We've been watching the old TV show Poirot. A brilliant, stout, impeccably polite detective (the Belgian Hercule Poirot) finds himself around complicated murders and proceeds to solve them through observation and conversation. He is the epitome of class, good manners, and gentle dry humor, and if he weren't an old guy, I'd have a crush on him. He's like a favorite uncle that I want everyone to meet.
The stories (based on Agatha Christie novels, which are even more excellent than the show) take place in the early twentieth century and mostly in Europe. As such, everyone is Just So. The men, even on their days off, wear three piece suits and carry themselves with perfect posture. They pay their debts, watch their language, and rise to their feet when ladies enter the room. The women exude poise, pride, and propriety to the point that it's palpable. Their dresses are flimsy and flowy and they wouldn't dream of leaving the house looking a wreck or failing to offer a guest tea.
I've also been using The Dick Van Dyke Show as my mindless, while-I-chop-veggies-for-salad show. (Gabe doesn't care for it, but I grew up watching reruns so it's basically comfort TV.) Though that takes place in the '50s, I think, it's got that same air of class. If people are invited to dinner, they put on a suit or a dress to attend. Men call for ladies at their houses for dates. Words are well-chosen and well-enunciated. Ladies sometimes wear gloves. Houses are neat. Everyone understands what's expected of them to do or say, or not do or not say. It's so...pretty. Life was pretty.
Now, I know I'm supposed to rage at the fact that in Poirot women are treated like dainty, delicate creatures who can't be exposed to nasty words, and in Dick Van Dyke, women are expected to do the housework and look nice for their husbands...but I don't. I just don't.
I wish I lived in one of those times. I just absolutely love the cultures. The more I watch stuff like this, the more I think we've gone too far in the opposite direction. In our quest for "realness," we've completely disregarded tact and presentation. In our quest for equality, we've demonized the idea of women being managers of the home. In our quest for expediency, we've neglected to foster healthy, precise vocabularies.
This paragraph here was originally me admitting that "of course, there are some things I'm glad I can do today that I wouldn't have been able to do in Poirot's day," but I couldn't even come up with anything besides "wear shorts," and I think dresses and skirts are more comfortable anyway. I guess I'd miss some modern medicines and plumbing. Yeah, that's definitely true. But to give up such amenities in return for Such Classiness sounds like a fair trade.
I wish people were still expected to behave well. Sure, it's easier not having to put your napkin in your lap or bring a hostess gift or stand when an older person walks in or say "Excuse me" when you leave a situation, but...just because it's easier doesn't mean it's better. I get it that honesty, transparency, and genuineness are desirable qualities, but can't we still maintain some discretion? Obviously I want to be able to share my thoughts with my sister or husband or best friend even if said thoughts aren't polite or rosy, but maybe that's where we should draw the line, rather than spewing outright, inarticulate shade to anyone with ears.
Of course, even "back in the day" shade was thrown and insults were spoken (have you ever read a Jane Austen novel?), but it was done more subtly, and almost more fairly too, because people were more aware of expectations. If you did X, Y, or Z, you knew it was considered impolite; you opened the door to just criticism.
Some might say that's worse, that all the manners just made it easier to be phony and passive aggressive and prevented people from becoming fully themselves. But...hm. Maybe I'm just a sucker for appearances? Or maybe I'm a little bit right. I think when done correctly, the old manners don't just help you appear to be a prettier, better, politer person, they might actually help mold you into a one.
~Stephanie
Showing posts with label thinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thinking. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Complaining?
Hey y'all :)
For a while there it looked like Peripeteia was on its way out. I started using my more "thoughtful, professional" blog, Reason in the Rhyme and stopped feeling particularly attached here.
But lately...that's been changing. I have a lot of less professional thoughts, as evidenced by the last post. Sometimes I just want to talk about my life, or connect with other bloggers, or try out different themes. Reason in the Rhyme doesn't fee like me. It feels like...the Me who wanted a job last year.
So, maybe I'm back, if anyone is still here :)
It feels like blogging is a dying art. Last week, I went to my profile, clicked one of my Interests, and began poking around trying to find bloggers like me. You know what I found? Eight times out of ten, nothing had been posted on the blog since like 2011. That's six years ago, guys. EIGHT TIMES OUT OF TEN.
Granted, I have a LOT of blogs (Carpe Diem, Carpe Noctem, Carpe Liber, to name a few) that are in the same boat, but I also have Peripeteia and Reason.
It seems like in the past few years, blogging has gone from something lots of people do to something that only "successful bloggers" do. Blogging isn't about sharing your thoughts with like-minded people anymore; it's a glamorous platform for people who love their labels. There are fashion blogs and fitness blogs and recipe blogs and frugal lifestyle blogs and...that's, like, it. And if anyone can't get 300+ followers in the first year or so, then she might as well just call it quits. Clearly she isn't meant to be a blogger
I feel it too. I feel like posting here is useless. Peripeteia doesn't have a "theme." It used to be about Winking and Hot Guys. Then it was life updates. Now it's...I don't know.
I want to be free. That was the whole point of this blog. I wanted to get away from the sunshine and butterflies persona of Kendra Logan and be ME. I am still sometimes sunshine and butterflies, but I'm also sarcasm and bitchiness, politics and PG-13 movies.
I hate that now I feel like I have to turn this into a blog with a specific theme.
And I hate that the reason I feel that way is because I want "Followers." Because the truth is, in no way do I have to give this blog a theme. No one is telling me that. It's just that I know no one wants to read a blog that DOESN'T have a theme, and I do--I'll readily admit it--I DO want people to read my blogs.
Maybe the theme of the blog will just be that it's always changing themes.
Maybe I just need to get over myself and not care whether or not anyone reads :)
Probably that.
~ Stephanie
For a while there it looked like Peripeteia was on its way out. I started using my more "thoughtful, professional" blog, Reason in the Rhyme and stopped feeling particularly attached here.
But lately...that's been changing. I have a lot of less professional thoughts, as evidenced by the last post. Sometimes I just want to talk about my life, or connect with other bloggers, or try out different themes. Reason in the Rhyme doesn't fee like me. It feels like...the Me who wanted a job last year.
So, maybe I'm back, if anyone is still here :)
It feels like blogging is a dying art. Last week, I went to my profile, clicked one of my Interests, and began poking around trying to find bloggers like me. You know what I found? Eight times out of ten, nothing had been posted on the blog since like 2011. That's six years ago, guys. EIGHT TIMES OUT OF TEN.
Granted, I have a LOT of blogs (Carpe Diem, Carpe Noctem, Carpe Liber, to name a few) that are in the same boat, but I also have Peripeteia and Reason.
It seems like in the past few years, blogging has gone from something lots of people do to something that only "successful bloggers" do. Blogging isn't about sharing your thoughts with like-minded people anymore; it's a glamorous platform for people who love their labels. There are fashion blogs and fitness blogs and recipe blogs and frugal lifestyle blogs and...that's, like, it. And if anyone can't get 300+ followers in the first year or so, then she might as well just call it quits. Clearly she isn't meant to be a blogger
I feel it too. I feel like posting here is useless. Peripeteia doesn't have a "theme." It used to be about Winking and Hot Guys. Then it was life updates. Now it's...I don't know.
I want to be free. That was the whole point of this blog. I wanted to get away from the sunshine and butterflies persona of Kendra Logan and be ME. I am still sometimes sunshine and butterflies, but I'm also sarcasm and bitchiness, politics and PG-13 movies.
I hate that now I feel like I have to turn this into a blog with a specific theme.
And I hate that the reason I feel that way is because I want "Followers." Because the truth is, in no way do I have to give this blog a theme. No one is telling me that. It's just that I know no one wants to read a blog that DOESN'T have a theme, and I do--I'll readily admit it--I DO want people to read my blogs.
Maybe the theme of the blog will just be that it's always changing themes.
Maybe I just need to get over myself and not care whether or not anyone reads :)
Probably that.
~ Stephanie
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Stupid Things People Are Upset About
First all, miss y'all.
Second.
Lately, I've been on Facebook and Snapchat entirely too much. It's like a car wreck that I can't look away from. Every time I think I've seen the dumbest thing people can be offended by, something dumber comes along. Every time I think an article is going to be satirical, I read it and find out that, yes, people are ACTUALLY whining that Siri has a female voice and therefore reinforces the patriarchy (women = subservient). Yeah. I'm dead serious. (Sorry to anyone who's had someone pass away; I know that phrase is fatally--oops, did it again--offensive.)
Clearly every single person on social media has such a privileged life (yes, even non-whites) that they must invent crap to be bothered by. If you had real problems, trust me, you would not be throwing tantrums about iRobots.
It's miserable. And misery loves company. So here. Share in my misery of these incredibly stupid things that people are saying/believing/protesting.
1. The Siri Thing - Let's just start with that. The article opens with how sexist it is that a helpful electronic presence is given a female voice. Siri is our helper, our inferior, and so naturally, in a patriarchal society, she's a she. Then it talks about how if you say rude sexual or gender-based things to different bots, they mostly don't tell you off. They also respond favorably to being complimented.
You're telling me that the problem here is with bot creators making bots that are shallow and deflective, and NOT with the idiots who sat around all day calling Siri a slut?
2. Women's Sex Double Standards - I wish I could link to this, but it was a Snapchat article. The article was something like "Ten Reasons Not to Go on a Second Date with Someone." Number 6? "He pressures you for sex." Great. Sounds like a good reason not to go on another date with him. Number 9? "He makes you feel bad for wanting sex on the first date." The bullet point goes on to say that someone who shames you for "wanting to get yours" is a prude monster. So, lemme get this straight. A woman can pressure a man for sex, but a man can't pressure a woman for sex. #equality
3. Cornrows - I watched a video (my first mistake) on how wrong it is for anyone other than African Americans to wear cornrows. If you don't have hair that makes cornrows sensible, then you're just committing cultural appropriation. If you're white, you shouldn't get cornrows because you can't appreciate black culture. (So basically, your skin color dictates what style you're allowed to have. Imagine if white people tried to curtail what style black people choose because they're black.) By this logic, only Hawaiians can wear flower in their hair, only Polynesians can have tattoos, and only real cowboys can wear cowboy hats.
How about, instead of getting pissy over everything, we let people wear what they want to wear and do what they want to do regardless of their race? Isn't that kind of the point? That people not be judged or restricted by their race?
4. Racist Grammar - The University of Washington decided that proper grammar is racist, that "English" has no set standard. First of all, what? Are they seriously saying that someone's race makes them incapable of speaking or writing proper English? NOW who's racist?! Second of all, English does have a standard. That's the whole point of the dictionary, so...
5. Offensive Goose Song - I'm not sure how to link to a podcast, so you're just gonna have to hear this one from me. The Woody and Wilcox radio show brought up the story of a woman who heard church bells playing a song, researched to discover the song's lyrics (how would one even do that?), and found that the song's lyrics concerned a man and his dogs hunting geese. She then protested the church for playing a song that was offensive to geese. PETA got involved.
How do we explain to them that the geese don't care? That that woman was not actually protesting from a desire to protect geese, but from a desire to make herself feel good? When people protect animals' feelings, they aren't concerned with the animals at all; they're in it for their own ego. They want to feel like they're doing good. They want people to pat them on the back.
6. The Entire Concept of Microaggression - The word literally says that you are so petty and sensitive that you're offended by something microscopic. Get over yourself. Stop over-analyzing every single thing until you can find something that someone somewhere might think is offensive. Half the time, the potentially offended party (like the goose, for instance) doesn't even give a crap.
If you have any other stupid things that people are upset about, please don't share them. I'm in a state of perpetual annoyance as is ;)
~Stephanie
Second.
Lately, I've been on Facebook and Snapchat entirely too much. It's like a car wreck that I can't look away from. Every time I think I've seen the dumbest thing people can be offended by, something dumber comes along. Every time I think an article is going to be satirical, I read it and find out that, yes, people are ACTUALLY whining that Siri has a female voice and therefore reinforces the patriarchy (women = subservient). Yeah. I'm dead serious. (Sorry to anyone who's had someone pass away; I know that phrase is fatally--oops, did it again--offensive.)
Clearly every single person on social media has such a privileged life (yes, even non-whites) that they must invent crap to be bothered by. If you had real problems, trust me, you would not be throwing tantrums about iRobots.
It's miserable. And misery loves company. So here. Share in my misery of these incredibly stupid things that people are saying/believing/protesting.
1. The Siri Thing - Let's just start with that. The article opens with how sexist it is that a helpful electronic presence is given a female voice. Siri is our helper, our inferior, and so naturally, in a patriarchal society, she's a she. Then it talks about how if you say rude sexual or gender-based things to different bots, they mostly don't tell you off. They also respond favorably to being complimented.
You're telling me that the problem here is with bot creators making bots that are shallow and deflective, and NOT with the idiots who sat around all day calling Siri a slut?
2. Women's Sex Double Standards - I wish I could link to this, but it was a Snapchat article. The article was something like "Ten Reasons Not to Go on a Second Date with Someone." Number 6? "He pressures you for sex." Great. Sounds like a good reason not to go on another date with him. Number 9? "He makes you feel bad for wanting sex on the first date." The bullet point goes on to say that someone who shames you for "wanting to get yours" is a prude monster. So, lemme get this straight. A woman can pressure a man for sex, but a man can't pressure a woman for sex. #equality
3. Cornrows - I watched a video (my first mistake) on how wrong it is for anyone other than African Americans to wear cornrows. If you don't have hair that makes cornrows sensible, then you're just committing cultural appropriation. If you're white, you shouldn't get cornrows because you can't appreciate black culture. (So basically, your skin color dictates what style you're allowed to have. Imagine if white people tried to curtail what style black people choose because they're black.) By this logic, only Hawaiians can wear flower in their hair, only Polynesians can have tattoos, and only real cowboys can wear cowboy hats.
How about, instead of getting pissy over everything, we let people wear what they want to wear and do what they want to do regardless of their race? Isn't that kind of the point? That people not be judged or restricted by their race?
4. Racist Grammar - The University of Washington decided that proper grammar is racist, that "English" has no set standard. First of all, what? Are they seriously saying that someone's race makes them incapable of speaking or writing proper English? NOW who's racist?! Second of all, English does have a standard. That's the whole point of the dictionary, so...
5. Offensive Goose Song - I'm not sure how to link to a podcast, so you're just gonna have to hear this one from me. The Woody and Wilcox radio show brought up the story of a woman who heard church bells playing a song, researched to discover the song's lyrics (how would one even do that?), and found that the song's lyrics concerned a man and his dogs hunting geese. She then protested the church for playing a song that was offensive to geese. PETA got involved.
How do we explain to them that the geese don't care? That that woman was not actually protesting from a desire to protect geese, but from a desire to make herself feel good? When people protect animals' feelings, they aren't concerned with the animals at all; they're in it for their own ego. They want to feel like they're doing good. They want people to pat them on the back.
6. The Entire Concept of Microaggression - The word literally says that you are so petty and sensitive that you're offended by something microscopic. Get over yourself. Stop over-analyzing every single thing until you can find something that someone somewhere might think is offensive. Half the time, the potentially offended party (like the goose, for instance) doesn't even give a crap.
If you have any other stupid things that people are upset about, please don't share them. I'm in a state of perpetual annoyance as is ;)
~Stephanie
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Processing "Rape Culture"
I'm not sure how to write about this. I don't even know what I want to say yet (which is--as always--why I'm writing in the first place).
You've probably already heard more than you care to about the girl who was raped behind a dumpster and how her rapist got sentenced to only six months in prison. Part of me agrees that you can never say too much about how awful that was. But part of me is also emotionally exhausted by all the hate and horror floating around on the internet.
If it's not police violence, it's a gorilla getting shot. If it's not a gorilla getting shot, it's how males are absolute pigs and responsible for "rape culture."
Are males responsible for rape culture? Well, they are statistically more often the rapists and than the victims. Males do have more of a reputation for objectifying and sexualizing women, and reputations don't just form for no reason. So, I guess yeah, males are primarily responsible for rape culture.
But not ALL males. Gem is not responsible for rape culture. My dad is not responsible for rape culture. And I resent all the broad, sweeping statements about how "No, you know what, because you have a penis you ARE part of the problem and the fact that you don't think you are means you're even worse and there's nothing you can say or do to make me change my mind."
I'm sorry, but isn't that just another form of sexism? Don't women get enraged when sweeping statements are made about them? People are individuals. "Men" is not a homogeneous group of macho rapists any more than "Women" is a homogeneous group of emotional bitches.
Brock Turner did something wrong. But TWO other males did something right by stopping him and calling the police.
Yeah, males are primarily responsible for rape culture. But not ALL males.
I also happen to think that it is really stupid for a young woman to get so drunk she can't remember her night, so drunk she thinks it's wise to wander behind a dumpster with a strange boy. I do NOT mean that it was "her fault" that she was violated. But you are more likely to get knifed in a dark alley alone than in a well-lit Starbucks. You are also more likely to be molested if you are totally plastered and unable to enforce your wishes. (A 2012 study posted by Campus Safety Magazine reports that "90% of acquaintance rapes involve alcohol.")
But then again. I just read an article (why do I even do that to myself? It's like reading the comments on YouTube) by a 20-something Christian guy who made a point I had somehow overlooked: "As men, it’s our job to protect women regardless of what they wear or how much they drink."
Oh.
How could I have forgotten the way I was raised? How could I have forgotten the Southern values I hold to so proudly? How could I have forgotten the Biblical responsibility of men?
I've been so caught up in how dumb and irresponsible it is to wear short skirts and get plastered in an alleyway that I forgot that THAT SHOULDN'T MATTER. In a common sense and empirical kind of way, it totally does matter, but on a moral, Christian, Southern level, it shouldn't matter at all.
Men are supposed to protect women, not because women are weak or cowardly, but because it's polite (and clearly women are the ones who need protection in this particular case, since most rapists are men and most victims are women).
But no matter how confident in and proud of Gem and my dad I am, I will never wear a short skirt and get plastered in an alleyway.
~Stephanie
You've probably already heard more than you care to about the girl who was raped behind a dumpster and how her rapist got sentenced to only six months in prison. Part of me agrees that you can never say too much about how awful that was. But part of me is also emotionally exhausted by all the hate and horror floating around on the internet.
If it's not police violence, it's a gorilla getting shot. If it's not a gorilla getting shot, it's how males are absolute pigs and responsible for "rape culture."
Are males responsible for rape culture? Well, they are statistically more often the rapists and than the victims. Males do have more of a reputation for objectifying and sexualizing women, and reputations don't just form for no reason. So, I guess yeah, males are primarily responsible for rape culture.
But not ALL males. Gem is not responsible for rape culture. My dad is not responsible for rape culture. And I resent all the broad, sweeping statements about how "No, you know what, because you have a penis you ARE part of the problem and the fact that you don't think you are means you're even worse and there's nothing you can say or do to make me change my mind."
I'm sorry, but isn't that just another form of sexism? Don't women get enraged when sweeping statements are made about them? People are individuals. "Men" is not a homogeneous group of macho rapists any more than "Women" is a homogeneous group of emotional bitches.
Brock Turner did something wrong. But TWO other males did something right by stopping him and calling the police.
Yeah, males are primarily responsible for rape culture. But not ALL males.
I also happen to think that it is really stupid for a young woman to get so drunk she can't remember her night, so drunk she thinks it's wise to wander behind a dumpster with a strange boy. I do NOT mean that it was "her fault" that she was violated. But you are more likely to get knifed in a dark alley alone than in a well-lit Starbucks. You are also more likely to be molested if you are totally plastered and unable to enforce your wishes. (A 2012 study posted by Campus Safety Magazine reports that "90% of acquaintance rapes involve alcohol.")
But then again. I just read an article (why do I even do that to myself? It's like reading the comments on YouTube) by a 20-something Christian guy who made a point I had somehow overlooked: "As men, it’s our job to protect women regardless of what they wear or how much they drink."
Oh.
How could I have forgotten the way I was raised? How could I have forgotten the Southern values I hold to so proudly? How could I have forgotten the Biblical responsibility of men?
I've been so caught up in how dumb and irresponsible it is to wear short skirts and get plastered in an alleyway that I forgot that THAT SHOULDN'T MATTER. In a common sense and empirical kind of way, it totally does matter, but on a moral, Christian, Southern level, it shouldn't matter at all.
Men are supposed to protect women, not because women are weak or cowardly, but because it's polite (and clearly women are the ones who need protection in this particular case, since most rapists are men and most victims are women).
But no matter how confident in and proud of Gem and my dad I am, I will never wear a short skirt and get plastered in an alleyway.
~Stephanie
Sunday, November 1, 2015
A Small Breakdown
I had a small breakdown today.
My roommate and I went to see the play "Anne of Green Gables" this afternoon. I LOVED those movies as a kid. We have the entire movie series on VHS and I think I can probably still quote whole sections even though I haven't seen them in years.
Actually, before the play, I hadn't even THOUGHT about the story lately: the story of a little orphan girl with an unparalleled imagination, a big mouth, and dreams of authorship. I forgot how much Anne felt like childhood, felt like a legitimate part of MY identity, felt like home. Anne found a home in Green Gables, and I found my home today in her.
Suddenly I remembered how inspired I would get when I watched movies set in "olden days." I would start getting up at 7am and making my bed and eating an "old-fashioned" breakfasts and doing my chores right away and trying to wear dresses. I would make vows like ones Anne would make, about being a more conscientious person. I would try to be Polite and Well-Mannered and Hospitable.
Then my stomach started to sink with the startling realization that I am sort of grown up. There will not ever be another time when I can wake up and reinvent myself while my mom actually keeps my real life spinning. I actually DO have to get up at 7am and do my chores, because no one else is going to do them for me. I can't just lose myself in whatever pretend game I want anymore. I have to live my own, actual, real life.
And then--at the time it somehow seemed directly related to the above--I got really homesick. Lately I've been plagued by a gnawing feeling of homelessness. The couch and chair in my apartment living room are SINFULLY uncomfortable (the arms are bony, the leather seats stick to your skin, and the cushions come out the moment your ass touches them). My room is always messy because 1) it's small and 2) I never have the time or energy to keep it neat. Our kitchen sink is too shallow to wash dishes in and we don't have enough counter space to cook real food comfortably. My apartment does not feel like home.
But Gem's dorm is even worse. He's in your typical freshman dorm: roommate, cinder block walls, loud AC unit, muggy as hell (the dehumidifier they just bought collects TWO GALLONS of water a day), and his bed is all the way lofted. You cannot sit up in bed at all. You're like 18 inches from the ceiling. It is like living in a prison cell. A humid, humid prison cell.
So, naturally, Home--my parents' house--is where my mind wistfully wandered.
Except that "Home" doesn't feel right anymore either. It has actually just started to feel like "my parents' house." Sure, it's familiar and the couch is comfy and the sink is deep and the counter space is fantastic and Mom's cooking is delicious and my room is clean (mostly because I don't live there anymore) and I can sit up in my bed, but...I don't know. It doesn't feel like a place where my soul is relaxed and snuggled up in a blanket anymore. It feels a little bit empty.
Although I'd give anything to be there now, of course. I really miss my family. I miss Mom's cooking and our inside jokes and her just "GETTING" me. I miss hearing Daddy's newest philosophical and political insights and going to the antique store with him and letting him show me his latest woodworking project. I haven't seen my sister in...a really long time. I don't even know when I saw her last. She pretty much just stays at college. She doesn't even respond to my texts, much less text me on her own.
But anyway. "Anne of Green Gables" made my heart and my throat ache with homesickness. And then my brain engaged and snorted at me: Homesick? For where? Where is your home? And I didn't even know what to say.
My parents' house isn't Home anymore, and yet, I can't imagine feeling at home without my parents. This whole semester I've been excited to graduate and make my own "home": an apartment with all my books and my clothes and kitchen utensils where I cook food and watch TV and sleep and live real life. I've been so ready and so excited to make my own home.
But now I'm afraid that nowhere will ever feel like home, that I am incapable of creating "Home" by myself. I don't know how to do that. I'm afraid I'll always be a little homesick.
And I just started crying, right there in the play, right there in the dark theater house.
I'm not crying anymore, but I do feel lost and confused. What does Home really mean, anyway? Where Gem is? Where my books are? Where the damn couch cushions don't scoot out?
If I ever figure it out, I'm sure I'll let you know.
~Stephanie
My roommate and I went to see the play "Anne of Green Gables" this afternoon. I LOVED those movies as a kid. We have the entire movie series on VHS and I think I can probably still quote whole sections even though I haven't seen them in years.
Actually, before the play, I hadn't even THOUGHT about the story lately: the story of a little orphan girl with an unparalleled imagination, a big mouth, and dreams of authorship. I forgot how much Anne felt like childhood, felt like a legitimate part of MY identity, felt like home. Anne found a home in Green Gables, and I found my home today in her.
Suddenly I remembered how inspired I would get when I watched movies set in "olden days." I would start getting up at 7am and making my bed and eating an "old-fashioned" breakfasts and doing my chores right away and trying to wear dresses. I would make vows like ones Anne would make, about being a more conscientious person. I would try to be Polite and Well-Mannered and Hospitable.
Then my stomach started to sink with the startling realization that I am sort of grown up. There will not ever be another time when I can wake up and reinvent myself while my mom actually keeps my real life spinning. I actually DO have to get up at 7am and do my chores, because no one else is going to do them for me. I can't just lose myself in whatever pretend game I want anymore. I have to live my own, actual, real life.
And then--at the time it somehow seemed directly related to the above--I got really homesick. Lately I've been plagued by a gnawing feeling of homelessness. The couch and chair in my apartment living room are SINFULLY uncomfortable (the arms are bony, the leather seats stick to your skin, and the cushions come out the moment your ass touches them). My room is always messy because 1) it's small and 2) I never have the time or energy to keep it neat. Our kitchen sink is too shallow to wash dishes in and we don't have enough counter space to cook real food comfortably. My apartment does not feel like home.
But Gem's dorm is even worse. He's in your typical freshman dorm: roommate, cinder block walls, loud AC unit, muggy as hell (the dehumidifier they just bought collects TWO GALLONS of water a day), and his bed is all the way lofted. You cannot sit up in bed at all. You're like 18 inches from the ceiling. It is like living in a prison cell. A humid, humid prison cell.
So, naturally, Home--my parents' house--is where my mind wistfully wandered.
Except that "Home" doesn't feel right anymore either. It has actually just started to feel like "my parents' house." Sure, it's familiar and the couch is comfy and the sink is deep and the counter space is fantastic and Mom's cooking is delicious and my room is clean (mostly because I don't live there anymore) and I can sit up in my bed, but...I don't know. It doesn't feel like a place where my soul is relaxed and snuggled up in a blanket anymore. It feels a little bit empty.
Although I'd give anything to be there now, of course. I really miss my family. I miss Mom's cooking and our inside jokes and her just "GETTING" me. I miss hearing Daddy's newest philosophical and political insights and going to the antique store with him and letting him show me his latest woodworking project. I haven't seen my sister in...a really long time. I don't even know when I saw her last. She pretty much just stays at college. She doesn't even respond to my texts, much less text me on her own.
But anyway. "Anne of Green Gables" made my heart and my throat ache with homesickness. And then my brain engaged and snorted at me: Homesick? For where? Where is your home? And I didn't even know what to say.
My parents' house isn't Home anymore, and yet, I can't imagine feeling at home without my parents. This whole semester I've been excited to graduate and make my own "home": an apartment with all my books and my clothes and kitchen utensils where I cook food and watch TV and sleep and live real life. I've been so ready and so excited to make my own home.
But now I'm afraid that nowhere will ever feel like home, that I am incapable of creating "Home" by myself. I don't know how to do that. I'm afraid I'll always be a little homesick.
And I just started crying, right there in the play, right there in the dark theater house.
I'm not crying anymore, but I do feel lost and confused. What does Home really mean, anyway? Where Gem is? Where my books are? Where the damn couch cushions don't scoot out?
If I ever figure it out, I'm sure I'll let you know.
~Stephanie
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Debunked: Omg The Lion King is Hamlet
Tomorrow night I am going to see a live-streamed version of the play Hamlet, starring Benedict Cumberbatch. Be jealous.
In honor of getting to see my favorite play of all time, I would like to address a popular myth that absolutely fries me. It is the myth of
I would like to unmask this ridiculous falsehood by replying
And, of course, providing evidence to that effect. So here we go.
WARNING: SPOILERS. I assume you know the story of The Lion King and don't mind some ruined "surprises" in Hamlet, but I believe there is a special circle of Hell reserved for people who spoil stories, and I am all about not going to Hell. So proceed at your own risk.
1. Both stories revolve around royalty. Congratulations, you have identified two works that feature royal families. This is only like one of THE MOST common elements in literature, and basically the MAIN element in classic Disney.
2. In both stories, the uncles kill the fathers in order to take the crown for themselves. This is a much better parallel, but, again, it's a common theme in stories. The little brother who wants his big brother's crown is pretty much a classic plot line.
3. In both stories, the ghosts of the dead kings appear. This would be a pretty convincing similarity if their roles weren't vastly, vastly, fundamentally different. See Differences...
1. In Hamlet, the Queen Gertrude is involved in plotting King Hamlet's murder; in The Lion King, Queen Sarabi is clueless and loyal to King Mufasa.
2. In Hamlet, the uncle and the queen get married--rather quickly. In The Lion King, Scar and Sarabi never seem to have a positive relationship.
3. In The Lion King, the uncle frames the son, Simba--and Simba DOES play a role in King Mufasa's death. Yeah, it was Scar who orchestrated the whole thing, but in Hamlet, the King's death is presumed to have been from natural causes. Hamlet isn't even implicated.
4. In Hamlet, Ophelia and Hamlet are discouraged from marrying. In The Lion King, Simba and Nala are betrothed.
5. In The Lion King, Simba genuinely feels guilty for his father's death and flees. In Hamlet, the son sticks around and actually develops an investigation plan. Yeah, Hamlet goes to England for like four seconds, but that is not his idea, and he comes back ASAP.
6. In Hamlet, the love interest, Ophelia, goes crazy and dies. In The Lion King, Nala is a feisty and persistent character who makes Simba man (lion?) up.
7. The secondary characters are all completely different. Pumba and Timone are on Simba's side; Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's job is basically to spy and tattle on Hamlet. Nala doesn't have a brother (Ophelia has Laertes). Nala's father isn't in the picture at all (Ophelia's father is adviser to the king). Simba doesn't have a strong confidante who actually survives the play (Horatio).
8. In Hamlet, there is no Rafiki character.
9. In The Lion King, the ghost of Mufasa appears to Simba to give him strength and hope. In Hamlet, the ghost of King Hamlet appears to Hamlet to demand vengeance. Mufasa encourages peace; King Hamlet brings unease and frustration.
10. In Hamlet, everybody dies at the end (I mean, it is a Shakespearean tragedy). In The Lion King, it is pretty much happily ever after for everyone except evil Uncle Scar (and the hyenas).
And there you have it.
So next time you hear people say "Omg The Lion King is Hamlet," please slap them for me. And then make them read this post.
Sincerely,
Such a Nerd
In honor of getting to see my favorite play of all time, I would like to address a popular myth that absolutely fries me. It is the myth of
"Omg The Lion King is totes a retelling of Hamlet"
I would like to unmask this ridiculous falsehood by replying
"Bitch no it is not"
And, of course, providing evidence to that effect. So here we go.
WARNING: SPOILERS. I assume you know the story of The Lion King and don't mind some ruined "surprises" in Hamlet, but I believe there is a special circle of Hell reserved for people who spoil stories, and I am all about not going to Hell. So proceed at your own risk.
Similarities Between Disney's The Lion King and William Shakespeare's Hamlet
1. Both stories revolve around royalty. Congratulations, you have identified two works that feature royal families. This is only like one of THE MOST common elements in literature, and basically the MAIN element in classic Disney.
2. In both stories, the uncles kill the fathers in order to take the crown for themselves. This is a much better parallel, but, again, it's a common theme in stories. The little brother who wants his big brother's crown is pretty much a classic plot line.
3. In both stories, the ghosts of the dead kings appear. This would be a pretty convincing similarity if their roles weren't vastly, vastly, fundamentally different. See Differences...
Differences Between The Lion King and William Shakespeare's Hamlet
1. In Hamlet, the Queen Gertrude is involved in plotting King Hamlet's murder; in The Lion King, Queen Sarabi is clueless and loyal to King Mufasa.
2. In Hamlet, the uncle and the queen get married--rather quickly. In The Lion King, Scar and Sarabi never seem to have a positive relationship.
3. In The Lion King, the uncle frames the son, Simba--and Simba DOES play a role in King Mufasa's death. Yeah, it was Scar who orchestrated the whole thing, but in Hamlet, the King's death is presumed to have been from natural causes. Hamlet isn't even implicated.
4. In Hamlet, Ophelia and Hamlet are discouraged from marrying. In The Lion King, Simba and Nala are betrothed.
5. In The Lion King, Simba genuinely feels guilty for his father's death and flees. In Hamlet, the son sticks around and actually develops an investigation plan. Yeah, Hamlet goes to England for like four seconds, but that is not his idea, and he comes back ASAP.
6. In Hamlet, the love interest, Ophelia, goes crazy and dies. In The Lion King, Nala is a feisty and persistent character who makes Simba man (lion?) up.
7. The secondary characters are all completely different. Pumba and Timone are on Simba's side; Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's job is basically to spy and tattle on Hamlet. Nala doesn't have a brother (Ophelia has Laertes). Nala's father isn't in the picture at all (Ophelia's father is adviser to the king). Simba doesn't have a strong confidante who actually survives the play (Horatio).
8. In Hamlet, there is no Rafiki character.
9. In The Lion King, the ghost of Mufasa appears to Simba to give him strength and hope. In Hamlet, the ghost of King Hamlet appears to Hamlet to demand vengeance. Mufasa encourages peace; King Hamlet brings unease and frustration.
10. In Hamlet, everybody dies at the end (I mean, it is a Shakespearean tragedy). In The Lion King, it is pretty much happily ever after for everyone except evil Uncle Scar (and the hyenas).
And there you have it.
So next time you hear people say "Omg The Lion King is Hamlet," please slap them for me. And then make them read this post.
Sincerely,
Such a Nerd
Thursday, September 10, 2015
From What I Broke Free
Eminem and Rihanna came out with "The Monster" on October 29, 2013, about two weeks before I completely lost my integrity for a time.
I'd always liked Eminem (anyone who loves words should like Eminem. He is brilliant.), and I'd recently come to admit that I liked Rihanna (as a masochist who struggles with a porn addiction, she'd always hit a little too close to home), but "The Monster" took an unprecedented hold on me.
You know how I used to write in Purple and Green? That's because I used to THINK in Purple and Green, except that it felt like they were thinking for me.
I felt like my mind was made up of three distinct characters: "Stephanie," "Purple," and "Green." We were each our own person with our own voice. A lot of the time, I--"Stephanie"--wouldn't get very many lines inside my own head. I would sit there and watch/listen to Purple and Green argue and discuss and joke until I felt like I was going legitimately crazy.
They wouldn't let me get a word in, and eventually I figured it didn't matter. Listening to them helped me process my thoughts anyway. I stopped trying to shut them up and started trying to use their interactions to reason my way through life.
Because life was bad.
It didn't always feel bad; in fact, most of the time it felt awesome. It felt like staying up late (to text PC, who I was supposedly broken up with) and saying what I wanted (which included a lot of profanity) and eating what I wanted (whether too little to be healthy or too much to be healthy) and going where I wanted (including to friends' apartments in the middle of the night so I could sleep on the same bed [i.e. dirty mattress on the floor] as PC).
I knew my life wasn't right, but a lot of the time it felt really great. I felt like I was really, truly, finally starting to Grow Up. I guess I thought growing up meant doing whatever you wanted and feeling really jaded about life.
But deep down, I felt so, so empty. I felt lost. I could close my eyes and see my heart inside of my chest: dark, swirling, smokey fog. Empty. Insubstantial. Uncertain.
I lied to my family a lot. I told creative truths and lies of omission to Cassidy. I lost a lot of respect from my little sister. PC helped me do it all. I felt like he was really helping me though. I felt like he was helping me to Grow Up: to be my own person and make my own decisions and fight my own inner demons.
He especially seemed to help with the inner demons.
First, he helped me to identify them, which included realizing how "arbitrary" my conditions for dating him were. (I really was being irrational and unkind. I couldn't reasonably expect him to get his life on track before I dated him again. Dating is all about understanding and tackling life together, right? I shouldn't demand that he get a job or become a real Christian first. That could come later.)
Second, he helped me figure out how I could combat the demons. For example, since I felt so guilty about constantly going farther in our physical relationship, we should set boundaries and stick to them. (He was also really patient when I didn't say No loud enough or push his hands away enough times. He constantly offered to draw the boundary lines again, and even offered to stop in the middle and go get protection when it looked like I really wasn't going to be strong enough to resist.)
Third, he offered educated diagnoses for my mental episodes (episodes such as changing my mind a lot, hearing Purple and Green, feeling really depressed, etc.). He gently cautioned me that I might be schizophrenic or have serious repressed sexual issues from childhood. Using extensive internet research and carefully constructed logic, he suggested that I might be a sociopath, and that he could see signs of psychopathy in himself (what a perfect match!).
Eventually I stopped resisting him. He was probably right about everything, and even if he wasn't, I had already gone too far down this particular Growing Up path. PC was not only the best I was ever going to get, he was also what I deserved.
I started hearing "The Monster" on the radio around the time I stopped resisting. I mostly skipped it; I never seemed to be in the mood to learn a new song, and sometimes I still liked to pretend I hated Rihanna. However, it was catchy, and it reminded me of myself in a way that made me smile wryly.
"I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed, get along with the voices inside of my head..."
That line always made me think of Purple and Green.
"You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath."
My heart would pinch as I thought about PC. He loved me so much. He was trying so hard to help me become my true self. He was trying to save me, but I knew I was beyond help. I was hopeless.
"And you think I'm crazy? Yeah, you think I'm crazy. Well, that's not fair."
That line gave me pause. The rest of the chorus resonated so perfectly with me. But the speaker wasn't crazy? I was crazy. Wasn't I? Didn't I make up unfair, arbitrary conditions for dating PC; and change my mind all the time about how far I wanted to go physically; and hear voices; and have trust issues? I was crazy.
But what if that wasn't fair? What if...what if I could get along with my inner demons and voices in my head by myself? What if I could actually handle them just fine? What if PC's trying to "save" me wasn't really salvation at all? What if his saying that I was "crazy" wasn't true? What if it was a selfish ploy to get what he wanted? What if he was just posing as my savior and convincing me that I was crazy?
Well. That wouldn't be fair.
What if I wasn't crazy? What if I just wanted something different? What if I just wasn't who he wanted me to be? What if I just wanted a different definition of Growing Up? What if he was just labeling me as crazy so that I would trust him over myself?
That's. Not. Fair.
"The Monster" didn't change my life; it didn't inspire me to break with PC once and for all; but it was sort of an unintentional mantra for the next several months. I would listen to it every time it came on the radio, and I would sing along. The last line of the chorus always came out with more conviction than I anticipated:
"WELL, THAT'S NOT FAIR."
How dare he convince me I was crazy just to get what he wanted? That's. Not. Fair.
And now, every time I hear that song, I am reminded that I am my own person. I am reminded that I have to be careful whom I trust. I am NOT crazy just because someone says I am
It's funny: ever since I really, truly, finally broke it off with PC, Purple and Green have kind of left me alone.
~Stephanie
You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath.
And you think I'm crazy? Well, that's not fair.
I'd always liked Eminem (anyone who loves words should like Eminem. He is brilliant.), and I'd recently come to admit that I liked Rihanna (as a masochist who struggles with a porn addiction, she'd always hit a little too close to home), but "The Monster" took an unprecedented hold on me.
You know how I used to write in Purple and Green? That's because I used to THINK in Purple and Green, except that it felt like they were thinking for me.
I felt like my mind was made up of three distinct characters: "Stephanie," "Purple," and "Green." We were each our own person with our own voice. A lot of the time, I--"Stephanie"--wouldn't get very many lines inside my own head. I would sit there and watch/listen to Purple and Green argue and discuss and joke until I felt like I was going legitimately crazy.
They wouldn't let me get a word in, and eventually I figured it didn't matter. Listening to them helped me process my thoughts anyway. I stopped trying to shut them up and started trying to use their interactions to reason my way through life.
Because life was bad.
It didn't always feel bad; in fact, most of the time it felt awesome. It felt like staying up late (to text PC, who I was supposedly broken up with) and saying what I wanted (which included a lot of profanity) and eating what I wanted (whether too little to be healthy or too much to be healthy) and going where I wanted (including to friends' apartments in the middle of the night so I could sleep on the same bed [i.e. dirty mattress on the floor] as PC).
I knew my life wasn't right, but a lot of the time it felt really great. I felt like I was really, truly, finally starting to Grow Up. I guess I thought growing up meant doing whatever you wanted and feeling really jaded about life.
But deep down, I felt so, so empty. I felt lost. I could close my eyes and see my heart inside of my chest: dark, swirling, smokey fog. Empty. Insubstantial. Uncertain.
I lied to my family a lot. I told creative truths and lies of omission to Cassidy. I lost a lot of respect from my little sister. PC helped me do it all. I felt like he was really helping me though. I felt like he was helping me to Grow Up: to be my own person and make my own decisions and fight my own inner demons.
He especially seemed to help with the inner demons.
First, he helped me to identify them, which included realizing how "arbitrary" my conditions for dating him were. (I really was being irrational and unkind. I couldn't reasonably expect him to get his life on track before I dated him again. Dating is all about understanding and tackling life together, right? I shouldn't demand that he get a job or become a real Christian first. That could come later.)
Second, he helped me figure out how I could combat the demons. For example, since I felt so guilty about constantly going farther in our physical relationship, we should set boundaries and stick to them. (He was also really patient when I didn't say No loud enough or push his hands away enough times. He constantly offered to draw the boundary lines again, and even offered to stop in the middle and go get protection when it looked like I really wasn't going to be strong enough to resist.)
Third, he offered educated diagnoses for my mental episodes (episodes such as changing my mind a lot, hearing Purple and Green, feeling really depressed, etc.). He gently cautioned me that I might be schizophrenic or have serious repressed sexual issues from childhood. Using extensive internet research and carefully constructed logic, he suggested that I might be a sociopath, and that he could see signs of psychopathy in himself (what a perfect match!).
Eventually I stopped resisting him. He was probably right about everything, and even if he wasn't, I had already gone too far down this particular Growing Up path. PC was not only the best I was ever going to get, he was also what I deserved.
I started hearing "The Monster" on the radio around the time I stopped resisting. I mostly skipped it; I never seemed to be in the mood to learn a new song, and sometimes I still liked to pretend I hated Rihanna. However, it was catchy, and it reminded me of myself in a way that made me smile wryly.
"I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed, get along with the voices inside of my head..."
That line always made me think of Purple and Green.
"You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath."
My heart would pinch as I thought about PC. He loved me so much. He was trying so hard to help me become my true self. He was trying to save me, but I knew I was beyond help. I was hopeless.
"And you think I'm crazy? Yeah, you think I'm crazy. Well, that's not fair."
That line gave me pause. The rest of the chorus resonated so perfectly with me. But the speaker wasn't crazy? I was crazy. Wasn't I? Didn't I make up unfair, arbitrary conditions for dating PC; and change my mind all the time about how far I wanted to go physically; and hear voices; and have trust issues? I was crazy.
But what if that wasn't fair? What if...what if I could get along with my inner demons and voices in my head by myself? What if I could actually handle them just fine? What if PC's trying to "save" me wasn't really salvation at all? What if his saying that I was "crazy" wasn't true? What if it was a selfish ploy to get what he wanted? What if he was just posing as my savior and convincing me that I was crazy?
Well. That wouldn't be fair.
What if I wasn't crazy? What if I just wanted something different? What if I just wasn't who he wanted me to be? What if I just wanted a different definition of Growing Up? What if he was just labeling me as crazy so that I would trust him over myself?
That's. Not. Fair.
"The Monster" didn't change my life; it didn't inspire me to break with PC once and for all; but it was sort of an unintentional mantra for the next several months. I would listen to it every time it came on the radio, and I would sing along. The last line of the chorus always came out with more conviction than I anticipated:
"WELL, THAT'S NOT FAIR."
How dare he convince me I was crazy just to get what he wanted? That's. Not. Fair.
And now, every time I hear that song, I am reminded that I am my own person. I am reminded that I have to be careful whom I trust. I am NOT crazy just because someone says I am
It's funny: ever since I really, truly, finally broke it off with PC, Purple and Green have kind of left me alone.
~Stephanie
Thursday, August 13, 2015
What Started As a Fragment, Has Ended in Roommate Sap
It's been a long time since I just talked here, since I didn't wait for a coherent idea or a fun question to wrestle with or a bunch of sappiness about Gem. I don't have any complete thoughts to share with you, just a lot of...well, fragments. At least I think they are fragments. You know how I get when I write: one thought will sometimes keep unfolding before my fingers until it's a real post. Right?
~ In three days, I will move into college for the last time. I know everyone always says this, but seriously, how was it three whole years ago that I moved in as a freshman? I was so...unhappy. I wasn't excited to be going to Campbell at all. I was mad at the perceived failure of not going to Wake Forest. I was jaded by my weird romantic relationship. I was lost in my spiritual life. It was awful. You could not pay me enough money to go back to freshman year.
{Of course, my roommate, Bekah, was actually awesome. We went to bed at the same time, watched the same TV shows, liked the room at the same temperature, listened to the same music, needed the same motivation to go to the gym. She was gorgeous and funny and did not care for drama. I'm convinced it was the most successful random roommate pairing of all time. But other than her, life as a freshman mostly sucked.}
But now? Now I am Happy.
My suite mates are the college girl friends everyone promised I would find. They're the people who will go with me to Walmart at 2 o'clock in the morning because I need frozen pizza. They're the people who will just sit down in the hallway with me and hang out there because I'm too stressed and depressed to make it to the living room. They're the people who I can take stupid BuzzFeed quizzes with for hours. They're the people whose opinions matter to me, whether about my earrings or my dinner decision or my boyfriend.
I hope I will be friends with them for the rest of my life; but if I'm not, if we drift apart and fall out of contact, I will never forget them. I will look back on "college" and hear us laughing and feel us walking across campus and remember us dancing and smile at our late night talks.
Gosh, I'm going to miss them. I'm going to miss congregating in one our rooms to pick out clothes for the next day. I'm going to miss "family dinners" where Harley makes chicken or spaghetti and the rest of us throw together some sides. I'm going to miss movie nights where we talk over most of the dialogue. I'm going to miss messing with each other and memorizing all the weird quirks and habits to make living together as easy as possible.
Harley doesn't let anyone touch her blankets.
Allison wears camis under everything, even T-shirts.
Mary is always cold.
Harley loves Captain America.
Allison loves Ed Sheeran.
Mary loves Baby Groot.
I'm not sure what the point of this post is. Reminiscing, I guess. But it could also serve as a reminder to y'all and to my future self that things get better. Freshman year sucked. But I didn't run away; I stuck it out, and my life is beautiful now.
If I had left Campbell, every single thing about my life would be different. I wouldn't have my suite mates, I probably wouldn't be dating Gem, and I wouldn't have had such amazing professors and therefore an amazing education. I wouldn't have had the same internships or tutoring experience or copy editing position at the paper.
Everything is worth it. My one real regret in life, the one thing I've said I would change (not getting into Wake Forest) has ceased to be a regret. It is hard to say that given a do-over I wouldn't apply to Wake Forest. But it is a no-brainer to say that I am overjoyed to have gone to Campbell.
Senior year, I'm {getting} ready for you.
~Stephanie
~ In three days, I will move into college for the last time. I know everyone always says this, but seriously, how was it three whole years ago that I moved in as a freshman? I was so...unhappy. I wasn't excited to be going to Campbell at all. I was mad at the perceived failure of not going to Wake Forest. I was jaded by my weird romantic relationship. I was lost in my spiritual life. It was awful. You could not pay me enough money to go back to freshman year.
{Of course, my roommate, Bekah, was actually awesome. We went to bed at the same time, watched the same TV shows, liked the room at the same temperature, listened to the same music, needed the same motivation to go to the gym. She was gorgeous and funny and did not care for drama. I'm convinced it was the most successful random roommate pairing of all time. But other than her, life as a freshman mostly sucked.}
But now? Now I am Happy.
My suite mates are the college girl friends everyone promised I would find. They're the people who will go with me to Walmart at 2 o'clock in the morning because I need frozen pizza. They're the people who will just sit down in the hallway with me and hang out there because I'm too stressed and depressed to make it to the living room. They're the people who I can take stupid BuzzFeed quizzes with for hours. They're the people whose opinions matter to me, whether about my earrings or my dinner decision or my boyfriend.
I hope I will be friends with them for the rest of my life; but if I'm not, if we drift apart and fall out of contact, I will never forget them. I will look back on "college" and hear us laughing and feel us walking across campus and remember us dancing and smile at our late night talks.
Gosh, I'm going to miss them. I'm going to miss congregating in one our rooms to pick out clothes for the next day. I'm going to miss "family dinners" where Harley makes chicken or spaghetti and the rest of us throw together some sides. I'm going to miss movie nights where we talk over most of the dialogue. I'm going to miss messing with each other and memorizing all the weird quirks and habits to make living together as easy as possible.
Harley doesn't let anyone touch her blankets.
Allison wears camis under everything, even T-shirts.
Mary is always cold.
Harley loves Captain America.
Allison loves Ed Sheeran.
Mary loves Baby Groot.
I'm not sure what the point of this post is. Reminiscing, I guess. But it could also serve as a reminder to y'all and to my future self that things get better. Freshman year sucked. But I didn't run away; I stuck it out, and my life is beautiful now.
If I had left Campbell, every single thing about my life would be different. I wouldn't have my suite mates, I probably wouldn't be dating Gem, and I wouldn't have had such amazing professors and therefore an amazing education. I wouldn't have had the same internships or tutoring experience or copy editing position at the paper.
Everything is worth it. My one real regret in life, the one thing I've said I would change (not getting into Wake Forest) has ceased to be a regret. It is hard to say that given a do-over I wouldn't apply to Wake Forest. But it is a no-brainer to say that I am overjoyed to have gone to Campbell.
Senior year, I'm {getting} ready for you.
~Stephanie
Freshman
Sophomore
Junior
A few weeks ago XD
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Monday, June 1, 2015
I've Been Reading
I've been able to start reading again.
"Read," is the advice always given to budding writers. Actual practice helps your writing improve too, but reading... It seems to train your mind to Hear and See the world with capital Hs and Ss.
When your car rushes through a rain puddle, the sound registers as "a lush hiss" instead of not registering at all. A dance recital audience reaction becomes "an appreciative rumble of laughter" instead of just "chuckling." You have conversations and naturally detect things like others' "clunky giddiness"or "apologetic authority."
To me, words give the world more substance. When I read a lot, I start to sense the depth in the molecules around me. It's not like the world is brighter; it's like I start to see new colors. Everything isn't more beautiful, but everything is more intentional, specific. I'm not sitting on my couch; I'm sitting on My Couch, where I had a kiss that tasted like ramen, where I first fell asleep on Gem, where I once cried a tear stain into the cushion.
When I immerse myself in words, everything feels more real. It's like tapping a secret source of energy.
I guess this makes sense, seeing as the entire world is Words. "In the beginning...the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep... And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light."
This entire world is literally words. There was nothing, and then God spoke, and from His words came the existence that I now try to describe with my own words, like "lush hiss" and "appreciative rumble." Is that redundant? To use words in an attempt to express/describe/create a reality that is already so perfectly linguistically expressed that it is actually tangible?
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning."
Jesus is--maybe literally, maybe figuratively, maybe spiritually (which is probably some inexpressible middle ground there)--Words. God is Words. He made our world of words with His words. We are in this world, made in the image of God. We are spoken. We are words. The light is words; the water is words; the land is words; the day and night are words.
So yes, it makes sense that everything gets more beautiful and more real when I connect with words. Don't you understand the ocean better when you jump in?
Words are fun and powerful and persuasive and enduring and endearing and funny and piercing and beautiful and satisfying and frightening and dangerous. I like words, on principle, because I am a writer and a reader and I like to reason and persuade. But even deeper than that, I like words because I think they are cosmically important. When it all comes down to it, the world is just atoms and energy and space.
But when atoms and energy and space come down to it, they are all words.
~Stephanie
"Read," is the advice always given to budding writers. Actual practice helps your writing improve too, but reading... It seems to train your mind to Hear and See the world with capital Hs and Ss.
When your car rushes through a rain puddle, the sound registers as "a lush hiss" instead of not registering at all. A dance recital audience reaction becomes "an appreciative rumble of laughter" instead of just "chuckling." You have conversations and naturally detect things like others' "clunky giddiness"or "apologetic authority."
To me, words give the world more substance. When I read a lot, I start to sense the depth in the molecules around me. It's not like the world is brighter; it's like I start to see new colors. Everything isn't more beautiful, but everything is more intentional, specific. I'm not sitting on my couch; I'm sitting on My Couch, where I had a kiss that tasted like ramen, where I first fell asleep on Gem, where I once cried a tear stain into the cushion.
When I immerse myself in words, everything feels more real. It's like tapping a secret source of energy.
I guess this makes sense, seeing as the entire world is Words. "In the beginning...the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep... And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light."
This entire world is literally words. There was nothing, and then God spoke, and from His words came the existence that I now try to describe with my own words, like "lush hiss" and "appreciative rumble." Is that redundant? To use words in an attempt to express/describe/create a reality that is already so perfectly linguistically expressed that it is actually tangible?
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning."
Jesus is--maybe literally, maybe figuratively, maybe spiritually (which is probably some inexpressible middle ground there)--Words. God is Words. He made our world of words with His words. We are in this world, made in the image of God. We are spoken. We are words. The light is words; the water is words; the land is words; the day and night are words.
So yes, it makes sense that everything gets more beautiful and more real when I connect with words. Don't you understand the ocean better when you jump in?
Words are fun and powerful and persuasive and enduring and endearing and funny and piercing and beautiful and satisfying and frightening and dangerous. I like words, on principle, because I am a writer and a reader and I like to reason and persuade. But even deeper than that, I like words because I think they are cosmically important. When it all comes down to it, the world is just atoms and energy and space.
But when atoms and energy and space come down to it, they are all words.
~Stephanie
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Just Another Blog About Marriage
I have a problem.
My Facebook newsfeed is clogged with blog posts about marriage. "Single and Not Waiting." "My Husband is Not My Soul Mate." "I Wasn't Ready For Marriage." "Got Engaged and Immediately Doubted My Decision." "Hey Young People: Now's the Time to Get Married." "Stop Dating Someone You Don't Have a Future With."
Oh. My. God.
Leave. Us. Alone.
{And thus, my problem: How do I blog about blog posts about marriage clogging up media without it being ridiculously ironic? Answer: I don't know. If I figure out a way before I finish this post, awesome. If I don't, I'm posting anyway. Everyone knows I love irony.}
I honestly don't know why this annoys me so much. Maybe because I feel like it's a trend. It's TRENDY to talk about marriage right now. It's an infinity-scarves-and-Starbucks thing. It's just what profound Christian twenty-something bloggers discuss. The theme came up out nowhere, and will probably disappear having made no lasting impression on the world.
Marriage is important, yes. There are lots of misconceptions about marriage, and singleness, and the terrifying pop-culture concept of "The One;" I get it. We need to talk about it. We need to clarify the misconceptions and dispel the terror. We need to return to the Bible and be smart about how much we depend on another human for happiness and wholeness. Yes.
But damn. I'm dating a guy and I love him and I'm happy and we both love God and we get along great and we see a future together and I don't need some chick in Canada telling me that I have to put God first--I know that. I don't need some guy telling me that getting married isn't going to cause me financial stress--I pretty much know that it will, in fact, because combining two separate incomes and lifestyles will always pose adjustments. I don't need someone to tell me that I'm going to have doubts if I say Yes to a proposal--I am human and also Stephanie. Of COURSE I'm going to freak out and second-guess. {Although I do happen to have liked Mo's post a lot.} {And I like Matt Walsh, too.}
Maybe I'm just being bitter and petty and immature, but I feel like the media avalanche of marriage commentary is unnecessary. Anyone seriously considering marriage will come to these articles' conclusions on their own, and if they don't--in some cases--maybe that's okay.
If you're a Christian and you don't know to put God ahead of your spouse, then there are issues that a bubbly blog post is not going to fix.
And maybe you can marry someone you believe to be your soul mate and have a totally healthy marriage. Maybe you can live a totally moral and successful life without the disillusioning kick in the teeth of "HA HA YOU JUST HAVE TO MAKE IT WORK BECAUSE THERE IS NO ONE RIGHT FOR YOU."
Don't get me wrong, those articles are well-written and I understand the merit of being freed from counterproductive notions of marital perfection. I just subscribe to the Morgan Freeman method of social problem-solving. How do we fix all these problems? "Stop talking about them."
Can we stop obsessing and looking to other people to feed us Truths about life? What ever happened to logic and personal prayer and self-awareness? I just don't see taking someone seriously who comes up to me and says, "Oh my gawsh, this article, like, changed my life-ah."
{See, I can't even hear that sentence in anything but a Valley Girl voice.}
I think lasting, heartfelt revelations regarding anything, but maybe ESPECIALLY marriage, need to come from sources much more personal than mass-distributed blog posts.
I like to think that my role as a blogger is to start conversations. I have conversations, debates, and evaluations in my head, and I write about them as a way to process my thoughts. I hope that my posts might spark similar discussions inside your heads. But I never presume to tell you what to think. I'm not going to lie to you, but I will also be the first to tell you that I am not an end-all-be-all source of Truth. I'm not an idiot.
I'm still not sure if I've answered my own question of "why do I hate the torrent of marriage-related articles." Yes, I think they're overrated; Yes, I think they're pretentious and unnecessary; Yes, I think real heart changes come from more personal sources than blogs.
But maybe I just hate them because they're trendy and I'm tired of them. That also sounds like something I would do.
What are you thoughts on this?
~Stephanie
My Facebook newsfeed is clogged with blog posts about marriage. "Single and Not Waiting." "My Husband is Not My Soul Mate." "I Wasn't Ready For Marriage." "Got Engaged and Immediately Doubted My Decision." "Hey Young People: Now's the Time to Get Married." "Stop Dating Someone You Don't Have a Future With."
Oh. My. God.
Leave. Us. Alone.
{And thus, my problem: How do I blog about blog posts about marriage clogging up media without it being ridiculously ironic? Answer: I don't know. If I figure out a way before I finish this post, awesome. If I don't, I'm posting anyway. Everyone knows I love irony.}
I honestly don't know why this annoys me so much. Maybe because I feel like it's a trend. It's TRENDY to talk about marriage right now. It's an infinity-scarves-and-Starbucks thing. It's just what profound Christian twenty-something bloggers discuss. The theme came up out nowhere, and will probably disappear having made no lasting impression on the world.
Marriage is important, yes. There are lots of misconceptions about marriage, and singleness, and the terrifying pop-culture concept of "The One;" I get it. We need to talk about it. We need to clarify the misconceptions and dispel the terror. We need to return to the Bible and be smart about how much we depend on another human for happiness and wholeness. Yes.
But damn. I'm dating a guy and I love him and I'm happy and we both love God and we get along great and we see a future together and I don't need some chick in Canada telling me that I have to put God first--I know that. I don't need some guy telling me that getting married isn't going to cause me financial stress--I pretty much know that it will, in fact, because combining two separate incomes and lifestyles will always pose adjustments. I don't need someone to tell me that I'm going to have doubts if I say Yes to a proposal--I am human and also Stephanie. Of COURSE I'm going to freak out and second-guess. {Although I do happen to have liked Mo's post a lot.} {And I like Matt Walsh, too.}
Maybe I'm just being bitter and petty and immature, but I feel like the media avalanche of marriage commentary is unnecessary. Anyone seriously considering marriage will come to these articles' conclusions on their own, and if they don't--in some cases--maybe that's okay.
If you're a Christian and you don't know to put God ahead of your spouse, then there are issues that a bubbly blog post is not going to fix.
And maybe you can marry someone you believe to be your soul mate and have a totally healthy marriage. Maybe you can live a totally moral and successful life without the disillusioning kick in the teeth of "HA HA YOU JUST HAVE TO MAKE IT WORK BECAUSE THERE IS NO ONE RIGHT FOR YOU."
Don't get me wrong, those articles are well-written and I understand the merit of being freed from counterproductive notions of marital perfection. I just subscribe to the Morgan Freeman method of social problem-solving. How do we fix all these problems? "Stop talking about them."
Can we stop obsessing and looking to other people to feed us Truths about life? What ever happened to logic and personal prayer and self-awareness? I just don't see taking someone seriously who comes up to me and says, "Oh my gawsh, this article, like, changed my life-ah."
{See, I can't even hear that sentence in anything but a Valley Girl voice.}
I think lasting, heartfelt revelations regarding anything, but maybe ESPECIALLY marriage, need to come from sources much more personal than mass-distributed blog posts.
I like to think that my role as a blogger is to start conversations. I have conversations, debates, and evaluations in my head, and I write about them as a way to process my thoughts. I hope that my posts might spark similar discussions inside your heads. But I never presume to tell you what to think. I'm not going to lie to you, but I will also be the first to tell you that I am not an end-all-be-all source of Truth. I'm not an idiot.
I'm still not sure if I've answered my own question of "why do I hate the torrent of marriage-related articles." Yes, I think they're overrated; Yes, I think they're pretentious and unnecessary; Yes, I think real heart changes come from more personal sources than blogs.
But maybe I just hate them because they're trendy and I'm tired of them. That also sounds like something I would do.
What are you thoughts on this?
~Stephanie
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
A Spirare
I just hit the "Publish" button on the post called "Aspirations." I clicked "View Blog" to proofread it again, and was struck by that word:
Aspiration.
Out of nowhere, its Latin roots assaulted me unbidden: a meaning "of, from, by, since" and spirare meaning "to breathe."
Aspirations: Something from which we breathe.
Our aspirations--our goals, our dreams, our desires--are not only what we strive to, but what we breathe from. They aren't just in our futures, they are in us now, motivating us. When we breathe, we breathe because we're working toward something, working to be something.
I got up this morning because I aspire to be an English major. To be an English major, I must get up and read things and write things and study things and drink a lot of coffee (it's in the major requirement. Don't check; it's there)--and breathe. Because I aspire to be an English major.
I'm really starting to love the word "aspire." It is a light word. It's airy and crisp and invigorating--like a breath, I suppose, but a really good one. A breath of cool, sharp air that fills you with energy like electricity and makes you want to jump higher and run faster and smile brighter.
Aspire.
To what do I aspire? From what do I breathe?
I aspire to be a lover of words: to speak them effectively, read them closely, write them artfully.
I aspire to be a champion of truth, valuing it in people, institutions, and ideas.
I aspire to travel: to see places that amaze me and meet people who change me.
I aspire to know God and make him known.
I aspire to drink my coffee at a mature pace.
From what do you breathe?
~Stephanie
Aspiration.
Out of nowhere, its Latin roots assaulted me unbidden: a meaning "of, from, by, since" and spirare meaning "to breathe."
Aspirations: Something from which we breathe.
Our aspirations--our goals, our dreams, our desires--are not only what we strive to, but what we breathe from. They aren't just in our futures, they are in us now, motivating us. When we breathe, we breathe because we're working toward something, working to be something.
I got up this morning because I aspire to be an English major. To be an English major, I must get up and read things and write things and study things and drink a lot of coffee (it's in the major requirement. Don't check; it's there)--and breathe. Because I aspire to be an English major.
I'm really starting to love the word "aspire." It is a light word. It's airy and crisp and invigorating--like a breath, I suppose, but a really good one. A breath of cool, sharp air that fills you with energy like electricity and makes you want to jump higher and run faster and smile brighter.
Aspire.
To what do I aspire? From what do I breathe?
I aspire to be a lover of words: to speak them effectively, read them closely, write them artfully.
I aspire to be a champion of truth, valuing it in people, institutions, and ideas.
I aspire to travel: to see places that amaze me and meet people who change me.
I aspire to know God and make him known.
I aspire to drink my coffee at a mature pace.
From what do you breathe?
~Stephanie
Monday, October 13, 2014
Aspirations
You know how some people--and maybe you're one of them--can make a cup of coffee or a bag of M&Ms last for like hours? The cup just sits beside them on the desk as they attend to their work with focus and tranquility, largely oblivious to the delicacy at hand. Occasionally they'll take a sip. The steam starts to subside, but they don't seem to mind. They have mastered the arts of moderation and indifference.
I am profoundly jealous of this mastery.
I first noted this kind of detachment when I was eight years old. Matt, a first-grader, would come over to our house after school if his babysitter had some other commitment. Sometimes Mom would give us a snack--chocolate chips or something--to eat as we did our homework.
My chocolate chips were always gone within the first three or four minutes. They were delicious, and after a single chip, I became a temporary chocolate addict. I couldn't resist eating them one after another until they were gone, and my homework barely started.
Matt did his homework with the meandering, selective attention of a little boy who does not want to use a number line to practice subtraction. However, he ate his chocolate chips the same way. Every few minutes, he would blink at his snack as if he'd just remembered it, pick up a couple of chips, and then immediately forget his snack's existence again.
How could he care so little about chocolate chips? How was he not driven crazy by their tempting presence until it was fully relocated into his stomach?
As a third-grader, I chalked it up to the fact that Matt had funner food at his house (which was true). He was used to candy for snack; it wasn't a treat for him. It has lost its novelty. I wondered if the same phenomenon would be true for me if I ever became rich enough to have fun food on hand at all times.
To some extent, that philosophy proved true. My family now has orange juice on a regular basis, and I no longer feel compelled to drink it all the time just because it's there. The same is true of cookies, and Cheez-Its, and flavored yogurt. I have risen above the animalistic urge to consume these relatively mundane foods.
However.
With "treat" foods and beverages, the art of pacing oneself is still lost on me. I buy a smoothie, and it's half gone before I'm even back in my dorm room. I open a 2-serving bag of M&Ms, and within ten minutes, it's empty. I grab an iced coffee on the way to work, and I'm sucking at the ice fifteen minutes later.
Meanwhile, I watch people around me exercise this intensely classy combination of absentminded appreciation and tranquil indifference to their "treats." Large iced coffees go minutes and minutes and MINUTES without even being touched, and people don't even seem to be struggling to resist.
Maybe they're just all rich and have treats all the time and the novelty has been lost, like Matt with his chocolate chips? Or am I totally and abnormally self-control-deficient when it comes to delicious things?
All I know is that I envy the air of maturity embodied by people who can resist their treats. It's a level of maturity to which I genuinely aspire.
And I will get there, even if it means drinking steamless coffee and drooling on my keyboard.
~Stephanie
I am profoundly jealous of this mastery.
I first noted this kind of detachment when I was eight years old. Matt, a first-grader, would come over to our house after school if his babysitter had some other commitment. Sometimes Mom would give us a snack--chocolate chips or something--to eat as we did our homework.
My chocolate chips were always gone within the first three or four minutes. They were delicious, and after a single chip, I became a temporary chocolate addict. I couldn't resist eating them one after another until they were gone, and my homework barely started.
Matt did his homework with the meandering, selective attention of a little boy who does not want to use a number line to practice subtraction. However, he ate his chocolate chips the same way. Every few minutes, he would blink at his snack as if he'd just remembered it, pick up a couple of chips, and then immediately forget his snack's existence again.
How could he care so little about chocolate chips? How was he not driven crazy by their tempting presence until it was fully relocated into his stomach?
As a third-grader, I chalked it up to the fact that Matt had funner food at his house (which was true). He was used to candy for snack; it wasn't a treat for him. It has lost its novelty. I wondered if the same phenomenon would be true for me if I ever became rich enough to have fun food on hand at all times.
To some extent, that philosophy proved true. My family now has orange juice on a regular basis, and I no longer feel compelled to drink it all the time just because it's there. The same is true of cookies, and Cheez-Its, and flavored yogurt. I have risen above the animalistic urge to consume these relatively mundane foods.
However.
With "treat" foods and beverages, the art of pacing oneself is still lost on me. I buy a smoothie, and it's half gone before I'm even back in my dorm room. I open a 2-serving bag of M&Ms, and within ten minutes, it's empty. I grab an iced coffee on the way to work, and I'm sucking at the ice fifteen minutes later.
Meanwhile, I watch people around me exercise this intensely classy combination of absentminded appreciation and tranquil indifference to their "treats." Large iced coffees go minutes and minutes and MINUTES without even being touched, and people don't even seem to be struggling to resist.
Maybe they're just all rich and have treats all the time and the novelty has been lost, like Matt with his chocolate chips? Or am I totally and abnormally self-control-deficient when it comes to delicious things?
All I know is that I envy the air of maturity embodied by people who can resist their treats. It's a level of maturity to which I genuinely aspire.
And I will get there, even if it means drinking steamless coffee and drooling on my keyboard.
~Stephanie
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Surprising Existence
Remember when I posted my list of 50 Desirable Guy Qualities last November? I called the post "A Non-Existent Character."
Today, as I procrastinate a little during lunchtime, I remembered that post. Seeing as I'm dating someone I'm pretty crazy about, I decided to look at the list in light of Gem, just to see where things stood.
I'm not sure if you guys particularly care about this, as it really just pertains to me, but hey, this is my blog and I'll do what I want.
Here's the original post, with new comments in italics; green means Gem's got it.
Stephanie's List of Desirable Guy Qualities (in mostly no particular order)
1. Christian - Gem is one of the realist Christians I know.
2. musician {note: not "plays an instrument." I think playing an instrument and being a musician are
different things.} - This one is tricky. Gem plays the piano well, but he is not a musician. But he has the most amazing sixth sense with music I've ever seen. I'll have to explain it in a whole post sometime.
3. can dance
4. dark hair
5. good singing voice
6. likes to read - And he actually does. A LOT.
7. self-motivated - Depends. But in the interest of not going completely and totally overboard complimenting him, I'm gonna leave this black.
8. in good shape - *blush*
9. knows what he wants to do with his life
10. knows how to make his dreams a reality
11. loves Disney
12. has a sense of irony
13. has the same sense of humor as me
14. knows when to stop
15. likes kids
16. plays a sport - Used to be a swimmer
17. stubborn - Yes, but in an unusual way. It's like he's infinitely patient and steadfast when his mind is made up.
18. able to converse in an engaging and effective manner with people of all ages
19. a science or math person, maybe
20. likes to argue
21. pretty eyes
22. honest {includes keeping promises as well as not lying}
23. crooked smile
24. expressive eyebrows
25. will fight for those he loves
26. taller than me
27. tan
28. Having done drugs is not a problem, but he has to be morally against them now. - He has not done them, never will, and is against them.
29. mindful of money
30. Chivalrous. Opens doors, walks a girl home/to her car/to her dorm, sits on the outside at restaurants, walks next to the road, carries stuff, pays for stuff.
31. unselfish - He likes to do unselfish things for people, but part of it is that he likes to feel like a hero XD Sooo, not sure if this counts as totally unselfish. But to the untrained eye, yes.
32. not in the military
33. cusses occasionally and artfully - "Hell" and "damn" are pretty much the extent of it, but his comedic timing is pretty good.
34. can start a real fire
35. can tie real knots
36. good/similar taste as me in music - Mmm. This is a weird one too. We have pretty different taste in music. But...I have to say that his taste is also "good" because of simply how good he is with music.
37. doesn't disrespect his girlfriend when talking to his friends
38. can help me with writing - He's very perceptive and "real" with his help. He doesn't just compliment my writing, he points out inconsistencies or things that don't make sense, and gives real suggestions. It really took me aback at first, but I appreciate it a ton now.
39. good with directions - Freaking unbelievably good.
40. assertive - He's very careful and tactful with his words, but he is not afraid to take the lead in conversations or call me out on my BS.
41. good grasp of grammar - Yes. However, he does the your/you're thing entirely too often.
42. hard-working
43. confident
44. understands me - He understands me in this weirdly simple way, like it's natural and uncomplicated, even when I don't even understand myself.
45. patient {I'm not talking about the angelic sort of patience, but the calm, persistent kind of patience} - Yes. Just yes.
46. observant - Freakishly.
47. not a Yankee
48. politically conservative
49. adventurous - This is weird. I'd describe him as "adventurous" even though he's, like, kinda not. He likes adventures, but he's generally very practical and cautious--which is great, because it balances my ridiculous, dangerous impulsiveness.
50. writes letters - He does for me :)
45/50. Not bad for a non-existent character :)
~Stephanie
Today, as I procrastinate a little during lunchtime, I remembered that post. Seeing as I'm dating someone I'm pretty crazy about, I decided to look at the list in light of Gem, just to see where things stood.
I'm not sure if you guys particularly care about this, as it really just pertains to me, but hey, this is my blog and I'll do what I want.
Here's the original post, with new comments in italics; green means Gem's got it.
Stephanie's List of Desirable Guy Qualities (in mostly no particular order)
1. Christian - Gem is one of the realist Christians I know.
2. musician {note: not "plays an instrument." I think playing an instrument and being a musician are
different things.} - This one is tricky. Gem plays the piano well, but he is not a musician. But he has the most amazing sixth sense with music I've ever seen. I'll have to explain it in a whole post sometime.
3. can dance
4. dark hair
5. good singing voice
6. likes to read - And he actually does. A LOT.
7. self-motivated - Depends. But in the interest of not going completely and totally overboard complimenting him, I'm gonna leave this black.
8. in good shape - *blush*
9. knows what he wants to do with his life
10. knows how to make his dreams a reality
11. loves Disney
12. has a sense of irony
13. has the same sense of humor as me
14. knows when to stop
15. likes kids
16. plays a sport - Used to be a swimmer
17. stubborn - Yes, but in an unusual way. It's like he's infinitely patient and steadfast when his mind is made up.
18. able to converse in an engaging and effective manner with people of all ages
19. a science or math person, maybe
20. likes to argue
21. pretty eyes
22. honest {includes keeping promises as well as not lying}
23. crooked smile
24. expressive eyebrows
25. will fight for those he loves
26. taller than me
27. tan
28. Having done drugs is not a problem, but he has to be morally against them now. - He has not done them, never will, and is against them.
29. mindful of money
30. Chivalrous. Opens doors, walks a girl home/to her car/to her dorm, sits on the outside at restaurants, walks next to the road, carries stuff, pays for stuff.
31. unselfish - He likes to do unselfish things for people, but part of it is that he likes to feel like a hero XD Sooo, not sure if this counts as totally unselfish. But to the untrained eye, yes.
32. not in the military
33. cusses occasionally and artfully - "Hell" and "damn" are pretty much the extent of it, but his comedic timing is pretty good.
34. can start a real fire
35. can tie real knots
36. good/similar taste as me in music - Mmm. This is a weird one too. We have pretty different taste in music. But...I have to say that his taste is also "good" because of simply how good he is with music.
37. doesn't disrespect his girlfriend when talking to his friends
38. can help me with writing - He's very perceptive and "real" with his help. He doesn't just compliment my writing, he points out inconsistencies or things that don't make sense, and gives real suggestions. It really took me aback at first, but I appreciate it a ton now.
39. good with directions - Freaking unbelievably good.
40. assertive - He's very careful and tactful with his words, but he is not afraid to take the lead in conversations or call me out on my BS.
41. good grasp of grammar - Yes. However, he does the your/you're thing entirely too often.
42. hard-working
43. confident
44. understands me - He understands me in this weirdly simple way, like it's natural and uncomplicated, even when I don't even understand myself.
45. patient {I'm not talking about the angelic sort of patience, but the calm, persistent kind of patience} - Yes. Just yes.
46. observant - Freakishly.
47. not a Yankee
48. politically conservative
49. adventurous - This is weird. I'd describe him as "adventurous" even though he's, like, kinda not. He likes adventures, but he's generally very practical and cautious--which is great, because it balances my ridiculous, dangerous impulsiveness.
50. writes letters - He does for me :)
45/50. Not bad for a non-existent character :)
~Stephanie
Monday, April 7, 2014
Lost Art
Can I just say how in love I am with the way words used to be used? Good gosh. I just finished reading Freud and Einstein's correspondence on war, and the way they address each other and form their thoughts gives me chills.
Why can't we articulate ourselves like that today? Why don't we CRAFT paragraphs instead of just hashing them out and hoping we get our points across?
Maybe it's just Freud and Einstein's older style. Maybe it just sounds better to me because it's DIFFERENT. Maybe in fifty years, people will read our blog posts and coo over how wonderfully we expressed ourselves.
Part of me thinks that would great, but most of me winces at the thought. If people fifty years down the road are so poorly educated and woefully inarticulate as to think that my clumsy thoughts are as well-put as Freud's...then there's just no hope for humanity.
I love the way old writers would convey meaning precisely, and yet leave the perfect amount of room for inference and extrapolation. Half of what they said was in what they DIDN'T SAY, and the recipients of their words were astute enough to catch the polite implications and file them duly away.
The fact that great words inspired me to write this post at all makes me even more sure of a truth I already knew: to write well, you must read well. Reading good literature will always subconsciously push you to write better. It's like watching a movie that stars British characters. I can't be the only one who thinks in a British accent for a little while afterwards, right?
If you fill your mind with British accents, British accents will fill your mind. If you fill your mind with well-written words, well-written words will fill your mind.
Gah, there are a million things I should be doing right now, but I'm so in love with words that I just had to say something.
Being an English major is the best decision I've ever made. If I could marry words, I honestly think I might XD
~Stephanie
Why can't we articulate ourselves like that today? Why don't we CRAFT paragraphs instead of just hashing them out and hoping we get our points across?
Maybe it's just Freud and Einstein's older style. Maybe it just sounds better to me because it's DIFFERENT. Maybe in fifty years, people will read our blog posts and coo over how wonderfully we expressed ourselves.
Part of me thinks that would great, but most of me winces at the thought. If people fifty years down the road are so poorly educated and woefully inarticulate as to think that my clumsy thoughts are as well-put as Freud's...then there's just no hope for humanity.
I love the way old writers would convey meaning precisely, and yet leave the perfect amount of room for inference and extrapolation. Half of what they said was in what they DIDN'T SAY, and the recipients of their words were astute enough to catch the polite implications and file them duly away.
The fact that great words inspired me to write this post at all makes me even more sure of a truth I already knew: to write well, you must read well. Reading good literature will always subconsciously push you to write better. It's like watching a movie that stars British characters. I can't be the only one who thinks in a British accent for a little while afterwards, right?
If you fill your mind with British accents, British accents will fill your mind. If you fill your mind with well-written words, well-written words will fill your mind.
Gah, there are a million things I should be doing right now, but I'm so in love with words that I just had to say something.
Being an English major is the best decision I've ever made. If I could marry words, I honestly think I might XD
~Stephanie
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Poetry and Party Poopers
No one knows who wrote "Beowulf." But because of "Beowulf," we know a lot about ancient culture, particularly about some of the first literary heroes and villains.
For instance, the villain--the monster named Grendel--hates music. He first attacks the kingdom because he hears singing and it annoys him. He hates the sound; he hates the celebration; he hates the fellowship.
Grendel lives far away from people. {I guess he just has phenomenal hearing.} We later find out that he shares a home with his mother, but it's just the two of them. He hates company.
From the way Grendel is villainized {I choose to believe that's a word}, we modern-day readers can gather that in "Beowulf's" day, silence and solitude were frowned upon. If you didn't like poetry and parties, you were evil.
But then you have the hero, Beowulf, himself. Beowulf doesn't LIVE in solitude, but does insist on going to battle alone. How come the hero can get away with the very actions that make the villain what he is?
I don't know.
I also can't decide if I think today's values have changed or not.
Certainly, today's heroes must be team players or they're labeled "arrogant." If modern heroes demand to work alone, 9 times out of 10 they end up suffering some kind of "humbling" experience that teaches them to value others. This is because today’s issues are increasingly of global rather than regional importance, causing heroes to model teamwork as a subtle lesson for society.
What about poetry and parties? Personally, I support the idea that hating poetry makes you a villain XD But parties?
I think today's society is at least a little more accepting of introverts. We don't rip their arms off or anything. However, there's still the whole wallflower/party pooper stigma, and being "popular" is a timelessly desirable trait.
I dunno. In thirteen hundred years, a lot of things can change. But some things don't change a lot.
~Stephanie
For instance, the villain--the monster named Grendel--hates music. He first attacks the kingdom because he hears singing and it annoys him. He hates the sound; he hates the celebration; he hates the fellowship.
Grendel lives far away from people. {I guess he just has phenomenal hearing.} We later find out that he shares a home with his mother, but it's just the two of them. He hates company.
From the way Grendel is villainized {I choose to believe that's a word}, we modern-day readers can gather that in "Beowulf's" day, silence and solitude were frowned upon. If you didn't like poetry and parties, you were evil.
But then you have the hero, Beowulf, himself. Beowulf doesn't LIVE in solitude, but does insist on going to battle alone. How come the hero can get away with the very actions that make the villain what he is?
I don't know.
I also can't decide if I think today's values have changed or not.
Certainly, today's heroes must be team players or they're labeled "arrogant." If modern heroes demand to work alone, 9 times out of 10 they end up suffering some kind of "humbling" experience that teaches them to value others. This is because today’s issues are increasingly of global rather than regional importance, causing heroes to model teamwork as a subtle lesson for society.
What about poetry and parties? Personally, I support the idea that hating poetry makes you a villain XD But parties?
I think today's society is at least a little more accepting of introverts. We don't rip their arms off or anything. However, there's still the whole wallflower/party pooper stigma, and being "popular" is a timelessly desirable trait.
I dunno. In thirteen hundred years, a lot of things can change. But some things don't change a lot.
~Stephanie
Friday, February 7, 2014
Things That are Twenty This Year
Korn's self-titled album
the Segway
Kurt Cobain's suicide
the Wonderbra
the Lion King movie
the comet hitting Jupiter
me :3
I'm two decades old today. I'm not a teenager anymore. I'm not completely sure what this means, except that it's probably time for me to learn to swallow pills and work the self check-out at Walmart.
In all seriousness though, I feel like I've grown up a LOT in the past several months. Decisions that I made as recently as November now strike me as blatantly selfish and foolish. My patterns of thinking, my justifications for my actions, my expectations of the future, my understanding of relationships...all that has changed dramatically in the past little while.
I'm ready to leave behind my teens--not in an eye-rolling kind of way, but in a smile-and-nod-of-finality kind of way. I have no regrets. I made some childish decisions, allowed the wrong things to get me down, didn't always try my best at school, and missed some pretty good opportunities--but who hasn't? I am better today than I would be without my mistakes, and that is simultaneously peaceful and exciting.
It's not that I think getting a 2 in front of my age will make me this flawless, mature person; it's just that lately I've been feeling an internal shift that coincides perfectly with my change in age. It makes me smile :)
Today I have regular classes from 9 to 3 {including two tests}, and then I'm homeward bound to celebrate with family and friends!
Wow, y'all. I'm a twenty-something o_o
~Stephanie
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Lately...
"When you choose your friends, don't be short-changed by choosing personality over character." ~ W. Somerset Maugham
"The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off." Gloria Steinem
"On particularly rough days when I'm sure I can't possibly endure, I like to remind myself that my track record for getting through bad days so far is 100%...and that's pretty good."
"Anyone who does not take truth seriously in small matters cannot be trusted in large one either." ~ Albert Einstein
"Associate with men of good quality if you esteem your own reputation; for it is better to be alone than in bad company." ~ George Washington
"Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love." ~ Fyordor Dostoyevsk, The Brothers Karamazov
"The
depth and strength of a human character are defined by its moral
reserves. People reveal themselves completely only when they are thrown
out of the customary conditions of their life, for only then do they
have to fall back on their reserves." ~ Leonardo da Vinci
"If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything." ~ Mark Twain
~Stephanie
P.S. Also, I screwed up last night. First day of the year. I did not see that coming. I'm not sure how long the clean streak was. Not a year or anything, but probably several months. *sigh* Here we go again.
P.S. Also, I screwed up last night. First day of the year. I did not see that coming. I'm not sure how long the clean streak was. Not a year or anything, but probably several months. *sigh* Here we go again.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Santa
My little sister and I never believed in Santa as kids. Mom did when she was little, and she loved it. However, Daddy felt extremely lied to when the truth came out, so he was determined not to put us through the same thing. Instead, Sarah and I were told that "the spirit of Santa," meaning giving joyfully, was
very much real, but the guy at the North Pole with jacked up reindeer
was just a story.
When I was little, I really wanted to believe in Santa. I felt kind of deprived of the magical wonder I saw in the eyes of my peers. Plus, it was hard being the only disillusioned one in a group of kids discussing what Santa would bring them. It could be exhausting to handle the infamous question "DO YOU BELIEVE IN SANTA??" Mostly I considered it an early exercise in creative truth-telling and redirection.
"Well, I always seem to get what I ask for."
"How else would the presents get there?"
"I'm sure my parents tell me the truth."
"I've read a lot about him."
Maybe it's why I'm so good at bullshitting now. Who knows.
I did slip up once. My cousin Kathleen, who's two years older than I am, grilled me about Santa Claus one year. I must've been five or six. She became frustrated with my creative non-answers and literally cornered me, demanding to know HOW ELSE WOULD THE PRESENTS GET THERE?! By that point I was pretty frustrated by her ignorance anyway, so I just out and told her.
"Look, Santa is not real. Your parents put the presents under the tree after you're asleep."
That knowledge really took a toll on her, and Aunt Celeste/her mom was not pleased with me. She took the matter up with my dad, who--I imagine--handled it with a brilliant blend of subtle sarcasm and a dry apology.
Still, I felt kinda bad and never slipped up again. {If only refraining from everything were that simple.}
Honestly, there were lots of times when I regretted not believing in Santa. I always wanted magic to be real, and sometimes tried to convince myself that Santa really did exist, that THAT was the lie my parents were telling me. When I was like fifteen I heard something on the roof on Christmas Eve and got really excited.
But, honesty again: If my parents had told me that Santa was real, I would have had the same reaction as my dad. I would have felt tricked and betrayed and lied to. I would never {seriously, like, to-this-day-and-beyond kind of never} have trusted my parents again.
An extreme reaction? Definitely. But for better or for worse, that's the way my mind works. My parents definitely made a good call in the long run.
Eventually, I'm going to have to decide what to tell my own kids. I'm really torn as of now. For some kids, the belief in Santa can be fun and magical without a backlash of fury when the truth comes out. It's just that you have to make the call before you know what kind of kid it's going to be.
{I wonder if you could experiment on your kids. Tell one the truth but not the other and see what happens. Of course, the enlightened one would more than likely disillusion the other.}
With my luck, I'll probably have a kid just like me, so Santa will not be the way to go. But I guess my husband will get some say in the matter.
Haha, that's a good one...
~Stephanie
When I was little, I really wanted to believe in Santa. I felt kind of deprived of the magical wonder I saw in the eyes of my peers. Plus, it was hard being the only disillusioned one in a group of kids discussing what Santa would bring them. It could be exhausting to handle the infamous question "DO YOU BELIEVE IN SANTA??" Mostly I considered it an early exercise in creative truth-telling and redirection.
"Well, I always seem to get what I ask for."
"How else would the presents get there?"
"I'm sure my parents tell me the truth."
"I've read a lot about him."
Maybe it's why I'm so good at bullshitting now. Who knows.
I did slip up once. My cousin Kathleen, who's two years older than I am, grilled me about Santa Claus one year. I must've been five or six. She became frustrated with my creative non-answers and literally cornered me, demanding to know HOW ELSE WOULD THE PRESENTS GET THERE?! By that point I was pretty frustrated by her ignorance anyway, so I just out and told her.
"Look, Santa is not real. Your parents put the presents under the tree after you're asleep."
That knowledge really took a toll on her, and Aunt Celeste/her mom was not pleased with me. She took the matter up with my dad, who--I imagine--handled it with a brilliant blend of subtle sarcasm and a dry apology.
Still, I felt kinda bad and never slipped up again. {If only refraining from everything were that simple.}
Honestly, there were lots of times when I regretted not believing in Santa. I always wanted magic to be real, and sometimes tried to convince myself that Santa really did exist, that THAT was the lie my parents were telling me. When I was like fifteen I heard something on the roof on Christmas Eve and got really excited.
But, honesty again: If my parents had told me that Santa was real, I would have had the same reaction as my dad. I would have felt tricked and betrayed and lied to. I would never {seriously, like, to-this-day-and-beyond kind of never} have trusted my parents again.
An extreme reaction? Definitely. But for better or for worse, that's the way my mind works. My parents definitely made a good call in the long run.
Eventually, I'm going to have to decide what to tell my own kids. I'm really torn as of now. For some kids, the belief in Santa can be fun and magical without a backlash of fury when the truth comes out. It's just that you have to make the call before you know what kind of kid it's going to be.
{I wonder if you could experiment on your kids. Tell one the truth but not the other and see what happens. Of course, the enlightened one would more than likely disillusion the other.}
With my luck, I'll probably have a kid just like me, so Santa will not be the way to go. But I guess my husband will get some say in the matter.
Haha, that's a good one...
~Stephanie
Sunday, November 3, 2013
A Non-Existent Character
Suddenly, everyone I know on Facebook is posting stuff about what to look for in a husband, and how to find God's match for you, and the "non-negotiable" qualities a husband must have, and what marriage is all about, and how God needs to be our everything before we look for another person.
It's getting old. Real old.
But, after reading lists of shockingly similar and almost arbitrary suggested "non-negotiable" qualities, I decided to make my own list.
Obviously, it's ridiculously specific and I do not expect to find a guy who possesses every one of these characteristics. I'm so okay with that. But I feel like this gives me something interesting to hold in my mind.
Stephanie's List of Desirable Guy Qualities (in mostly no particular order)
1. Christian
2. musician {note: not "plays an instrument." I think playing an instrument and being a musician are different things.}
3. can dance
4. dark hair
5. good singing voice
6. likes to read
7. self-motivated
8. in good shape
9. knows what he wants to do with his life
10. knows how to make his dreams a reality
11. loves Disney
12. has a sense of irony
13. has the same sense of humor as me
14. knows when to stop
15. likes kids
16. plays a sport
17. stubborn
18. able to converse in an engaging and effective manner with people of all ages
19. a science or math person, maybe
20. likes to argue
21. pretty eyes
22. honest {includes keeping promises as well as not lying}
23. crooked smile
24. expressive eyebrows
25. will fight for those he loves
26. taller than me
27. tan
28. Having done drugs is not a problem, but he has to be morally against them now.
29. mindful of money
30. Chivalrous. Opens doors, walks a girl home/to her car/to her dorm, sits on the outside at restaurants, walks next to the road, carries stuff, pays for stuff.
31. unselfish
32. not in the military
33. cusses occasionally and artfully
34. can start a real fire
35. can tie real knots
36. good/similar taste as me in music
37. doesn't disrespect his girlfriend when talking to his friends
38. can help me with writing
39. good with directions
40. assertive
41. good grasp of grammar
42. hard-working
43. confident
44. understands me
45. patient {I'm not talking about the angelic sort of patience, but the calm, persistent kind of patience}
46. observant
47. not a Yankee
48. politically conservative
49. adventurous
50. writes letters
Anyone else interested in sharing some qualities/characteristics they look for?
~Stephanie
It's getting old. Real old.
But, after reading lists of shockingly similar and almost arbitrary suggested "non-negotiable" qualities, I decided to make my own list.
Obviously, it's ridiculously specific and I do not expect to find a guy who possesses every one of these characteristics. I'm so okay with that. But I feel like this gives me something interesting to hold in my mind.
Stephanie's List of Desirable Guy Qualities (in mostly no particular order)
1. Christian
2. musician {note: not "plays an instrument." I think playing an instrument and being a musician are different things.}
3. can dance
4. dark hair
5. good singing voice
6. likes to read
7. self-motivated
8. in good shape
9. knows what he wants to do with his life
10. knows how to make his dreams a reality
11. loves Disney
12. has a sense of irony
13. has the same sense of humor as me
14. knows when to stop
15. likes kids
16. plays a sport
17. stubborn
18. able to converse in an engaging and effective manner with people of all ages
19. a science or math person, maybe
20. likes to argue
21. pretty eyes
22. honest {includes keeping promises as well as not lying}
23. crooked smile
24. expressive eyebrows
25. will fight for those he loves
26. taller than me
27. tan
28. Having done drugs is not a problem, but he has to be morally against them now.
29. mindful of money
30. Chivalrous. Opens doors, walks a girl home/to her car/to her dorm, sits on the outside at restaurants, walks next to the road, carries stuff, pays for stuff.
31. unselfish
32. not in the military
33. cusses occasionally and artfully
34. can start a real fire
35. can tie real knots
36. good/similar taste as me in music
37. doesn't disrespect his girlfriend when talking to his friends
38. can help me with writing
39. good with directions
40. assertive
41. good grasp of grammar
42. hard-working
43. confident
44. understands me
45. patient {I'm not talking about the angelic sort of patience, but the calm, persistent kind of patience}
46. observant
47. not a Yankee
48. politically conservative
49. adventurous
50. writes letters
Anyone else interested in sharing some qualities/characteristics they look for?
~Stephanie
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