Lighten up Elder Thompson

So, I just wrote and erased an entire post. Chalk it up to being tired physically and emotionally. It seems like little fragments of who I am or what I value are waging my own private war with my thoughts. Not an entirely uncommon experience, but not a pleasant one either. I guess most of it comes back in part to what my mission president told me, "Lighten up Elder Thompson." The significance of this is compounded when you consider that he told me this twice in a four month period. I think one of the challenges I've struggled with is deciding when to be happy. I know that sounds twisted or pathetic, but let me explain. To me, it all comes back to personal progress. I know I need to be happy with the progress that I make, that's easy. The hard part is deciding when to be happy with being imperfect. I guess I'm afraid that if I am happy with imperfection I won't work to become better. At the same time, I don't want to be some self-absorbed masochistic wreck. It seems like I end up on the later side more often than I'd like to admit. Usually I have something to conclude a post with that sort of sums things up. I guess I don't know how to sum this one up.

Life, Death and the directions

There have been more than a few things lately that have got me thinking. Yesterday, or technically two days ago I went to the funeral for the father of a high school friend. Her father died of cancer. He was diagnosed in May of this year. Some of you know and some don't, my own father has leukemia. He was diagnosed in July of this year. It's been far more difficult for both of my parents to deal with than I had imagined. I am not real sure how I feel about the whole thing. When we drove up to the cemetery I noticed that it was on a dead end. What a comfort to realize that there are no dead ends in the eternal scheme of things. In the words of Semisonic, though they probably ripped them off, "every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end." The one real constant with life seems to be change. As soon as we feel like we have one thing figured out it seems like we're hit by another. It's funny though (which of course means it's not funny ha ha, but funny hmmm) people try to map out their lives, but isn't that like drawing a map of a place you've never been before? I think when all is said and done the most important thing is to have a direction to go and things to do along the way. For my dad I think the direction has always been from selfishness to unselfishness and the good things along the ways has been helping people, almost invariably expecting and receiving little in return. I think my own life has been a somewhat different direction. For me life has always been about moving from ignorance to understanding. The good things along the way part could use some work. In the last few weeks I've really come to appreciate the value of even small acts of kindness for others. Now, I just need to figure out how to perform such service more naturally; I hate when I feel like I'm faking being good, if that makes any sense. Being fake-good leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

The Beast that is Bio 100

I just got out of my Keys to Scripture Study final a few minutes ago. For once I think I actually came close to being prepared. I probably got an 80-85% on it, which is great for me considering it was largely memorization based, and I hate memorization. Now I have a final at 5:45pm, a scant 45 minutes after my previous final. I don't think this one should be too bad though. A large portion of the class itself has been based off of being able to use reason and analysis. I don't think it should be a problem. I will be extra careful though since I blew off one of the rather weighty assignments a few weeks ago. Either way I'm not too worried about it. So I have to say that finals for this semester have gone really well. The only one I have left after this is Biology. Oh Biology 100, how I hate thee so. Would that academia had not nurtured you in her womb, and created such a foul beast to torment the dreams of apathetic youth. What horrors lay inside the body? Who knows truly but Deity himself? Indeed who else needs to know? The inner workings of man must needs remain a mystery lest presently there is no more mystery left to life. What then compatriots? Shall we run amok seeking to unknow the tragic truth that has come upon us? What could make us unhappier than to know ourselves? In truth there is a level of familiarity, or self-knowledge, which stands prerequisite to our happiness. However, there is a boundary across which no man may cross and find himself a happy creature. Amongst the noble quests in life is to know oneself. But we cannot know ourselves in terms so course and base as these! Think, I pray thee, upon how the countenance of a child should fall if he were told the lie that he is nothing more than a collection of fleshy machinery. To imagine such a life is to imagine a fate far worse than death, it is to know ourselves as undead, a creation with no soul, with no fire of the heart. Biology 100 your death will not come swiftly enough for my soul. When it is dead, then may I rest, sleep and forget the peril.

A twisted fate and shattered academic motivations

At this point I should officially be working on a research paper. After all, it is due on Tuesday. The only thing is my highlighted and annotated notes seemed to have gone missing. So in the interest of doing the least work possible I'll wait to talk to my roommates and see if someone else moved them, though I seriously doubt it. It's funny, I've thought a lot about why I'm rather apathetic towards school work and I think it all goes back to 6th grade. One fateful day, I was eagerly anticipating the return of my "Banana Split Enrichment Packet" with the standard A beaming from its cover. My expectations, and I might add scholastic motivations, were shattered however as I was met by an A- that seemed to mock me with inhumane glee (which is probably the only sort of glee a packet can have, if indeed a packet can have glee). Later that night, I pulled an evil spirit imitation as I explained my tragedy to my mother via weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. She assured me that an A- was not the end of the world and that an A- was in fact really good, excellent even. My young and impressionable mind caught hold of this shining truth and adopted it for my own. Thus began my descent into the realm know as mediocrity. At first I stayed away, fearing the consequences of a return to that dark abyss. But the pull was too strong...I indulged again...and again. Gradually, like a slow-acting poison, the mediocrity built up and then, most sadly, killed my scholastic enthusiasm. Thus the birth of half-academic aberration that you all know and love.

A quirk of my brain and more inane zombie dialogue

So I've realized something about myself over the years. My brain is a lazy overachiever. I don't know how many times I've thought through a problem only to forget the solution. Then later I stress thinking about the same problem and start getting a feeling of deja vu. Finally I remember my previous solution and shake my head in disbelief. My only conclusion is that my brain is so proud of itself when I actually come up with a solution that it has to remind me how smart it's been twice. I figure this is intended to make me more forgiving of it when it comes across difficult questions and simply can't focus. Now for instance I am really tired, but I have to stay up to hear from someone. On a totally unrelated note I met a girl tonight with the same name as one of my nieces. It was one of those things where I wondered how weird it would be to be involved with or marry someone with a name of someone else in your life. Honestly I don't know if I could marry a girl named Erin, that would just be too weird. Marrying a girl with your mother's name...gross. I think there is far more connected to names than we often realize. I've noticed that if I only know one person named "Howard" for instance I will assume future Howards I meet are somewhat similar. Or if I was spurned by a girl named "Gertrude" I would not likely pursue other Gertrudes, perhaps for the best. It isn't smart or witty, but it is....uh done. I should never post when I'm tired.

Homework ad nauseum

Finals are fast approaching and as well all know that means lots more suffering. You know they have scriptures about the devil rejoicing/laughing/something-like-that over bad choices we make and the resultant suffering. I am pretty sure he gets some kicks out of finals. It also explains why law students (constantly studying or needing to and consequently suffering) that eventually become lawyers feel it only natural to consult with the Prince of Darkness. Therefore it should come as no surprise when we find the two connected; it is a connection of mutual pain, oh and that whole subtle to blatant disregard to the truth. But I digress. I myself will not be part of the fellowship of suffering as I have only two finals this semester, sociology and biology. Sociology I like; biology I hate. So I suppose I will have to make token sacrifices at the altar of academia, but only small tokens, not big ones. Last semester, I was waaay behind on these fourteen minute free writing exercises for my English class. Our teacher told us that we could make them up, so I did. I typed for seven hours solid, stopping only for two hasty meals. My writing was pretty much vomit standard quality by the end. I think it started at cumquat or paper clip standard quality, but eventually slid down the slippery slope that is academic apathy. So, the moral of the story is that we can procrastinate and still get end of the semester stuff done, but count on not only blood, sweat, and tears, but also some vomit should we be doing homework ad nauseum.

The death of creativity

Every once in a while some new term will be adopted to replace cool for a while. Far out, groovy, wicked and rad have all had their moments in the sun. However, it seems the term props has spawned no next of kin for a new generation to adopt. So I'm just wondering is everyone fresh out of props? Have props become illegal? Perhaps an asteroid hit the props convention. I must say I for one miss the days of props granting. We don't even have a new phrase for mad skills. Are we just not imaginative enough anymore. My guess is that all enthusiasm for creating spiffy new words and phrases was killed by one man: George Lucas. Honestly I'm not convinced that "wizard" was ever cool a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. At least he had the sense not to use the word repeatedly. Too bad he didn't take the same line with Jar Jar. It was kind of nice he implicated Jar Jar in the election of Palpatine and therefore the destruction of the galaxy. Anyway, that's a tangent. Where are our Shakespeares to create new words? Where, where indeed?

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

So a few conversations later I have a solution to my major/life/dream-dashing-rocks-problem. I become what I have long feared. Yes, an English major. I know what you're thinking, but yes I'm actually serious and yes I realize I may have to live on the streets. I'm not trying to be a writer or something similarly idealistic, but an editor. Being an editor has two strong attractions I just can't pass up:

1. Reading is a major part of the job
2. The other half is telling people my way is better

At this point many of you are wondering, "Gee, that sure sounds swell. How come I never hear of people becoming editors?" The answer is of course that editors are a secret society only loosely associated with the Humanities department. You see, the course catalog lists editing as a minor for English. Well my informant on the inside has let me know this is merely a clever ruse. In all reality editing is pretty much a regular, respectable emphasis; they just don't go blabbing about it. Given how valuable the jobs are in the field I can understand why. Where else can you get people to pay you for your opinion? In fact the more you insult their work the more they assume you know what you're doing.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

So I am several semesters and credit hours deep into BYU. Somehow I find that this semester, as a junior, I have figured out what I want to major in. Communications with a Print Journalism emphasis and Sociology. Yeah, a double major. So I was pleased with my plan for a good month and a half before trouble started brewing. It turns out that one has to apply to the communication major and that it is rather difficult to get into if you already have over 75 credit hours, which of course I do. What's more you have to get a B or better in three different classes to even be considered. I got a B- in freshman English of all classes and that may be enough to dash my dreams against the jagged rocks of reality. I still want to major in Sociology, but not by itself. So I will be major hunting again. Of course, it also turns out that one has to apply to be able to do a double major so maybe I won't do sociology at all. I can't seem to get the logic of life figured out. The things I plan often don't work and the things that I decide, and do, on the spur of the moment work out more often than not. My guess at this point is that this is yet more proof I think too much.

Haikus from my fridge

Last year I was fascinated by the magnet words I found here in Happy Valley. I took every opportunity I could get to form sentences that I considered poetic. In August this year, with the semester fast approaching, I ordered a set of magnet words for our apartment. The first week or so was marked by a flurry of sentences being formed and reformed; somehow it wasn't enough. Then came the suggestion to write haikus. Pure genius. The five, seven, and five syllable poems provide a much more interesting and challenging format to compose with, especially with a limited selection of words from which to choose. Remember clapping helps you figure out how where the syllables are. Here are the results of my efforts thus far:

a far different
rendering is important
if she cried for love

her name stops motion
reality dull and quiet
won't shake whispered dreams

I once imagined
you warm and pretty, but no
you hide sad princess

dreaming I laugh loud
springing with a wild magic
blending storm and truth

Of Capes and Kids

More than once I have started a post without having any idea what I was going to write about. I've decided to write about past experiences when I don't have a recent one to use. With this in mind let's go back to my childhood. I was a pretty typical six year old boy. I liked playing with guns and swords and I wanted to be a superhero. However, unlike most I found evidence that I was a superhero. You know how you get a sort of double vision when your eyes have a different perspective on some objects? I didn't really know that everyone had this. In fact I only knew of one person who could "see through" things like I could; this was Superman. Some children might carelessly divulge their secret to their parents or siblings, but I knew better. I knew that a hero's secret identity had to be carefully guarded. I told no one. Still, I wasn't convinced entirely. I decided I needed a way to test out whether or not I was indeed the man of steel. The first thing that came to mind was that Superman was really strong and really tough. It just so happened while I was thinking this over I glanced at our fireplace; it was stone. Already being decked out in my Superman pajamas, I took a couple of bounces on our little exercise trampoline and ran off it full speed, headfirst, into the fireplace. It turns out I'm not from Krypton. I'm slightly fuzzy as to the details immediately thereafter, but I do remember my brothers hastily gathering me up and putting me one of the many VW bugs native to our house. They then sped (probably even more than usual) to the church. There they told me to stay put just inside the building, bleeding I might add from the rather nasty head wound. They ran off to find my mom who was attending relief society. A few sisters got a rude start when they came to see what I was crying about. Before they could do anything but draw back in horror, my mom came rushing over and drove me to the emergency room. I had stitches for ten days. So lessons to learn from this:

1. Kids do have reasoning skills; though not a great grounding in reality
2. If you want to test to see if you're Superman try using eye lasers rather than testing strength or, as is common, the ability to fly
3. Sometimes what you don't know can hurt you...a lot

Portrait of an alien madman

Invader Zim is easily one of the funniest cartoons of all time as far as I'm concerned. It aired on Nickelodeon for three seasons and then the creator and Nick had a bit of a spat and now no more Zim. Thank goodness for TV on DVDs. Zim is sort of a mix between Brain of Pinky and the Brain and Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes. It's one of those shows that don't even try to make sense. It's great! 

Rejecting a reactionary lifestyle

I just finished talking with some of my room mates and I've come to a conclusion. I need to start a writing club at BYU. Yeah, I know weird. It really surprises me that there isn't already such a club in existence. Part of the reason I want to start this club is that I've often admired those who have started bold projects. I don't know if this is exactly bold per say, but it is something I want to do. It is also something that will take effort to do and I think there is value in stretching our abilities. Additionally, if I want this to actually succeed I can't be lazy and simply talk about it. I hate when people talk about starting a great new project only for it to die because they are lazy. Mostly I feel like this club would be a good place for people to meet and share ideas and help. A major concern at this point is how to get the people for it, but that can be worked out. My roommate Steve has a writing teacher who is a member of a few writing clubs, so he'll know the sort of format that these things follow and I can adapt from there based on what I want initially and then on what other people want. John Greenleaf Whittier said, "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: ‘It might have been!” I don't want this to be what I say of my own plans ten years from now. Some of this has come from the masquerade my apartment had last Friday. I don't know how many boring Fridays or Saturdays I have wished there was a party. It never occurred to me that I might throw one myself. I'm seeing more and more benefits to living more of an active life rather than a reactionary one. Our society is so chock full of stimulus: TV, movies, books, music, etc. that bombard us that sometimes I think we get complacent and don't make much of an effort to give something back to the society that is forming us. After all, society has botched quite a bit as of late and seems to need all the help it can get even from a recovering elitist.

We all wear masks, some figurative some literal....maybe clown care?

So last night my roommates and I had yes, a masquerade. I type now in front of a wall with assorted masks dotting its surface like bizarre hunting trophies. I have to say that it was one of the best little social gatherings I've been a part of for the last while. Everyone was included in activities and conversation, everyone enjoyed themselves. It's events like this that help me remember why I still have hope for humanity. Okay, so that sounds overly dramatic. The point being that I suppose there are some social gatherings that actually work. So someone brought up the idea that we all wear masks to hide who are to some extent. I guess this is a sort of defense mechanism. We don't want to open up to people until we know what they are like, but someone has to give in first for conversation to ensue. I think we've all been in conversations where questions are met with one or two word responses. Personally I think this is rather rude as it shows no real consideration for the question the other person has asked. On the other hand, how many times do we ask the same questions of new people? Here in happy valley it seems hometown, time at BYU and major are the most popular subjects. The strange thing is, personally, I don't think where someone is from is incredibly interesting as a general rule. I'm not saying I haven't used these questions before but aren't "What's your favorite book?" or "What nicknames do you have?" more interesting? It's odd that questions are usually so limited in scope. I guess what I'm saying is why not ask questions that you actually want answers to? Doesn't that make more sense? Just think how much material for conversation a good question has. "What were your childhood dreams?" for instance could be fun. For me, I would say professional soccer star, artist, and inventor. I'm not really interested in any of that now, but those dreams did play a big part of my childhood and ultimately in who I am now. Besides it's nice to be nice.

No act of kindness no matter how small is ever wasted.

~Aesop

You will read a title

I have never put much stock in horoscopes, fortune cookies, or the like. At the same time, I do enjoy the very "enlightening" predictions such as "Trouble will come your way", "Seek help from friends", or "Your life will change". It doesn't particularly take any foresight to make any of these claims. However, the last fortune cookie I got had different sort of message. It states, and I quote “You will be advanced socially, without any special effort on your part." Without any special effort...wow. This fortune cookie being a bit of an aberration it makes me wonder if the restaurant has taken to making their own fortunes to spice them up a bit. If so I want to know how I can get a job writing fortunes. It really wouldn't be that hard. The trick is to tell people exactly what they want to hear and throw in the phrase "without any special effort on your part." America is getting fatter and fatter statistically speaking so "You will lose weight, without any special effort on your part" could be really popular. Never mind that this weightloss process is referred to as decomposition, it'll happen soon enough, and without any special effort on your part.

Cartoons: the modern day fairytale

I have always enjoyed cartoons. I am sure as a kid it was the bright colors and cool sound effects that drew me in, not to mention fight sequences in say TMNT. Around twelve or thirteen, my brother got a huge book of the tales of the Brothers Grimm. My brother's library was really just an extension of my own, and so I read and read and read the fairy tales that I largely knew only by reputation. I found that these stories often ended with a few sentences explaining the moral of the story. I would mentally think back on the events and see how the story had been carefully crafted to make that one moral point. I really enjoyed the fairytales and have also purchased a book of fairy tales from Asbjørnsen and Moe, written in Norwegian of course. Since then I have been on the lookout for fairy tales in other forms and found them in cartoons. Okay so not all cartoons have moral messages beyond the old good versus evil stuff. However, there is one cartoon at least that digs a little deeper: Teen Titans. Ah, even the name is cool, plus it gets bonus points for alliteration. Seriously though, the show has a lot of good messages. Take Raven for instance, she makes a very concentrated effort to control her emotions. Juxtaposed with Raven's dark and somber character is Starfire, who is extremely emotional and bubbly. There is an episode called "Switched" in which their souls are swapped and they have to learn how to become the other person. At first glance, cartoons may not seem to offer much in the way of ethics or problem solving skills. Keep looking though and you'll see that some of them deal with real problems.

So I don't really feel like this all the time, but some days yeah...

So am I just a masicist or what?

I have been something of a social hermit for most of my life. Sure, I enjoy talking to people and all that, but only so long as it doesn't threaten to stretch or burst my little comfort bubble. There are a few notable exceptions to this such as my social dance class I took a few years ago. My sole object there was to force myself to become more socially capable; the results were mixed. For whatever reason though, before I decided to take the class I formed this idea that, the less I wanted to participate in a social event, that I knew was inherently good, the more I thought I should participate in said event. Maybe this is a strange sort of "whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." And so here it is, the weekend, and I have been invited to go camping with a few of my friends. The catch is that there are several other people going that I only rather awkwardly know. Given my hypothesis about awkwardness and discomfort being good for me I feel rather compelled to go by my own desire for self-improvement. Is this just crazy or does everyone else do it? Or is it crazy but everyone does it?

Adversity is the first path to truth.
~Lord Byron

Nickled and Dimed

I have to say I really love and really hate the beginning of a new semester. There are lots of new people to meet, (in low effort, comfortable settings) and there are some classes I really enjoy. However, on the other side of things I just forked out about $2000 for tuition and for rent. Now, I realize most of you may be thinking "Hey that's not as much as I'm paying." Well this is probably true, but then who else has organized crime connections? Anyone....I thought not. Anyway, unless you are ridiculously wealthy two thousand dollars is a good chunk of money. Considering I am a poor student this is pretty much a crippling blow to any entertainment plans involving the use of money in some form. I am still waiting on my telephone adapter so we can use our internet connection for a telephone. Not having a phone for people to call me at, I have yet to apply for any jobs. This is very very bad. Not only does this mean I am not currently earning that most useful of social tokens, but I am also losing jobs to those who are not, shall we say, "phone impaired." These things and well some others have combined into a sort of stress time bomb. It's no longer a question of if I am going to snap, but rather when and what the resulting lawsuits will cost me.

Time for school and all it's complications

This past Wednesday I moved back to Provo for school. I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here thus far, even though activates have been rather spotty at best. The primary concern I have at the moment is getting our phone connected. For some reason, my apartment management has decided to let the tenants take care of power and phone connections. Granted all we have to do with power is call Provo city, but with phone we need to find our own service and set up the arrangements. Consequently we've decided to go with Vonage or something like that which hooks our telephone up through our internet connection. This of course means we need to take care of our internet connection first. To compound the issue I am currently searching for gainful employment, but to send in a resume void of any number to contact me at seems to me pointless. Additionally, I recently discovered that in preparing my computer for the coming semester and upgrading my flagging hard drive that I neglected to back up my files as I should have. Consequently, I erased nearly all of my documents of any real value, such as my current resume. So having no way to reach anyone short of walking back and forth to campus, having no internet connection at home, and the bookstore packed silly with people preventing me from making purchases in a timely manner I have a lot of empty time on my hands. It always seems we have time when we don't want it and don't have it when we do want it. Ah well.

Knowledge of the ages from respected sages

I hope to broach this subject with the eloquence I believe it deserves. Quotes to me have always been a source of hope, courage, and understanding. Somehow there seems to me a certain magic in the words of great leaders and philosophers. One such quote that had meant a great deal to me personally is what George Henry Lewes said of grief, "The only cure for grief is action." I spent a good number of painful nights without this knowledge, simply resigning myself to certain fates and, I'm not proud to say, taking what comfort I could from self-pity. Having read the previous statement no one should suppose that such is my challenge at present for such is not the case. It seems a simple statement perhaps, but it has, to use an old cliché, changed my life. I know that in my own life real knowledge, applicable knowledge or wisdom is not an easy thing to obtain. So quotes to me represent more than simple advice, but rather a gift made most precious by the difficulty in attaining it. Perhaps I am attributing too much nobility to a very simple matter, but I don't think so. One of my favorite poems, which I include among my quotes is this one.

I walked a mile with Pleasure,
She chatted all the way,
But left me none the wiser,
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne’er a word said she;
But oh! The things I learned from her,
When Sorrow walked with me.
~Anonymous

Sometimes it's just not your day

War and Peace

In an effort to broaden my horizons and get better acquainted with the classics I have started to read War and Peace by Tolstoy. The general reply I get to this is "You're ambitious." Personally, I find this reaction strange. I enjoy reading immensely and when I come to the end of a book I am rather depressed it is over. With that in mind, I can't understand why people would not welcome the opportunity to read a book reported to be among the greatest books of all time and to have that book be quite lengthy. I am about 100 pages into the roughly 1900-2000 page work. I am impressed by the uniqueness of the characters and the details given for even minor characters that somehow only adds to the book and does not distract (ala Dickens). It also surprises me how many people simply don't read period. A few months ago I bought the biography of Neal A. Maxwell and enjoyed reading about and learning from his life. This turned out to be rather "serendipitous" since my father is going through much of the same experience with leukemia. When I visited him on Sunday he said he couldn't hardly keep track of the book since he had been sharing it with some of the other patients. It truly is a shame that as a society we have become much more involved in the, shall we say, less thought-intensive forms of media.

Life takes a sharp right turn

I found out last Tuesday that my father has leukimia, which is a cancer of the bone marrow. I am still having a hard time adjusting to the whole situation but I feel worlds better today. It seems in life that whenever you get comfortable with a situation it changes. This is of course a blessing in that it provides us a myriad of opportunities to learn and grow but the price for personal growth seems the same as muscle growth, pain. It would seem that they caught the disease in an early state and all seems to going well at this point. Once again my father has taught me by his example. He has yet to utter a negative comment about the whole situation as far as any of us can tell. Rather than turn to a weakening self-pity he has continued as the workhorse he has always been. His work is a little different now but he has adapted well to talking to other patients, learning what he can do for his condition through books and the internet, and walking as much as possible. George Henry Lewes said, "The only cure for grief is action." I have found this to be true in many instances and this is no exception. Is the situation still hard? Yes, but in it we have all seen that attitude is the hinge upon which the door of learning opens or closes.

Yet more proof that nature is nothing if not adaptive

The futility of social activity...yes a rant

Admittedly, I am not a particularly social person by nature. This is something I have been working on with arguably mixed results. Part of the problem as I see it, is that social activities don't really introduce you to other people as a general rule. I mean really think about the last time you went to something like a dance where there were loads and loads of people to meet. Did you tell your friends, "Catch you later, I need to talk to strangers"? Somehow I doubt it. The only time we actually meet a new person at such a gathering is through a mutual friend and really what are the chances of meeting them again? Okay, so admittedly people have been known to strike up conversations with a total stranger. However, I've experimented with this a little and found people find this unnerving. One day I was walking home and started talking to a girl who was walking the same way. She was less than enthusiastic and seemed to be considering breaking into a dead run. Now there are always exceptions to such things I'm sure but it somehow doesn't really seem worth it, somewhat akin to the lottery ticket. I think my luck with social situations is about to change though. I got a fortune cookie a week ago that says "You will be advanced socially, without any special effort on your part." Without any special effort....I've wondered if that means it will just take effort but not special effort. Either way it is about my only shot at social progress.

Awakenings

A while back I had an epiphany. It occurred to me that no matter how bland or uninteresting a person may appear to be they can be fascinating. I'll explain because I know that doesn't make sense right off. As I've observed people interacting with each other I've found that unless someone is talking to someone they care about or trust there is a tendency for people to be, for lack of a better word, shallow. I don't mean shallow in the materialistic or petty sense but in the sense of how deep the interaction is. Think of it this way, if a teacher asks you what your greatest aspiration is you may respond that you want to be a writer. Now, take that same question and think about if you really thought about what you want most out of life, out of yourself. When people greet each other with "How's it going?" the expected response is good or fine. I've caught myself responding fine by reflex when my day has been awful. So I guess what I am trying to say is that there are times in life where we see in others or in ourselves their "true self" or what they have the potential to be all the time. I've been trying to reach this myself by being honest and open with others and especially myself. To quote the bard "This above all; to thine own self be true."

The esoteric search for the holy grail

The title of this post is from a humanities class I took. This class was a colossal waste of time. However, most things are not entirely good or entirely bad and there was one discussion that has stuck with me. This was our discussion of heroes. Our teacher told us that one of the defining characteristics of a hero is what he called a "divine wound". This was an injury that made the hero both stronger and weaker and was also the impetus for the classic hero's journey of self-discovery. Initially I was skeptical but consider superman, batman, and Spiderman. Superman's wound was the loss of his parents and life among his people. Additionally, kryptonite from the heart of krypton is Superman’s one real weakness. However, it was this loss that made Superman super. Living on earth and absorbing rays of yellow sun is what gives him his power. I'll let you think about batman and Spiderman but trust me it works. So it seems that some heroes are heroes because of the way they deal with personal tragedy; growing stronger because of it rather than letting it weaken them. Guess it is that whole lemons to lemonade deal on a more dramatic scale.

You are nice

I look back fondly on my elementary school days. I enjoyed jumping off of swings and playing vicious games of foursquare. Amongst the happy memories is a darker one. The assignment would begin as all the others; put your name at the top of the page. Then to my horror we passed the paper to the kid next to us and were instructed to compliment them. Somehow I have never really gotten over the irony of forcing kids to praise everyone. Think, "You’re special; just like everyone else". I managed to figure out something to say for all the other kids that was at least mildly positive, probably something like "good luck with the paste eating". I will admit that, was a little excited to see what the other kids had said, forgetting that they were coerced to be complimentary. I read through my paper and discovered a general theme. At least half of the comments consisted of "you are nice" or a variation on the theme. This firmly established me as one of the nice guys. Growing up in the public school system, I discovered that while being nice wasn't too bad in elementary school it was essentially the kiss of death in middle school and high school. I haven't decided on college yet but the results thus far are discouraging. I watched as girls paid attention to guys that were jerks. I also watched as time and again the squeaky wheel got the oil, rather than the punch in the face I would have thought fitting. I really am nice, but even nice people have their limits. I guess what I saying is mean people suck. Meanness should be treated like leprosy where mean people would be forced to live in colonies with one another. Then they could shout "Unkind!" if a nice person was to wander too close. Think about it.

This was about my reaction to my new job.

Our economy: A product of miscommunication

I started work today at a mortgage company. I must admit my job is not what you would call "challenging". My main responsibility consists of taking a folder with two separate piles and rearranging them to form one pile in a specific order. If you think reading about it is great just imagine doing it for eight hours! Another employee pointed out today that if the companies submitting paperwork to us would simply use the same order as we do it would make things easier. It occurred to me that it would eliminate my job, thus it seems my job is a result of two groups unable to decide what forms go where. Later I realized that there are a larger number of jobs geared towards this gap or lack of communication. Psychologists, counselors especially marriage counselors, political cartoonists, and psychics all seem to tap into this whole miscommunication market. Then I considered the process I've come to know as McDonaldization (not my term though I would claim it) by which processes, especially human processes, become dehumanized. As humans become increasingly exposed to dehumanized interactions, we gradually lose what we might call our social graces, think engineers. I don't think it is a real stretch to conclude that, the less we interact in human conditions the worse we become with such situations and from that comes miscommunication. So from what I see as the world becomes more and more dehumanized the economy will only grow in the areas related to miscommunication. So yes, the science fiction writers had it right all along, machines will rule the world. The twist is that we will be those robots. Make a difference. Talk to your cashier, save humanity! People say that hydrogen is the most plentiful element in the universe. Personally, I have to vote for ignorance.

Why is this here? Because cartoons stave off responsibility, old age, and lackluster lifestyles.

Concerts and a special brand of insanity

I am, as my profile attests, a big fan of Jimmy Eat World. In fact today I just purchased the Futures album. Mmmm musical goodness. I mean how can you not like a band with lyrics like these: "I'm not alone cause the TV's on yeah. I'm not crazy cause I take the right pills everyday." These lines come aptly from a song entitled Bleed American. If you don't know why that's fitting then I really can't help you. Okay so I could, but I don't help your kind. So given my predisposition to the music of J.E.W (are they trying to tell us something) I thought twenty bucks was a good deal to see them perform live. Such was not the case. I went to the concert with the intent to listen to Jimmy Eat World. Apparently, people don't go to concerts to listen to a band. As I observed it people were primarily involved in sneaking onto the floor, talking or rather shouting to their friends, or simply creating noise in one unintelligent form or another. Somehow it seems counterintuitive to make a lot of noise during your "favorite" songs since your own incoherent utterances would impede you from hearing the music. Perhaps, I am more sensitive to this as I am very attentive to lyrics. In the end, I've decided I'm better off to use my twenty bucks on a cd. No masses of crazed fans, no distractions, no insanity.

Call me Ishmael

Squitchy is a word near and dear to my heart. The first time I ever saw the word squitchy was in a first edition of Moby Dick. It is entirely possible that it is used in other editions but that's not the point. A painting in the book is described as being squitchy. It is also described as a sort of blackish-gray mass depicting a shipwreck as I recall. In the end I have an idea of what the word squitchy means but not a definitive answer. The closest I can come is that if a picture is squitchy it is the sort of thing that you have to squint and concentrate to figure out exactly what it is. I thought it appropriate. Chances are if you are reading this you know me already and I've shamelessly directed here in an attempt to wow you with my linguistic skills. After all girls like guys with skills, Bo staff, tetherball, or otherwise. As a suggestion, read each of these posts fully expecting to loathe and despise each and every word I write, then when you don't hate every word (for example, perhaps you're partial to pariah, delusional, or inconsequential) I've exceeded your expectations. So the moral of the story is set your sights low and you'll always hit the dirt you're aiming for. Thusly begins the blog, and yes, thusly is a word.