomies, (and other urogenital health issues I assume). I'm not really that interested in finding out, although I wonder if the episode implies that Oprah has some silent male demographic, previously undiscovered, living in a remote jungle or someplace ever more exotic. They do call him Dr. Oz. I took some class, titled Media and the Presence of Reality or something similar; it was a philosophy class filled with idiots of the highest caliber. It was painful at times, although I found the day we talked about Oprah, and watched her on her dvd, unintentionally lulzy (which is the best kind). One of the essay topics for the final was on Oprah and about how whether talkshows like hers provide a vital public service or merely suppose to and the consequences such. When she talked about Middlesex, I can imagine that being in the best interest of the public, but then she interviews Hannah Montana? I cannot fault her; her format is widely successful and popular, although the testimonials on the dvd did her no service. One of which claimed that she had planned to kill herself until she saw that days episode of Oprah and changed her mind. This perhaps speaks more to the mental condition of this viewer (or all viewers?) than the power of the format and I further wonder why so late in the day? It's not over until like 5pm here. I instead chose to write about reality television in an essay of dubious quality. I do not doubt, having edited a cohort's work for a group project, that on the basis of grammar alone, that my paper will receive adequate marks. I've been informed that the audience in the episode which inspired this tangent is entirely male. More questions to ponder!
I was going to write something about how Enchanted may have broken my families Eckhart spree. I never should have told them that he was Mormon. They seemed more skeptical when I shared similar knowledge of Julianne Hough. She doesn't dress like it! They retorted. Of course, this paragraph wouldn't be complete without mentioning that Amy Adams was, and so was Katherine Heigl, but these things don't mean anything. Except that I'll have a good ice-breaker should I ever met Amy Adams or Ryan Gosling.
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I just got back from the dentist.
I hate the dentist.
I also hate the Dennis Miller Show, but it directly precedes The Rick Emerson Show.
I like that my dentist appointment only took about half an hour. That is probably my favorite part of visiting the dentist. Half an hour twice a year, or a total one hour a year. It's not too bad when you think about it that way. Also when it's in the morning and you only have brush your teeth and hop in the car.
I hate the music they play in the background. Today it was some easy listening station, KISN? I have no idea. They started playing "That Don't Impress Me Much" and they hygienist started humming along. That song came out in '99. Last century. I still knew all the words.
You can't hear the music when they have the tools in your mouth. That bothers me. Also the tools in my mouth, I don't care for that. It's not a matter of comfort, but it feels far to vulnerable to me, and I keep thinking "THIS IS NOT NATURAL" and wanting to die a natural death at age 50 like an elephant. Elephants are cool. My father tried to teach me the importance of proper dental hygiene using the elephant. You see, the elephant dies of starvation when they lose their last set of molars. If they could brush their teeth, they would live much longer, my dad explained. Unfortunately this metaphor did not have the desired effect. Nature intended us to die when we lose our teeth. Dentistry, I concluded, is contrary to God's Will.
The discomfort of the dentist visit is compounded by my age. The main dentist, he has a sidekick now, is Mormon, as are the majority of the hygienists, and similarly, the patients. I went to the receptionist's son's missionary farewell last year. Being 21, having not served a mission, makes this a little awkward. Just a bit.
A few years ago I was assigned to some church committee to plan stake youth activities. I never really did much and honestly, I probably wouldn't have gone to more than one of the meetings if there wasn't this amazingly beautiful girl also on the committee. I saw her today, dressed in the same scrubs as the hygienists. I looked horrible, as I always do before noon, even more so than usual because I got so little sleep last night. I maintained my composure. I will fade from her short term memory as an unkempt man in pajamas pants and a gray hat. My hat kicks ass.
I think I will get a hair cut today.
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Hough was engaged to Zach Wilson and originally planned to marry on August 8, 2007 in an LDS (Mormon) temple, but has postponed her marriage. Zach Wilson since has listed his profile as single on his MySpace site. She has also been romantically linked with Kevin Connolly of Entourage fame, who recently gave her a diamond ring and admitted that he is "actively pursuing" Julianne, although Julianne denies a romantic relationship.
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"For women, the hairstyle has become marginally popular again in the
first few years of the twenty-first century. It can be created by
ratting at the roots of the hair on the sides of the pompadour towards
the top of the head. Then the hair is combed up and over the ratted
hair, off the forehead, the front up in a curl straight back, and the
sides pulled back towards the center."
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About a week ago, or so, an assembly was called. All available staffers of Camp Ireland 2002-2004 were asked to attend a ceremonial retrieval of a time capsule buried at some point. I didn't know everyone there, having only worked 2 of the three years present. It was organized by the only person paid above the federal minimum wage, a former program director, who has (by my measure) failed to make significant progress from the point, the same standards being set far lower for those of whom were high school students at the time. He wanted group pictures, group luncheons, group activities in the same desperate way the departing seek with their posterity.
Did that seem overly wordy? I read a myspace bulletin my sister sent out about her intimate relationship with the fictional Mr. Potter and the syntax was incredibly pedantic. I wondered how she scored a 4 on the AP exam and professed a desire to be less like her in the future.
Continuing: I had a nice time seeing all these people I had forgotten. I can scarcely remember many of their actual names. There is one I can only recall as "Sharkbait". One of them, a year younger than myself (I presume), is married and has a child. I was baffled by this, though not by the revelation that a coworker, who was absent, has since come out of the closet, as it were. Even more strange was his gratitude that his latex had failed him; he considered it a blessing! For without this gift he would not have gotten a good job so that he could provide for the family he never planned to have, with the woman he freely confessed (apparently even to her, though he rebuffed this statement with one that they had since worked it out, or something) he would not have selected on his own. My mind reeled. What prevented him from seeking a fortunate profession before one was demanded of him? Surely, a position was not formed at his daughter's conception, and paternal obligations are in no way a requirement for employment, though the inverse may hold true. We did not envy his circumstances, even the eldest of us, who is a menace. He boasted of his many dates to various school dances, crowing of an "entire wall" of women he had conquered, in his way. We were quick to remind him that this life was over. One of us dared to ask, "where do you think you'd be if this hadn't happened?" His reply: on a mission.
The day was, however, ruined. The malicious act I had contrived was thwarted by that same simpleton failing to roll down a window just low enough that I could loose a legion of lady beetles into that van. I was deeply disappointed by this. Fortunately, it happened that I had the foresight to purchase a selection of liquid wasp bait for application in yellow jacket traps, which could be easily administered to any number of objects, in the same trip as the beetles. I let the beetles free in the backyard with my brother and it was fun.
My family is in Utah. It is the Mormon Mecca. And thus they travel, almost yearly, to visit relatives and see the same sites they see each time. I recall this being at least their third trip as a family for 2007, although some have a greater tally. I, conveniently, had to work. I would have declined a visit, even if it were possible. I find the slow degeneration of my grandparents uncomfortable, and, as much as I know I shall regret it someday, relinquish the opportunities to spend time with them. They've always been far off, having adventures in Washington and Europe, and my childhood was past by the time they became accessible. I can only recall 3 instances when they've come to visit us here in Oregon: Once in the mid-ninties, shortly after Ethan's birth, and for my Eagle Court of Honor. They don't really know me, and I them. But I know enough to know what they'd want and expect: things I can't present. My grandfather is a stoic man, a cold man of the Cold War. Conversations, even (or perhaps especially) those made in transit, are tense. The truths he knows about me are fading. He does not understand "the jazz" and I don't even play anymore. I was the third grandchild, from the parents they didn't think were going to make it, on shores too distant to visit. They'd ask me when I would serve a mission, I'd give a non answer. They'd ask me about music, tell me to be nicer to my siblings. They might ask about my plans, ambitions, of which I have none. I might be able to carry a conversation about current events for a while, but I am one of those damned, baby-killing liberals. World events are filtered through the lens of a former spy in East Germany and ambassador for him; a podcast and flicker set for me. The world has changed.
So I have the house to myself this weekend. It is wonderful! They were gone Thursday night and I was able to sleep in late for my evening shift at the Robin Hood Festival. Of course, it is quite perilous. My family is incredibly slothful, and I am no exception. I am also left to fend for myself, foraging and such. I also have to set my own bedtime, which Robin Hood through off. Mostly, it's been leftovers and other microwavables. The problem isn't that I will eat significantly worse than ordinarily, but simply much less. I forget that I need to eat, and will run my tank to empty, or will snag a stray granola bar to stave hunger off long enough to not only complete my current task, but become preoccupied with the next. Also, I drink way more Mountain Dew than usual and have run out.
My family made the grievous error of leaving the house a mess and will find it in greater disarray when they return, their clutter compounded my disinclination to clean their messes to such an extend that repulsion may exclude their completion in the foreseeable future. A prime example is the cat's food. For some time, my sister has neglected to feed the cat in a timely matter, in fact relying on it's prompting to usurp both her negligence and obliviousness, two fields in which she excels beyond compare. Coupled with this intermittent diet are likelyhoods of antifreeze poisoning and old age that create a very decrepit cat. Anyways, she never bothers (and though not likely her doing, she will receive the blame regardless) to remove the cat's dishes after the cat has finished. Now there are maggots in one of the dishes and trails of ants speckle the floor. My solution has been to close the door in a simple act of quarantine. I take full responsibility for the gnats around the sink, but I only feed the cat on plates, which maggots fall off of. Clearly I have no fault in this matter. And the flies are merely members of nature's recycling department: I praise their efforts!
I didn't go today. I probably should have, but it was easier to roll over, easier to hide. There is only one more week, not including today, of regular church services, after that is general conference. That counselor wants to meet with me again, I'm not planning on going. I have nothing to say to him. There has been no "progress", only more questions. I've realized that any acceptance of their truth requires a fundamental rejection of other truths, some of which I hold dear. They purport to have the fullness, but there are still revelations to be had, perhaps they mean _fullest_; it is so often confused! Perhaps I am confusing the official doctrine on the claims of accuracy with regards to exclusive rights of revelations and such with the assertions of the members, who often know little but speak much of it, or something clever like that. Imagine I wrote something clever there. In any case, such devotion requires a disavowal of other truths, as the Gospel is quite exclusive, to the whites until the seventies or so. Perhaps I am wrong about that date, I have not been keeping up with the lessons on President Kimball. If all it takes a personal revelation of truth manifested as a warm sensation, then I shall bare testimony in this moment with great certainty that ninjas are alive and well today! I can't believe it sometimes, but I feel it inside my heart.Also Snakes on Planes. But the world may disagree with that. We're supposed to live in the world but not be of it. I suppose that makes me peculiar.
I am somewhat pressed for time, desiring to be clear of the premises before any of my more devout roommates can come home and pressure me to attend whatever obligations I was not informed of prior. Oh, the pressure. I hate it most. I flee from it, and shall shortly. That shall be my official excuse. After all, I have nothing new to report. Of new things, I have something old I'd like to share. I wrote it last fall, late at night. My final project was due in a religion class (which I am now retaking, got a D- the first time :-)) the next day and like always, I had procrastinated, hard. I used some extra discipline that night; it was a peculiar experience. In the course of writing, I had, perhaps, an epiphany, of sorts. I only recently typed it up. Whether it was inspired by spirits or demons, I present it to you, Internets. I don't know what else to say about it, it was an interesting experience, like my hand was writing on its own. Thoughts flooded my mind. There are at least two paged filled with scribbles, I couldn't make them all out, but this is what I did. Anyways, here it is. Be gentle.
What if Christ’s Plan is tentative? Subject to Change An Active Dynamic
Maybe it is like a game to them. Some sort of war/strategy game for the souls of men or just for fun Could the Christ + AntiChrist be friends? Rivals? Our Doctrine says that they are Brothers. Perhaps They were these things at some point. How can a Messiah who loves everyone make an exception for HIS enemy when he says we must love ours Would the Christ save the AntiChrist? Is a Christ completely necessary? Can you Atone for your own sins? Take them yourself? You committed them, shouldn’t you be the one punished for them. Was Jesus the first to claim Divinity? Does or could the atonement cover those that did not receive bodies? If we are all children of 1 GOD including Christ + the AntiChrist, all made in his image then must’nt In God have been some aspect of us? If we are all from Him wouldn’t We also be in a way a part of Him or at least some aspect of ourselves? Including Christ + the AntiChrist? Does GOD himself contain all things both good + evil as the system he created does? Duality of God Are the natures of good + evil limited strictly to humans or sentient beings? Or simply living things or can objects of symbols like a gun or a flag have a divine moral standing. Could these or would these things be held responsible or punished or what not for the actions they facilitate? What about those people that lived so far long ago, the virtuous pagans who died without hearing “the gospel?” Do they receive another chance to hear it? Just reincarnated until they get the chance to make a choice, in a way being immortal until they decide to not be immortal or saved + whatnot, would such people even be people? For why would they exist if not to gain eternal life? And if they had no chance to save their souls, yet they did live and eat + breed then did they really have or need souls at all? And if the body + spirit are an eternally linked unit, supposing such people did
Reoccur until they could exercise their agency
What of their body’s? Surely, there are people alive today that will never hear our gospel, yet they live, why? Will they continue until they reach it or must they learn it all in paradise/prison
Could reattempts to hear the gospel be the cause of over population? As more and more spirits run back up to ride the slide again? What about those that lived in the Dark ages under the Great +
If He felt all the pain and suffering, Did He feel all the joy and Happiness too? Wouldn’t that be necessary to be our Mediator?
...but I really don't. I prefer to spout, or claim to, heresy rather than attend early morning meeting on the internet, the subject seems invariably tied to those meetings which I desire to shirk. The meetings feel awkward (I am grasping now), perhaps more uncomfortable? In any case, I can always easily imagine many other things, perhaps some actually more productive although it is impossible to be objective of such, I'd rather be doing. I give the answers they seek, or some semblance that appeases. I say it easily, uncomfortably so. I cannot even be certain how much of it I mean, but I intend it all. Today we, the first councilor in the bishopric who wants[on assignment from the bishop and with the love of God] to meet with me weekly and myself, discussed finding truth, building a stronger testimony, and so on. Apparently, the testimony I shared with him was insufficient, as he invoked the Lord to provide me with one. I forget the wording and am probably over analyzing things. I told him I came here knowing that regardless of the faith I had when I applied, I would have a fuller understanding, would know, if this was the right path. Or the wrong one. Or the only one.
In brief retrospect, I find it odd that he never mentioned missionary experience or preparation, usually a staple in these asides, in the quest for truth he intimated. I still (even at this moment!) find it amusing that his search began out of a desire to cease embarrassment in seminary and verification that he wasn't involved in the wrong church. Common desires, I suppose. The delivery reminded me of an episode of Boston Legal I watched last week where James Spader's character asked William Shatner's why he believed in God. The response, which I cannot recall exactly, was that there was no risk in believing and being wrong, but you were "screwed" if you didn't believe and turned out to be wrong. It's a lot less funny now that I've tried to write it down. I suppose this should remind me now of all those scriptures that say not to laugh, because it is a sin (TG Levity). The episode was titled "The Good Lawyer" if you should decide to seek it out.
Of course, in my great wisdom I went forth to journal, for this can hardly be called a blog (it has no traffic!) as I prefer the word to be understood as, these events and whatever understanding I had concerning it and the implications of it, and for it, and with it. I made the unfortunate mistake perusing Myspace, though perhaps not thoroughly enough to warrant such word choice. I happened upon Justin's page, now maintained by Courtney's postings and clippings of Justin's letters. There has been a great divergence in our two paths; this troubles me somewhat.
I feel like I'm "writing," see "journalling," in the style and meter of scripture. Perhaps that is pretentious, but in no way is my writing anywhere never such prominence. There is a pressing sort of need to address in the constant redefinement of words and topics. I hate it. I apologize to the one reader, whomever the unfortunate may be, that reads these lines that flow like wax, but worse so when they are heated.
I hope that I did not sound too confrontational in this post. I have not intended to display some animosity towards my bishopric, whom I much prefer to those I've experienced in the past. I may seem opposed to those meetings they prescribe to address shortcomings I do not recognize as such, being almost an affront to the character of my person. Perhaps I am. I can certainly think of other things I'd rather be doing. I was told to be sincere in my seekings this week, to fulfill those other promises of increased faith and such. My ability to do such is already another skepticism among many of those other more dogmatic verses. I also question my ability to be coherent on the internet.
This whole blog-thing would be better if I bothered to revise things. By the time I "finish" writing these, I am quite unsatisfied with them. Or do I quit writing them because I am unsatisfied? That, too, sounded significantly more elegant in my mind. Also, I should probably wake up Jon so we can go home-teaching. To the appointment he set for 1.30. There are a great many other things which I shall not write of at this time. Amen?
I'll admit I like to walk the line. But where is it? You can only tell by where it slopes off. I was reading the wikipedia, and after a long series of events, I found this gem:
"The worst sinners, according to Jesus, are not the harlots and publicans, but the religious leaders with their insistence on proper dress and grooming, their careful observance of all the rules, their precious concern for status symbols, their strict legality, their pious patriotism... the haircut becomes the test of virtue in a world where Satan deceives and rules by appearances." -Hugh Nibley, professor at BYU.
Not anymore, he's dead, but I still like it.
I find the lists of ex-mormons and former latter-day saints very interesting. Apparently Ted Bundy converted. The articles are not limited to members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but rather the entire latter-day saint movement. I'm pretty sure these sorts of readings would not be looked upon kindly. I believe that if the religion is true, it should stand on its own merits, critically. But those critics are often silenced; I just read the wikipedia article on the September Six. Sometimes this sect seems slightly shaky, and more than seldom secretive. I wonder what's in that Church Handbook of Instructions they give to Bishops...
Also: The Onion continues to be amazing. Or as Jon keeps saying, "amazin'" LEAVING OFF THE 'G' WHEN HE QUOTES THAT STUPID HEAD-ON COMMERCIAL WHERE THE BLACK MAN SAYS, "I CAN'T STAND YOUR COMMERCIAL BUT YOUR PRODUCT IS AMAZING." BUT HE KEEPS LEAVING OFF THE 'G'!! ONE DAY I AM JUST GOING TO FLIP OUT AND SCREAM AT HIM: THERE'S A G YOU!! THERE'S A FREAKING G!! DON'T SAY YOU'RE "SAURRY" AND JUST GO BACK TO YOUR FREAKING HIPPY-LAND YOU QUEER!!!! I say that last thing because he doesn't think that Lacey Chabert is hot. What gives?
I've also includes a little screen grab from her wiki-entry that may not be there for much longer. I believe it pretty easily demonstrates the inherent awesomeness of Wikipedia: anyone can edit and anyone can be awesome.
Paula Zaughn is NOW talking about homosexuality. The panelists were talking about that Snickers Superbowl ad, apparently it was a big deal. I just thought it was a crappy commercial. There's nothing manly about ripping out chest hair. If anything, the removal of hair makes one LESS manly. Besides, no one eats Snickers without hands, Twix maybe, but not Snickers. I know, I eat everything I can without my hands; Fruit by the Foot is a delicious challenge in oral dexterity. NOW they're talking about Ted Haggard, who is claiming to be cured of his homosexuality. I don't believe it. Only three weeks to cure the gay? That's faster than I get any of my Amazon shipments. Where is the justice?? He still sets off my gaydar. One of the panelists (the token gay panelist brought to weight in when they talk about gay things) said something amusing, but I've forgotten. Happens a lot, I'm fried. Paula really needs more gusto, more excitement. Astronaut Love Triangles! Those are exciting! Talk about those, Paula, don't disappoint us. Your correspondent has a horrible audio, Paula, he tried to do a walking narration thing, I'm certain there's a jargonic term for it that I am unaware of, in a parking garage. Paula, get to the astronauts. Spare me the Homeland Security news, aside from the budget figures which I may cite in my complaints of ineffectual government waste. Colors don't make me feel safe, textures do. Use textures, Chertoff. Kittens will be the new texture for completely safe. Puppies the next level, because they make some people (uncaring people!) uneasy, and so on. I think the highest level should probably be a shark or something, no one wants to pet a shark. Maybe Aquaman, but he really sucks. Hard. Maybe feral raccoon, those aren't very cuddly.
Paula's lackey got an Imperial Wizard for an interview. Wait, she just said "...which at times uses hateful terms." I missed who the reference was to. I like that the guy actually dresses like a wizard, shows commitment. Oh Paula, why did you just shaft your goon with that swift summary? I bet she was hurt. They're talking about what it means that the KKK is changing its recruitment strategies and whatever. I hope they never start targeting nerds. It won't be easy to villainize K^3 or rather, K Kubed. Shudder. Paula's freaking out now about an Arab American gaining a prominent position in the Department of Homeland Security. She's Lebanese. Last I checked, the largest religion in Lebanon was Christianity, with 55% of the population. But that was from the census taken in 1932, the most recent. They won't take a new one because of the potential divisiveness. That was an awkward word. Anyways. Quit freaking out, Paula! Larry King has Buzz Aldrin on tonight. He probes, "Was it just love that drove her to it?" Love or obsession? Obsession, hands down. Anyone who drives 900 miles wearing miles is obsessed. That's the sort of thing crazy people do. Her mug shot makes me feel slightly sympathetic for her. Like a wet kitten. Poor kittens! They can't swim! They do mew a lot when wet. It's pretty annoying really. Stupid kittens. Come on guys, let's stop calling it a "love triangle." It shall be a LOVE SHUTTLE. Sex in space seems pretty messy anyways. They had that couple that went up, I forget details. Larry's making a big deal about it, but it's really pretty simple: Eunuchs in space. The baggy prison-orange space suits would go great with their lack of testicles.
I am rather tired. It is one of those weeks, where the planets align and cosmic forces conspire against me. I have gotten less than 8 hours of sleep this week, I think. It's not worth detailed analysis, that would be depressing, or exhausting. I'm doing alright. My eyes aren't red, but they are burning. Lots of naps. Naps are the devil. They eat time and are hardly refreshing. Adam wakes me up from them to ask if I know anything about Facebook. I know what it is, but have never bothered to use it. He wanted to read his girlfriend/fiance's page or something. I wasn't very interested. He was so insistent that I had to refrain from feigning sleep! Which I was doing so he'd go away. Didn't really work. I don't feel much better now. I'll be up again tonight. And tomorrow night probably too. Maybe the night after. Maybe I'll get into the Uberman schedule. I hope not. I have no desire to become nocturnal. Those these ciestas are becoming a common occurrence. After greater consideration, ciestas are too short. It's more intense than that. Much more. I'm quite stiff. All over. And losing weight. I'm concerned about that a bit. I'm pulling long hours. But I've felt great about my test scores thus far, so I'm not likely to stop.
The Scroll is a continual disappointment, a matter of shame. They're publishing bloggers now. Like it's hip or something. Too bad they picked an idiot, some bible belt blogger or something. I'll try to find a link to it. They guy argued that Bush should build his presidential library in Rexburg, after having the proposal to build it at his wife's alma mater rejected by the school. He argues that because of it's overwhelming support of the Republican party Rexburg would be the perfect place. I do not contest that, it is overwhelming like Republican. So much so that I received audible gasps and commendation from the professor for my bravery to "come out" as a Democrat. It was weird. Kind of liberating. But I don't think I surprised a whole lot if they had paid attention, several comments in previous class periods had suggested my political persuasion. He describes Southern Methodist University as "a liberal college campus". Wow. I can't say I'm familiar with that school, having only breezed through the Wikipedia article, but it seems pretty bold, but then again, everything looks liberal compared to BYU-I. What really strikes me as odd is when he, for some, reason mentions the religious demographics of Rexburg stating, "Rexburg doesn't have any Methodist bishops-- or any Methodist churches for that matter. Heck, there's not a Methodist church in the entire county." That seems like a good reason why Bush not would want to put his library here, also because Rexburg sucks. No, thanks Lockwood. http://www.biblebeltblogger.com/biblebelt/2007/01/forget_about_sm.html
Need to get to that Meeting. HARD.
They are coming for me. Allow the depth of those words sink. They are coming for me. While I cannot be certain, I can feel it. As real as any compulsion or ghost touch, someone will come. I have witnessed the process many times. When someone isn't at church, they worry, they send an emissary. I am certain the leadership would not likely know the better of my absence, my roommates will. Jon distinctly said, "see you in church." Perhaps a reactionary grunt on my part was taken as confirmation, and they will become distressed, worried that I fell in the shower, paralyzed from the waist down, when I do not show.
I had glanced at my watch before my shower. I realized then I would not be on time with less than 20 minutes to travel and preen. I tried to think of what I would say. I even began to think of what I would write I would say! It was a very eventful shower.
I do not like to be late. No, that is not it at all. I fear being late. I would simply not go than be late. There is a certain shame there instilled by my father, that comes with being late. Sitting in the hard seats, the orange seats, the foyer, whatever it may be, I cannot stand it. When it comes down to going and being late or just not going, I usually choose the later, which was the most likely factor in my "academic suspension" last year. Although it may have been called something else. It stopped me from registering for classes in either case. I could not sign up for classes because the Bishop said so. Then he went on vacation. The guy's an asshole. I must have called his house 200 times trying to resolve that mess. If I should ever become famous and entirely disillusioned, I shall publish that account in my memoirs as the great fall in my religious standing. Or something. It's hard to type, my pinky fingernail is too long.
Sometimes I worry that I am too frank in my journaling. That it is too much diarying. But then I recall that no one reads this, save my girlfriend and her father. Perhaps Melanie too, for which she receives a shout-out. Hell, shout-outs to all! It is of some concern that her father reads this, I try not to worry. I should not fear assault, though many fathers try to project such a threat in their daughter's relations, it is not one I have been familiar with for some time. I should be far more concerned that somehow my parents may fall upon this blog and its indictments of my personal character, which I imagine they could find quite disturbing or something. I lost my thoughts there as I searched for the correct spelling of indictment, complicated by The Free Dictionary going down. I cruised over to Crooks and Liars, one of my favorite partisan blogs hoping the spelling might be found somewhere in pages discussing Scooter Libby, but I ultimately used Google as a spell checker. I told myself last year that I would start reading conservative blogs if power ever switched parties, as I am opposed to any one power holding too much of it and wished to maintain my moder-acy, but I haven't. I now find myself telling myself that I will switch if the presidency falls one way and the congresses and so on. But I know it is a lie. Why would I tell myself these things? I believe in many of the Democratic causes, enough that I registered as a member of their party. But it is difficult to hold such a standing here in "Gayburg" as some call it, but it is a stupid name; Sexburg would be better because you only change one letter. Still, they remain unmoved.
I have less than 5 minutes remaining. I don't know that I have said anything meaningful in this second post, only that I have postponed my communion. I did not mention what I had been planning to say when asked, like I had planned to. Some spiel about an undeniable compulsion to write that seized me. Which is true; it did get the best of me. But I will likely omit any tellings of my late-o-phobia, which I believe it could be classified as since it is obviously disrupting my life. I feel less passionate about it when its something besides church though, although it still very much present on commutes to work. I just get distracted. Distracted hard. Often times I'll want to write something, something profound or something, I don't know, my phone's alarm is telling me to go to church and I'm trying to ignore it. But when I get on the computer, I fall prey to all the distractions of the internet, and whatever. I really should get going. I don't know how I feel about these two posts. They will require some editing for links and whatnot. And tags!
I am greedily shoving cheerios in my mouth; I don't have much time. It's nearly eight, you see. Time to get ready for church. This makes it difficult to type, the time constraints and sticky sugar fingers are quite hefty. I did not go shopping yesterday, I did not do anything yesterday. It was Double XP weekend. It's like spring break for Paragon City. Servers are stressed out, there's a bug that let's you fly under the map, pretty fun stuff. It's the most solid rational for social starvation I've ever heard. Glorious! Unfortunately, I have not come across Peter in game, which is saddening. I thought Jon would take this time to shower, but I sounds like he's shaving. I "should" probably do that, but I won't. It's cold, why expose my face to the harsh elements? I maintain my stance that Jesus had a beard, I am being Christlike by not shaving. They are stupid rules for a stupid place. I hear stories on the radio of town imposing curfews, enabling the harassment of children by police, like a nightly hunting season. I am making a mess with my cheerios. They'll know it was me. I'm the only one who sits here, with a computer. The only one who eats cheerios. The only one who doesn't pick up his messes right away. Usually I do with cheerios, because they smash and crumble, a whole fiasco of vacuuming to be unleashed. Jon is almost done with his shower; he spends the last minute with the water turned to cold. He imagines there is some great health to this, but it is foolishness. What is good that makes you cry out so? I thought for a moment, roller coasters, but this is a fallacy, for they would let the elderly and infirm on if it were a positive experience. That can't be said that such horrible things are not enjoyable, as certainly the case is with roller coasters, but such a change in temperatures gives me headaches. I with use a heuristic to conclude that it has something to do with his Canadian origin.
I had sat down to write something grand, as I tend to imagine all things with alliteration are. But I fear that I have not made a smooth enough transition to it, that I may forget it all together. Can I force it out? No, it would be out of context. Perhaps I shall write this as a reminder of that thing I thought of while walking to the bathroom this morning before noticing that Jon had left the John in a stinker, that it should be written down. Should I remember in that brief time between sacraments and home teaching, I hope to write it down. Though it is unlikely, as I still must read the message to prepare, highlight the brief passage I find worthy enough to share but not so meaningful as to require a lengthy discussion (1 hour tops!). It was something about diverging and coherence, and the grim pronouncement of such. There was something about lambda, which can wait, and something about being a man. None of which I will probably write, though I felt compelled to, as I will be consumed by the Double XP, the rush of achievement and some small satisfaction, following by disappointment and a ripple of loathing that I could not expel myself from a fantasy long enough to give "serious" consideration (it is writing down a list of careers, some of which are jobs, that we might find interesting) to my future, among other assignments I will certainly derelict. Derelict, pronounced ala Zoolander, is Jon's nickname for me. I perfer it to that of 'D', which was so graciously bestowed upon me, not once, but twice, in unrelated events, by people thinking they were both hip and witting in giving me a moniker that was my first initial! I am speaking of my sister, Amanda, and an estranged friend/coworker/(colleague?) Anesh. While they might have been clever, on the whole, neither was in this instant or hip. Given that Jon has just departed, a whole 40 minutes before it begins, I should give heavy consideration to preparation now. I may never understand such zeal. I cannot contain an interest in anything for more than a week, with snakes on planes being an exception though I never felt it as so consuming a passion as is displayed toward church attendance here. For myself, it is largely compulsory, as the fellowship is mediocre, and at times, dank. This is compounded by attendence being compulsory, while I did chose the school I did so a great deal more for financial reasons (they have meeting houses everywhere, and anywhere else being LDS could be a symbol of pride, deference, anything but obligatory) rather than for a desire to be surrounded by the saints or some bull. I tend to fight, rather struggle, against whatever is heft upon me, which is enhanced greatly by my perception of the superficiality of the consignment. The Honor Code, upon which we are counseled weekly
, is, as I see it, a sort of contractual document, the manifest by which they may abort the unworthy and rebellious. It is an order of obedience and accountability, endorsed by a board of shadowy figures, that as I understand is made up of church authorities such as the First Presidency. Isn't it weird that its first and not onest or something? Anyways, I find it hard to believe that our salvation relies in any degree upon the trends of our beards. Why then, do we grow them? God has given us a part of the body for the sole reason of the maintenance of it? Far-fetched. While the personification of our salvation, of God's love, sports a beard in his mortal existence, we must shave our faces from earlobe to earlobe? It is absurd and against the book of Leviticus. I tire of it, but I must be preparing for church. Once again, I seem to have forgotten to read the sunday school lesson ahead of time. Darn..
This is called Downward Social Comparison. I do it constantly. Perhaps it is indicative of low self-esteem on my part, or perhaps it just feels so damn good to know my situation is so vastly superior to some of my peers. That satisfaction is enhanced, nay, magnified, by one individual who rejected my awkward advances post-middle school. Sweeter still by its correlation to the book I am still procrastinating reporting on. I happened upon some pathetic, as they were, blogets (new word score!) on Myspace and it reminded me that I should be writing about this book and not procrastinating and now I'm sort of doing both. But that's OK (which is really annoying because it is inappropriate to Blogger unless completely capitalized, the word that is) you can read Vernal Promises yourself. Honestly, it wasn't that bad. I actually disliked it more for being good than being bad. I sympathized with characters, I sympathized well. And I got like 34 out of 80 for Helping on that last career inventory survey. I don't care to help. Not for long at least. Whiners. Anyways, my reaction to the book!
I figure writing about will get me in the mood (just typed food there instead of mood, just like Pooh! oh God! what am i? what have i become??) to actually start writing on the book, perhaps a caffeine rush will initiate while we wait. Nay, we proceed! The book was unsettling. The protagonists struggles with faith, virtue, vice, all very real. The guilt, judgments, and shame so freely dispensed in this Mormon alcove were present in the book. The small town isolation is tangible, perhaps because I am now in a small town. Anyways, the atmosphere is great. Wahoo!.. While I do not feel I have indulged in any sins so great as those espoused in the novel, I can certainly appreciate the author's convention of them. Jacob and Pam, a young 'newly-wed-ish' couple, live in a trailer. Since the novel begins with a miscarriage from what would have been a child conceived out of wedlock, but birthed into one of those obligatory ones, the newly-wed attitude is not present. Indeed, they had their kicks and giggles before they were meant to. Pam, who becomes devoted to the cause, equates her miscarriage to God's punishment for their debauchery. The author seems to agree, their next 'attempt' at pregnancy goes much smoother, that is, successful, after she has begun living the tenets of The Gospel with her husband, but a lot of things happened between those points. I disagreed with some of the characterization, but I don't feel the desire to express it here or now, some of which has to do with my perception of inadequate research on the author's part (which I alluded to in a previous post). Anyways, I diverged from where I had been heading, but that is not a folly, as I will have to write extensively later/soon in either case. Mostly, the whole situation scares the shit out of me (parents rejoice!). Perhaps it is my knowledge of my own parents young marriage (living in a trailer, expelled from school, pariahs!)(complete with illegitimate-ish child)(order of operations!) that shocks me so deeply. Or my experience in a shitty grocery store job similar to Jacob's at the beginning of the novel. Thankfully, I do not feel tempted by the same vices that Jacob faces. Indeed, I make it a point to learn as much about drugs as I can (via wikipedia!), knowledge is power (school house rock ftw!). I extolled the virtues of LSD and the pains of heroin briefly to Mike in a previous round of procrastination. I know what I'm missing out on, and it doesn't sound that much better than the lucid dreams about current events I have now. I can escape into a fantasy world of heroes and villains easily enough if I must escape a harsh world, or just procrastinate hard. Yet, as I type this, I must realize I am a hypocrite for the amphetamines in my system now. I dope academically. I am shamed...
...but at least I am not Britany.
I procrastinate, hard. I do it even now as I write this blog. I did it last night, and this morning. It is my quintessence.
It started poorly, it should be said. I did not receive the book as soon as I had expected, or had hoped. I only had a week to read it, but I was in no hurry, I like Kirsten read it first, she likes that sort of book anyways. I could refer to her as a resource, if necessary, to discuss the book; I didn't expect to be able to find much in The Hivemind about it, despite my formidable search-fu. It only took 3 days to read, maybe four, I can't remember. It was easy, very plain spoken, though vague in distinctions between illicit substances, fits the target audience well enough. Certainly, such details should be spared for such an innocent audience (or innocent author)! Deseret Book has refused to stock novels for less than contained in this novel, and if it were not required for a class, I doubt the bookstore here would either, even though it was written by a faculty member.
In any case, it is quite late and I have yet to add any real substance, those things which were not the ramblings I pounded onto my cellphone's text pad as they were revealed to me, to the document I need to submit tomorrow morning. I tell myself that I would have gotten to it earlier if it were not Monday, the obligatory Family Home Evening charade to attend, but I know this to be a comforting lie.
Family Home Evening was different: the girls talked. I did not, I seldom to at introductions. My particular brand of humor (which I like to think of as parenthetical) is hopeless to the unfamiliar. We played awkward games, (i got 3rd place in "I never..") and made animal noises and small talk. I didn't say much, but my locus out of my control placed me in that inevitable role: know-it-all. Darn. I can't say I really mind; it certainly seems true, or truthy, at times. But I resent that I was cast so quickly by Mike in the role. Less than two hours in and I am the knower. An apologetic murmur was uttered by one when I confirmed an off-statement that perhaps we just sat around in Allen Ridge asking Derek questions. Do I mind that much? I never considered it a shame, any warrant of pity. They probed, and I proved for them, taught them how to expel a boy, to hyphenate a boy-friend without crushing him, though it may require it. But I saw they had a Super NES, N64, Xbox, PS2, with guitar hero, I think it'll be OK.
The screen hurts my eyes. I took a break earlier to close my eyes, try to relax my jaw, listened to the Aquabats; it was nice. Adam is still up. I am still up. I shouldn't be. We shouldn't be. It is unnatural.
I received a paper cut from a Career Skills-Interest survey. Foreshadowing? Perhaps I shall become an astronaut! Or an advice columnist. How does one go about that?
I still must decide how I shall write this paper. Perhaps it is best to simply begin. But I so don't want to...
It's Friday. I start just a tad later than usual, with two classes instead of three, and I don't have anything pressing upon me in the evening; I love it. I just woke up a little while ago, and by woke up I mean, got out of bed. My bed is becoming increasingly hazardous. I use several fleece blankets, which discharge upon all things suspended in the proximity. I am used to such static, making it a point to discharge myself on ovens whenever possible. I use a nice foam thing my dad gave me, although the pillow I stole from him no longer seems as nice by comparison. But my bed is not that nice, I face peril each night. I sleep on the bottom bunk, getting to which is a hazard. One of Mike's friends told me to clean my room, but I don't listen to girls that aren't named Kirsten. Get it? She asked me what I'd do if Jesus came over and saw my room. I replied, "I'd ask him if he wanted to crash on one of my three beds." It was awesome. So anyways, my room is a mess (no sharing dance!) and its hard to get to my bed with the lights off, big deal. The bottom bunk, although safe from fall damage, has the distinct disadvantage of head injury- the original reason we took the top off my childhood bed, which is now Ethan's. Last night I nearly fell into the heater. My room does not have heat, a heater, but no heat. I believe there are some frayed wires involved, which could result in a tragic polyurethane death if the midnight klankings progress further, or I manage to ignite from static, or some ghastly combination. There is a gap between my bed and wall, presumably made by former tenants to get away from the windows. Finding myself precariously sprawling into such a crevice was quite frightening, but I am pleased to inform you that I did have some sweet dreams of katamari and x-men, with the daily dose of NPR dream-blend. But it's Friday! I get to sleep in past 8! A cause for celebration, I put an Aquatbats' cd on Sleep and roll over. I cannot sleep so late with my cheating, but my room is cold. I stretch like a dinosaur, curling my arms forward so they won't hit the bars above me and pulling my neck back in my somnolence. I image my pandiculation is quite amusing; I certainly enjoy it. I usually spend the next hour or so in oscitancy until I've eaten and showered, but this morning I took the time to read the linear notes on Charge! for the first time. No lyrics, but I enjoyed the special thanks section, which included such notables as Shaq, Karl Malone, and Big Gay Al. The very special thanks included the band members' families, and get this, Heavenly Father. Not to discount their gratitude, but that hypocorism has always appeared to me as an element of Mormon subculture, although I realize it must not be exclusive. It makes me wonder if more members than just Christian Jacobs are members, a term we've been told to discontinue. We were also told to discontinue missionary farewells, but I went to one two weeks ago.
"Woo! Whoa, Grandma! Woo! Oh oh oh ohh... Woo! Oh.." Jon was taking a shower, seems like he messed turned the cold water knob down, allowing for untold acts of burnination. I made that mistake yesterday. I think it has something to do with the different water temperatures not mixing right at the head of the shower, but someplace earlier. So any temperature adjustments are greatly skewed in the net products, if I'm write. Everything in this building sucks, but laundry is free, so.. Or he wasn't burned and just needs to talk to his bishop, and perhaps a psychiatrist for his super-oedipal complex. I tried my best to dictate his yelps, but I'm not very good at translating out of Canadian.
To address Melanie's comment (the only one in months!), it is not that my major is flexible but rather my lax approach to it. Only a fourth of my total credits this semester have any relevance to biology. A more ambitious alternate universe version of myself would probably change the major back to general studies, though I was never the one to select it. My mother selected it when she first registered me to live in the dorms, unfortunately when she did this she had also selected the third floor thinking the more studious atmosphere it advertised would be beneficial, which it wasn't; it was totally gay. Anyways, since I don't know what field I desire (I had been considering pharmaceuticals at the time prior) I see no urgency to alter it at this time, though it would be nice to not have to add that clause of indeterminatance each time someone asks me what my major is, as if it reveals some great truth about my nature. I'm neither limited by words or numbers-though this blog is certainly no reflection of that-I am no more predisposed to biology than literature.
Damn. It is -15*F currently. Today will be fun..
I worry that she can't escape herself. Everyone should escape themselves: we are all awful people. I receive text messages late at night asking if I ever get tired of everything. Yes, I do. That's when I go to sleep. Get lost in dreams. Happy dreams, sad dreams, scary dreams, sexy dreams, super dreams, confused dreams. I could ramble about the necessity of following dreams, or just remembering them, the reasons we have them, superficial ramblings. They are important, and let's leave it.
I am a strong believer in the importance of deriving happiness from something, happiness wells, or if you will, happy little trees. I left my radio on Saturday, kept telling the alarm clock to keep trying long after I was stirring, to keep my roommate away. Near noon, a man was talking about brainwashing ourselves into positive habits. I heard John Tesh on M2's radio talk about similar things, but he misused the word habit, thinking it was any bad thing that you tend to do rather than a conditioned response. He used the example of misplacing the keys instead of placing the keys, which would be a habit unlike the prior. But I do not mean to talk about Tesh, I will add it to my list of grievances against M2 and continue with my story about the first radio-man. He spoke of the natural tendency to prefer whatever mental mindset is most comfortable, most familiar, even if not the most enjoyable. I see this is in many people, especially M2. I should not share with you the details of his heavy breathing, his hypochondria, and the general aura of discomfort he exudes. But know that I was quite satisfied this morning when he flumbled out of bed to scramble to the phone call telling him he was late for work, just an hour after his snoring had woken me. Which reminds me I need to remember to completely close my eyes when feigning sleep, so I can avoid the cliche comments like "Welcome to the land of the living" which he spouts at every opportunity, no doubt feeling clever for his utterance likely derived from some forgotten entertainments.
I, for one, with no intention of boasting, am doing quite well, in the fuller sense of the words. I have all the appropriate targets of animosity which I desire, which provide abundant malice for me to malign. A hatred set to simmer is my most comfortable mindset.I feel I am slightly behind in some of my schoolwork and have developed awful fall backs of morning math homework, but have resolved not to let this affect me negatively, although that is dependent of perspective and probably not the wisest decision, it is still mine to make. And in comparing myself to others (and do not pretend that you do not do the same) my luck is quite sufficient for my needs, and my ability to fling the most negative of truths, those that people don't wish to have noticed but are readily observed, have been of great use recently. I gave an impromptu lecture to some of my friends, which led to me being hailed a genius, on their failures with women. It did not matter that I could not recite their histories, I knew their patterns, their follies are intertwined with their beings, thus their histories were revealed. It is unfortunate that they did not believe themselves to be attractive men, because it is so easy to be attractive here. I maintain that the interbreeding has led to a net decrease in attractive individuals, and by no means am I asserting that I am a specimen of grand physical beauty, rather I perhaps feel that I am more true in myself that perhaps confidence in that revelation may lead to an aura of attraction. I will freely admit that it is entirely possible that the aura I just mentioned is a manifestation of some latent complex, but I will not apologize for it. The number of beautiful Mormons will decrease through the generations, and I foresee no decline in the trend. Of course, I am primarily referring to those Mormons of many generations, native to "Desseret". Missionary work will continue to bring new faces into the fold, which will be to some benefit, but how much will it affect the cacausian, and i suspect adamantly latent racist, population of the Jelly Belt? I theorize, and I am no theorist, that this trend, of which I seem more aware (or more diluted) than peers with which I have discussed, is because of the emphasis on spirituality in the culture when choosing a mate. I can draw no correlation between attractive people and spirituality, as I am not one of those involved, and whether it is inheritable or taught in the home, or some combination thereof. I am reminded of studies (whose credibility I can not verify in that they were on blog posts) that inferred that natural fearfulness was an inheritable genetic trait in mice, and a book I saw posted on boingboing.net that suggested that denial of reality was too. Could faithfulness follow such a trend as this?
A girl asked in biology class, where we are studying evolution currently, to confirm that evolution is just a "theory" and that there wasn't really any "proof". The professor, who I admire all the more for how he can walk on these eggshells, that he was showing us the, and forgive me for not having the accurate phrasing, "things they use as proof" and then launched into a subsequent discourse on how we could rationalize these things from a Creationist's point of view. I think all the overwhelming observable evidence may have been starting to get to her.
I must apologize for my writing style, I have been reading Walden, and I grow to hate Thoreau a little more each day. I struggle to decide just in what ways I hate him and what the most accurate and complete description this person would be, though I must admit, he can craft an elegant sentence. Perhaps it is that at times, the essays seem to be little more than his intellectual masturbation, but it was the most thrifty choice for a report. I regret that this reading may have influenced the above style. I must go prepare myself for the day now.
I'm sick. I don't know wether it was the airport, the change in air pressure and temperature, or thrusting my tongue against the roof of my mouth while tapping slightly above the space between my eyes on my forehead (try it!). Aside from being sick, today sucks because I have a lesson tomorrow I haven't practised for and two tests this afternoon I neglected to study for. Also, the whole sick thing. But The Office is on tonight, joy!. Aside from being sick now, thanksgiving was wonderful. I have skipped my last two Book of Mormon classes. I really didn't feel up for them. Blech, I feel like crap. Stupid snow. Furthermore, because I failed to complete my finacial aid papers correctly (i thought that i had!) i can't yet register for classes, which was enabled on sunday. Suck.
