No Disciple

I thought I would call it power, short for willpower. Or discipline, maybe self-mastery. When my roommates would ask, "How do you stay up like that?" I would say "Discipline." And they would stand back in awe of my prowness in the uber-man sleep schedule. But none of those words fit. I thought briefly today on the ideal balance of word choice, the affect of rhythm and cadence in a piece; spacey sorts of things I never detailed well enough to transcribe. And on the Internet of all places! For shame! And none of those words fit. I do not feel discipline, for if I did I certainly wouldn't be proclaiming to the Interwebs that I possess some magnificant power to stay away for prolonged periods of self-sacrifice that certainly demand their adulation! I must apologize for my frequent use of exclamation marks; they are most unseemly. I feel a need to apologize for many things tonight, including the desire to apologize. For these things and more, I am sorry.
The fact remains: none of those words fit. I like them; they are courageous words, full of boldness with a certainly manly essence not unlike commando and bravado. Many things that have the swooping doe are manly, or feel such by the sweeping declension they allow in delivery. They are the breed shouted by base jumpers and other falling men. It is well known that men that fall are the most rugged of all.
I read in my psychology text that unsymmetrical men are poor lovers, or perhaps less sought after. I prefer the later recollection. The first has been bothering me I seem to have spent too much time in front of the mirror. I feel far to womanish at this moment to use words that end in doe. My vanity tells me, perhaps erroneously, that I am not to far removed from the unnatural ideal refined at Beauty Check. I am such a girl (not literal!). If you care to, my ego could use a huggle. Hugglez are, in my mind, the ideal portmanteau, or at least the one most painfully burned into my vocabulary. For this, I will always hate the Internets. You see, my parents never huggled me as a child.
Mostly, I think, at this moment, which is brief and so often wrong, that it may be an (ever so slightly) feeling of overwhelming inadequacy with just a touch of hyperbole. Shades, you drama queen! Certainly, such words of fortitude would not describe a man in my situation, however passing it may be. But I did not expect such results, and what man can? I have done it before, and will do it again. This is, however slightly unpleasant, important and necessary as far as I have pushed my situation. But I will tell them it is discipline. What else could I say? Anything else is incriminating. I shall press on, and shirk these doubts, or as many as temporarily possible before they once again shamble upon my shoulders for a harmless ride. You're too heavy, I say wearily. They just giggle.
Mostly, I worry that I am an outlier. "Outliers make statistical analyses difficult" Harvey Motulsky.

I have a statistics quiz to take now and three weeks of assignments to power-thru in less than 11 hours. Who needs sleep? No, you're never gonna get it.

Shout-out to Melanie for posting a comment! I thought long ago people had given up reading this blithering blog.

He wants to meet every week...

...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?

The Line

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.

I forgot one:

6. Not with Jon.


BAM SUCKA!!!

Single's Awareness Day

I just sent these off to the Scroll for their new feature Top Five, like Letterman's but more crappy. I used Jon's email for convenience.


Top Five ways to spend Singles Awareness Day:

1. Flirting with that coy Ticonderoga in the Testing Center.

2. On the phone with Mother.

3. Same way as the last five Friday nights: Godzilla movies.

4. Sharing your emotional inadequacies with 15 close friends on X-Box live.

5. With a tub of ice cream, bath salts, and Hugh Grant's smile.

No, George W. Bush presidential library should NOT be built in Rexburg.

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.

Thought!

I was tired..I was just brushing my teeth, thinking about how nice it'd be to go to bed. That song, from Sesame Street, Everybody Sleeps started going through my head. It was taunting me, in a way, but I dismissed it, because it is delightful. But it came back, stronger. I began to think: This could be really annoying after a while. I thought about a man, tormented by insomnia, that song...

Also, the faucet in the bathroom is broken. It will turn to Hot so far that it turns to Cold. Completely around. It is possessed. Now to try and get Adam to cut my hair. He's getting married or something. I don't try to keep up. It's closer to two a.m. than it is not, yet we're all still awake. And I plan to get up early tomorrow too! Adventure!

The words and the bees

It is so cold today that the children don't have school. It was warm before today. My father said, "Maybe that Al gore is on to something." It took him a while to come along, I'm surprised they denied it ever. The way he demonizes the gays as minions of Satan or whatever (never listened that closely to his tirades), I'm surprised global warming wasn't previously considered a part of the Fullness of Times. The latter looks to sell.
It feels like a cold day, like it should be. There hasn't been much snow. The ice was caking and cracking on sidewalks. I like to step on the edges where it arcs over the land it covered previously, even though I drift side to side on the sidewalk, looking like an ass, trying to stomp them. It makes a satisfying crunch, sometimes a crack. Wonderful.
I did some research; terrifying. It was for a grade, why else would I face such abyss? It was silly really. It is silly. Why would I want to become a beekeeper? How could I become one? Why would I want to be a writer? How could I become one? Neither is viable; they require support. I have too much of a fondness for the semicolon anyways. Beekeepers never use the semicolon. Really, it's funny looking. I think that's why everyone hates the semicolon. And no one knows what it does. I do, but still wonder if I should. It's like a drug, the semicolon. I rarely use the colon anymore. It makes me think of poop. Maybe I need more fiber.
I stole it: The data. I stole it. The terms of service say I can't do a lot of things with the data without their written consent. They posted it on the Internet. They don't want it cached without their consent. I wonder if Google wrote them. I don't think I'll mention it. None of you mention it either.
I've been thinking a lot lately, but not enough about my classes. Though really, beekeepers don't need to go to college. Bees sting them all the time, and apiarists don't even give a crap. Like ninjas. Everything seems to go back to that. I suppose it is childish, but I see no harm in the vice, moreover, I have no desire to release it. I thought it was rather silly, perhaps that is not the best word, but my procrastination period grows dimmer by the minute thus I have no time to revise, that the career research library on campus does not include criminal as an option. That is, it was not in the file cabinet, I suppose I should have asked the secretary. There are any number of illegitimate careers they aren't training us for.
It's become a terrible thing, the way I've been thinking of things. That fiction class and that career class. Horrible things. I can't shake narration. I sit on the toilet and think about the duality of myself and its applications in literate possibilities. When urine sprays, obfuscated by a rogue hair, I leave the water closet thinking of how that could be used in a novel. I haven't been writing it all down as I should have; I don't want to believe it's come to that yet, or I just can't focus myself, I haven't been doing it yet. I still fall victim to that silly belief that I may be able to recall all these things later. I don't have any stories yet. I don't know. I can't shake my constant feelings of confliction. Conflict Ion. That's what it suggests. Oh, blogger, you are a machine.
I don't feel well. I will blame the pressures this weekend present, never myself for dealing with them poorly. I blame myself for much bigger things than failing to reread novels. I've already read it, isn't that enough? No, it isn't; I know this, but will I actually bother to? Probably not. I don't make wise decisions.
I should start using the first person plural. That is how We feel. Conversations of inadequacies bring it up, though I never state it. How silly is it to blame only part of yourself? At that moment, We blamed the part that was, but also the part that wasn't for making the other part be not it. We are sure that doesn't make sense. But really, I should be speaking as a singular, because there are never two of me at once. I blame that part of we, but cannot help but feel that I, being a product of that we, am also to blame for not being I all the time. It is confusing, I am sure. I think about Duality a lot, but I've never even looked up the word. It sounds nice though. I don't expect you to understand (yet), I think that may be my life's work, though I also hope it isn't; it seems so insignificant. I aspire to greater things, but we do not. You can see, I am conflicted. Can you love Me, but not We? I feel like you do.
But feelings change. I hate I, being I, because he is so moody. Really, We are so moody. I heard it described: lambda. That's how I think of it now. It was very reassuring to know that I wasn't going crazy, or rather that it wasn't a symptom of it. I am being nondescript; I apologize. Does that make it easier? It's easier to when the variables are undefined, but what does it mean then? The blog doesn't have units for those sorts of things. There are other reasons I hate I, and it is important to realize that I is a function of time, being present now. I don't expect understanding, I would not demand it. Now I use words again with different meaning. Does anyone understand what I am saying. I am merely typing it. The flow. I don't think I want to write stream of consciousness, I am not that great at reading stream of consciousness. I don't think I have the imagination for it, at least, compared to people in my fiction class who described a sort of self-substitution with the protagonist. It seemed strange, a sort of empathy so honed, or the opposite, that disbelief was suspended, characters not only became real, but became Them. I didn't even think the book was that good. Perhaps I couldn't suspend my disbelief as well. Seriously.
I suppose I should stop. I didn't know where it was going. Perhaps I should allow that to continue further in other things, but do I have the time for such endeavors? I cannot be certain, though I suspect 'No'. With so much time spent trying to figure out who I am, or We are, or whatever. We am. I don't know why, but I find it quite euphonious. Maybe I need a typewriter. Maybe I need to stop letting(?) my thoughts hijack myself. Perhaps I need thoughts. This isn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. Read into that, I'm not sure what it means.
Accidental symbolism. Like when I cut my finger on my Career Inventory Surveys that I printed out, also for that class. I just thought of that now, or rather was reminded of it. It was something I thought of in a creative writing class I took in high school. I really sucked in that class. I had no stories to tell. I am out of time. But the thought I had then was simply to insert things that might have some symbolic meaning, or c/would acquire them through the course of the narrative, that the reader could then differentiate at their own pace, with little effort on my part. It strikes me as odd now, that I have learned that both Faulkner and Hemingway did similar things, though such is a rather bold statement on my part. And perhaps rather inaccurate as well. Hemingway had his iceberg theory and Faulkner was so dense that... I don't know. I'm out of time to write, still have things to finish, and I don't have time to refine and support such bold arguments on my behalf. Perhaps later, I tell myself, but I know this to be a lie. I'm getting pretty good at telling those. Really, I should be done now.

More data!

This meets criteria (I hope!) Gourmet2.xls

Or Housing2.xls

Even Modem2.xls

All these things are just going to defecate all over my weekend!

And tags!

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!

Cheerios!

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..

These meet criteria! I think..

Religious Bodies--Selected Data



U.S. Military Personnel on Active Duty in Selected Foreign Countries: 1995 to 2005

There we go. Time to get dressed!

Quick Facts!!!

This is me using blogger as a mobile bookmarks tab!

I could do this for all 50 states, but will I? I am not sure, but it had a link to download in excel, which would be a great convienence, so the possibility still exists. I am linking to it now, as I await more instruction on what we need and how it will be processed and the various difficulties transcription will present. Here are the Oregon QuickFacts from the US Census Bureau. And here are the State and County QuickFacts. And here are the USA QuickFacts and even More USA data sets! Ooo! I found some Statistical Abstract with some excel data. I'm certain he will teach us how to transfer to SPSS from excel. Yay!

The Statistical Abstract: Elections is interesting, like the data on presidential vetos. The Composition of Congress by Political Party Affiliation --States: 1999 to 2006 is interesting, but it ends before the 110th Congresses, which would make the whole thing so much more interesting in the dramatic shift in congressional power that happened last election to see if it happened at the state level as well. That data on the similar Composition of Congress by Political Party: 1975 to 2006 could be filled in rather easily, as it is a smaller file and the information would be more easily accessed. Unfortunately, he wants us to have 60 individuals, and we're only on the 43rd president. There are also only 50 states. I could do congressional data; there would be enough there. It is time for my next class, which hopefully I'll pay more attention in than this one. But servers are down! Wo are we! Anyways, statistics time!

Essays written after 4am start to fizzle...

Not so great...but I got it done! It fizzles at the end, but I don't care so much. He said 2-3 pages, and I'm right at 3, not including citations, which I'm fairly certain I did not parenthetically cite correctly. Or correctly ever. Whatever. Its the first paper, I'll do better when he gives us a better description of what he wants. Eh..it sucks throughout, I didn't really care for the book that much (or I would have started sooner and whatnot) oh well. I don't think I'll bother showering before class. I got a ton of stuff tonight too! yay!

----------------------------

Analysis of themes in Vernal Promises

A preliminary product search of http://deseretbook.com/ reveals no results for either “Vernal Promises” or “Jack Harrell,” despite his position as a faculty member at a university that is under the same leadership. It is perhaps possible that Signature Books would not permit the sale of his novel there, or perhaps, as it is his first novel, which Deseret Book subsequently failed to notice and stock. Perhaps Jack Harrell never noticed or bothered to correct some clerical error or legality that prevented the sale of Vernal Promises at Deseret Book locations. Perhaps, more likely, Deseret Book refused to carry the title because of its content. Vernal Promises deals with sex, sin, debauchery. Vernal Promises deals with drugs, drills, addictions. Vernal Promises deals with a lot of things: agency, accountability, morality; the search for truth, a common thread. Luckily, Amazon.com carries the title from a number of distributors.

The novel as a whole focuses on Jacob and Pam Dennison’s turbulent reconciliation with their church, from their first miscarriage to their first move and the characters that help and hinder them on this path. To do this Harrell utilizes a third-person narrator with limited omniscience focused on one actor at a time. He frequently switches the focal character throughout each chapter, often showing events from multiple viewpoints and the effects they have on different characters. This style of story telling allows the theme of accountability to be easily embedded in the novel. Examples of this would be the multiple times Jacob abandons his wife Pam, the cascading consequences of which are explored not only from the individual perspectives of Jacob and Pam, but also that of her bishop’s (193), and her mother’s (204). The first chapter ends saying, “There are consequences, he thought. There’s hell to pay. He rubbed Pam’s back and wanted to cry”(9). In this instance, accountability is discussed overtly; more often it is subtly expressed, such as painful side effects Jacob endures after an alcohol binge, inevitable justice for his action. An exception to this is when Jacob learns of an extra material affair he had may have resulted in a pregnancy, and he is not held accountable, although the woman will have to deal with the consequences (286).

As perhaps the most dynamic character, Jacob throughout his various chemical sojourns questions, “If God wanted obedience, why did he make sin so sweet?”(27) Harrell frequently uses freedom, and the perception there of, as a motif through many of the characters, contrasting different viewpoints. For example, Cheryl, a worldly woman, sees freedom as financial security, while Jacob seeks it through various narcotics to remove himself from the guilt he feels as a result of his moral wanderings and self-doubt. While Jacob original desires freedom, only to discover after a battle with Dwayne, the moral antagonist representing Satan in Vernal Promises, that such “freedom” would damn him eternally. The ‘freedom’ that Dwayne promised was a complete rejection of Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice, which Jacob later feels unworthy of. A case could easily be made that the theme of the novel is personal freedom. However, the freedom from guilt Jacob desired, and even the freedom of financial independence Cheryl wanted, coupled with the imminent captivity awaiting Harvey, all come from varying degrees of righteous or unrighteous living, according to the standards set out by the church. Though a few other Christian sects are mentioned, no reference is made to any degree their correctness (although Greg shows a degree of integrity that surpasses that his coworkers), and those that have fallen from the ‘straight’ and narrow are portrayed as unhappy, none more so than Jacob, who shows the difficulty of living in a fallen world with his constant temptations and recessions. Despite his constant pleas, Jacob is free to do as he chooses, following Harrell’s theme of agency.

Because the themes of agency, morality, and accountability are all so intertwined in the Mormon religion, and as such are often discussed together in the frequent passages in which the character of Jacob Dennison debates his standing with himself, and the novel’s antagonist, Dwayne Helper, often with the aid of psychoactive drugs. Their search for truth ultimately leads to a physical altercation, incarceration, and begins Jacob’s reconciliation with the path to salvation. Though like the Jacob of old, Jacob wrestles with the Lord and it is not until he accepts Christ’s salvation that he finds happiness. Neither does Pam truly find happiness (though some semblances of it after her daughter is born as it says, “Pam was pleased with this scene” (316)) until after her husband has returned to the church. In this way, juxtaposed against the character’s previous unhappiness and their rejection of gospel tenets, the themes of morality and its consequences emerge. The novel ends with Jacob surrendering himself to his family and Christ, no longer haunted by his past actions. Harrell concludes, “He wanted to love and give and feel until it became his very nature. This is real love, he thought. This is redemption. He gave himself over to it completely”(342).

Harrell, Jack. Vernal Promises. Salt Lake City: Signature Books Publishing, LLC., 2003.

"Deseret Book - Store." DeseretBook.com. 23 Jan 2007. Deseret Book. 23 Jan 2007 .

"Deseret Book - Store." DeseretBook.com. 23 Jan 2007. Deseret Book. 23 Jan 2007 .

"Amazon.com: Vernal Promises: Books: Jack Harrell." Amazon.com. 23 Jan 2007 .

Hello: Again!

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.