Some not-so idle thoughts on idleness

Well I've been stranded from the internet again due to crappy Comcast service. Another irate email has been sent and the problem has been solved at least temporarily again. I've been thinking a lot about what I'm doing with my life these days. As much as I complain about classes and work I do have a certain amount of "free" time available to me. I remember hearing on the mission that you could tell a lot about a missionary from the way they spent preparation day. I daresay there is something to be said about people from the way they use their free time. Let me be painfully honest and say that I doubt anyone reading this has wasted more time on a consistent basis than I have. I'll admit I have an addiction to video games and cartoons.

Seriously, I mean I don't get the shakes when I haven't had a fix, but its still an addiction. I think it all goes back to the curfew of my younger years. Until halfway through my Sophomore year of high school my curfew was 6:oopm. Yeah, I know, laugh. I'd come home sometime between 6:00 and 6:30 depending on which of my parents were home and fire up the old pc. I never did homework, aside from major projects. As a result I had a ridiculous amount of time to play on my computer. I have to admit that all of those years has taken a bit of a toll on my creativity when it comes to free-time activities. I'm trying to figure out how to use all this time I suddenly have. Today it was all used up in FHE and homework. Admittedly, I did watch an episode of Smallville. I realized yesterday that I never make goals because I don't want to fail. What is failure though? I submit that failure is more due to apathy as much as ineptitude. I suppose that is the bitterest pill of all; I fail to reach goals, not because I can't but because I won't.

All of the talks in church yesterday were on goal setting and achieving. Certainly that's been an impetus for me, but the ideas have been there for much longer. So tomorrow I'll be taking some time to make goals and figure out how I'm going to achieve those goals. I already feel better.

Just some stuff

So my internet connection hasn't been working since Thursday and neither has my phone. I spent a fair amount of time cursing Comcast in the last few days. Of course by this I mean I've been saying "Curse you, Comcast!" every time I pass the phone. My connection is finally back and I hope it stays that way.

I got a call about a week and a half ago from the local Smith's. One of the guys at the photo lab informed me that they had a roll of film for me from October. Despite his best attempts I could tell he was somewhat disgusted with my negligence. I finally went to pick it up on Saturday and discovered that 35 out of the 40 pictures on the roll were from my mission. Yeah, so that makes the pictures just over a year and a half old. Two of the recent five pictures were from when we duct-taped Christie to the wall for FHE. In case you've been waiting in suspense they came out pretty badly. Maybe that has something to do with the film being old? Who knows?

On an unrelated note, my brother ended up with an extra TV and so our apartment now has one. I was reluctant at first, but in the end the ability to watch Teen Titans outweighed my concerns and I acquiesced. I catch the 7:30am episode every weekday before going in to work. I've heard lots of recommendations for shows like 24 and the like, but I think I'll just stick with Teen Titans. After hearing multiple stories of how people are hooked or addicted to other shows I've decided I have enough addictions already.

This one's for Russ. So while I can't say for the moment that I like chick flicks, I can't deny I like sappy movies. I blame it on Clark's influence. We watched the Disney Channel's High School Musical. I liked it. I think movies like it are kind of like candy. You just can't think about what you're taking in, just relax and enjoy. I think I've come to enjoy the ridiculous in various forms. Maybe, I'm lightening up.

Love is like the deacon two-step, not the waltz

So I'm pretty sure I just caught on to something most people have understood intuitively their whole lives. Maybe it's my OCD tendencies to want perfection in certain aspects of life while others wallow in crapulent mediocrity, maybe it's because I expect the world to work according to my personal sense of logic, whatever the reason I've always expected every problem to have a perfect solution. I realize now that this is irretrievably naive. Plans fail, people change, and things don't work out perfectly. I guess it comes back to well, relationships.

Not just romantic ones mind you, but all relationships. Sometimes I think we need to say things in relationships that aren't easy to say, they're messy. The alternative is to be silent. Ideally we all fall in love with someone who is equally, madly, in love with us and we all live happily after. The reality however is that, in my experience, no relationships are so cut and dry. A guy goes on a mission and a girl he loves gets married. He finds a new girl and his friend is interested in her too. The girl doesn't notice the guy until after he has decided to move on. All of the above and many more situations come up in life. There is no fast or easy solution to any of these scenarios. Any solution that actually works involves risk and more than likely a great possibility for embarrassment. It also involves unequal portions of poetic moments and awkward behavior. Every once in a while, I'll stop and think to myself that life is beautiful. It's usually not poetic, predicable, or even palatable at times, but then sometimes it is. Life is like finger painting: some people are hesitant to get involved or get dirty. They convince themselves it's better not to try than to risk looking foolish. Other people dive in, mix the colors, and make life interesting. I'm not so afraid of finger painting any more.

It is not the critic who counts; not the one who points out how the strong stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to those in the arena; who strive valiantly, who fail and come up short again and again; who know enthusiasm and great devotion; who at the best know in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if they fail, at least fail while daring greatly, so that their place shall never be with those timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

~Theodore Roosevelt

Ah the Eclectic Magic

Last semester my roommate Randy proposed and we carried out a masquerade. We provided plain masks and mask enhancing materials. It was sweet. This semester he has once again hatched a madcap plan. This semester's celebrations will feature a beatnik theme; think beginning of "So I Married an Axe-Murderer." We'll be distributing flyers ahead of time, but the gist of it is that people should come with a poem or story to read and that clapping will be replaced by snapping. That's the rough idea at this point though we'll probably embellish as we go along. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, because of the French influence on the beatniks we'll be eat cheeses, brie among them. This has reminded once again of my determination to create a writing club at BYU. I've given it some thought, but I haven't decided what kind of writing to do it for. Poetry comes to mind as perhaps the most casual and universal, but I don't know if that's what I really want to do. If I am going to put real effort into this I want it to succeed and be something I'll care about. The other concern I have with the club is whether or not enough people will come to make it worth it.

I've decided to make sense

I've decided there is absolutely no point in using the Brekkjern pseudonym. Anyone who reads my blog knows me anyways so what is the point? Maybe it was just general paranoia with the internet that made me create a pseudonym or maybe it was peer pressure. Either way I've put all of that behind me now. I don't think it has ever been helpful and occasionally been annoying. After all, one of the things I try to cultivate within myself is being open with other people so the pseudonym seems counterproductive. Not that everything I do needs to make sense, but it usually helps. I currently enjoy video games and cartoons that by and large make limited to no sense. Though, if I wanted to stretch, I could say that they serve a logical need in that they entertain me.

It's late and all I really wanted to do was use my name to post things so there it is.

My name is Aaron Thompson and I'm a recovering elitist. It's been three days since I last struck a haughty pose or made a snide remark.

(Support Group) Hi Aaron.

When two gerunds love each other very much...

I'm not really sure what this blog is supposed to be about. I think this is because for once I don't really have any paradoxes or mental quagmires occupying my thoughts. In the midst of my near-constant pondering I have wondered what it would be like if I wasn't obsessively thinking through my past experiences or evaluating the merits of divergent philosophies. I think somehow my brain is taking a breather. It's still working full-time just not overtime for the moment. It's strangely refreshing or rather refreshing, but strange because I'm not used to it. I went to a party for New Year's and had a pretty good time. We played games, talked, and I wrote haikus with fridge magnets, typical stuff. Luckily a friend of mine received the college and genius editions of the fridge magnets. I'm jealous. How am I supposed to compete when she has words like elucidate, ersatz, amalgam, and let's not forget Kafkaesque. The haiku I can remember went like this:

to elucidate
is a vapid endeavor
the mind is arid

I think the other one was:

language languishes
as droll usurps pithy thought
question the banal

Oh, by the way, I changed my description of the blog just under the title. Actually, I've changed it four or five times with no comment so I thought people should be aware it is subject to change, as are most things in life.

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