me: Well, why don't you just crawl back down that hole then.
skylark: what am I? a golf ball?
_
skylark: are you slurping your salad?
_
PRincess: sorry, I like myself.
_
skylark: bad velociraptor, bad.
_
9 hours ago
15 December 2006
10 December 2006
nutritionless: that time of the semester
So, this was Skylark's dinner the other night. A very nutritious meal, as you can see.
The recipe for this scrumptious concoction is as follows:
three scoops of vanilla ice cream
about a fourth of a cup chocolate syrup
an eighth of a cup of caramel syrup
a handful of pecans
half a bar of dark chocolate broken into chunks
half a cookie perched artfully at the top of the delicious mound
mix in that order
take pictures
consume
The recipe for this scrumptious concoction is as follows:
three scoops of vanilla ice cream
about a fourth of a cup chocolate syrup
an eighth of a cup of caramel syrup
a handful of pecans
half a bar of dark chocolate broken into chunks
half a cookie perched artfully at the top of the delicious mound
mix in that order
take pictures
consume
28 November 2006
sleepless: that time of the semester
Life is more interesting when you are tired. You see, being in college, I don’t get much sleep to begin with. Add to that a roommate whose mood depends on the weather; church work; a strange desire to sit around and eat peanut butter; a boy; graduate applications; and another roommate who tells a story 15 times to feel validated; and sleep evaporates quicker than sweat in a Phoenix June. As I lose sleep, my mind stops focusing on everything, as if it is trying to speed read through life, and only picks up the key words. This is why life is more interesting when you are sleep deprived. At night, when I try to remember my day, the classes and exchanges with friends merge and it reads back like this:
Beeping clock! te quiero, quiero mi cama. The jussive equals a hortatory riding Ceasar’s chariot, though late. Buzzing phone! Sorry, it’s not that Lesbia doesn’t love Hegel, it’s that I think the future perfect passive looks a lot like lunch. Is he speaking Greek? Achilles, stop trying to project yourself on American literature. я тебя люблю. Sappho muses about Poe’s meter and does a jig when class ends but the Nietzschean apotheosis of man eats my chocolate. Honk! Horses are fast now-a-days. Hey, the door is broken and Em just demystified the mammoth philosophers of next door, again. You look so Rip Van Wrinkle that nocturne is a perfect aria. Sit and drink this gestalt and sleep off your bilabial plosives. ἀγάπω ὕπνος.
Thus ended my fiftieth post.
Beeping clock! te quiero, quiero mi cama. The jussive equals a hortatory riding Ceasar’s chariot, though late. Buzzing phone! Sorry, it’s not that Lesbia doesn’t love Hegel, it’s that I think the future perfect passive looks a lot like lunch. Is he speaking Greek? Achilles, stop trying to project yourself on American literature. я тебя люблю. Sappho muses about Poe’s meter and does a jig when class ends but the Nietzschean apotheosis of man eats my chocolate. Honk! Horses are fast now-a-days. Hey, the door is broken and Em just demystified the mammoth philosophers of next door, again. You look so Rip Van Wrinkle that nocturne is a perfect aria. Sit and drink this gestalt and sleep off your bilabial plosives. ἀγάπω ὕπνος.
Thus ended my fiftieth post.
20 November 2006
i'm begining to believe that i can't do all of it
It's funny how things can come out of nowhere and totally blindside you. I'm sorry I haven't written in a long time and I don't really see that changing much before the end of the semester. I'm really looking forward to the Thanksgiving break, but that means the deadlines for my applications are coming up as well and I sitll haven't finished my statement of academic purpose. It's not like I don't know what I want to study. It's just a matter of getting it done. I'm sick of filling out forms and the constant and pointless worry I put myself through. I really just want to call it quits but I know I won't be happy if academics isn't part of my life in some way.
For now I need to continue to fool everyone into believing that I know Greek and I need to actually learn enough latin to fool everyone with, and I need to finish these stupid applications.
Back to work.
For now I need to continue to fool everyone into believing that I know Greek and I need to actually learn enough latin to fool everyone with, and I need to finish these stupid applications.
Back to work.
25 October 2006
don't push the panic button please
I had a panic moment today when I thought I had forgotten to buy my plane ticket for Chicago. For the life of me, I could not remember buying it, and forgetting to buy a ticket is just the kind of absent minded thing I would do. In order to calm myself, I promptly got on the computer and logged onto my email to check my confirmation but, to my horror, I could not find my itinerary any where. I checked all of my email accounts (about six of them), but none of them had my confirmation. I had managed to set up three meetings and two lunch dates, schedule time to hang out with two friends, buy tickets for one play and an architectural tour of Chicago, but hadn't managed to buy a ticket to get there. Luckily, this is not the case. I was signed into my account with the airline when I bought it so I finally found my confirmation by accessing it from their website, but for a few minutes I really panicked thinking that I had forgotten to buy my ticket. I'm not that big of an idiot (this time at least).
20 October 2006
prepositional males
I have come to the conclusion that boys are like prepositions. Here is why:
1. they are confusing--really, really confusing
2. more than one could work, but one is the best
3. they are nigh impossible to figure out or master in any damn language
4. you think you can live without them, but it just doesn't work
5. they seem frivolous but nothing really works without them
1. they are confusing--really, really confusing
2. more than one could work, but one is the best
3. they are nigh impossible to figure out or master in any damn language
4. you think you can live without them, but it just doesn't work
5. they seem frivolous but nothing really works without them
16 October 2006
okay, okay I'll write more
So, I've been told by my illustrious brother that I need to write more often. However, that is difficult when there isn't much to write about. While everyone else in my family is actually out in the real world, I'm stuck here in Provo. I was so bored last week that I went and dyed my hair in order to relieve the boredom.
The funny thing is, that if I was actually going to all my classes, doing all my reading, and completing more than half of my Latin homework, I wouldn't be as bored, but motivation seems to be scarce nowadays. In a good week, I go to about 50% of my Latin class. Actually, I was going to take my Latin test today, but then I lost track of time and missed testing center hours. Yeah, I'm an stultus (huh can I make that a feminine ending?) I'm a stulta. Luckily for me, Latin isn't proving to be overly difficult compared to Greek.
While I miss Latin often, I don't miss Greek, for anything. I love reading the Iliad, it's fantastic, seriously, it's what gets me up in the morning. My poetry class is also quite fun though frustrating at times when I disagree with the teacher about the necessity of narrative within poems. My other classes range from elementary to outright boring.
What's keeping me going is knowing that I get to go to Chicago in less than two weeks. I'm so excited to bask in the non-utahness that I can hardly contain myself. But, for now, I need to study some Latin declension.
The funny thing is, that if I was actually going to all my classes, doing all my reading, and completing more than half of my Latin homework, I wouldn't be as bored, but motivation seems to be scarce nowadays. In a good week, I go to about 50% of my Latin class. Actually, I was going to take my Latin test today, but then I lost track of time and missed testing center hours. Yeah, I'm an stultus (huh can I make that a feminine ending?) I'm a stulta. Luckily for me, Latin isn't proving to be overly difficult compared to Greek.
While I miss Latin often, I don't miss Greek, for anything. I love reading the Iliad, it's fantastic, seriously, it's what gets me up in the morning. My poetry class is also quite fun though frustrating at times when I disagree with the teacher about the necessity of narrative within poems. My other classes range from elementary to outright boring.
What's keeping me going is knowing that I get to go to Chicago in less than two weeks. I'm so excited to bask in the non-utahness that I can hardly contain myself. But, for now, I need to study some Latin declension.
12 October 2006
possible insanities to realize
I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm insane and that it is not going to go away; actually, it will most likely get worse. I've also realized that I'm most likely never going to be able to sustain a normal, healthy relationship with a guy, and since I'm not attracted to women this means I will most likely be single forever. It's that or being in an unhealthy relationship, but I would rather not commit myself to that kind of relationship since that would only drive me more insane. So, I'm currently envisioning futures for the slightly insane single intellectual woman that I plan on being. These are my ideas so far:
1. Become that awesome professor that is awesome because they are insane. I will make connections no one else can and write papers no one else can understand.
2. Move to a Greek island and write amazing phantasmagoric epics while achieving a perfect tan, learning modern greek, reading ancient greek, and learning how to sail so I can go and speak with my cousin nereids and my other more fishy friends.
3. Live on a street corner in Paris making fun of the french language and making my living by doing caricatures in my most abstract style, telling people that I am painting their auras.
4. Live in a quaint cottage on the edge of the woods just outside a little town with about 23 cats to keep me company. I'd spend my days drawing, painting, writing, talking to inanimate objects, gardening, and cooking. I would also dole out amazing advice to the pilgrims that make the trek out to my remote abode for that purpose.
This is an awfully difficult decision. Which would you do? and which should I do?
(if you question whether or not I'm really insane, 1) you don't know me really well and 2) go read my post why i fear the night to get a glimpse of my mind)
1. Become that awesome professor that is awesome because they are insane. I will make connections no one else can and write papers no one else can understand.
2. Move to a Greek island and write amazing phantasmagoric epics while achieving a perfect tan, learning modern greek, reading ancient greek, and learning how to sail so I can go and speak with my cousin nereids and my other more fishy friends.
3. Live on a street corner in Paris making fun of the french language and making my living by doing caricatures in my most abstract style, telling people that I am painting their auras.
4. Live in a quaint cottage on the edge of the woods just outside a little town with about 23 cats to keep me company. I'd spend my days drawing, painting, writing, talking to inanimate objects, gardening, and cooking. I would also dole out amazing advice to the pilgrims that make the trek out to my remote abode for that purpose.
This is an awfully difficult decision. Which would you do? and which should I do?
(if you question whether or not I'm really insane, 1) you don't know me really well and 2) go read my post why i fear the night to get a glimpse of my mind)
06 October 2006
random questions
-Can anyone explain my weird addiction to French music, considering my aversion to that language?
-Why on earth do I like dead flowers? Not that I don't like them alive as well, but I just love the look of drooping dry flowers. While we are asking questions, what is the probability of two girls in the same apartment (out of the three that live there) having the same strange and morbid appreciation for vases of dying and dead flowers?
-Why is it that people either think I'm a flaming/radical/tree-hugging/democratic/loose/anti-culture wench, or a goody-goody/follow-the-rules/easily-offended/molly-mormon/conservative hag? oh wait, that's right, I'm in Provo. So, any who associate with me here (to any degree of intimacy beyond the 'I sit next to you in class') think of me as the former and those who I associate with outside of Provo, upon hearing that I'm at BYU, assume I'm the later. Not that I'm not a confusing and confused mix of the above, I would just like my contradictory/mind-boggling personality recognized.
-Why, no matter how many times I write them, can I never spell 'restaurant' or 'foreign' correctly?
-Why are all my recent artist crushes female? My music has been mostly Mirah, Emiliana, and Camille lately and my favorite poets of the moment are Sappho (I'm trying to read at least 3 fragments in Greek a week ('cause I have time)), Sylvia Plath (I never tire of her), H.D., and Atwood. To be fair though, I have listened to a fair amount of Sufjan, Dylan, and Microphones, but I'm not nearly as enamored with them. The same goes from the male poets in my life.
-Why am I now an idiot in math? and on a related topic, why the hell haven't I studied for the GRE? I can't believe I'm taking it on Sunday.
-Why did I only go to approximately 60% of my classes this week? Oh yeah, I have better, more productive things to do with my time.
-Why can't I be attracted to nice mormon boys, especially nice BYU mormon boys? Why am I even asking that question?
I'm now done. Here is a really funny picture taken at Ephesus this summer. I thought I would post something to reward those who actually read through all my stupid questions. For those of you who skipped to the picture, shame on you.
-Why on earth do I like dead flowers? Not that I don't like them alive as well, but I just love the look of drooping dry flowers. While we are asking questions, what is the probability of two girls in the same apartment (out of the three that live there) having the same strange and morbid appreciation for vases of dying and dead flowers?
-Why is it that people either think I'm a flaming/radical/tree-hugging/democratic/loose/anti-culture wench, or a goody-goody/follow-the-rules/easily-offended/molly-mormon/conservative hag? oh wait, that's right, I'm in Provo. So, any who associate with me here (to any degree of intimacy beyond the 'I sit next to you in class') think of me as the former and those who I associate with outside of Provo, upon hearing that I'm at BYU, assume I'm the later. Not that I'm not a confusing and confused mix of the above, I would just like my contradictory/mind-boggling personality recognized.
-Why, no matter how many times I write them, can I never spell 'restaurant' or 'foreign' correctly?
-Why are all my recent artist crushes female? My music has been mostly Mirah, Emiliana, and Camille lately and my favorite poets of the moment are Sappho (I'm trying to read at least 3 fragments in Greek a week ('cause I have time)), Sylvia Plath (I never tire of her), H.D., and Atwood. To be fair though, I have listened to a fair amount of Sufjan, Dylan, and Microphones, but I'm not nearly as enamored with them. The same goes from the male poets in my life.
-Why am I now an idiot in math? and on a related topic, why the hell haven't I studied for the GRE? I can't believe I'm taking it on Sunday.
-Why did I only go to approximately 60% of my classes this week? Oh yeah, I have better, more productive things to do with my time.
-Why can't I be attracted to nice mormon boys, especially nice BYU mormon boys? Why am I even asking that question?
I'm now done. Here is a really funny picture taken at Ephesus this summer. I thought I would post something to reward those who actually read through all my stupid questions. For those of you who skipped to the picture, shame on you.
02 October 2006
ruined fragments of past civilizations
People have been asking to see more pictures, so here are some pictures of ruins that I saw this summer.
Troy:
Alexander Troas:
View of Lesbos from Assos (hey stop giggling):
Pergamum:
Ephesus:
Hierapolis:
Afrodisias:
Priene:
Miletus:
Olympos:
Amman:
Madaba:
Petra:
I really want to go back, but it doesn't look probable in the next few years.
Troy:
Alexander Troas:
View of Lesbos from Assos (hey stop giggling):
Pergamum:
Ephesus:
Hierapolis:
Afrodisias:
Priene:
Miletus:
Olympos:
Amman:
Madaba:
Petra:
I really want to go back, but it doesn't look probable in the next few years.
25 September 2006
sunday school
I got called to be a sunday school teacher again. I'm really happy because it's the only calling I really enjoy doing.
So, today I taught Isaiah 1-6. When we read Isaiah 1:3, "The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib," I explained that the hebrew word 'crib' meant manger or stall. At this point, a friend of mine who has a penchant for snarky remarks during my lessons shouted out that he thought that 'crib' meant house. To which I replied that I'm sure that his house is a crib, but, as we all know, a bunch of asses do live there. It took me a good minute to stop laughing and another minute to get the rest of the class to stop laughing. My roommate, PRgirl, complemented me on my great ass crack. It was a great asinine day.
I think it was a perfect way to start off my new (renewed?) calling.
So, today I taught Isaiah 1-6. When we read Isaiah 1:3, "The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib," I explained that the hebrew word 'crib' meant manger or stall. At this point, a friend of mine who has a penchant for snarky remarks during my lessons shouted out that he thought that 'crib' meant house. To which I replied that I'm sure that his house is a crib, but, as we all know, a bunch of asses do live there. It took me a good minute to stop laughing and another minute to get the rest of the class to stop laughing. My roommate, PRgirl, complemented me on my great ass crack. It was a great asinine day.
I think it was a perfect way to start off my new (renewed?) calling.
23 September 2006
fall
Today, it felt like fall.
I drank apple cider and soaked in the beauty of my favorite season.
I was content.
I drank apple cider and soaked in the beauty of my favorite season.
I was content.
21 September 2006
to 'normal' people~
I have a few things to clarify since you don't seem to be too quick on the uptake.
*I will not temper my mind so you can understand.
*I will not sit by calmly as you label me disordered or deficient.
How do you presume to label something you don't understand? You have labeled a huge part of me as negative and as a child I believed you. I looked at myself and thought that I must have been made wrong; now I know that I was just made different.
*I refuse to be labeled such and then congratulated for overcoming such difficult obstacles or for beating such bad odds.
Yes, certain things were more difficult for me to learn than they were for you. Sure, I didn't learn to read proficiently until mid-elementary school, but that does not mean that I'm slow or deficient; I just learn language differently, no, I learn everything differently than you do. Traditional school was hard for me, but the things that you call my deficiencies and disorders are the things that give me my natural gifts as well. So, they are not just obstacles but also stepping stones, not just curses but also blessings. I would not trade them for anything. They give me my intuition, creativity, alertness, holistic understanding (especially with languages), and most of my most treasured attributes.
However, these are the attributes that you do not get, because you can't even fathom the way my mind works, how it is wired. Which brings me back to my first point:
*I will not temper my mind so you can understand, because you won't.
*I will not temper my mind so you can understand.
*I will not sit by calmly as you label me disordered or deficient.
How do you presume to label something you don't understand? You have labeled a huge part of me as negative and as a child I believed you. I looked at myself and thought that I must have been made wrong; now I know that I was just made different.
*I refuse to be labeled such and then congratulated for overcoming such difficult obstacles or for beating such bad odds.
Yes, certain things were more difficult for me to learn than they were for you. Sure, I didn't learn to read proficiently until mid-elementary school, but that does not mean that I'm slow or deficient; I just learn language differently, no, I learn everything differently than you do. Traditional school was hard for me, but the things that you call my deficiencies and disorders are the things that give me my natural gifts as well. So, they are not just obstacles but also stepping stones, not just curses but also blessings. I would not trade them for anything. They give me my intuition, creativity, alertness, holistic understanding (especially with languages), and most of my most treasured attributes.
However, these are the attributes that you do not get, because you can't even fathom the way my mind works, how it is wired. Which brings me back to my first point:
*I will not temper my mind so you can understand, because you won't.
17 September 2006
flesh tones
I have a tendency to paint and draw monochromatically. This is partly because I really like painting in monochromatic, but partly because I'm scared of flesh tones. This wouldn't be a huge deal if I didn't paint so many people, but human subjects are my favorite. However, I recently decided to start a new pastel project, because I haven't done any art except sketches in a long time and I hated the last painting I completed. I also decided that I would try my hand at flesh tones. I have embarked on my first completely realistic pastel work. I started this evening on the drawing which is of a Peruvian girl and her little brother. I managed to finish (well, mostly) the girl's face and part of her clothes this evening and I was so happy with the results that I'm going to share my work in progress with you (the drawing is about 2" by 1.25"). I am really excited with how the skin tones turned out. This might be a bit self-congratulatory, but it's better than the other things I debated posting about.
05 September 2006
19 August 2006
wanderlust satiated?
Home. I've never been more relieved and happier to arrive home after a trip. After nine and a half weeks of traveling, five of which were in a neighboring country to some serious warfare; picking the worst day to be in Heathrow; and 38 hours of traveling I was grateful to arrive in AZ and to see my mother waiting for me, even though she didn't recognize me until I was eight feet away because I was wearing my hijab.
Provo. I drove into Provo via Provo Canyon and for the first time in my life I uttered the words "it's good to be back in Provo". I questioned my mental health a bit. However, I understand that this is where my friends, my school, and my life are. AZ home, unfortunately, feels less like home and more like a place I visit on vacation. I still love being there with my family and the few friends that I still have there, but I get restless if I'm there too long. With that said, I'm heading back to AZ tomorrow for a few more days to enjoy the company of my bro, LaMancha, and my mother.
These past five days here in Provo have been great. It is great to know that your friends miss you and worry about you. The excitement that some of my friends have displayed at my return has really made me feel loved. Maybe it is only because I came bearing gifts and really good stories. Oh well, I'll take what I can get. :)
I had a few epiphanies while I was in Jordan and many changes to my life plans and my career path have been made (again). I figured out that, while I enjoy public health studies, I am not passionate enough about it to make a career out of it. At least for now. I just haven't followed my other passions far enough yet to abandon them. I should not leave academia just because I'm afraid that I'm not good or smart enough to succeed. Therefore, I have decided to go on and get a masters in classics (hopefully) and then onward to a PhD in English. Why? Because I'm interested in studying the impact of the classics on english literature and I want formal training in the classics before I move on to my PhD program in English. Now I have to find a masters program in classics that will take me with the little language skills that I will have achieved by then. This is not easy and it is stressing me out a bit.
Luckily I have two amazing roommates that brighten up my life! These are a few of our new mottos for our lovely apartment:
G5 Mottos:
-Concentrating is hard!
-If it doesn't fit, it was ugly anyway
-Don't deesh me!
-What the hell is he thinking?!
-dang it. I know I'm forgetting one...look for updates in the near future...
...I remembered! Actually, Skylark called and reminded me of our fifth motto:
-20 minutes late is early
Provo. I drove into Provo via Provo Canyon and for the first time in my life I uttered the words "it's good to be back in Provo". I questioned my mental health a bit. However, I understand that this is where my friends, my school, and my life are. AZ home, unfortunately, feels less like home and more like a place I visit on vacation. I still love being there with my family and the few friends that I still have there, but I get restless if I'm there too long. With that said, I'm heading back to AZ tomorrow for a few more days to enjoy the company of my bro, LaMancha, and my mother.
These past five days here in Provo have been great. It is great to know that your friends miss you and worry about you. The excitement that some of my friends have displayed at my return has really made me feel loved. Maybe it is only because I came bearing gifts and really good stories. Oh well, I'll take what I can get. :)
I had a few epiphanies while I was in Jordan and many changes to my life plans and my career path have been made (again). I figured out that, while I enjoy public health studies, I am not passionate enough about it to make a career out of it. At least for now. I just haven't followed my other passions far enough yet to abandon them. I should not leave academia just because I'm afraid that I'm not good or smart enough to succeed. Therefore, I have decided to go on and get a masters in classics (hopefully) and then onward to a PhD in English. Why? Because I'm interested in studying the impact of the classics on english literature and I want formal training in the classics before I move on to my PhD program in English. Now I have to find a masters program in classics that will take me with the little language skills that I will have achieved by then. This is not easy and it is stressing me out a bit.
Luckily I have two amazing roommates that brighten up my life! These are a few of our new mottos for our lovely apartment:
G5 Mottos:
-Concentrating is hard!
-If it doesn't fit, it was ugly anyway
-Don't deesh me!
-What the hell is he thinking?!
-dang it. I know I'm forgetting one...look for updates in the near future...
...I remembered! Actually, Skylark called and reminded me of our fifth motto:
-20 minutes late is early
05 August 2006
broken glass
Two days ago I managed to step on the bottom of a broken glass and since I stepped on the edge the other side flew up and inserted itself an inch below the inside of my left ankle. I proceeded to bleed about 1/4 of a cup of blood on the sidewalk before we managed to get some tissues. We then couldn't find a taxi to take me back home, so Mirvet (my Jordanian friend) left me sitting on the curb bleeding, while she went and found a cab. I did finally make it back, but it was a definite adventure. The wound is now healing very well and has not gotten infected.
I have only 4 days until I leave Jordan. Which made me start thinking about whether I wanted to go home or not. On one hand, I am really enjoying my time here and feel like I have finally gotten into the swing of things here. On the other hand, I will have been gone for 9 weeks and am really looking forward to getting back to normal life. So, I've compiled a list of things I can't wait to have/do at home and a list of things I'll really miss when I leave Jordan.
Things I'm looking forward to:
1. spinach salads (I know its weird, but I've really missed them)
2. my family and friends (it really has been too long)
3.washing machines (after 9 weeks of doing my laundry in the bath tub, I'm ready to have really clean clothes)
4. buildings that are other colors than beige (seriously, I'm really sick of beige)
5. thai and korean food (although I did have some amazing sushi while I was here)
6. buying books
7. driving myself around (no more taxis for me)
8. walking around barefoot on sidewalks that don't have broken glass on them
9. breathing without inhaling a ton of second-hand smoke
10. sleeping in my own room
Things I'll miss:
1. falafel (oh man, the falafel here is amazing, actually I'm going to get one right now)
2. the random 'your beautiful' comments
3. colorful veils/hijabs
4. haggling for everything I buy
5. walks on campus
6. listening to the Quran on the radio in cabs
7. belly dancing class
8. our hotel staff
9. the group and roommates
10. "welcome to Jordan" everywhere we go
11. 'lobby time'
12. class in a hotel room
I have only 4 days until I leave Jordan. Which made me start thinking about whether I wanted to go home or not. On one hand, I am really enjoying my time here and feel like I have finally gotten into the swing of things here. On the other hand, I will have been gone for 9 weeks and am really looking forward to getting back to normal life. So, I've compiled a list of things I can't wait to have/do at home and a list of things I'll really miss when I leave Jordan.
Things I'm looking forward to:
1. spinach salads (I know its weird, but I've really missed them)
2. my family and friends (it really has been too long)
3.washing machines (after 9 weeks of doing my laundry in the bath tub, I'm ready to have really clean clothes)
4. buildings that are other colors than beige (seriously, I'm really sick of beige)
5. thai and korean food (although I did have some amazing sushi while I was here)
6. buying books
7. driving myself around (no more taxis for me)
8. walking around barefoot on sidewalks that don't have broken glass on them
9. breathing without inhaling a ton of second-hand smoke
10. sleeping in my own room
Things I'll miss:
1. falafel (oh man, the falafel here is amazing, actually I'm going to get one right now)
2. the random 'your beautiful' comments
3. colorful veils/hijabs
4. haggling for everything I buy
5. walks on campus
6. listening to the Quran on the radio in cabs
7. belly dancing class
8. our hotel staff
9. the group and roommates
10. "welcome to Jordan" everywhere we go
11. 'lobby time'
12. class in a hotel room
26 July 2006
The promised pictures
Here is an abbreviated album of my adventures in Turkey:
The Aya Sophia
The harem in the Topkapi Palace
The spice bazaar
Pergamum
Pammukale
A huge tree in Olympos
Cappadocia
Fairy Chimneys in Cappadocia
The spice bazaar
Pergamum
Pammukale
A huge tree in Olympos
Cappadocia
Fairy Chimneys in Cappadocia
25 July 2006
Veiled identities
Living and working in a place where I am a minority because, among other things, I do not cover my head has set me thinking about the concept of veiling. Years ago, when my knowledge of the Middle East came from books like Princess by Sassoon and movies like Lawrence of Arabia, I thought of the veil only as a symbol of male dominance and female oppression. I was ignorant to the reasons behind women wearing the veil and to the fact that not all of the countries in this reason force women to wear the veil. Even when I knew that it was claimed to be the women's choice to wear the veil or not, I still believed that family and social pressures would make it difficult to go unveiled. I still think that this is an issue especially now that the veil is once again gaining popularity and the percentage of women wearing it has increased dramatically in the last half decade. However, I have gained a new perspective here in Jordan; I really respect the women who decide of their own free will to don the veil as an expression of their religious devotion.
16 July 2006
Notes from a desert trapped naiad
--------------
The Jordanian air seems to have sucked not only the moisture out of my skin but also the words out of my mind. It is not that I believe that there are not words for this place and my experiences here; it is that I have found that my words are irrelevant. I stand isolated here- isolated by my blond curls, my pale skin, blue eyes, determined walk, the way I do not look at the ground while I walk, and most of all I am isolated by people's stares that hold me at arms length at least. Surrounded by this city of beige, the people I left behind seem to fade like the vivid greenness of spring or, perhaps, it is I that is fading like a star at fading into the light of dawn- my light quietly eclipsed by the closer, brighter, more visceral presence of the sun.
--------------
I have begun to miss the anonymity of commonality. Where the non-difference between me and others causes a simple indifference.
It wears on me- having to wear people’s eyes as my veil. I feel no inclination to don my feelings of irrelevancy and hide my face with a chador or hijab. No, I just straighten my back, lift my chin, and look ahead with a small smile on my lips. Like a true Vinci girl I keep my secret amusement to myself and bare the constant stares until I return home exhausted.
--------------
Now, for more concrete information about my life in Jordan. I have been taken on as a TA by an English professor at the University of Jordan. This happened because after the refugee organization that we were going to work for found out that we were of a particular religion they no longer wanted us to volunteer for them. After much gnashing of the teeth, our amazing director pulled together new projects for those who had been planning on working with the refugees. I was able to get the TA position, which I am very happy about. I go to his class, which is about literature and film and give the western view of the film. I also tutor students who wish to improve their English, whether spoken or written. I'm a bit worried that I misrepresent the western view of things, but I try my best. I've enjoyed my chats with the students and have already had lunch at one of the girl’s houses and have been invited to dinner at another's house. However, my days at the university are shorter and I do not believe I will be allowed to go to dinner at L's. This is due the political unrest in Gaza and Lebanon, which is causing tensions even here in peaceful Jordan. It is not that the fighting will reach here. It is that anti-American sentiments are high and we are obviously American. We cannot hide that fact no matter how hard we try. Most of the protests in Amman happened either at the major mosques (luckily we don't live close by to those) or at the university, where I work. It is not that I'm afraid something will happen to me, but the possibility exists and I must be aware of what is going on at all times, which is difficult since my Arabic language skills are minimal.
On a happier note, we went to the Dead Sea after church on Friday (yes, church is on Friday). The sea was amazing. Due to the high content of salt, you float in the sea without any effort on your part. We also covered ourselves in the mud, which supposedly has great cosmetic properties. We spent the night at the sea and the next day we visited Jesus' baptismal site in the Jordan River and Mt. Nebo. After seeing the landscape and feeling the heat of the desert, I understand how difficult it must have been for the tribes of Israel to wander through this desert for 40 years. I would have murmured too. Those are my thoughts for a moment. I now need to go find a liter of bottle water to replace the amount of water that the desert air has stolen from my skin since I started this post. At least I managed to write some of my words before they too were taken from me by this desert's greedy air.
The Jordanian air seems to have sucked not only the moisture out of my skin but also the words out of my mind. It is not that I believe that there are not words for this place and my experiences here; it is that I have found that my words are irrelevant. I stand isolated here- isolated by my blond curls, my pale skin, blue eyes, determined walk, the way I do not look at the ground while I walk, and most of all I am isolated by people's stares that hold me at arms length at least. Surrounded by this city of beige, the people I left behind seem to fade like the vivid greenness of spring or, perhaps, it is I that is fading like a star at fading into the light of dawn- my light quietly eclipsed by the closer, brighter, more visceral presence of the sun.
--------------
I have begun to miss the anonymity of commonality. Where the non-difference between me and others causes a simple indifference.
It wears on me- having to wear people’s eyes as my veil. I feel no inclination to don my feelings of irrelevancy and hide my face with a chador or hijab. No, I just straighten my back, lift my chin, and look ahead with a small smile on my lips. Like a true Vinci girl I keep my secret amusement to myself and bare the constant stares until I return home exhausted.
--------------
Now, for more concrete information about my life in Jordan. I have been taken on as a TA by an English professor at the University of Jordan. This happened because after the refugee organization that we were going to work for found out that we were of a particular religion they no longer wanted us to volunteer for them. After much gnashing of the teeth, our amazing director pulled together new projects for those who had been planning on working with the refugees. I was able to get the TA position, which I am very happy about. I go to his class, which is about literature and film and give the western view of the film. I also tutor students who wish to improve their English, whether spoken or written. I'm a bit worried that I misrepresent the western view of things, but I try my best. I've enjoyed my chats with the students and have already had lunch at one of the girl’s houses and have been invited to dinner at another's house. However, my days at the university are shorter and I do not believe I will be allowed to go to dinner at L's. This is due the political unrest in Gaza and Lebanon, which is causing tensions even here in peaceful Jordan. It is not that the fighting will reach here. It is that anti-American sentiments are high and we are obviously American. We cannot hide that fact no matter how hard we try. Most of the protests in Amman happened either at the major mosques (luckily we don't live close by to those) or at the university, where I work. It is not that I'm afraid something will happen to me, but the possibility exists and I must be aware of what is going on at all times, which is difficult since my Arabic language skills are minimal.
On a happier note, we went to the Dead Sea after church on Friday (yes, church is on Friday). The sea was amazing. Due to the high content of salt, you float in the sea without any effort on your part. We also covered ourselves in the mud, which supposedly has great cosmetic properties. We spent the night at the sea and the next day we visited Jesus' baptismal site in the Jordan River and Mt. Nebo. After seeing the landscape and feeling the heat of the desert, I understand how difficult it must have been for the tribes of Israel to wander through this desert for 40 years. I would have murmured too. Those are my thoughts for a moment. I now need to go find a liter of bottle water to replace the amount of water that the desert air has stolen from my skin since I started this post. At least I managed to write some of my words before they too were taken from me by this desert's greedy air.
13 July 2006
Amman
First of all, I would like everyone to know that I am perfectly alright. Despite what western media is portraying, not all of the middle east is self-destructing, just parts of it. It is pretty crazy that Beirut is only 134 miles away, Jerusalem only 44 miles away, and Gaza only 92 miles away. Things are peaceful here in Jordan, although there was a protest on the University of Jordan's campus yesterday that was anti-American in sentiment. Since I work with a professor on campus, I was there when it began, but I just avoided it and went home. No one is directly abusing us in anyway. The people here are incredibly nice and generous. I will write more when we get back from the Dead Sea on Saturday. Pray for peace.
24 June 2006
umm, yeah. Turkey rocks my socks!
As the last day of my trip looms closer, I realize that I can't even imagine leaving Turkey. I don't want to walk down streets that don't sparkle with dancing lights from mirrors sewn onto bags, purses, and wall art and where the colors are dull, unlike the brilliant colors of carpets hanging outside the shops here. I don't want to shop where the owner does not offer me apple tea and does not ask after my family and background. I know now that I will miss this country where houses are either painted bright colors or left white against the cerelean blue backdrop; where staring isn't considered rude and even the older men get as nervous as school boys while talking to me; where ancient sites lie amoung groves of olive, cypress, and orange trees just waiting to be explored; where it isn't considered a meal unless yougart or cheese is involved. I have fallen for Turkey.
Turkey is an amazing mix, with women wearing everything from the hijab to headscarfs to the latest mini-skirt from Europe. The backdrop of ancient white marble, crumbling grey stones, and solo columns give a sharp contrast to the vivid reds, greens, blues, and oranges of Turkish life. This place has everything I love: a fasinating, multi-layered history, great food, wonderful music, vibrant culture, and beautiful people. I don't want to leave.
Now that my ranting is done, I have to appologize for not updating more (not that many people read this anyway). The places we have been here in Turkey have been amazing. Let me give you a run down of some of the places we have been.
Çanakale- this is right on the Hellespont and as I sat among pine trees, dipping my feet in the cold water, my mind was boggled by the thought of how many battles were fought here, from the Persian wars to WWI. The waters seemed to peaceful to have been the cause of so many deaths.
Hisarlik/Truva/Troy/Ilium- no one can seem to agree on a name. They are not the most striking ruins, but nothing can beat it for its romance. Supposedly the site of Homer's Ilium, the ruins are fasinating because of all the layers of history you can see. I recited the first line of the Iliad (poorly) per promise.
Alexander Troas- Built by one of Alex the great's generals this site is all but forgotten. Almost impossible to get to by public transportation but well worth going to. The ruins are over-grown and there wasn't another person in sight until a guy showed up on a motorbike to give us a personal tour. The theater just looked like odd shaped mountain since it was completely covered in trees.
Assos- one of the most conservative towns we have stayed in. It was right on the water with amazing views of Lesvos from the Temple to Athena at the top of the hill.
Pergamum- beautiful columns that were perfectly picturesque from every angle. The asclepion was also really cool and we ended up eating lunch where the library used to be. My favorite was the round temple where ill people would sleep in order to recieve dreams about how to cure their illness.
Ephesus- absolutely amazing if it wasn't for the disgusting amount of cruise boat tourists. The library was of course my favortie, but a close second had to be the ancient latrines.
Ok, I've seen ten other sites since then, but I don't have time right now to write about them. I promise to catch up later. Right now I'm sitting in an internet cafe in Göreme which is in Cappadocia. I hope everyone is doing well.
Turkey is an amazing mix, with women wearing everything from the hijab to headscarfs to the latest mini-skirt from Europe. The backdrop of ancient white marble, crumbling grey stones, and solo columns give a sharp contrast to the vivid reds, greens, blues, and oranges of Turkish life. This place has everything I love: a fasinating, multi-layered history, great food, wonderful music, vibrant culture, and beautiful people. I don't want to leave.
Now that my ranting is done, I have to appologize for not updating more (not that many people read this anyway). The places we have been here in Turkey have been amazing. Let me give you a run down of some of the places we have been.
Çanakale- this is right on the Hellespont and as I sat among pine trees, dipping my feet in the cold water, my mind was boggled by the thought of how many battles were fought here, from the Persian wars to WWI. The waters seemed to peaceful to have been the cause of so many deaths.
Hisarlik/Truva/Troy/Ilium- no one can seem to agree on a name. They are not the most striking ruins, but nothing can beat it for its romance. Supposedly the site of Homer's Ilium, the ruins are fasinating because of all the layers of history you can see. I recited the first line of the Iliad (poorly) per promise.
Alexander Troas- Built by one of Alex the great's generals this site is all but forgotten. Almost impossible to get to by public transportation but well worth going to. The ruins are over-grown and there wasn't another person in sight until a guy showed up on a motorbike to give us a personal tour. The theater just looked like odd shaped mountain since it was completely covered in trees.
Assos- one of the most conservative towns we have stayed in. It was right on the water with amazing views of Lesvos from the Temple to Athena at the top of the hill.
Pergamum- beautiful columns that were perfectly picturesque from every angle. The asclepion was also really cool and we ended up eating lunch where the library used to be. My favorite was the round temple where ill people would sleep in order to recieve dreams about how to cure their illness.
Ephesus- absolutely amazing if it wasn't for the disgusting amount of cruise boat tourists. The library was of course my favortie, but a close second had to be the ancient latrines.
Ok, I've seen ten other sites since then, but I don't have time right now to write about them. I promise to catch up later. Right now I'm sitting in an internet cafe in Göreme which is in Cappadocia. I hope everyone is doing well.
13 June 2006
Istanbul
I did have a hard time finding Ak in London because her plane was delayed and she missed the connection. It wasn't a big deal because she just came in on a latter flight and took a taxi to the hotel. That was fine. However, due to unforseen events my mother had to fly out after the third day here in Istanbul.
Other than that our trip has been great. The Aya Sophia is amazing, the iznik tiles in the blue mosque are stunning, the grand bazaar is overwhelming, the spice bazaar smells wonderful, apple tea is delicious, as are the kabaps and baklava, the whirling dirvishes are fasinating, and I'm running out of adjectives so I'll stop there.
The only problem I have with Turkey is the intense male energy. Since we are single western girls, the men here assume we are easy. It gets old really quickly, but some of the lines are quite amusing, such as: -why are you so beautiful?- that is the million dollar question and my favorite -I can take you to second paradise- what happened to the first one?
Another unforgettable Turkish experience is the Hamam, turkish bath. Public nudity is odd, even if it is only with other women and being scrubbed down by a turkish woman is also an odd experience, but my lady started singing to be in turkish and it was so neat. Basically, in the Hamam is a large marble slab that is heated and a bunch of women are just lounging around on it. After getting sufficiently hot and sweaty, an attendant comes around and gives you a vigorous scrub down pouring cool water on you every once in awhile. It feels amazing once you get past the awkward nakedness.
Well, I don't have much time so I've gotta run! I hope you are all doing well!
Other than that our trip has been great. The Aya Sophia is amazing, the iznik tiles in the blue mosque are stunning, the grand bazaar is overwhelming, the spice bazaar smells wonderful, apple tea is delicious, as are the kabaps and baklava, the whirling dirvishes are fasinating, and I'm running out of adjectives so I'll stop there.
The only problem I have with Turkey is the intense male energy. Since we are single western girls, the men here assume we are easy. It gets old really quickly, but some of the lines are quite amusing, such as: -why are you so beautiful?- that is the million dollar question and my favorite -I can take you to second paradise- what happened to the first one?
Another unforgettable Turkish experience is the Hamam, turkish bath. Public nudity is odd, even if it is only with other women and being scrubbed down by a turkish woman is also an odd experience, but my lady started singing to be in turkish and it was so neat. Basically, in the Hamam is a large marble slab that is heated and a bunch of women are just lounging around on it. After getting sufficiently hot and sweaty, an attendant comes around and gives you a vigorous scrub down pouring cool water on you every once in awhile. It feels amazing once you get past the awkward nakedness.
Well, I don't have much time so I've gotta run! I hope you are all doing well!
10 June 2006
Killing time in airports
Chicago O'Hare 3:40 pm
Notes:
the juxtaposition of plastic utensils and cloth napkins (silverware is not permitted past security, which includes the Wolfgang Puck cafe that we are sitting at)
a jazz combo trying to liven up the O'Hare airport
suddenly remembering what you forgot, like my mom forgetting the travel clock I was going to take on to Jordan. So far I have forgotten nothing, or, rather, I have not yet remembered the things that I have forgotten.
London 9:07 am
The flight was not too bad considering that we had middle seats. Luckily we were able to procure the bulkhead and, therefore, had plenty of leg room. We meet up with AK (I'll consult with her later about a better 'nym). I'm a bet nervous about finding her since I do not have her flight info, but, really, how hard is it to find a 6-foot Korean girl? I guess we'll find out. For now, I'm going to soak up the western-ness of the London airport and walk through a bookstore or two and enjoy the fact that I can read everything, because it is going to be nine weeks before I see abundant English and true western culture. Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to it in most ways.
Notes:
the juxtaposition of plastic utensils and cloth napkins (silverware is not permitted past security, which includes the Wolfgang Puck cafe that we are sitting at)
a jazz combo trying to liven up the O'Hare airport
suddenly remembering what you forgot, like my mom forgetting the travel clock I was going to take on to Jordan. So far I have forgotten nothing, or, rather, I have not yet remembered the things that I have forgotten.
London 9:07 am
The flight was not too bad considering that we had middle seats. Luckily we were able to procure the bulkhead and, therefore, had plenty of leg room. We meet up with AK (I'll consult with her later about a better 'nym). I'm a bet nervous about finding her since I do not have her flight info, but, really, how hard is it to find a 6-foot Korean girl? I guess we'll find out. For now, I'm going to soak up the western-ness of the London airport and walk through a bookstore or two and enjoy the fact that I can read everything, because it is going to be nine weeks before I see abundant English and true western culture. Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to it in most ways.
09 June 2006
3...2...1...take off
I leave in a few hours and on Saturday at 7:20 am Mountain Daylight Time/4:20 pm Eastern European Summer Time I will arrive in Istanbul. We will go directly to our fabulously quaint pension, Empress Zoe (and yeah, that's the Hagia Sophia behind the hotel), that I found for our stay in Istanbul. I'm excited to get there and start our trip! Four days in Istanbul and then it's on to Hisarlik (Troy)! As a right of passage, I will recite the first line of the Iliad in Greek from memory. I'm sure I'll butcher it, but it's something I've gotta do. Now I need to finish packing. I hope I do not follow Skylark's example and forget my underwear.
03 June 2006
Why I fear the night
I feel the tug of exaggerated gravity, gravity of thought, my inner world weighing so much more than the outer. I reach out trying to grip anything, looking around for something or someone to hold on to. It would be better if I could see nothing and could feel no substance around me. That would be better than looking around at all the humanity and feeling the smoothness of your skin knowing that you will not notice me slide downward, and no matter how hard I try my hands will slip.
I can do it this time, I think, but then I feel the delicate touch of razor blades, slightly curved at the tip. They surround my ankle and I feel the sting of inner flesh meeting the cool metallic surface of the blades. Gasping, I look down into thousands of eyes, reflecting my light like prisms, reflecting it in every direction but back at me.
A woman’s voice wafts up from the darkness below the eyes,
Give it up
But maybe I won’t have to go, this time --too hopeful
You say that every time. Come now and the blades won’t cut too deep and we’ll be able to mend you back to normal
I notice the blades are some kind of deformed digits attached to a spindly, scaly leg that reaches outward then is jerked back toward the eyes by a knobby joint at an impossible angle.
How can you say that when you know you are just going to rend me to pieces when I sink beneath
Hmm, that is true, but we’ll stitch you up real nice. No one will ever know
That’s the problem
A deep chuckle and the blades reach higher shearing skin cells apart from each other as if my legs were really just made of hundreds of miniscule zippers. As the eyes get closer, my eyes focus on two that seem to match, the laugh deeps and turns masculine and the eyes sink back into a face. Ice eyes and pale white skin that does not shine in the dim light, but instead seems to absorb it. A face I know well; a face that has haunted my dreams and subconscious for years.
Come
I cannot speak. I cannot move. I can only gaze desperately into those almost white irises and sink further. His hands reach up gripping the hair behind my ears in firm fists.
Now!
He yanks me forward toward his death-pale face and blood-red lips.
Pulling me down. Pulling me in.
Pulling me inward.
I can do it this time, I think, but then I feel the delicate touch of razor blades, slightly curved at the tip. They surround my ankle and I feel the sting of inner flesh meeting the cool metallic surface of the blades. Gasping, I look down into thousands of eyes, reflecting my light like prisms, reflecting it in every direction but back at me.
A woman’s voice wafts up from the darkness below the eyes,
Give it up
But maybe I won’t have to go, this time --too hopeful
You say that every time. Come now and the blades won’t cut too deep and we’ll be able to mend you back to normal
I notice the blades are some kind of deformed digits attached to a spindly, scaly leg that reaches outward then is jerked back toward the eyes by a knobby joint at an impossible angle.
How can you say that when you know you are just going to rend me to pieces when I sink beneath
Hmm, that is true, but we’ll stitch you up real nice. No one will ever know
That’s the problem
A deep chuckle and the blades reach higher shearing skin cells apart from each other as if my legs were really just made of hundreds of miniscule zippers. As the eyes get closer, my eyes focus on two that seem to match, the laugh deeps and turns masculine and the eyes sink back into a face. Ice eyes and pale white skin that does not shine in the dim light, but instead seems to absorb it. A face I know well; a face that has haunted my dreams and subconscious for years.
Come
I cannot speak. I cannot move. I can only gaze desperately into those almost white irises and sink further. His hands reach up gripping the hair behind my ears in firm fists.
Now!
He yanks me forward toward his death-pale face and blood-red lips.
Pulling me down. Pulling me in.
Pulling me inward.
02 June 2006
7 days 'til take off
I've been meaning to blog for awhile but never could get things into words before my short attention span forced me to seek a new activity. Life has been crazy, good, but crazy. I'm stressed with the packing, but I'm extremely excited about the adventures I will be pursuing. I leave in a week. I hope to blog while I'm in Turkey and Jordan, just to keep everyone updated. I don't have time to write a full post at the moment so I'll just post my latest poem.
A Distant Night
Skin hot and humid as sex
but your hand sliding up my skin
and tongue pressing on my lips
are as platonic as far-flung Pluto
ever orbiting my orange flame
my heat stretched thin
traversing
space
to lick your lunar face
Better this than the satellite static and
distance distance masks
Better this than face a dream
no sleep could pin down
Better this.
A Distant Night
Skin hot and humid as sex
but your hand sliding up my skin
and tongue pressing on my lips
are as platonic as far-flung Pluto
ever orbiting my orange flame
my heat stretched thin
traversing
space
to lick your lunar face
Better this than the satellite static and
distance distance masks
Better this than face a dream
no sleep could pin down
Better this.
09 May 2006
sweet stories
On Sunday, I drove up to my uncle and aunt's house in Pleasant View to have dinner with the random fragments of my extended family that happen to live in Utah. It was a great night of good food, cute first-cousins-once-removed, good music, and a rousing game of Pictionary. While the rest of the family was playing, I asked my Grandpa about meeting my Grandma and this is a short version of their story:
Clive helped drive up a group of singing mothers so they could sing in general conference. Another man helping drive this group of singing ladies happened to be Bea's uncle. Upon arrival in Salt Lake, Bea's uncle took Clive into the bank that Bea worked at and introduced them. Clive then took Bea out every night that week that he was in town. He says that he loved Bea from the first moment he saw her. At the end of that week, they had their first kiss in the rumble seat of the car. Clive then drove back to Arizona and the correspondence began. Letters continued throughout Clive's mission to the mid-west and then throughout his posts with the airline in South America. Clive then decided that he was in love with Bea and he wanted to marry her. They are now 87 years old and still in love.
My grandmother said that if you added up all their real dates after that first week they would add up to little over one week. I thought the story was cute and too much goes unrecorded. The risk of letting this story disappear has compelled me to write this short version of it here and a longer one elsewhere. Besides, it's such a sweet story.
Clive helped drive up a group of singing mothers so they could sing in general conference. Another man helping drive this group of singing ladies happened to be Bea's uncle. Upon arrival in Salt Lake, Bea's uncle took Clive into the bank that Bea worked at and introduced them. Clive then took Bea out every night that week that he was in town. He says that he loved Bea from the first moment he saw her. At the end of that week, they had their first kiss in the rumble seat of the car. Clive then drove back to Arizona and the correspondence began. Letters continued throughout Clive's mission to the mid-west and then throughout his posts with the airline in South America. Clive then decided that he was in love with Bea and he wanted to marry her. They are now 87 years old and still in love.
My grandmother said that if you added up all their real dates after that first week they would add up to little over one week. I thought the story was cute and too much goes unrecorded. The risk of letting this story disappear has compelled me to write this short version of it here and a longer one elsewhere. Besides, it's such a sweet story.
Memorial Weekend
All I have to say is that memorial weekend is going to rock! I'm so excited! Spending money that I really don't have right now is not that exciting, but I think it will be worth it. :)
03 May 2006
Springtime Hike
Today, on a whim, I decided to go hike the Y. The reasons were: 1) I haven’t really worked out in about 3 months since I have been sick and I needed exercise, 2) It was a beautiful day and I needed to work on my tan anyway, 3) because I do random stuff like that. So, I take my camera backpack, a bottle of water that I then forgot in the car, and a notebook. I got about 1/8th of the way up the mountain when I got bored. To me it’s not hiking unless you have to use your hands. What do you think I did at this point? Yeah, I turned around went back down and took a different “trail” that went up the rocky ridge directly south of the Y ridge. I ended up going up the canyon a bit and then up onto the second from highest outcropping of rock. The “trail”, or what I thought was a trail, disappeared about halfway up, but I was enjoying the hike too much to stop. I ended clambering up a steep slope and scratching the hell out of my legs and arms in the process (um, Capri pants and a tank top aren’t ideal hiking clothes). I saw a bright assortment of ants, spiders, and other creepy crawlers. After scrambling over rocks for awhile, I found a nice flat rock to lay on and catch some rays. It was nice to detach from the world below and get some alone time. On my way back down the mountain I saw two deer and managed to get some pictures. I also saw a hawk, but I was sliding down the face of the mountain at the time so I didn’t get any pictures. All in all, it was a wonderful way to spend a spring afternoon. Next time, though, I’ll bring water and maybe eat something before I go hiking so I don’t feel like passing out by the time I get back. This is the way I wanted to spend my spring: seeking adventure.
15 April 2006
no poetry before bed, young lady
I need to stop reading poetry right before I go to sleep. Why? Well, when I read poetry right before I sleep I tend to think in metaphor all night. This means that I will wake up 3-6 times in the night trying to remember glimpses of images and the sounds of the perfect words that I never seem to be able to find during my waking hours. This is not conducive to a good night's sleep and usually I can't even remember the lines and ideas that I had dreamed.
This happened to me about a month ago (see Dreaming in verse) and then again Thursday night. I was reading Guy Davenport's translations of Archilochos' fragments before I went to bed and woke up thinking of metaphors for nothingness and imagery to explain the feelings of desperation (neither of which I can remember). This is one of the only set of lines that I managed to write down during the night (I think it was about 4 am). I have no idea where the image came from. I don't even like eggs.
like the cracking of an egg
the sun yolk slithers
down
the smooth slope of the
sky bowl
Really weird. Sometimes I'm amazed at the depths of my mind that I have never even seen or explored. Sometimes ideas crawl their way out of the depths of my mind (you know, the place where it mingles with my soul) and shimmy their way down my tongue where they dangle on the tip waiting for an unguarded moment to come pouring forth eliciting shock from not only those around me but from myself as well. Case in point. See what I mean?!
This happened to me about a month ago (see Dreaming in verse) and then again Thursday night. I was reading Guy Davenport's translations of Archilochos' fragments before I went to bed and woke up thinking of metaphors for nothingness and imagery to explain the feelings of desperation (neither of which I can remember). This is one of the only set of lines that I managed to write down during the night (I think it was about 4 am). I have no idea where the image came from. I don't even like eggs.
like the cracking of an egg
the sun yolk slithers
down
the smooth slope of the
sky bowl
Really weird. Sometimes I'm amazed at the depths of my mind that I have never even seen or explored. Sometimes ideas crawl their way out of the depths of my mind (you know, the place where it mingles with my soul) and shimmy their way down my tongue where they dangle on the tip waiting for an unguarded moment to come pouring forth eliciting shock from not only those around me but from myself as well. Case in point. See what I mean?!
12 April 2006
525600 minutes
One year you say.
Ask you again in 365 days.
You want to see me again in 8760 hours.
A year.
I don't think I can wait that long.
I've never been patient.
Ask you again in 365 days.
You want to see me again in 8760 hours.
A year.
I don't think I can wait that long.
I've never been patient.
11 April 2006
I'm speechless, but not witless
Yesterday, I gave my teacher a poem I wrote (recreated below for your enjoyment) because I had talked to him about the reverse Daphne image that I was thinking about, but I refused to let him see my rough draft, so I thought I would let him read the finalish product. I also wanted to know what he thought about it. He read it and his reaction was quite flattering.
So here is the poem. It turned out a lot more physical/sexual than I thought it would (you've been warned).
“Apollo, convince me otherwise”
your weight presses me down,
ripping the fragile gauze of time,
until the mattress liquefies,
cupping our passion in its hands.
when sarcasm turns acidic, you
throw me against the wall and,
bruising lips with lips, suck
the words from the tip of my tongue.
your visceral song pierces my
core and my sap blushes red and
pulses through my limbs and I uproot
to dance against your skin.
So here is the poem. It turned out a lot more physical/sexual than I thought it would (you've been warned).
“Apollo, convince me otherwise”
your weight presses me down,
ripping the fragile gauze of time,
until the mattress liquefies,
cupping our passion in its hands.
when sarcasm turns acidic, you
throw me against the wall and,
bruising lips with lips, suck
the words from the tip of my tongue.
your visceral song pierces my
core and my sap blushes red and
pulses through my limbs and I uproot
to dance against your skin.
01 April 2006
My ode to water
After going to the gym yesterday and running 1.5 miles and biking 8 miles, I realized that I wish I had forgone the boring treadmill and bike and had swum laps instead. I think I get a better workout quicker on the treadmill and bike, but I miss swimming a lot. Last semester I took a swimming class and I loved being back in a disciplined swimming environment. It wasn’t hard, considering it was a beginning class and I swam team when I was a kid, but it was nice to have a time that was set aside for swimming.
Growing up in a desert, I grew up in a place where nearly everyone had a pool in their backyard. In the summer, I lived in the pool, because it was too hot to do anything else. Actually, that’s not true, there are plenty of people who did not swim nearly as much as me, including my sister. I lived in the water. As I got older and quit team, in the summer, I would still wake up in the morning and swim some laps as the sun rose above our rooftop. I would then wrap myself in a fluffy towel, grab my book, and read in our hammock. I’d invariably fall asleep and wake up as the people in my family started shuffling around doing their morning routines.
The point is that I really miss having a convenient outdoor pool in which to go swimming. A pool whose main purpose is not a meat market for desperate BYU males, who get excited at the idea of seeing the thighs and shoulders of the usually covered BYU girls. Bleh. I want to go swimming and lay in the sun reading a good book without the annoying interruption of silly giggling.
My favorite part of those early morning swim sessions is the silence. I could actually hear the water as it slipped down my limbs and my strokes would begin to match the rhythm of my heart. As my body warmed with the exertion, I could feel every movement and wave of water against my body and I would find that perfect balance of push and glide that would send me sailing through the water. No, not ‘through’, because that implies resistance, but when I find that balance it is almost as if the water lifts and propels me forward. However, that balance did not last long because soon my arms and legs tired and I would have to breathe at almost every stroke, but it is for those moments that I woke up to swim in the morning hours with none to disturb me. I felt at home in the water’s embrace. Now I think I’ll go swimming.
Growing up in a desert, I grew up in a place where nearly everyone had a pool in their backyard. In the summer, I lived in the pool, because it was too hot to do anything else. Actually, that’s not true, there are plenty of people who did not swim nearly as much as me, including my sister. I lived in the water. As I got older and quit team, in the summer, I would still wake up in the morning and swim some laps as the sun rose above our rooftop. I would then wrap myself in a fluffy towel, grab my book, and read in our hammock. I’d invariably fall asleep and wake up as the people in my family started shuffling around doing their morning routines.
The point is that I really miss having a convenient outdoor pool in which to go swimming. A pool whose main purpose is not a meat market for desperate BYU males, who get excited at the idea of seeing the thighs and shoulders of the usually covered BYU girls. Bleh. I want to go swimming and lay in the sun reading a good book without the annoying interruption of silly giggling.
My favorite part of those early morning swim sessions is the silence. I could actually hear the water as it slipped down my limbs and my strokes would begin to match the rhythm of my heart. As my body warmed with the exertion, I could feel every movement and wave of water against my body and I would find that perfect balance of push and glide that would send me sailing through the water. No, not ‘through’, because that implies resistance, but when I find that balance it is almost as if the water lifts and propels me forward. However, that balance did not last long because soon my arms and legs tired and I would have to breathe at almost every stroke, but it is for those moments that I woke up to swim in the morning hours with none to disturb me. I felt at home in the water’s embrace. Now I think I’ll go swimming.
28 March 2006
Why you should read warning labels
For unknown reasons, I thought that last Sunday was fast Sunday. Probably because of something I heard my mother say while I wasn’t really paying attention. This is an amazing phenomenon of my mind; I am capable of spacing out, but still catch the key words of what the people around me are saying. Somewhere in my mind, it registers that these things are important and then stores them. When I go to recall what someone has said, my mind then backforms the conversation around the key words and gives me what it thinks is the most plausible explanation for that specific sequence of key words.
This is probably what happened this weekend. On Saturday, while I was chillin’ with my family in SLC, my grandpa and I began discussing our gospel doctrine lessons for the next day. Now, my grandfather is one of those people who always has to be right and thinks he knows everything. This is what makes him a great lawyer and at the same time really annoying to me. So, he was attempting to dictate to me how I should give my lesson and I stopped paying attention. At this point, my mom chimed in, knowing I was getting irritated, and was talking about Sunday in general. I still wasn’t paying attention. I’m sure the words and phrases ‘Sunday’, ‘fast’, ‘before General Conference’, and ‘this’ were said at some point and, thinking that it might be important when my conscious returned from its mental vacation elsewhere, my mind stored the words for later. When I was thinking about the conversation later my mind supplied me with this backformation: “This Sunday is the Sunday before General Conference and, therefore, it is fast Sunday.”
I didn’t even think to confirm the validity of this statement and just assumed that the next day was fast Sunday. So, upon waking on Sunday, I hurriedly finished my lesson for class and took my antibiotic on my way out the door. I was fasting.
This is really not a big deal and I think that the Lord would have been okay with me fasting an extra Sunday, or (heaven forbid!) would allow me to substitute my anachronistic fast for the real one next week. The problem was not the fast; the problem was the antibiotic. The warning label tells me not to take it on an empty stomach and my stomach was definitely empty when I got to church. Now, I’m not feeling too great anyways and am still recovering from being sick, so when the room started spinning and my head started hurting, I was not happy and I couldn’t seem to shove the discomfort aside like I usually do. However, I couldn’t go home. I had to teach the lesson in gospel doctrine and I couldn’t pass it off to Skylark, because she has had to do the lessons for the last two weeks since I was sick. Therefore, I went to Sunday school and taught, but I took off my heels (the shoes, not the body part) and explained that I was less likely to fall over with my feet firmly planted on the floor (I was really tempted to change that preposition to ‘in’ because of the cool images that it calls to mind). I also didn’t seem to be thinking before I spoke and ended up musing out loud whether or not Potiphar’s wife was hot because that would make a huge difference in how big of a temptation her invitation was. Despite my headache and dizziness the lesson went well, but I definitely went home after class to get some food in my stomach.
The moral of the story is to read the warning labels on your medication and not to fast on any Sunday but the one that was arbitrarily set aside for that purpose.
This is probably what happened this weekend. On Saturday, while I was chillin’ with my family in SLC, my grandpa and I began discussing our gospel doctrine lessons for the next day. Now, my grandfather is one of those people who always has to be right and thinks he knows everything. This is what makes him a great lawyer and at the same time really annoying to me. So, he was attempting to dictate to me how I should give my lesson and I stopped paying attention. At this point, my mom chimed in, knowing I was getting irritated, and was talking about Sunday in general. I still wasn’t paying attention. I’m sure the words and phrases ‘Sunday’, ‘fast’, ‘before General Conference’, and ‘this’ were said at some point and, thinking that it might be important when my conscious returned from its mental vacation elsewhere, my mind stored the words for later. When I was thinking about the conversation later my mind supplied me with this backformation: “This Sunday is the Sunday before General Conference and, therefore, it is fast Sunday.”
I didn’t even think to confirm the validity of this statement and just assumed that the next day was fast Sunday. So, upon waking on Sunday, I hurriedly finished my lesson for class and took my antibiotic on my way out the door. I was fasting.
This is really not a big deal and I think that the Lord would have been okay with me fasting an extra Sunday, or (heaven forbid!) would allow me to substitute my anachronistic fast for the real one next week. The problem was not the fast; the problem was the antibiotic. The warning label tells me not to take it on an empty stomach and my stomach was definitely empty when I got to church. Now, I’m not feeling too great anyways and am still recovering from being sick, so when the room started spinning and my head started hurting, I was not happy and I couldn’t seem to shove the discomfort aside like I usually do. However, I couldn’t go home. I had to teach the lesson in gospel doctrine and I couldn’t pass it off to Skylark, because she has had to do the lessons for the last two weeks since I was sick. Therefore, I went to Sunday school and taught, but I took off my heels (the shoes, not the body part) and explained that I was less likely to fall over with my feet firmly planted on the floor (I was really tempted to change that preposition to ‘in’ because of the cool images that it calls to mind). I also didn’t seem to be thinking before I spoke and ended up musing out loud whether or not Potiphar’s wife was hot because that would make a huge difference in how big of a temptation her invitation was. Despite my headache and dizziness the lesson went well, but I definitely went home after class to get some food in my stomach.
The moral of the story is to read the warning labels on your medication and not to fast on any Sunday but the one that was arbitrarily set aside for that purpose.
19 March 2006
My Life: in pictures
I thought it was weird that I haven't posted any pictures yet, especially since I recently got the new digital body for my camera. So, I thought I would create a photo-journal of my life at college.
This pretty much sums it up: Diet Coke w/ lime and Sappho
One of my many bookshelves
Good morning, Skylark!
My study spot
My neighborhood
My roommate
There you go. My life in pictures. I promise to write a real post sometime soon.
There you go. My life in pictures. I promise to write a real post sometime soon.
15 March 2006
It's official
It's official. I have whooping cough. So, if you have been in contact with me and you start developing a cough get tested immediately (even if you've been immunized because so have I). Now I have to figure out how to withdraw from classes with a medical emergency.
14 March 2006
I'm a big kid now
I’m so sick of being sick. I seem to continually walk the line between being sick and just not feeling well. This persistent cough hurts and I really can’t afford to fall further behind, especially in Arabic. However, the doctor has put me on enough drugs to ensure that I will not be able to walk straight of the next 3-4 days. This does not bode well for my grades this semester.
I guess it is necessary to step back and make certain that my body is recovering, instead of constantly working on the edge of my physical capabilities. However, I have found it difficult to stay in bed and not be doing some kind of academic work. I have never had this problem before. I was once able to stay in bed all day and do nothing; there were days when I would pretend to be sick just so I could stay home to finish the book I was reading or to finish a drawing I was working on. One time I faked being sick because I had an inexplicable desire to learn how to play ‘Moonlight Sonata’ on the piano (it’s still the only song I know on the piano).
However, those days are gone and now I find myself jumping up every ten minutes or so to go look up a due date or to check if the conjugations that I was doing in my head were correct. All I can think of is how I am just falling more and more behind than I already was. I actually considered not taking the medication given to me until Wednesday so that I could study and take my Arabic midterm and finish up a paper I was working on. My mom and Skylark finally convinced me that I was being an idiot and so I’m sitting here at home fretting about all the work I have to do. I wonder when I grew up and became an adult, who is incapable of relaxing and enjoying the moment (however brief) of freedom from academia. I don’t think that the stress is helping the recovery process. I just want to yell at my body, “GET BETTER! DAMN IT!,” and I just did. I think my Thai roommates are a bit frightened now. I better go explain.
I guess it is necessary to step back and make certain that my body is recovering, instead of constantly working on the edge of my physical capabilities. However, I have found it difficult to stay in bed and not be doing some kind of academic work. I have never had this problem before. I was once able to stay in bed all day and do nothing; there were days when I would pretend to be sick just so I could stay home to finish the book I was reading or to finish a drawing I was working on. One time I faked being sick because I had an inexplicable desire to learn how to play ‘Moonlight Sonata’ on the piano (it’s still the only song I know on the piano).
However, those days are gone and now I find myself jumping up every ten minutes or so to go look up a due date or to check if the conjugations that I was doing in my head were correct. All I can think of is how I am just falling more and more behind than I already was. I actually considered not taking the medication given to me until Wednesday so that I could study and take my Arabic midterm and finish up a paper I was working on. My mom and Skylark finally convinced me that I was being an idiot and so I’m sitting here at home fretting about all the work I have to do. I wonder when I grew up and became an adult, who is incapable of relaxing and enjoying the moment (however brief) of freedom from academia. I don’t think that the stress is helping the recovery process. I just want to yell at my body, “GET BETTER! DAMN IT!,” and I just did. I think my Thai roommates are a bit frightened now. I better go explain.
06 March 2006
I appologize to Sappho in advance
This is tonight's rather pathetic attempt at sapphic meter. English does not lend itself to sapphic and I am new to writing with a specific meter in mind. Some of it still feels forced and I had to give up the meter at the end of the second line because I refused to change the word 'echo'. It also does not have a name and I am not even sure if it is finished yet (or if I will ever finish it).
With all my disclaimers taken care of, here we go:
Those insatiable eyes shall sear my marrow,
And resonating life, his voice will echo
Through hallow halls deep within my eager mind
(And again he'll sing)
Bewitching as well-written time sustaining lines
Lines which were Sappho’s that arose and fell
Dancing beats of samba that only are felt
Deep within my heart.
With all my disclaimers taken care of, here we go:
Those insatiable eyes shall sear my marrow,
And resonating life, his voice will echo
Through hallow halls deep within my eager mind
(And again he'll sing)
Bewitching as well-written time sustaining lines
Lines which were Sappho’s that arose and fell
Dancing beats of samba that only are felt
Deep within my heart.
03 March 2006
The four things virus that seems to be going around
Tagged by Sky Child. Here I go.
Four Jobs I've Had
Mythology TA
Freelance Editor
April Cornell Sales Rep.
Afterschool Program Teacher for an Elementary School
Four Movies I can watch over and over
Gardenstate
Chocolat/Amelie
Gladiator
Fantasia (or any disney movie for that fact)
Four Places I've Lived
Minnesota
Arizona
Spain
Utah
Four TV Shows I Love
Arrested Development
What Not To Wear
Simpsons (the older variety)
Anything remotely amusing when I'm in the mood to watch TV
Four highly regarded and recommended TV shows that I've never watched a single minute of
Lost
The Office
The Sopranos
Desperate Housewives
Four Places I've Vacationed (um, I'm going to have to be vague)
Europe
South America
Asia
Africa
Four of my favorite dishes
crepes
curry
my mom's chicken chile
sushi
Four sites I visit daily
dictionary.oed.com
gmail.com
myfamily.com
um, this one
Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now
In Barcelona at my window working on a painting
With A. anywhere he is (probably on the ski slope)
Turkey (I'm not patient, I want to go now)
Anywhere that doesn't require me to have finished my Arabic homework in 2 hours
Four* Bloggers I am tagging
nope, not happening
Four Jobs I've Had
Mythology TA
Freelance Editor
April Cornell Sales Rep.
Afterschool Program Teacher for an Elementary School
Four Movies I can watch over and over
Gardenstate
Chocolat/Amelie
Gladiator
Fantasia (or any disney movie for that fact)
Four Places I've Lived
Minnesota
Arizona
Spain
Utah
Four TV Shows I Love
Arrested Development
What Not To Wear
Simpsons (the older variety)
Anything remotely amusing when I'm in the mood to watch TV
Four highly regarded and recommended TV shows that I've never watched a single minute of
Lost
The Office
The Sopranos
Desperate Housewives
Four Places I've Vacationed (um, I'm going to have to be vague)
Europe
South America
Asia
Africa
Four of my favorite dishes
crepes
curry
my mom's chicken chile
sushi
Four sites I visit daily
dictionary.oed.com
gmail.com
myfamily.com
um, this one
Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now
In Barcelona at my window working on a painting
With A. anywhere he is (probably on the ski slope)
Turkey (I'm not patient, I want to go now)
Anywhere that doesn't require me to have finished my Arabic homework in 2 hours
Four* Bloggers I am tagging
nope, not happening
01 March 2006
Dreaming in verse
So the weirdest thing happened to me the other night. I was dreaming of Greek and sentences that I wanted to translate into Greek (I know I'm slightly neurotic), when I half-woke up and dragged myself out of bed. I then proceeded to shuffle my way to the piece of drawing paper that hangs on the wall outside my bedroom and scribbled a stanza of poetry and shuffled my way back to bed. SkyChild was still up studying and she told me that it was pretty bizarre when I emerged not to get a drink nor to go to the bathroom, but to relieve myself in a more poetic fashion. In the morning, I woke up remembering what I had done but not remembering exactly what I wrote. To my surprise the short quasi-poem was actually comprehensible.
This is what I wrote in my sleep:
Soaring Eros
Sings nightsongs in
My ear and
Listening,
I weep.
This is what I wrote in my sleep:
Soaring Eros
Sings nightsongs in
My ear and
Listening,
I weep.
24 February 2006
I flew home today to visit my family for the weekend (everyone needs a break from P-Town every once in awhile), and we went to the a fine art exhibition. The art was amazing, but what I enjoyed the most was actually talking to the artists themselves. I quickly lost my parents and stated talking with an amazing young artist named Kris. His long brown hair pulled back at the nape of his neck made him look like a cliche. He sat bent over a canvas-in-progress his lips were slightly parted as if the colors that mingled on the canvas were actually spilling forth out of his mouth from the depths of his body. As I looked at the muted beauty that prevailed on his canvases, he asked me which was my favorite. I answered that his painting entitled Echo was my favorite because it looked like liquified earth that still seemed to be in motion. After that, we fell into easy conversation about art, literature, and life in general. Aparently we both have a fondness for Billy Collins and Philip Larkin. We spoke about how smaller paintings are more difficult and how that was similar to writing poetry, because in poetry every word counts and on small canvases every stroke counts. All in all, he was a fascinating man. I also spoke with a girl named Asha who is originally from India and we fell into conversatoin about her artwork and traveling and the influences on her work. I liked a set of two paintings by her entitled Soul Search I & II. It was a very enjoyable experience and makes me want to pull out my paints once I get back to Utah. Art is so powerful, but also so draining. After this weekend, I think I'll try my hand once again at painting my soul.
21 February 2006
No one likes feeling stupid.
I was not aware that ‘retarded’ was such an uncouth word in today’s society. I guess I assumed that everyone had accepted the amelioration and spread of this word's usage beyond the sphere of psychology. I would never use the word in reference to another person because that would be rude, however, I have no problem using this adjective when referring to inanimate objects as the word can hardly be misconstrued to be an insult to that objects mental capacities considering it has none.
I was sadly mistaken in this matter, which I unfortunately found out by declaring the ancient Greek word for ‘ship’ retarded. At which point my professor threw a piece of chalk in my general direction (this is a normal occurrence and not notable in and of itself) however, what followed, was a rant that I thought was totally uncalled for. It went something like this:
Professor: What did you say?
Me:(always wanting to be honest) I said the word is retarded
Professor: Did you mean retarded or did you mean gay?
This was very disconcerting to me, since I do not find those words similar at all, so I then repeated that no, indeed, I said and, yes, meant retarded. At which point he rants about stepping up our language above that of the average student… blah, blah, blah...
Professor: Not that I care if you swear or anything like that…
Me: (I love getting permission) Ah Hell. Ya for real? Damn it
Professor: hmm, Hell in the vocative (sometimes my professor is just awesome) but I meant I don't care if you swear outside of the classroom
At which point he said something else insulting in anger, but I can't quite remember what. All I remember is that next I swore vehemently in Arabic (a language he doesn’t know) and he responded with equal vehemence in a language I did not know. All in all it was a bizarre class period. I was kind of pissed that he would imply that I was prejudiced or homophobic, because I am not and did not use ‘retard’ in that manner, so I’m still kind of pissed at him. Seriously, he isn't morally superior because he is so-called 'liberal' any more than I am morally superior for being mormon. I guess we’ll see how it goes today.
I was sadly mistaken in this matter, which I unfortunately found out by declaring the ancient Greek word for ‘ship’ retarded. At which point my professor threw a piece of chalk in my general direction (this is a normal occurrence and not notable in and of itself) however, what followed, was a rant that I thought was totally uncalled for. It went something like this:
Professor: What did you say?
Me:(always wanting to be honest) I said the word is retarded
Professor: Did you mean retarded or did you mean gay?
This was very disconcerting to me, since I do not find those words similar at all, so I then repeated that no, indeed, I said and, yes, meant retarded. At which point he rants about stepping up our language above that of the average student… blah, blah, blah...
Professor: Not that I care if you swear or anything like that…
Me: (I love getting permission) Ah Hell. Ya for real? Damn it
Professor: hmm, Hell in the vocative (sometimes my professor is just awesome) but I meant I don't care if you swear outside of the classroom
At which point he said something else insulting in anger, but I can't quite remember what. All I remember is that next I swore vehemently in Arabic (a language he doesn’t know) and he responded with equal vehemence in a language I did not know. All in all it was a bizarre class period. I was kind of pissed that he would imply that I was prejudiced or homophobic, because I am not and did not use ‘retard’ in that manner, so I’m still kind of pissed at him. Seriously, he isn't morally superior because he is so-called 'liberal' any more than I am morally superior for being mormon. I guess we’ll see how it goes today.
12 February 2006
Headlights
The headlight shines through the window causing the window to light up, shining like thousands of diamonds on a vertical glass table or the tears of hundreds of children glittering as they turn their eyes skyward seeking peace.
04 February 2006
Rewriting Creation
The word is the most powerful tool. God created the world, the light, the dark, with words. In the beginning was the word….
That is the power of the original, perfect language that we have lost. But we still have fragments left. Diluted, but still powerful. We are gods in embryo and are driven to create as God creates. That is why every culture throughout history has produced literature whether oral or written. That is why we feel driven to create music, literature and art. But literature. Literature is the most powerful of all because it uses the most powerful medium. The author creates a world using language, just as God did. However, literature is bigger than just one world, because not only is a world created when the author writes it but it creates a blueprint from which thousands of worlds are built, a new one created whenever someone reads the book. The reader is therefore creating their very own world, even if they never thought it possible for them to do so, or felt any artistic inclination at all. It lies within all of us. Authors just make it more accessible for everyone else.
That is the power of the original, perfect language that we have lost. But we still have fragments left. Diluted, but still powerful. We are gods in embryo and are driven to create as God creates. That is why every culture throughout history has produced literature whether oral or written. That is why we feel driven to create music, literature and art. But literature. Literature is the most powerful of all because it uses the most powerful medium. The author creates a world using language, just as God did. However, literature is bigger than just one world, because not only is a world created when the author writes it but it creates a blueprint from which thousands of worlds are built, a new one created whenever someone reads the book. The reader is therefore creating their very own world, even if they never thought it possible for them to do so, or felt any artistic inclination at all. It lies within all of us. Authors just make it more accessible for everyone else.
25 January 2006
Riiiiing....This is your 5 o'clock wake up call
It could have been worse. Much worse. I could now be one of those people that I used to pity from a distance without even the slightest comprehension of their position. I could now be among the ranks of other fatherless children, whose father was suddenly and inexplicably torn from their lives. But I'm not and I thank God for the extra time granted to my father.
However, the incident has driven home some important ideas.
Time is fleeting. This concept I had only understood in its limited faculty as a restrictor of the amount of things I could complete in a given amount of time. Now I understand that these limited encounters represent the rule rather than the exception and are the stencil for an overarching pattern. Not only are the minutes and hours flying by, but whole months, decades, and lifetimes are swiftly flowing through our fingers. My dad's life almost slipped through. It makes me want to hold on tighter, sealing any crack between my fingers through which a minute or year could slip virtually unnoticed.
Life is fragile. We are all walking a tight-rope and a simple misstep would end our show. We sit like a glass vase perched on the very edge of the table, waiting for God to accidently brush us as he passes by or for Him to inadvertently bump the table on His way to His bedroom after a long, tiring day of omniscience. When that happens our fragile glass bodies will be spent. This does not mean that we should peek over the edge and constantly worry about that inevitable fall, but it would be sheer stupidity to not, at least, acknowledge the existence of the drop-off.
However, the incident has driven home some important ideas.
Time is fleeting. This concept I had only understood in its limited faculty as a restrictor of the amount of things I could complete in a given amount of time. Now I understand that these limited encounters represent the rule rather than the exception and are the stencil for an overarching pattern. Not only are the minutes and hours flying by, but whole months, decades, and lifetimes are swiftly flowing through our fingers. My dad's life almost slipped through. It makes me want to hold on tighter, sealing any crack between my fingers through which a minute or year could slip virtually unnoticed.
Life is fragile. We are all walking a tight-rope and a simple misstep would end our show. We sit like a glass vase perched on the very edge of the table, waiting for God to accidently brush us as he passes by or for Him to inadvertently bump the table on His way to His bedroom after a long, tiring day of omniscience. When that happens our fragile glass bodies will be spent. This does not mean that we should peek over the edge and constantly worry about that inevitable fall, but it would be sheer stupidity to not, at least, acknowledge the existence of the drop-off.
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