While it is widely accepted that the makings of a truly good song include meaningful lyrics, compelling instrumentals and a certain amount of aurally pleasing vocals, the fact is that not everyone is capable of doing this. Fortunately for the masses who do not actually posses exceptional musical talent, we live in a relativistic culture where sex sells and success is gaged not by talent or integrity, but by how many people are willing to feed your bank account. In this light it is not necessary to create good songs to be a successful musician, per se, but rather to trick people into liking your music long enough to get a record deal and make a raunchy music video. The added beauty of this technique is that you don't even need to spend time learning to play an instrument, you can simply have a computer generate the entire background of the song for you. With any luck you'll jump to the top of the charts for two weeks, create a morally questionable video that will offend enough people to become one of the top watched videos on YouTube, be able to ride the coat tails of your first big hit for a number of months with some subsequent minor hits, fade into obscurity, make a comeback after a number of years, have a few more hits complete with raunchy videos, and if you're lucky, close out your career on a VH1 show with 8 other b-list celebrities.
After much thought over the past 10 minutes I have discovered an almost fool-proof formula to creating songs that will appeal to the masses of our generation.
The variables: A. an intense, steady beat. B. arbitrary rhyming schemes. C. single word repetition D. (double points)-unconventional instruments (including but not limited to accordion, banjo, harmonica, washboard, etc. also, singing styles that allude to alternate cultures such as yodeling or Tibetan chant will also work) E. Replacement of letters in the artist's name with a symbol (substitution of "s" for "z" at the end of a word is also acceptable) F. Incorporation of spiced-up versions of popular songs belonging to another genre - this is genius in that it borrows the success of actually talented musicians to promote the popularity of your song
The Formula: (variable A) + any combination of at least 2 of variables B-F + auto-tuning in the likely case that the artist is not vocally talented
The effect of employing this formula is anywhere from 2.5-4 minutes rhythmic hypnosis in which people are so distracted by the steady beat that they fail to notice both the song's lack of substance and the fact that they're being brainwashed into buying the album. or at least downloading it illegally from limewire.
Case in point:
9 of the 20 top selling songs on Itunes as of January 1 2011:
Dynamite - Taio Cruz (A+B+C)
DJ Got us Falling in Love -Usher (A+B+C)
We r who we r - Ke$ha (A+B+C+E)
Raise your glass - P!nk (A+C+E)
Stereo Love- Edward Maya (A+D)
Tonight I'm Loving You -Enrique Iglesias (A+D (successful use of yodeling))
Black & Yellow - Wiz Khalifa (A+B+C)
The Time (Dirty Bit) - Black Eyed Peas (A+C+F)
Please don't go-Mike Posner (A+C)
Employing this technique, I will now create a blog that will sky-rocket to success despite it's lack of substance.
First brainwashing technique: setting the "lyrics" of this blog to the tune of popular songs from the list above
L!fe on Plum $treet double points for transposition of two letters with symbols
I came to write. write. write. write. write. one word reps.
My house tries to kill me, that's my plight. plight. plight. plight. initiate arbitrary rhyme scheme
you want to read this blog all night. night. night. night. cue stage 1 of hypnosis
I throw my blog out on the web sometimes sayin "Hey-oh, got something to say-oh."
So read read like it's the best best blog you've ever seen seen. Cause baby tonight, this blog has got me surfing the web again. continuation of hypnosis disguised in one word repetition
Won't you come on and come on and read this blog, if your bored and don't want to think much
All my college friends,
this blog will never be never be anything but random
and arbitrary.
Why so serious?
*Cue accordion solo!*
Deo Omnis Gloiria
Monday, January 3, 2011
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Philosophical Advice as Valuable as the Fortune Cookie it Came In
It has come to my attention that the state of humanity can probably be evaluated based on which type of messages are being put into our fortune cookies. Today I had Chinese food for dinner and was lucky enough to get two fortune cookies. My excitement at getting these two cookies was diminished however when I read the fortunes they contained.The First: "All the news you receive will be positive and uplifting."
The Second: "Charity begins in the home, and justice begins next door." (which is actually really funny if you play the "in bed" game, but we'll not go there for the sake of propriety.)
Is this really what it's come to? Lets examine the first one, "all the news you receive will be positive and uplifting." Are you kidding me? I realize that the people writing these fortunes are not prophets, they don't actually know my future and even if they did I'm sure they would have difficulty relaying the message to me via cookie with any sort of accuracy, but you figure that if they're going to try to play us by making us believe they actually know our fortune they'd at least try to make it something that might actually happen. Don't get me wrong, I am an optimist, Romans 8:28 is one of my favorite bible verses and I honestly believe it, but come on. We're in an economic crisis, crime and poverty are at our doorstep (a doorstep which happens to belong to a house with murderous intentions in my case), thousands of unborn babies are killed every day, and I have an unparalleled affinity for Murphy's law. You expect me to believe that all news I hear from here on out is going to put a twinkle in my eye and spring in my step? Being able to see the bright side of all situations doesn't mean that my heart's going to leap at hearing that my cat got run over by a car. And, to make things even better, they didn't put any limits on the fortune in an attempt to make it semi-plausible. No "All the news you receive today" 0r "All the news you receive from friends" just "All news" no deadlines, no stipulations, the sky's the limit, knock yourself out. Thank you, cookie fortune teller, for you blatant and shameless lie, I appreciate your lack of creativity and effort.
But lets move on to fortune number two: "Charity begins in the home, and justice begins next door" This could mean that the best way to make the world a better place is to first strive to treat our families with love and respect and to right the social injustices suffered by our friends and neighbors. . .or it could mean that my parents should give me money because I'm a broke college student and I should seek vengeance on my neighbors for their flagrant crime of not only keeping their Christmas lights up, but keeping them lit day and night for the past six months. (you think I'm kidding, but their Christmas lights are burning as we speak. Fortunately it does make it easy to tell people where my house is.) Either interpretation seems equally plausible due to the vague and ambiguous nature of the fortune.
Fortunately for society, the makers of fortune cookies have started to see the folly of their ways and have chosen to fill the previously blank reverse side of the fortune with valuable information. I am so happy to have the peace of mind that if I am ever in a dire situation in which I desperately need to to know the Chinese word for strawberry I can reach back into the recesses of my memory, recall this fortune, and boldly proclaim "cao mei!" What's more, my lucky numbers are 11, 13, 15, 26, 35, and 40.It is a sad state of affairs when we are being served empty promises and ambiguous proverbs along with our sesame chicken. There was once a time when words of true wisdom were brought to us from the mouths of respected elders, now bastardized versions of them are available for pick up or delivery. Moreover, the idea of fortune cookies has infiltrated many other food products which are now hiding fluffy messages within their wrappings including dove chocolate promises, Starbucks cups, drink lids, tea bags, etc. etc. etc.
If I want deep philosophical advice I can read the bible, the last thing I want is to be confronted with pseudo-intellectual babble about how i 'deserve to indulge in the moment' when all I'm trying to do is make a cup of tea to keep myself awake into the wee hours of the morning so I can do the physics homework I've put off till the last minute. I feel that, rather than serving us useless adages and banal advice, fortune cookies and the like should be filled either with 1.) the quotes of true intellectuals who actually know what they're talking about, or 2.) with practical advice, useful information, or something that is as blatantly superfluous as the fortune cookie itself.
here are some examples:
"If you can read this be thankful for your literacy, if you can't here's a picture: <):) (It's a cowboy!)"
" 'Your' indicates possession in the second person, whereas 'you're' is a contraction of 'you' and 'are' which indicates an action."
"Take this moment to check if your fly is zipped, if it is good job. If it's not, you're welcome." (note the correct use of your and you're)
"If you live in a glass house, wear pants." "Four cups of coffee a day has been proven to drastically reduce the risk of heart disease."
"Don't bother to see Avatar unless you have the desire to watch Pocahontas reenacted with half-nude blue people and three times as much political propaganda."
"This paper is made of 70% recycled material."
"St. John's Wart can speed the metabolism of many prescription medications; rendering them less effective."
"Kangaroos are, in fact, very strong swimmers."
"Smiling, even if it's a fake smile, releases endorphins which make you happier. If you still have trouble smiling despite this fact, here's something to help: What do you call a cross between an elephant and a rhinoceros? Elefyno (say it out loud if you don't get it. . .if you still don't get it say it with a British accent)" (this one will have to be in a very small font. )
and finally,
"This is a toast to my friend Amanda May. You probably don't know her, but she's really cool."
Deo Omnis Gloria
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
A reading from the book of Cesca
In those days, many thousands of catholic college students came together in a land called Orlando to attend a conference of the Fellowship of Catholic University Students of national proportions. Upon the conclusion of the conference, a Sunday, the students came together to celebrate mass with a Cardinal then were sent out to the corners of the nation to bring the good news to college campuses everywhere; a daunting task, but one the students were ready to face. And there was much rejoicing.
There was a particular group of students who hailed from the land of Fort Collins and belonged to the tribe Colorado State University. After mass the students had the rest of the day to enjoy Orlando before returning to their homeland. Many of the rich members of the group had headed off to the wonderful world of Disney to spend their free day in the Magical Kingdom, while the group which was left planned on entertaining themselves by spending the day roaming the lovely hotel: riding down all 28 floors in the glass elevator, swimming in the beautiful pool, and participating in other fun yet unremarkable activities, and it was to this group that a holy mission was brought by a prophet from a foreign land.
After spending a week of starving in the hotel, surviving only by occasionally paying the painfully lofty fee of for a $4 cup of coffee from Starbucks and a $6 sandwich from the expensive hotel food court, the students' wallets were thin and their bellies empty. Then a prophet brought good tidings of great joy: there was a 7-11, a land flowing with coffee and slurpees, not too far from the hotel! "It is a treacherous journey, you will cross through many large roads, with no cross walks to guide you," warned the prophet "but your faith and perseverance will be well rewarded." Many of the students were dismayed by the threat of peril, and chose not to attend the mission, but a small group were motivated by words heard earlier that day by the Cardinal, and by the loosely translated words of the prophet Jeremiah:
"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I created a 7-11 near the Marriott resort for you. 'Ah Lord God!' I said, 'I know not how to get there, I am too young'
but the Lord God answered me 'Say not "I am too young." To wherever I send you, you shall go; In whatever 7-11 I bring you, you shall drink coffee. Have no fear before them, for I am with you to deliver you' says the Lord."
And so, with these words in their heart and the promise of coffee at 10 cents per ounce set before them, the brave few of them set out for 7-11 with the prophet's blessing. Upon exiting the hotel and traveling a few yards one student realized the sidewalk ended and, despite the encouragement of her fellow pilgrims, turned back and returned to the safety of the hotel while the rest continued onward without the comfort of the sidewalk. After walking through the marshy the grass along the road through the resort they saw in the distance that the land changed and became a place of plush grass, lovely ponds, and f another sidewalk, and there was much rejoicing! But they were dismayed when in the midst of this land they found warriors in grotesque dress riding large beasts and wielding strange weapons. They drew closer and found at the beginning of the path an ominous sign confirming the travelers' fears; they had come upon the land of Gold Course, and the sign harshly warned against trespassing on this coveted land.
At this a number of the travelers drew back in fear and refused to go further, saying that the inhabitants of the land were too powerful and fearsome to face. The other travelers, recalling the promise made to them, urged those who drew back to continue with them, but to no avail. They sadly parted ways with their brethren, and the five brave souls which remained true to the mission set before them continued their trek through the hostile land of Golf Course. After a few close calls they came to a place where the path veered to the left and continued deeper into the land of Golf Course, leaving in front of them nothing but a large hedge. They wondered where to go when through the hedge they heard sounds of an automotive nature. It was the road the prophet had foretold of! So the students crawled through the hedge marking the edge of the resort and emerged on the other side to see a daunting path lay ahead of them.
Before them lay a large river of rapidly flowing 65-mile-per-hour death; four lanes in each direction with a twenty foot median dividing them, and as the prophet had foretold, no crosswalks to guide them safely across. Nor was there a sidewalk! Rather, there was a band of marshy grass along the shoulder of the road that abruptly turned into a swampland. But Behold! the 7-11 was in sight, about a mile up the road the neon green and orange lights shown like a shining beacon of hope. And the students took hold of this hope and began the trek, clinging to the straight and narrow path between the raging river of cars and the alligator infested swamp (you think I'm exaggerating, but it really was alligator infested. Alligators are like Florida's squirrels. Some of our friends saw one on the golf course and captured photographic evidence of it.) all the while waiting for an opportunity to safely (relatively speaking) cross the eight lanes of speeding cars.
Finally this opportunity presented itself and the five companions dashed across the road, safely making it to the other side. Now they had but another quarter-mile to journey and nothing stood between them and their destination! Nothing that is but another six lane river of rapidly flowing death! But God had brought them safe thus far, and they trusted in God to carry them across the final stretch. So they sat and pined after the 7-11 which stood but yards before them and waited for the time in which they could cross safely too it. About four minutes later, the time appointed by God came, and the students dashed again across the road through a particularly swampy patch of grass, in which one of the travelers nearly lost her shoe, and made it safely to the parking lot of the 7-11. And their was much rejoicing.
Moreover, their rejoicing continued when they found that not only was there a 7-11, there was also a Chinese Buffet, which also served sushi, and cost a mere $6.50 during lunch! At this praise and thanksgiving to God, who skillfully created the Heavens and Orlando, burst forth from the 5 companions in a fountain of rejoicing. They partook of the oriental banquet set before them then continued to 7-11 to stock up on food for the rest of the night and the plane ride home then, finally and with much joy, recieved that lifegiving drink which drives the dreams of champions; coffee!
In high spirits they left 7-11 and began their journey back to the Resort, knowing well the perils which lay before them, but ready to face them with perseverance and joy. Just when they thought their sucessful trip couldn't get any better one of the travelers exclaimed in suprise. The rest of the travelers turned to face the swamp and found before them and armadillo! Not just any armadillo, a covanental armadillo, much like the rainbow after the flood. An armadillo wich signified the fruits of trusting in God's plan and How we are rewarwded in suprising ways beyond one's ability to imagine when we follow the path He sets before us. And there was much rejoicing.
Deo Omnis Gloria
There was a particular group of students who hailed from the land of Fort Collins and belonged to the tribe Colorado State University. After mass the students had the rest of the day to enjoy Orlando before returning to their homeland. Many of the rich members of the group had headed off to the wonderful world of Disney to spend their free day in the Magical Kingdom, while the group which was left planned on entertaining themselves by spending the day roaming the lovely hotel: riding down all 28 floors in the glass elevator, swimming in the beautiful pool, and participating in other fun yet unremarkable activities, and it was to this group that a holy mission was brought by a prophet from a foreign land.
After spending a week of starving in the hotel, surviving only by occasionally paying the painfully lofty fee of for a $4 cup of coffee from Starbucks and a $6 sandwich from the expensive hotel food court, the students' wallets were thin and their bellies empty. Then a prophet brought good tidings of great joy: there was a 7-11, a land flowing with coffee and slurpees, not too far from the hotel! "It is a treacherous journey, you will cross through many large roads, with no cross walks to guide you," warned the prophet "but your faith and perseverance will be well rewarded." Many of the students were dismayed by the threat of peril, and chose not to attend the mission, but a small group were motivated by words heard earlier that day by the Cardinal, and by the loosely translated words of the prophet Jeremiah:
"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I created a 7-11 near the Marriott resort for you. 'Ah Lord God!' I said, 'I know not how to get there, I am too young'
but the Lord God answered me 'Say not "I am too young." To wherever I send you, you shall go; In whatever 7-11 I bring you, you shall drink coffee. Have no fear before them, for I am with you to deliver you' says the Lord."
And so, with these words in their heart and the promise of coffee at 10 cents per ounce set before them, the brave few of them set out for 7-11 with the prophet's blessing. Upon exiting the hotel and traveling a few yards one student realized the sidewalk ended and, despite the encouragement of her fellow pilgrims, turned back and returned to the safety of the hotel while the rest continued onward without the comfort of the sidewalk. After walking through the marshy the grass along the road through the resort they saw in the distance that the land changed and became a place of plush grass, lovely ponds, and f another sidewalk, and there was much rejoicing! But they were dismayed when in the midst of this land they found warriors in grotesque dress riding large beasts and wielding strange weapons. They drew closer and found at the beginning of the path an ominous sign confirming the travelers' fears; they had come upon the land of Gold Course, and the sign harshly warned against trespassing on this coveted land.
At this a number of the travelers drew back in fear and refused to go further, saying that the inhabitants of the land were too powerful and fearsome to face. The other travelers, recalling the promise made to them, urged those who drew back to continue with them, but to no avail. They sadly parted ways with their brethren, and the five brave souls which remained true to the mission set before them continued their trek through the hostile land of Golf Course. After a few close calls they came to a place where the path veered to the left and continued deeper into the land of Golf Course, leaving in front of them nothing but a large hedge. They wondered where to go when through the hedge they heard sounds of an automotive nature. It was the road the prophet had foretold of! So the students crawled through the hedge marking the edge of the resort and emerged on the other side to see a daunting path lay ahead of them.
Before them lay a large river of rapidly flowing 65-mile-per-hour death; four lanes in each direction with a twenty foot median dividing them, and as the prophet had foretold, no crosswalks to guide them safely across. Nor was there a sidewalk! Rather, there was a band of marshy grass along the shoulder of the road that abruptly turned into a swampland. But Behold! the 7-11 was in sight, about a mile up the road the neon green and orange lights shown like a shining beacon of hope. And the students took hold of this hope and began the trek, clinging to the straight and narrow path between the raging river of cars and the alligator infested swamp (you think I'm exaggerating, but it really was alligator infested. Alligators are like Florida's squirrels. Some of our friends saw one on the golf course and captured photographic evidence of it.) all the while waiting for an opportunity to safely (relatively speaking) cross the eight lanes of speeding cars.
Finally this opportunity presented itself and the five companions dashed across the road, safely making it to the other side. Now they had but another quarter-mile to journey and nothing stood between them and their destination! Nothing that is but another six lane river of rapidly flowing death! But God had brought them safe thus far, and they trusted in God to carry them across the final stretch. So they sat and pined after the 7-11 which stood but yards before them and waited for the time in which they could cross safely too it. About four minutes later, the time appointed by God came, and the students dashed again across the road through a particularly swampy patch of grass, in which one of the travelers nearly lost her shoe, and made it safely to the parking lot of the 7-11. And their was much rejoicing.
Moreover, their rejoicing continued when they found that not only was there a 7-11, there was also a Chinese Buffet, which also served sushi, and cost a mere $6.50 during lunch! At this praise and thanksgiving to God, who skillfully created the Heavens and Orlando, burst forth from the 5 companions in a fountain of rejoicing. They partook of the oriental banquet set before them then continued to 7-11 to stock up on food for the rest of the night and the plane ride home then, finally and with much joy, recieved that lifegiving drink which drives the dreams of champions; coffee!
In high spirits they left 7-11 and began their journey back to the Resort, knowing well the perils which lay before them, but ready to face them with perseverance and joy. Just when they thought their sucessful trip couldn't get any better one of the travelers exclaimed in suprise. The rest of the travelers turned to face the swamp and found before them and armadillo! Not just any armadillo, a covanental armadillo, much like the rainbow after the flood. An armadillo wich signified the fruits of trusting in God's plan and How we are rewarwded in suprising ways beyond one's ability to imagine when we follow the path He sets before us. And there was much rejoicing.
Deo Omnis Gloria
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Twilight: the downfall of the nuclear family unit.
Hello dear blog, how I have missed thee. It may have seemed that the demon house had succeeded in killing me, but not so! After a three month hiatus in which I have been extremely busy trying to survive the house with it's various gas leaks, spontaneously combustive toasters, and numerous attempts to electrocute me, as well as surviving Organic chemistry and a zombie apocalypse on the CSU campus, I am back with much to report about life on Plum street.
I have noticed a curious and frightening trend sweeping the nation. . .or at least the CSU campus. I've found that this year's fashion trends consist of girls wearing nothing more than tights with uggs and puffy jackets with a fur lined hood. First off, this is about as practical and attractive as wearing miniskirts and uggs in the middle of July. Second, may I point out that tights are not actual garments, they are undergarments! Let me break down the word for you, under- meaning under. garment- meaning something you cloth yourself with. undergarments -meaning things you wear under your clothes! It was bad enough when girls were wearing tiny tiny skirts with leggings, but now these poor girls are so preoccupied with themselves that they are forgetting to even put on actual pants before leaving the house! It's 25 degrees out there, and those things cannot be warm! Oh but I forgot, they have their uggs to keep them warm. And, may I add, looking sexy. Because I can think of nothing sexier than a stick thin girl with giant shapeless boots twice as thick as her legs are (a size difference easily emphasized by her tights) sliding around in the snow due to the fact that her trendy snow boots have absolutely zero traction. At least if she loses her balance and falls the giant fur lining on her hood will cushion the blow to her head. Perhaps one aspect of this frightening season in fashion has some sort of practicality.
The other side of the fashion world is equally puzzling: this year I have seen staggering numbers of guys walking around in the snow in shorts and a t-shirt. I realize that every winter there will be the occasional punk who tries to prove his manliness by pulling this stunt. But this year I've seen this occasional occurrence grow into a trend. Guys, when you wear shorts in the snow we do not think you're cool or manly, we think you're being stupid. Now go put on some pants.
Essentially, this year's fashion has proven that the desire to be trendy and noticed trumps our natural human survival instinct.
Speaking of human survival instinct; another terrifying trend that is sweeping college culture is the Twilight Saga. I had thought that it was only rotting the brains of unsuspecting prepubescent teenage girls, but it has spread upwards and has infiltrated the preferred literature of college students. You may think this is just an annoying fad, but in actuality the Twilight saga is ruining the minds and futures of hundreds of thousands of adolescent girls for years to come. And it's not even well written!! In fact, Twilight is probably one of the most one-dimensional, petty, dull, and all-around horrible books I've ever read.
To clarify: yes I have read it-I made a deal with a friend that if she read the Screwtape Letters I would read The first two books of the Twilight Saga. She definitely got the better end of the deal.
Let me sum up all 700ish of those pages for you: Bella is a unremarkable girl who lives in Arizona (I think, or some other deserty place) and takes care of her mom because her parents are divorced and her mom is apparently incompetent. When her mom gets remarried she moves to Washington with her dad. At her new school every boy is for some reason obsessed with her, including Edward, who is extremely pale, cold and angsty. After saving her life because apparently Bella attracts trouble like fly paper attracts flys, she discovers he's a vampire! She has also caught the fancy of her dad's friends son Jacob who lives with the local Native American population and hate vampires. Oh my! The story that ensues can basically be summed up as this:
Bella is obsessed with Edward, Edward doesn't want to ruin her life. Bella decides that she doesn't care about her family, friends, life, or Edward's wishes because she wants so badly to be with him. Edward decides that he loves Bella so they can be together. Bella spends about three hundred pages blowing off her family and friends to be with Edward, all the while pushing him to the point of almost killing her multiple times because she's frisky. At the end of the first book Bella almost gets herself killed by a pack of evil vampires so Edward leaves her at the beginning of the second book for her own good because he has caused her nothing but trouble. Bella proceeds to go into an existential funk that lasts about 200 pages completely shutting everyone and everything out of her life. . .except Jacob, who she quickly becomes best friends with. Suddenly she decides to jump off a cliff because it sounds like fun, causing Edward to return because he thinks she's suicidal. Once Edward's back Bella returns to him, breaking Jacob's heart. Oh, and a whole bunch of other stuff happens with the evil vampire and the "vampire supreme court", but that really takes a back seat to the awful "love" story.
I don't really know what happens in the rest of the books, but it can be assumed that Bella continues to be self centered and cause mountains of trouble to those around her, and I'm sure she eventually forsakes her soul for the sake of becoming a vampire.
Lets unpack why this book has, more than just a poor plot line, the potential of destroying young adult relationships for years to come.
First, while books like Harry Potter carry themes of the value of friendship and good triumphing over evil and The Chronicles of Narnia carry these themes as well as being an allegory of Christ's selfless love for us, The Twilight saga carries a theme of rooting your happiness in your boyfriend and forsaking your entire life and your soul for this relationship.
Second, the plot is absolutely unbelievable (I mean aside from the fact that it involves vampires and werewolves), Edward, while he may look like a 17 year old has been alive for thousands of years and has thus had ample time to mature and cultivate a wide range of wisdom and knowledge, why would he fall for a selfish immature 17 year old girl that gives nothing to the relationship? Oh ya, because for some reason her blood smells better than everyone else's. Apparently smell is the determining factor of whether or not a relationship will last.
Third, these novels are for adolescent girls what porn is for adolescent guys:
A true relationship requires wanting what's best for the other person which means that absolutely no objectification can go on, whereas in porn there is no love necessary, nothing has to be given and everything is there to take, the participants (particularly the women I would assume) are reduced to noting more than objects for pleasure. In twilight, while Bella may think she's fallen in love she's really fallen in lust; she gives pretty much nothing to the relationship and takes eveything Edward has to offer then demands what he's unwilling to give. While it is almost painful for him to be with her because every moment spent with her he has to fight the instinct to eat her, she insists on being with him all the time because it makes her happy. When he tries to leave for her own good she falls apart then chases down the next best thing; Jacob.
Girls everywhere will read these books and decide that this is exactly the kind of "love" they want, then they'll be shocked when they find out that a.) the boys they are dating are nothing like Edward and b.) they actually have to put some sort of effort into the relationship to make it work. go figure.
And thus, Twilight will be the downfall of the nuclear family unit.
Deo Omnis Gloria
I have noticed a curious and frightening trend sweeping the nation. . .or at least the CSU campus. I've found that this year's fashion trends consist of girls wearing nothing more than tights with uggs and puffy jackets with a fur lined hood. First off, this is about as practical and attractive as wearing miniskirts and uggs in the middle of July. Second, may I point out that tights are not actual garments, they are undergarments! Let me break down the word for you, under- meaning under. garment- meaning something you cloth yourself with. undergarments -meaning things you wear under your clothes! It was bad enough when girls were wearing tiny tiny skirts with leggings, but now these poor girls are so preoccupied with themselves that they are forgetting to even put on actual pants before leaving the house! It's 25 degrees out there, and those things cannot be warm! Oh but I forgot, they have their uggs to keep them warm. And, may I add, looking sexy. Because I can think of nothing sexier than a stick thin girl with giant shapeless boots twice as thick as her legs are (a size difference easily emphasized by her tights) sliding around in the snow due to the fact that her trendy snow boots have absolutely zero traction. At least if she loses her balance and falls the giant fur lining on her hood will cushion the blow to her head. Perhaps one aspect of this frightening season in fashion has some sort of practicality.
The other side of the fashion world is equally puzzling: this year I have seen staggering numbers of guys walking around in the snow in shorts and a t-shirt. I realize that every winter there will be the occasional punk who tries to prove his manliness by pulling this stunt. But this year I've seen this occasional occurrence grow into a trend. Guys, when you wear shorts in the snow we do not think you're cool or manly, we think you're being stupid. Now go put on some pants.
Essentially, this year's fashion has proven that the desire to be trendy and noticed trumps our natural human survival instinct.
Speaking of human survival instinct; another terrifying trend that is sweeping college culture is the Twilight Saga. I had thought that it was only rotting the brains of unsuspecting prepubescent teenage girls, but it has spread upwards and has infiltrated the preferred literature of college students. You may think this is just an annoying fad, but in actuality the Twilight saga is ruining the minds and futures of hundreds of thousands of adolescent girls for years to come. And it's not even well written!! In fact, Twilight is probably one of the most one-dimensional, petty, dull, and all-around horrible books I've ever read.
To clarify: yes I have read it-I made a deal with a friend that if she read the Screwtape Letters I would read The first two books of the Twilight Saga. She definitely got the better end of the deal.
Let me sum up all 700ish of those pages for you: Bella is a unremarkable girl who lives in Arizona (I think, or some other deserty place) and takes care of her mom because her parents are divorced and her mom is apparently incompetent. When her mom gets remarried she moves to Washington with her dad. At her new school every boy is for some reason obsessed with her, including Edward, who is extremely pale, cold and angsty. After saving her life because apparently Bella attracts trouble like fly paper attracts flys, she discovers he's a vampire! She has also caught the fancy of her dad's friends son Jacob who lives with the local Native American population and hate vampires. Oh my! The story that ensues can basically be summed up as this:
Bella is obsessed with Edward, Edward doesn't want to ruin her life. Bella decides that she doesn't care about her family, friends, life, or Edward's wishes because she wants so badly to be with him. Edward decides that he loves Bella so they can be together. Bella spends about three hundred pages blowing off her family and friends to be with Edward, all the while pushing him to the point of almost killing her multiple times because she's frisky. At the end of the first book Bella almost gets herself killed by a pack of evil vampires so Edward leaves her at the beginning of the second book for her own good because he has caused her nothing but trouble. Bella proceeds to go into an existential funk that lasts about 200 pages completely shutting everyone and everything out of her life. . .except Jacob, who she quickly becomes best friends with. Suddenly she decides to jump off a cliff because it sounds like fun, causing Edward to return because he thinks she's suicidal. Once Edward's back Bella returns to him, breaking Jacob's heart. Oh, and a whole bunch of other stuff happens with the evil vampire and the "vampire supreme court", but that really takes a back seat to the awful "love" story.
I don't really know what happens in the rest of the books, but it can be assumed that Bella continues to be self centered and cause mountains of trouble to those around her, and I'm sure she eventually forsakes her soul for the sake of becoming a vampire.
Lets unpack why this book has, more than just a poor plot line, the potential of destroying young adult relationships for years to come.
First, while books like Harry Potter carry themes of the value of friendship and good triumphing over evil and The Chronicles of Narnia carry these themes as well as being an allegory of Christ's selfless love for us, The Twilight saga carries a theme of rooting your happiness in your boyfriend and forsaking your entire life and your soul for this relationship.
Second, the plot is absolutely unbelievable (I mean aside from the fact that it involves vampires and werewolves), Edward, while he may look like a 17 year old has been alive for thousands of years and has thus had ample time to mature and cultivate a wide range of wisdom and knowledge, why would he fall for a selfish immature 17 year old girl that gives nothing to the relationship? Oh ya, because for some reason her blood smells better than everyone else's. Apparently smell is the determining factor of whether or not a relationship will last.
Third, these novels are for adolescent girls what porn is for adolescent guys:
A true relationship requires wanting what's best for the other person which means that absolutely no objectification can go on, whereas in porn there is no love necessary, nothing has to be given and everything is there to take, the participants (particularly the women I would assume) are reduced to noting more than objects for pleasure. In twilight, while Bella may think she's fallen in love she's really fallen in lust; she gives pretty much nothing to the relationship and takes eveything Edward has to offer then demands what he's unwilling to give. While it is almost painful for him to be with her because every moment spent with her he has to fight the instinct to eat her, she insists on being with him all the time because it makes her happy. When he tries to leave for her own good she falls apart then chases down the next best thing; Jacob.
Girls everywhere will read these books and decide that this is exactly the kind of "love" they want, then they'll be shocked when they find out that a.) the boys they are dating are nothing like Edward and b.) they actually have to put some sort of effort into the relationship to make it work. go figure.
And thus, Twilight will be the downfall of the nuclear family unit.
Deo Omnis Gloria
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Death on Plum Street
As I sit here in my house on Plum street, musing on some of life's deeper questions-
" What am I doing here at CSU? How is it that I came to be living in this house on Plum Street? What does God have planned for me this year? Will I survive O-Chem? Why was the word "colleges" made into a link in the blog description? it's completely arbitrary. . .-
it is called to my attention that my house is trying to kill me.
Don't get me wrong, life is beautiful, CSU is wonderful, My roommates are fantastic, Plum street is lovely, I've even developed an optimistic affection for our quaint little house that's out to get me (it's what I like to call an "awkward mom" affection - in and of itself the thing in question would seem strange, bothersome, awkward, etc. but you can't help but love it despite (or perhaps because of) it's little quirks. like an awkward mom.)
But the fact remains that from the moment I climb out of bed in the morning to the moment I climb back in at night (and sometimes even after I've climbed back in), every moment spent in or around this house becomes an epic battle for my very life. And the house is good! Like a guerrilla terrorist stalking his query through the jungle, its sly and ruthless and when you least expect it, it strikes with deadly force! For one thing the front porch on the house is about two and a half feet off the ground, so there's a daily battle I often loose in and of itself, but in addition to the little things like this that persistently plague me, there have been some major events that shed light on the house on Plum Street's wrathful tendencies
It all started before I had even moved in and was up with my roommate Lindsay and our friend Allie painting the main room. We had no ladder and the ceilings are abnormally tall in this house, so we were getting creative in order to paint the top part of the wall. I was standing on a stack of phone books which were stacked on an end table (an end table with wheels, actually. . .) holding a paint brush and paint tray and stretching to reach the top of the wall when suddenly the end table rocked backwards as if something had pushed it and I found myself spinning a 180 in the air and struggling to find footing while the phone books flew from beneath my feet like frisbees. Finally my foot made contact with something solid -a phone book, which slipped from beneath my foot as soon as it had landed. I slipped backwards like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel and landed sitting cross-legged on the upturned end table, facing away from the wall I had just been painting with paint brush and paint tray still in hand - not a drop spilled. It was, I must admit, pretty awesome. I thought I had escaped the whole ordeal without even a scratch- guardian angels: 3, demon-house on Plum Street: 0! (I've decided that this epic battle for my life will be scored using football rules) - until a couple minutes later when I noticed that my forearm was badly scratched and bleeding. How? I do not know. One can only assume the injury was accrued during the crazy James Bond fall. I guess the house gets a field goal for that one too.
Later that day I was trying to unplug our circa 1960's oven from the wall in order to paint the kitchen and was having difficulty freeing it from the outlet (judging by what we found under the oven it probably hadn't been unplugged or moved in twenty years). I was holding on to the plastic part of the plug and being careful not to get to close to the metal prongs and yanking with all of my strength. Suddenly, the outlet released the plug all at once and in the process my fingers somehow slipped and lightly touched the metal prongs and I was electrocuted. My 220 volt oven electrocuted me!! I am not exaggerating when I say that I almost died, 2 20 volts is more than enough to stop your heart. Touchdown on a hail-Mary pass for the guardian angels! plus a two point conversion makes the score 11, demon-house still stands at 3.
Not but 5 days after the oven ordeal I went back up to the house with a ladder to finish painting the bathroom and kitchen and to paint my room. The plan was this, I go up at night to paint and get the house ready, then my parents come up the next day with all my furniture to help me move in. Sounds like a great plan right? except when I got dropped off at the house at 10:30pm I found that both the electricity and water had been turned off, despite the fact that Lindsay had already called the power company and everything was supposed to be taken care of as far as electricity goes. The roommate who was paying the water bill was going to just let me call and switch the bill over to my name, but apparently she changed her mind and decided to cancel the service anyway. So there I was stuck in the house over night with no power, no water, and no car. Oh and things get better, all of our blinds were broken and I had no light to fix them with, so I had no way of covering the windows. I slept in a papazon chair crammed in the corner of our living room trying to stay out of sight until the sun came up. touch down house- the score stands at 11:9
Then, the next day when my parents came up with all my stuff, while my dad was changing out the light fixture in the kitchen, he found that not only was the wood that the light was fixed to rotting, but the wiring was shoddy and was probably close to burning down the house. Seriously, there were burn marks in the insulation. the house gets the extra point conversion for that one, but the guardian angels also score a touchdown due to the fact that since I had no power I was unable to turn on the kitchen light and potentially burn down the house. God works in mysterious, amusing ways. angels: 17, house: 10
Then I actually moved into the house, and the real fun began. This new chapter in the saga begins with my parents dropping me off at school on our way back from a family camping trip and me realizing that I did not remember my purse which contained all my money, my keys, and my identification, shortly after this realization I resigned to the fact that I would have to wait at least a week to get my purse back. Not having any keys I had to climb in and out of our house via the kitchen window, which is unsettlingly easy to break in through. the first time I had to do it my mom was there to hold the window open for me so it worked out great. The second time, however, I had to do it all by myself and as I was sliding across the window sill into the kitchen the window suddenly lost it's hold and slammed down directly onto my butt. which sucked. The house only gets a field goal for this one though, because if the window had to slam down with me in it, at least it slammed on the part with the most padding. angels: 17, house: 13
Shortly thereafter, I was trying to turn off the light in my room and managed to hit my head on not just one of the ceiling fan blades, but all five of them, at least once each. To explain how this happened I will briefly have to describe my room to you: I have a double size loft bed in my room with a desk underneath it to save space. This is extremely convenient, but since the bed is double sized it overlaps with the ceiling fan and light fixture, which is located directly in the center of the room, by about one foot in the top right corner of the bed. For most people this would never pose a problem since there is about four feet between the bed and the ceiling and therefore plenty of space to avoid the fan, but since my house is out to get me I wasn't so lucky. One night I was stretching from my bed to turn off the light by pulling the light cord but in the process of doing so I also accidentally pulled off the lower part cord. So in the dusky dark I leaned even further over to try to reattach said cord, unknowingly placing my head directly below rapidly spinning fan blades. In the position I was currently in, my arms were not long enough to reach the shortened light cord, so I sat up a bit taller to give myself the three extra inches necessary to reach it. In doing so I raised my head directly into the fan and was whacked somewhere between 5 and 8 times in the exact same place on my skull. I collapsed back onto my bed with a pounding headache and a large lump forming on my skull. This reinforces Amanda's theory that ceiling fans are shady, up-to-no-good characters that are in league with my demon-house to destroy me. The house gets a full-on touchdown for that one- I still have the bump on my head from almost a week later. but I'm not giving it the extra point, because that was a cheap shot: clearly I was sleepy and not in prime battling condition. Bad form demon house: twenty-yard penalty. The score stands- guardian angels: 17, house: 19
The final incident I will report happened just a few mornings ago. I needed to get to campus to mail a biology textbook I had just sold on e-bay. I had spent the night before scrounging around my room for money to pay the shipping on the book since my wallet was in my purse at home. I managed to find seven dollars strewn throughout my room, then my friend Jay who was visiting graciously gave me four more dollars to cover the potential shipping cost. The next morning as I was getting ready to leave my friend called and asked if I would like a ride to campus with her and her brother, which I gladly accepted. Just as they pulled up in front of my house I realized that I couldn't find the sticky-note with the address to ship the book to on it (the demon-ceiling fans in league with my house probably stole it). So as my friends patiently waited in the street I scrambled around my room trying to find it. Finally after about five minutes I ran out my back door (I chose not to go through the front door since I had no way to lock it) and across our gravel driveway to their car. When I was only eight feet from the car I caught my foot on a tree root and did a superman straight onto my face; arms splayed out in front of me, book underneath me, ego shattered and strewn about me. Surprisingly, the angels get the touchdown for this one, and here's why: despite the fact that I took a nasty spill, I escaped with nothing but a few bruises on my legs and a scrape on my wrist. Second, I prayed for humility, and God delivered in an extremely entertaining way. Third, because the soft-cover textbook I had just sold was not destroyed in the fall, which I am extremely grateful for. So as of now the score stands at guardian angels: 24, out-to-get-me-demon-house-with-ceiling-fan-minions on plum street:19.
I do realize that many of the things that have happened to me in this house are my own stupid mistakes. But hey, I'm 18. My oyster hasn't exactly had ample time to cultivate any sizable pearls of wisdom here. I stand by my belief that this house is capitalizing on my dumb decisions. Most people get away with their stupid decisions without the threat of death looming around every corner.
But be warned demon-house! I will prevail! Thou shalt not overcome me! Life on plum street shall go on! Ever singing march I onward! I will rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, and persevere in reckless decisions! For yea though I climb through the kitchen window of the shadow of death I will fear no ceiling fans, for thou art with me!
Deo Omnis Gloria
" What am I doing here at CSU? How is it that I came to be living in this house on Plum Street? What does God have planned for me this year? Will I survive O-Chem? Why was the word "colleges" made into a link in the blog description? it's completely arbitrary. . .-
it is called to my attention that my house is trying to kill me.
Don't get me wrong, life is beautiful, CSU is wonderful, My roommates are fantastic, Plum street is lovely, I've even developed an optimistic affection for our quaint little house that's out to get me (it's what I like to call an "awkward mom" affection - in and of itself the thing in question would seem strange, bothersome, awkward, etc. but you can't help but love it despite (or perhaps because of) it's little quirks. like an awkward mom.)
But the fact remains that from the moment I climb out of bed in the morning to the moment I climb back in at night (and sometimes even after I've climbed back in), every moment spent in or around this house becomes an epic battle for my very life. And the house is good! Like a guerrilla terrorist stalking his query through the jungle, its sly and ruthless and when you least expect it, it strikes with deadly force! For one thing the front porch on the house is about two and a half feet off the ground, so there's a daily battle I often loose in and of itself, but in addition to the little things like this that persistently plague me, there have been some major events that shed light on the house on Plum Street's wrathful tendencies
It all started before I had even moved in and was up with my roommate Lindsay and our friend Allie painting the main room. We had no ladder and the ceilings are abnormally tall in this house, so we were getting creative in order to paint the top part of the wall. I was standing on a stack of phone books which were stacked on an end table (an end table with wheels, actually. . .) holding a paint brush and paint tray and stretching to reach the top of the wall when suddenly the end table rocked backwards as if something had pushed it and I found myself spinning a 180 in the air and struggling to find footing while the phone books flew from beneath my feet like frisbees. Finally my foot made contact with something solid -a phone book, which slipped from beneath my foot as soon as it had landed. I slipped backwards like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel and landed sitting cross-legged on the upturned end table, facing away from the wall I had just been painting with paint brush and paint tray still in hand - not a drop spilled. It was, I must admit, pretty awesome. I thought I had escaped the whole ordeal without even a scratch- guardian angels: 3, demon-house on Plum Street: 0! (I've decided that this epic battle for my life will be scored using football rules) - until a couple minutes later when I noticed that my forearm was badly scratched and bleeding. How? I do not know. One can only assume the injury was accrued during the crazy James Bond fall. I guess the house gets a field goal for that one too.
Later that day I was trying to unplug our circa 1960's oven from the wall in order to paint the kitchen and was having difficulty freeing it from the outlet (judging by what we found under the oven it probably hadn't been unplugged or moved in twenty years). I was holding on to the plastic part of the plug and being careful not to get to close to the metal prongs and yanking with all of my strength. Suddenly, the outlet released the plug all at once and in the process my fingers somehow slipped and lightly touched the metal prongs and I was electrocuted. My 220 volt oven electrocuted me!! I am not exaggerating when I say that I almost died, 2 20 volts is more than enough to stop your heart. Touchdown on a hail-Mary pass for the guardian angels! plus a two point conversion makes the score 11, demon-house still stands at 3.
Not but 5 days after the oven ordeal I went back up to the house with a ladder to finish painting the bathroom and kitchen and to paint my room. The plan was this, I go up at night to paint and get the house ready, then my parents come up the next day with all my furniture to help me move in. Sounds like a great plan right? except when I got dropped off at the house at 10:30pm I found that both the electricity and water had been turned off, despite the fact that Lindsay had already called the power company and everything was supposed to be taken care of as far as electricity goes. The roommate who was paying the water bill was going to just let me call and switch the bill over to my name, but apparently she changed her mind and decided to cancel the service anyway. So there I was stuck in the house over night with no power, no water, and no car. Oh and things get better, all of our blinds were broken and I had no light to fix them with, so I had no way of covering the windows. I slept in a papazon chair crammed in the corner of our living room trying to stay out of sight until the sun came up. touch down house- the score stands at 11:9
Then, the next day when my parents came up with all my stuff, while my dad was changing out the light fixture in the kitchen, he found that not only was the wood that the light was fixed to rotting, but the wiring was shoddy and was probably close to burning down the house. Seriously, there were burn marks in the insulation. the house gets the extra point conversion for that one, but the guardian angels also score a touchdown due to the fact that since I had no power I was unable to turn on the kitchen light and potentially burn down the house. God works in mysterious, amusing ways. angels: 17, house: 10
Then I actually moved into the house, and the real fun began. This new chapter in the saga begins with my parents dropping me off at school on our way back from a family camping trip and me realizing that I did not remember my purse which contained all my money, my keys, and my identification, shortly after this realization I resigned to the fact that I would have to wait at least a week to get my purse back. Not having any keys I had to climb in and out of our house via the kitchen window, which is unsettlingly easy to break in through. the first time I had to do it my mom was there to hold the window open for me so it worked out great. The second time, however, I had to do it all by myself and as I was sliding across the window sill into the kitchen the window suddenly lost it's hold and slammed down directly onto my butt. which sucked. The house only gets a field goal for this one though, because if the window had to slam down with me in it, at least it slammed on the part with the most padding. angels: 17, house: 13
Shortly thereafter, I was trying to turn off the light in my room and managed to hit my head on not just one of the ceiling fan blades, but all five of them, at least once each. To explain how this happened I will briefly have to describe my room to you: I have a double size loft bed in my room with a desk underneath it to save space. This is extremely convenient, but since the bed is double sized it overlaps with the ceiling fan and light fixture, which is located directly in the center of the room, by about one foot in the top right corner of the bed. For most people this would never pose a problem since there is about four feet between the bed and the ceiling and therefore plenty of space to avoid the fan, but since my house is out to get me I wasn't so lucky. One night I was stretching from my bed to turn off the light by pulling the light cord but in the process of doing so I also accidentally pulled off the lower part cord. So in the dusky dark I leaned even further over to try to reattach said cord, unknowingly placing my head directly below rapidly spinning fan blades. In the position I was currently in, my arms were not long enough to reach the shortened light cord, so I sat up a bit taller to give myself the three extra inches necessary to reach it. In doing so I raised my head directly into the fan and was whacked somewhere between 5 and 8 times in the exact same place on my skull. I collapsed back onto my bed with a pounding headache and a large lump forming on my skull. This reinforces Amanda's theory that ceiling fans are shady, up-to-no-good characters that are in league with my demon-house to destroy me. The house gets a full-on touchdown for that one- I still have the bump on my head from almost a week later. but I'm not giving it the extra point, because that was a cheap shot: clearly I was sleepy and not in prime battling condition. Bad form demon house: twenty-yard penalty. The score stands- guardian angels: 17, house: 19
The final incident I will report happened just a few mornings ago. I needed to get to campus to mail a biology textbook I had just sold on e-bay. I had spent the night before scrounging around my room for money to pay the shipping on the book since my wallet was in my purse at home. I managed to find seven dollars strewn throughout my room, then my friend Jay who was visiting graciously gave me four more dollars to cover the potential shipping cost. The next morning as I was getting ready to leave my friend called and asked if I would like a ride to campus with her and her brother, which I gladly accepted. Just as they pulled up in front of my house I realized that I couldn't find the sticky-note with the address to ship the book to on it (the demon-ceiling fans in league with my house probably stole it). So as my friends patiently waited in the street I scrambled around my room trying to find it. Finally after about five minutes I ran out my back door (I chose not to go through the front door since I had no way to lock it) and across our gravel driveway to their car. When I was only eight feet from the car I caught my foot on a tree root and did a superman straight onto my face; arms splayed out in front of me, book underneath me, ego shattered and strewn about me. Surprisingly, the angels get the touchdown for this one, and here's why: despite the fact that I took a nasty spill, I escaped with nothing but a few bruises on my legs and a scrape on my wrist. Second, I prayed for humility, and God delivered in an extremely entertaining way. Third, because the soft-cover textbook I had just sold was not destroyed in the fall, which I am extremely grateful for. So as of now the score stands at guardian angels: 24, out-to-get-me-demon-house-with-ceiling-fan-minions on plum street:19.
I do realize that many of the things that have happened to me in this house are my own stupid mistakes. But hey, I'm 18. My oyster hasn't exactly had ample time to cultivate any sizable pearls of wisdom here. I stand by my belief that this house is capitalizing on my dumb decisions. Most people get away with their stupid decisions without the threat of death looming around every corner.
But be warned demon-house! I will prevail! Thou shalt not overcome me! Life on plum street shall go on! Ever singing march I onward! I will rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, and persevere in reckless decisions! For yea though I climb through the kitchen window of the shadow of death I will fear no ceiling fans, for thou art with me!
Deo Omnis Gloria
Friday, July 31, 2009
19 never, 29 twice
As my birthday swiftly approaches I can't help but be reminded of the fact that I'm extremely young for my age. Not only am I the youngest of the Cfriends, but I'm the youngest by nine months. (That's enough time to have a baby! any one of my cfriends could get pregnant on their birthday and their baby would have a birthday before I had mine; but I digress). While this may be a plus in a few very rare situations (though none come immediately to mind), it is, for the most part, kind of a drag. Let me tell you, there's nothing better than going off to college and meeting a cute guy. . . then quickly reaching the mutual understanding that he's a grad student and you're jail-bait. it's awesome. Oh, and curfews, they're fantastic.
In a recent conversation with my friend Kaitlyn, she brought to my attention that she was very excited to soon be turning 20 because 19 is an extremely awkward year. And she's right; 19 is the fifth wheel of the post-adolescent experience. For one thing, it's the first time in seven years that your birthday is not a big deal:
13-teenager: "I am so cool"
14-. . .slightly older teenager: "now I'm even cooler"
15-permit: "I thought I was cool before, but now I really am because I can drive with my mom in the car"
16-license: "gosh, my coolness is so cold it's almost uncomfortable. . .good thing there's a heater in my car!. . .which i can drive!. . .by myself!"
17- "I can go see R rated movies without sneaking in! I am so mature."
18- "I'm Legal! Let's go buy a lotto ticket then spray paint some dry ice"
19-. . .well crap
And furthermore, being 19 is like being in age limbo: you're not a teen since "teen" tends to encompass 13-18 year-olds, but your not not a teen -that's what happens when you turn 20. What does that make a 19 year-old? Tween part deux?!
My tween years were bad enough back in middle school, I refuse to be a tween again. It seems that, over all, my 19th year is completely superfluous; nothing but wasteful fluflu.
And that is where my ingenious plan comes in; I will simply not be 19. This year I'm skipping directly from 18 to 20, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars (unless there actually is 200 dollars to be collected, in which case I will do so). In addition to the afore-mentioned reasons as to why this is a good plan, here are some more pros:
A. I will finally be the same age as the majority of my friends. When my birthday arrives and I surpass you all in age I expect you to begin treating me with respect worthy of one of your elders.
B. I will not have to wait till my senior year to be 21. It's not so much that I want to be able to drink, although that is a definite plus, it's more so that my dad is a fantastic cook and I know all his secrets, the problem is that most of them involve cooking with some form of alcohol or another. That and I would finally be able to go swing dancing at the Sundance any time I want rather than just after 10 on Fridays. Likewise, I won't have to be the awkward friend who can't get into to any of my friends' 21st birthday parties.
C. 19 is a prime number so it has no divisors and is, therefore, not a team player; it would be best to avoid it altogether.
D. It gives me a freebie year later on. I skip 19 now an ten years down the road when I'm dreading turning 30 or 50 or whatever I can pull that bad boy out of my sleeve - "Just stop right there Mid-Life Crisis, I just so happen to have been saving year 19 for a rainy day. How do you like them apples?" - and thus stave off the dreaded year for another precious 365 days (366 if it's a leap year; double freebie!)
F. Years are just a human construct devised to deal with our limited understanding of time and pattern. Why conform to such a human and therefore imperfect archetype.
Now the only thing left to address is the legal issue of being a year older than what it says on my driver's license. I could defraud the government and lie about my birth year, which may or may not be considered a felony (but then felonies are only constructs of the government created to deal with our limited understanding of justice. . .). Regardless, lying to the government would probably be counter-productive.
After much consideration I have concluded that the best way to achieve my plan is to measure my life in Cesca-years in the same way as some people measure the lives of their pets in dog or cat-years. I imagine telling people my age will go much like this:
"How old am I you ask? Well legally I'm 19 but I prefer not to associate with prime numbers so in Cesca-years I'm 20 and in cat years I'm 3 and 4/5."
Shortly after hearing this, people will come to the conclusion that, despite my cesca-age, my mental age is actually 14. But hey, at least it's not a prime number.
Deo Omnis Gloria
In a recent conversation with my friend Kaitlyn, she brought to my attention that she was very excited to soon be turning 20 because 19 is an extremely awkward year. And she's right; 19 is the fifth wheel of the post-adolescent experience. For one thing, it's the first time in seven years that your birthday is not a big deal:
13-teenager: "I am so cool"
14-. . .slightly older teenager: "now I'm even cooler"
15-permit: "I thought I was cool before, but now I really am because I can drive with my mom in the car"
16-license: "gosh, my coolness is so cold it's almost uncomfortable. . .good thing there's a heater in my car!. . .which i can drive!. . .by myself!"
17- "I can go see R rated movies without sneaking in! I am so mature."
18- "I'm Legal! Let's go buy a lotto ticket then spray paint some dry ice"
19-. . .well crap
And furthermore, being 19 is like being in age limbo: you're not a teen since "teen" tends to encompass 13-18 year-olds, but your not not a teen -that's what happens when you turn 20. What does that make a 19 year-old? Tween part deux?!
My tween years were bad enough back in middle school, I refuse to be a tween again. It seems that, over all, my 19th year is completely superfluous; nothing but wasteful fluflu.
And that is where my ingenious plan comes in; I will simply not be 19. This year I'm skipping directly from 18 to 20, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars (unless there actually is 200 dollars to be collected, in which case I will do so). In addition to the afore-mentioned reasons as to why this is a good plan, here are some more pros:
A. I will finally be the same age as the majority of my friends. When my birthday arrives and I surpass you all in age I expect you to begin treating me with respect worthy of one of your elders.
B. I will not have to wait till my senior year to be 21. It's not so much that I want to be able to drink, although that is a definite plus, it's more so that my dad is a fantastic cook and I know all his secrets, the problem is that most of them involve cooking with some form of alcohol or another. That and I would finally be able to go swing dancing at the Sundance any time I want rather than just after 10 on Fridays. Likewise, I won't have to be the awkward friend who can't get into to any of my friends' 21st birthday parties.
C. 19 is a prime number so it has no divisors and is, therefore, not a team player; it would be best to avoid it altogether.
D. It gives me a freebie year later on. I skip 19 now an ten years down the road when I'm dreading turning 30 or 50 or whatever I can pull that bad boy out of my sleeve - "Just stop right there Mid-Life Crisis, I just so happen to have been saving year 19 for a rainy day. How do you like them apples?" - and thus stave off the dreaded year for another precious 365 days (366 if it's a leap year; double freebie!)
F. Years are just a human construct devised to deal with our limited understanding of time and pattern. Why conform to such a human and therefore imperfect archetype.
Now the only thing left to address is the legal issue of being a year older than what it says on my driver's license. I could defraud the government and lie about my birth year, which may or may not be considered a felony (but then felonies are only constructs of the government created to deal with our limited understanding of justice. . .). Regardless, lying to the government would probably be counter-productive.
After much consideration I have concluded that the best way to achieve my plan is to measure my life in Cesca-years in the same way as some people measure the lives of their pets in dog or cat-years. I imagine telling people my age will go much like this:
"How old am I you ask? Well legally I'm 19 but I prefer not to associate with prime numbers so in Cesca-years I'm 20 and in cat years I'm 3 and 4/5."
Shortly after hearing this, people will come to the conclusion that, despite my cesca-age, my mental age is actually 14. But hey, at least it's not a prime number.
Deo Omnis Gloria
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Life on Plum Street: the Prequel!
After a year of corresponding via facebook threads while we were away at college, we, the cfriends (long story), returned home to spend the summer together. At some point early on in the summer (I fancy to think it was probably at Starbucks) the conversation came up that in the coming year I would be moving into a house on a street called Plum. the conversation went much like this:
"I'm moving into a house on Plum Street next year!"~Me
"That sounds like a book: The House on Plum Street."~Kaitlyn
"Probably because there is a book called 'The House on Mango Street.'"
"Probably. But you should write the book anyway, it would be way more entertaining."
"Ha, sure, I'll go start writing the manuscript right now. And I'll dedicate it to you. But we'll have to call it something else to avoid copy write infringement, maybe Life on Plum Street. . ."
We all then proceeded to come up with numerous chapter titles derived from random everyday conversations with one another to include in this hypothetical book; some of which include:
'A surprising lack of Tai Chi dvd's at the library'
"Stop destroying the cherries of my Family!"
'There are so many words you could be using right now that you're not'
and 'Koala Bears: possibly the most pleasantly scented members of the animal kingdom'
(I mean all they eat is eucalyptus, they probably exude the scent of it from their very pores. Their poo probably smells like vick's vaporub! but I digress.)
Eventually we realized that the book Life on Plum Street had become more a collection of random thoughts and phrases we called "chapter titles" which would have made very poor reading material, our lofty dreams of writing a book thus evolved into slightly more realistic plans for the blog Life on Plum Street, which, as you can see, is now a reality.
And thus this blog did come to pass, and God saw that it was good, and there was much rejoicing.
Deo Omnis Gloria
"I'm moving into a house on Plum Street next year!"~Me
"That sounds like a book: The House on Plum Street."~Kaitlyn
"Probably because there is a book called 'The House on Mango Street.'"
"Probably. But you should write the book anyway, it would be way more entertaining."
"Ha, sure, I'll go start writing the manuscript right now. And I'll dedicate it to you. But we'll have to call it something else to avoid copy write infringement, maybe Life on Plum Street. . ."
We all then proceeded to come up with numerous chapter titles derived from random everyday conversations with one another to include in this hypothetical book; some of which include:
'A surprising lack of Tai Chi dvd's at the library'
"Stop destroying the cherries of my Family!"
'There are so many words you could be using right now that you're not'
and 'Koala Bears: possibly the most pleasantly scented members of the animal kingdom'
(I mean all they eat is eucalyptus, they probably exude the scent of it from their very pores. Their poo probably smells like vick's vaporub! but I digress.)
Eventually we realized that the book Life on Plum Street had become more a collection of random thoughts and phrases we called "chapter titles" which would have made very poor reading material, our lofty dreams of writing a book thus evolved into slightly more realistic plans for the blog Life on Plum Street, which, as you can see, is now a reality.
And thus this blog did come to pass, and God saw that it was good, and there was much rejoicing.
Deo Omnis Gloria
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
