Last night I got a bit of insomnia and didn't go to bed till I think just before 5am. I didn't wake up this morning till 1. I did not get my blog post written before I had to get ready for work. So here I am at 1:12 am after work trying to write something. Alas, I am not in a particularly writerly mood. I guess this is a good exercise in writing even when you don't feel like it.
Today's prompt is supposed to be what my favorite of the lesser holidays is. But my problem is that I don't feel like writing silly posts like that. On the other hand, I also don't feel like writing something intense and requiring of much thought.
I guess I'll just share a quandary with you all that I've been mulling over today.
What do you do in a relationship when you find your trust in the other person is called into question?
One of the core tenets of my life philosophy is a firm belief that there are some aspects of a person's experience where they must choose their truth. I think that the clearest example of this in my life has been my relationship with the church. I chose to continue believing in it regardless of the fact that I never got that spiritual confirmation most people base their belief on.
But should this philosophy apply to relationships?
I have been trying to develop a new friendship recently. It's so difficult to make new friends and I am so abysmally awkward at it. But I have been working hard to overcome the awkward and, more significantly, my natural assumption that all people everywhere find me unbearably annoying and I should not force them to interact with me. I think that I've been doing pretty well. This person seems to like me. They talk to me, sometimes even initiating the conversation. They share things with me that they know I'm interested in. They appreciate when I share things with them. They have done nice things for me. These are all signs that I have to remind myself indicate a good chance that the person I am trying to befriend does in fact like me.
But the other day I learned something about my relationship with this potential friend that could be interpreted multiple ways. It could be something completely innocuous and insignificant. Or, it could be something that is quite hurtful. Unfortunately, I do not know the person well enough to safely assume one way or the other.
I keep asking myself...should I just decide to act as though I know nothing? To believe, whether it is true or not, that there is nothing questionable about what I heard? I would have been so much happier if I had never been told. It's too easy a thing for my insecurity to latch on to as a reason to shut down and close off. And I don't want to wonder if this person who I like very much is not a safe person for me to invest in emotionally.
I decided to continue believing in the church because I decided that even if it wasn't true, I would be happier believing that it was, and doing so would not hurt me or anyone else. Do I decide to believe in my friendship with this person even if doing so opens up the possibility that one day I might get hurt? If someone is doing something hurtful is it better to know and be hurt, or no know and be happy? Is that answer still true if it is only the possibility that the hurtful thing is occurring? Really, I'm asking if it is better to be cynical or to be idealistic.
I'm sorry, this post is ridiculous. It is vague and adolescent. But it is the question which has been plaguing me all day and I would appreciate perspectives.
Today's prompt was "What is your favorite fairytale and why" which is something that anyone who knows me knows I should be pumped about. I'll probably do that one later on, because I do love fairytales.
But today I'm not feeling fairytales. Today I am thinking a lot about the world we live in. Last night I decided I want to try to take a break from Facebook for a while. I realized that for the last couple of weeks the time that I have spent scrolling through the feed and interacting with people has left me feeling unhappy. I feel anxious and depressed and hopeless.
This is not news to anyone. If we thought things were contentious before November, it only got worse after. To be fair to everyone, I am pretty sure it would have been that way no matter who won (except maybe Bernie Sanders). I will say that the despair would probably have been less dramatic (if no less impassioned) had Hillary won, if only because not a lot of things would have changed. Many people said that Hillary's presidency would be Obama's third term. I give Hillary a little more credit than that, but I do think that transitioning from one democratic president to the next would entail very little grand change. Conservatives could go on hating the government and all presidential policy, and liberals could continue complaining that things weren't changing fast enough.
Trump's victory, however, and the additional election of a Republican congress is a bit different. I'm not talking about Trump as the antiChrist rebirth of Hitler. I just mean that we are completely changing track, if not turning around and heading back where we came from. Trump campaigned on the promise of change, and that is what we will get. And that kind of huge dramatic change causes ripples. Republicans were looking at essentially a continuation of the status quo if Hillary won. Democrats are looking at not just moving ahead in a new direction, but the destruction of everything that they have fought bitterly for over the last several decades. And while that probably sounds like music to the ears of Republicans, I think that they should not be so surprised and disgusted that people are taking it hard.
But that brings me to the meat of the issue. And that is the bitter hatred each party seems to have for the other. There is no level of understanding. Republicans are in full victory mode. They won, so now they get to do what they want, no matter how petty it might be. And they're going to tear down every single thing that Barack Obama ever so much as looked at and smiled. Regardless whether it actually worked, or helped people, or wasn't overtly "Democratic". And Democrats? They are either despairing that the world is ending and we're all going to die in a nuclear winter, or gearing up for an all out war made of the last 8 years of Republican tactics we all couldn't stand just a few months ago.
Society is divided into an Us and a Them. The lines might vary depending on who you are and what you believe in, but what doesn't change is that there is a winner and more importantly, there is a very clear loser. In fact, for it to really count as a victory, your enemy must lose, and hopefully suffer in their losing. Because the word compromise has become synonymous with failure
I think the most depressing part of this is that it is aggressively encompassing. I grew up Republican, with liberal leanings given me by my mother (who I don't think ever realized how brave she was being a Mormon Democrat before there were facebook groups to support her). I migrated into unaffiliated territory as I grew up. I didn't identify as liberal till the last couple of years. And even then I was a conservative liberal. But all of a sudden I find myself digging in to debates on Planned Parenthood and the ACA. I find myself writing impassioned micro essays in facebook threads. But most of all, I come out of those encounters filled with disgust and anger, and absolutely no more understanding of anyone else's opinions but mine than I started with. I was literally raised in the ideology that I am now arguing against, I still have plenty of friends and family who believe it, and yet I cannot fathom most of their opinions.
I saw a post yesterday calling out Obama for the hypocrisy of his farewell speech, talking about liberty when he had personally enacted "the biggest threat to freedom this nation has ever seen" (also known as the ACA). I said something about how putting the ACA on par with Japanese internment camps and slavery is a bit melodramatic. In his response he said "why do you like the ACA? You're the first person I've spoken to who has." I'm just stuck on that. The internet brings the world to our fingertips and yet we manage to pare it down and edit it to the point that the only way someone can hear something they disagree with is because you somehow became facebook friends with your wife's one liberal cousin and now it would be awkward to unfriend her because you see each other occasionally at funerals. I don't mean to call out this guy specifically. It is true of everyone, including myself.
But later on, on that same status someone else commented in response to me that the ACA IS slavery. Any time the government forces people to buy something they don't want it is slavery. The level of social insulation required to make that statement nearly made my brain explode. But to that guy, and more significantly, to everyone else on that thread who didn't say "I'm sorry, are you insane?", his statement made sense. It was true. I don't know how you navigate a world with divisions that fundamental.
And that's the problem. I fancy myself an understanding person. I like to think that I can listen to people and understand them. But I feel like I'm losing that. I feel like the world is losing that. I feel like communication is dying, and all that is left is propaganda and the need to be right and prove other people wrong. If I can't stop it happening to myself, what hope is there of stopping it happening to the world?
According to my therapist (cause I have one of those now) I need to work on forming connections with people that involve more trust so that I can go to those people when I'm having all the anxiety because that is how you're supposed to deal with anxiety.
I respectfully disagree with my therapist.
See, I agree that I don't really talk to people when I'm in the midst of an anxiety-induced meltdown. But that is because there is no point. I mean, sure, talking to people about issues is probably a good thing, but only if you're in a state to use their added perspective and insight. And mid-panic? I'm not in a state to do or use anything. Hence, as I told ye olde therapist, I will talk to people before a freak out, and after a freak out, and even when there are no freakouts in sight fore or aft, but not during. During I just lay facedown on the bedroom floor and breathe deeply.
But because there's no point going to see a therapist if you just dismiss what he tells you, I am writing this blog post as an initial foray into the sharing my feelings mid (or rather, on the tail end of) a major stress out. That said, this is likely to be superlatively boring, so feel free to move along.
Today's stress is brought to you by the letter M, for Moving.
Tomorrow I sign a contract on a new apartment. A faux studio apartment (technically there is a separate kitchen and bedroom/livingroom).
First, let us establish the advantages of this decision. The apartment is very cool, located in a historic building, with oodles of personality. And it would be mine exclusively. I would, for the first time ever, have a home that belonged to no one besides me. My own bathroom. My own fridge. My own sink with no dishes in it but the ones I put there. And speaking of dishes, the only person to break or lose them would be me. Indeed, there would be no one to break, ruin, or damage ANY of my stuff besides myself. I literally cannot express to you how amazing that sounds...
But now for other side of things.
This place is small. I mean, seriously tiny. My current bedroom might very well be bigger than the main room. And there is no other additional storage space. When I try and think about condensing all of my stuff down into one very tiny room my brain just blanks out. I have a few vague ideas but ultimately I'm not actually sure it will be possible. And while I can probably get rid of a lot of stuff, there is a lot of stuff I can't get rid of. Like the boxes of stuff from my grandma. Like my books. I don't know what I'll do...
The rent, while incredibly reasonable for a one-person place, is still a significant increase from what I'm paying now. My disposable income is basically going to be decimated. This includes my food budget. I'm going to have to make a major adjustment in my lifestyle...though honestly that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Just difficult.
The apartment will be available at the beginning of March, which means that I have less than a month to figure everything out and get all packed up and ready to go. Which leads to to the final and most stressful of all the problems. Thusfar, all my issues are things that ultimately I can figure out. It might take some work, but I have the power to manage them. The last problem is somewhat less under my control, and that is the problem of my current contract. Just after I put in my application for the apartment I found out that my old roommate Callie was moving back to Provo through August and we both got really excited about her buying my contract. But as it turns out, it probably will make a lot more sense for her not to buy it. Which is awesome for her, but rather drops the floor out from under me. I now have only 24 days to find someone to buy my contract and I am seriously stressed.
Everyone keeps telling me that it won't be a problem. I'll be able to sell it so so easily. But the fact is the one time I ever tried to sell a housing contract I ended up paying double rent for three or four months before I managed it. I was fortunate to be able to manage it then, but there is literally no way I can do that this time. And I have a lot less cushion before that becomes an issue this time, too.
In addition to all that general stress, I had the particular stress of trying to figure out how, by tomorrow, I was going to pay $360 of rent for my current place plus $450 of deposit for the new one, and I only had $273 in my checking account. This problem swerved into a detour of hunting desperately for the checks I ordered last year that truly seem to have dissolved into their constituent atoms because I have literally searched every single place they could possibly exist. Luckily, during my 2nd or 11th hour of searching, Blair informed me that I can go to the bank and pay them $1 per check to print them out for me right there. I am not exaggerating when I say that this information brought tears to my eyes. And with it, I am able to MacGyver my way through to Friday when, mercifully, I get paid. Timing has not worked out for me this week...
And there you have it. I am sharing my anxiety with others in the hope that doing so will somehow alleviate it. And, score one for the therapist, I'll admit that on most of the points I do feel marginally better for laying them all out. Selling my contract remains the aggressive gorrilla in the room, but the rest has diminished to conceivable proportions.
Or perhaps I've simply run out of energy to continue stressing tonight and will begin afresh tomorrow. Only time will tell...
Yesterday I spoke to my mom. It did not go well. Which is ironic, because I was so excited; I thought I'd come up with a Christmas present to rival the year I gave her Mr. Darcy on DVD. Well, I say excited but that's not entirely accurate. I also knew that brilliant as this idea was, my mom almost certainly wasn't going to want it.
With so much build up you're probably expecting something really amazing. It's not. I just wanted to buy my mom a dress. Just a dress.
But the thing is if you know my mom you know that buying her a dress isn't as simple as it sounds. I have already talked about my mom here. I've talked about the way she sees herself and how that affects me. Succinctly, my mother's life is an eternal struggle to conquer an adversarial body.
Nowhere is this more manifest than in my mom's wardrobe. For the last 15 years my mom has carefully curated a collection of one dress. The sack. Not unlike the travesty that is Molly Ringwald's "dress" at the end of Pretty in Pink.
yes, this one, only with shoulders and without lace
To her, "clothing I like" means clothing in colors she likes. Because styles she likes are non-existent...no, strike that. There are actually quite a few styles my mom likes. She actually has a really lovely and distinctive (if rather old fashioned) sense of style. But you'd never know it to look at her because she wears none of it. Why? She's too fat! It isn't comfortable! She's too old! All clothing beyond the shift is off limits to her!
except this pattern is definitely too busy for her...
So this Christmas I thought "Hey! I happen to know of a great website that will custom build dresses to your exact measurements! Wouldn't it be great if I were to get my mom a new dress, customized specifically to her that wasn't another of those wretched shifts?!" It seemed brilliant. If I could show her that even "fat" people can look good; that the world of pretty clothes that make you feel attractive wasn't forever beyond her; that she can wear whatever she wants! If I could, with this one dress, open that door even just a crack, then what a magnificent gift I could give her! So much more than just a dress!
from here, where there are several other cute outfits
But there was a problem. I couldn't figure out how I could get her measurements any other way but to ask her. And I knew that if I asked her she would need to know why. See, I knew that this had to be a surprise because if I were to tell her she would instantly shut me down. After 60 years, truly she has come to love her prison, if that's not too melodramatic a spin to put on it. But it is the truth. She has reasons, she has excuses, she has justifications, but the fact is that my mother is comfortable within her rigid world of body hate. She knows the rules there (how could she not, she made them herself). So I knew that at the slightest hint that I was thinking about breaking them she would close ranks and lock down.
But I couldn't figure out how to get those damn measurements.
So I convinced myself I was wrong and maybe she'd see what a great thing this was and suddenly change her personality. After all, wasn't it smarter to supervise her picking out her own dress rather than risk getting one she hated?
No. The answer to that question is no.
I called her yesterday morning and told her my plan and exactly what I knew would happen happened. She shut me down. She did let me show her the website (after I harassed her) and she managed to find the one sack dress they had. But I couldn't handle listening to all her justifications for why she wouldn't even try something new. Not when I had been so excited about this. I got mad at her and ultimately had to get off the phone.
Because I am angry.
As a person who considers it a fundamental element of my identity that I almost never get really angry, this is important for me to say.
I am angry.
I am angry at my grandfather, whose obsession with arbitrary definitions of physical beauty warped his children's perspectives of themselves for their entire lives. Every one of them has fought against and hated their bodies from childhood. I'm angry at a society that both gave my grandfather that arbitrary definition and then told him it was okay to pursue and teach it the way he did. The society that reinforced his beliefs in my mother's mind and proved to her he was right. Right or wrong, I'm mad at my mom. I'm angry that she cannot see through all of this stupidity and just let it all go. I'm angry she can't see that "this is just who I am" only because she has decided it is. And I'm angry at myself because I am still fighting the same battle myself. Because I just had the exact same experience of feeling like I couldn't wear something because my body shape forbids it. (Side note: I bought the dress anyway and wore it to church today and looked damn good, if I say so myself). All of these "rules" are the purist form of bullshit and I'm angry that it still exists in the world.
And in the end, I'm angry I couldn't buy a dress and fix my mom's issues with her body. It's an overly simple idea that obviously would never work, but I wanted it to so badly.
I think this is what I would have gotten her.
Nothing crazy.
Guys, how long has it been since I wrote a movie review? Since The Great Gatsby I think. Wow, that's a long time. Probably because I hardly ever see movies in the theatre anymore. But I did last night. Saw Divergent with my good friend Mike. We were both inspired to see the film after we read this article about the "rape scene" in the film (in the interest of accuracy, it's not exactly a rape scene). Aside from that article and one other, I literally knew nothing about either the books or the movie--nothing about the plot or the themes or the characters.
So I came to the movie as an almost entirely clean slate. And the overall reaction? It was pretty good. But it had a lot more potential than it actually fulfilled.
Quick summary (there be spoilers ahead), for those who want it: Post the traditional "devastating war" society has once again withdrawn behind a great big wall that shields them from the mysterious "other side." To maintain peace after said war society was divided into five "factions" which each are built around a specific characteristic: Amity (they're nice), Abnegation (they're selfless), Erudite (the smarties), Candor (totes honest), and Dauntless (brave). Each faction is in charge of certain aspects of life that suits their strengths. At 16, after taking a test which supposedly tells you in which faction you belong, you then get to decide which you will belong to for the rest of your life notakebacksforever. Enter Beatrice "Triss" Prior, born Abnegation, but super conflicted cause she just doesn't naturally let people take advantage of her. This is reinforced when she takes the test and, instead of neatly fitting into one faction or another, qualifies for three: abnegation, erudite, and dauntless. This is known as being "divergent" and is apparently real bad. At the ceremony she makes the difficult decision to abandon her family and join Dauntless (faction over blood so she's basically leaving them behind forever). Having joined Dauntless she enters into a rigorous training program because the Dauntless are the police force. Smaller and weaker than nearly everyone else, she struggles to keep up during the first, physical phase of testing. But in phase two, focusing on mental training, she suddenly shoots ahead of everyone. It is here her "divergent" qualities emerge as she is able to deal with the mental testing far too easily. But this is also dangerous, because the better she does in the tests the more evident it becomes that she is divergent....and oh my gosh, the bad guys (Erudites...because everyone knows that heroes are strong and villains are smart) are hunting down divergents cause they're dangerous...because reasons. Obligatory Love Interest (hereafter known as Eyebrows and Lips because his real name is equally stupid) teaches her how to beat the tests like a true dauntless, however, and she manages to pass her final test undetected and graduate from initiate to official Dauntless. Just in time for the climactic fulfillment of the evil Erudite plan...which is to drug all the Dauntless into mindless drones who will obey the Erudite's orders to go massacre the Abnegations...because no one can stand those selfless bastards anyway. But handy! When you're divergent you're also magically immune to the drone drug! So Triss and Eyebrows and Lips (who is a sort of...intentionally cultivated divergent? it's not clear) break away, shoot some people, get captured, Eyebrows and Lips is taken away by Darkest Timeline Kate (Winslet), but Triss is saved by Action Hero Ashley (Judd), also known as her mother who turns out was born a dauntless. There's fighting and Triss rescues Eyebrows and Lips and together they save the day and then run away with a few friends outside the wall into exile to await the sequel where they'll, no doubt, lead a rebellion/revolution. (end of spoilers)
Shailene Woodley plays the main character, Beatrice (shortened to Triss early in the film). Ms. Woodley also played Alex King in 2011's The Descendants, which you may know as a movie that I absolutely adore. This was the only other thing I knew about the movie and I'll admit that it was a big draw. She had done an incredibly good job as the struggling but ultimately good daughter in The Descendants and really impressed me. And she did an equally good job in Divergent. Triss could very easily be ruined in the translation to the big screen, becoming one dimensional and irritating--an especially alarming possibility since the entire basis for the character is that she specifically isn't one particular thing but many). But Shailene really managed to create a complex character who is both brave AND self-sacrificing AND intelligent. And even more impressively, she did so in a way that made her believable. This was augmented by giving her believable physical abilities--namely, she, a tiny little girl who has never hit anyone in her life, is pretty consistently owned in every physical fight she gets into. Let's all take a moment to celebrate the non-existence of any "waif-fu" in this movie. By the end she does manage to hold her own for at least a few minutes before being laid waste but that feels more like a realistic development of her abilities due to hard work over time.
Shailene is supported by a nice cast of surrounding characters. Eyebrows and Lips seems a little too beautiful (hence his name here) but puts in a pretty solid performance for a generic character. But my favorites were Triss's friends. They gave great performances and their relationships felt realistic and grounded. I particularly liked Zoe Kravitz (yes, Lenny's daughter) who looks like a cross between her daddy and Kerry Washington. She delivered her "candor" lines believably and she and Triss worked off each other nicely.
And as the original article I linked to discusses, the movie is definitely an impressive effort at bringing a real "strong female character" to the screen. Triss's bodily autonomy is zealously defended. She is independent and able to enforce her own decisions. She manages to be a fighter without being completely cold and emotionless, which seems to be a very common trend in characterizing "strong" women. And while she retains a great deal of selflessness, a solid argument can be made that it is the product of her upbringing rather than her gender. Overall there are some really worthy ideas that they're tucking into the film.
But guys...there's some issues. The premise itself seems pretty deeply flawed to me, and then the specific plot was kind of arbitrary. Apparently the Abnegations run the government because they're selfless, but the Erudites want to seize control because...they want the power I assume? But that's never stated, instead you have Darkest Timeline Kate, apparently the architect of this plan, asserting that she believes in her cause--indeed, she is willing to die for it. But...what is her cause? Because being willing to die for power doesn't quite make sense. So what is she so passionate about? I mean, she says several times that Abnegations are going to destroy the peace...but she never explains how. There's just a whole bunch of sort of implied accusations and nothing concrete. It was frustrating.
Additionally, it was painfully predictable. I don't know how many times I leaned over to Mike and called exactly what was going to happen in the next moment. I am, however, sort of lenient with predictability in films because the opposite problem--twists simply for the sake of twists--is infinitely more grating to me.
I did find the idea interesting. Telling people what they are and then shutting them into societies built around that one trait so that they never try to develop any further aspects of themselves has some really interesting potential. But I'm not sure that they followed through on the full possibilities of it. They touched on it a bit with Eyebrows and Lips when he says that he wants to be more than just one thing. But perhaps that further development will happen in the second story?
I think that in the end my biggest complaint is somewhat more meta than just this one film. It is a complaint about the way YA books are adapted into movies, over and over again. Let's look at some trailers. First, here's the trailer for this movie:
How about The Hunger Games
The Host
Do you notice how all of these kind of feel the same? Let's try one that's a little more fantasy
Those are all pretty recent, let's look at one that is sci fi and based on a pretty classic book
Huh...it somehow still looks...just the same.
Now lets look at a trailer that was just released for one of the greatest YA books ever written, The Giver
.....
....
....
wow. Exactly the same.
Now, if any of you have read The Giver, and I sincerely hope you all have, you know that if ever there was a book that did not fit in the "heroic action adventure" category this is it. The Giver is about reason and emotion and decision making and many fantastic things...but it is definitely not about action. And if anyone had, for some reason, called me up and asked me if I had any ideas about how to make a movie of The Giver I could have given you plenty. Creative and different ideas that would work with or maybe even enhance the natural strengths of the story. I'm not being arrogant here, I'm pretty sure that any fan of the book could do the same if they tried for 10 seconds. But what do we get here? Perhaps the most egregious example of the same movie that they've now been making for years, with an almost insulting effort at ill-deserved legitimacy in the casting of some big names (but really Meryl...it actually hurts me that you're in this). Say what you want about the source material being similar (I won't argue that there's a disturbing lack of innovative creativity in contemporary YA lit), if The Giver is being steamrolled flat into the same exact movie as the rest then it is clear that the source material has only the very most cosmetic influence on the actual move. As my brother said "we based this movie on the title of a popular book."
And that was my biggest complain about Divergent. Instead of trying to make a complex interesting movie that excels in different or unusual ways, they made the only kind of movie they think you can make--pretty people fighting in exciting action scenes. And sure, the book may be a generic entry into the Hunger-Games-inspired dystopian YA genre (I'll let you know once I've finished reading it). But the thing is, and this is the most frustrating part, you can still see the echoes of interesting and unique ideas; however they're like over cooked vegetables...recognizable as something that once had nutritional value, but now just a soggy mess.
But as I said, that is more of a meta criticism leveled at Hollywood in general. If I set aside that overarching annoyance I can say that I liked this movie more than I expected to. I went in fully prepared to enjoy myself MST3K style, but ended up appreciating the movie for its merits rather than its mockable potential. So maybe go see it...but I support you if you decide to wait for it to hit the dollar theatre.
Historically, I am a total sucker for a good chick flick. Anyone who has seen my movie collection can tell you that. But lately I've found my enjoyment of them to be tainted. Cynicism, mocking, and yes, even a little bitterness have crept in. This is because chick flicks are a bunch of lies.
Now, I'm not talking about the relationships themselves. I am still enough of an idealist that I do believe that two people can fall crazily in love and have a great, soul-mate-esque relationship. Sure, I don't think it happens in one to seven days, and I think it takes a hell of a lot more work than the movies imply. But I still believe in love, though that belief has been somewhat abused of late.
No. The lie isn't the relationships. It's the story arc. The "happily ever after." The thematic assumption that people are "meant" to be together or that things will "work out in the end." As the delightful Miss Prism says, "The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means!"
Years of watching these movies, beginning with Cinderella and continuing with He's Just Not That Into You, have taught me one thing: if you want something to work out reeeeeeal bad and you have the patience to wait through all of the (pardon my language) shit then eventually it will happen. He'll fall in love with you; you'll get exactly the job you've been wanting; your relationship with your mother will suddenly improve without you having to give up your habit of bitterly sarcastic witty banter. Notice I said "wait" not "wade". Through little to no effort on your part these miraculous blessings will fall into your lap as a reward for your...what? Your patience? Your blind, stubborn stupidity?
Because guess what people; if you wait long enough the good aren't going to automatically end up happily and the bad unhappily. That's not the way life works. Sometimes, no matter how badly you want something and how much you think you deserve it, the world doesn't bend to your will. He doesn't ever "wake up" and realize you're the girl he's been looking for right here in front of him; Scholastic doesn't discover your resume at the top of the pile and call you up to offer you a job as their editor in chief; and your mother doesn't learn to get over those pesky hurt feelings of hers and appreciate how dang funny you are.
A lot of my life has been spent waiting for those rewards to come. Waiting for God or the universe or whoever it is who metes out cosmic justice to notice that I've put my hours in and it's time for things to work out. Working out is a lie. It's ironic, really, since I just had a debate with a friend of mine about how much I hate the "it was/wasn't meant to be" philosophy. As Aunt Woo says to Aang, "you create your own destiny." Things aren't meant to be or not be. They just are.
I think the key is recognizing which destiny is which. Waiting for things in my life to "work out"; suffering through the misery while they were distinctly un-worked...that seemed like me trying to create my own destiny. But it was just waiting. Waiting for a destiny I'd picked out for myself and thought I deserved to happen. Hoping that my "patience" in enduring things that I couldn't actually control would be counted as effort and that I could will my way into the happily ever after that I really wanted. Picking circumstances isn't quite the same thing as picking destiny. I can choose to be happy and I can work towards that happiness, but I don't get to pick exactly how it's going to happen. Wanting it to be this way real bad doesn't mean that it is the way it's going to be.
So I guess it is time for me to give up waiting for things that I may want, but can't actually control. My circumstances are never going to be changed by my wishing they were different. And tenaciously hanging on to hopes that have no reason to exist doesn't earn me metaphysical brownie points to eventually be cashed in for karmic prizes. My life is as it is right now. I shouldn't resent some of my greatest blessings simply because they aren't quite the ones that I wanted. Instead I'm going to work on changing myself rather than waiting for the world to change to fit me. All that energy I put into enduring I'm going to try to redirect into growing. It's going to be hard, but I'm hopeful.
I've been reading The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier. I finished it last night. Robert Cormier is known for writing....questionable books. He wrote I Am The Cheese, a book about a disturbed young man who has a less than firm grasp on reality. He wrote Tenderness, which is about a teen aged psychopath serial killer and rapist and the girl who becomes obsessed with him. Supposedly Cormier says that he wants to write "real people in dramatic situations that will keep people turning pages." That generally translates into books that parents don't really want their children to read. The Chocolate War seems to have a permanent home on the ALA's 100 most banned books list, sitting around #3 for years now.
First of all, a tangent about my opinion on censorship. It's stupid. Always. Ok, maybe not always, but pretty dang nearly. That is to say that I grew up reading things that would probably be considered wildly inappropriate for my age range. A rather tame example--I remember checking out Robin McKinley's The Blue Sword when I was in...4th grade maybe? and the librarian looked at the cover, looked at me in my wee 4th gradedness, and said "are you sure you should be reading this? I think you might be a little too young..." To which I responded "My mom doesn't care what I read, and I promise you this will be fine." Admittedly, had my mom been there she probably would have qualified that statement. I think possibly the reason my mom "didn't care what I read" is because I have always had remarkably good taste in books. But it was the truth. I don't think my mom could have cared less if I was reading an innocuous fantasy book, even if it did have semisortofnotreallyoblique sexual references. And, being in 4th grade, those went right over my head and I didn't realize exactly what was happening in them till I reread the book later in life. And that's the point. If you're old enough to be interested in the story then read the story. If there are "mature" themes then you'll be "mature" enough to understand them so whatever or you won't be and they'll go over your head. And I personally intend to cultivate the sort of relationship with my kids that they know they can ask me about anything if they have questions. Censorship, in my humble opinion, is for cowards who don't want to have to think about hard questions.
What is that honey? You want to know WHY he hates green eggs and ham? Hmm...I'm not sure this book is appropriate for you...
Which is a long way of saying that banning a book like The Chocolate War is stupid. A.) banning something is a good way to make it a heck of a lot more appealing and exciting than it was before and B.) if they want to read it let them read it.
That being said...I absolutely hated this book.
So much.
Plot synopsis: Jerry Renault attends Trinity Catholic School where authority is divided between the teachers, and The Vigils, a secret school gang. The school has a chocolate sale coming up and Brother Leon, the acting headmaster, solicits the help of the Vigils to make sure it goes well. But Jerry refuses to sell, trying to find some way to assert his rejection of the tyrannical mob rule and cruelty he sees in the school. Jerry's refusal sparks a mild rebellion amongst the student body and the chocolate sale is lagging terribly. But when the Vigils do get behind the sale, suddenly it takes off. Whether or not they are legitimate results, every student but Jerry is credited with achieving their sales goals. Jerry becomes the focus of a vicious mental and physical campaign of intimidation. After suffering a group beating, Jerry's frustration and anger come to a boil so that he can be tricked into an unfair public fight with a bully. Jerry ends up getting beaten within an inch of his life. His jaw and ribs are broken and he is unconscious, taken away in an ambulance. Archie, the architect of this all, appears to be on the verge of punishment until Brother Leon shows up and waves it all away with a "boys will be boys" philosophy.
It's all fun and games till someone breaks their jaw and has to get it wired...
And that is the end of the book.
I finished reading this book at 3:30 am this morning and as I closed the back cover I felt an unfamiliar sensation. For the first time in a very long time I felt legitimately angry. I mean, like....anger! Those of you who know me know I don't really get angry. I get frustrated and annoyed and anti social but not really angry. As it turns out, one of the very very few things that make me angry is...can you guess from the title of this post? Books! The last time I was angry like this was after reading the introduction to Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club (I didn't make it past the introduction because it made me so angry). And before that it was on the train from Paris to London as I read Tess of the D'Ubervillesand fought the urge to hurl it across the car and brain some innocent bystander...er...sitter.
I was so angry that I couldn't sleep. I pulled my phone out and typed an angry ranty email to my friend as the only vent I had to my feelings.
Do you remember how a lot of people said they didn't like The Dark Knight because it was just "too dark for me"? My response to that was always the same. The Dark Knight had to be dark a.) because it's in the name and b.) because there must be dark to see the light. The reason I rank that movie as one of the best films of all time (for seriousness, I do) is because it makes the argument that People, as a whole, are good. This is an argument that seems to be out of vogue these days, which makes me sad. Hence I am so in love with The Dark Knight. What? People are good? They won't just...kill everyone else to save themselves? How refreshing!
Contrast that with Cormier's story. At it's most reduced, basic level, Cormier has written the story of how all people are either vicious, remorseless, cruel bullies, or they're cowards who let the bullies have their way.
And that is what makes me angry: the presumption of any man on earth to imply such a degenerate image of mankind. I find that it...offends me to read such a picture of humanity. Don't misunderstand me--I am well aware of the horrifically long history our species has for cruelty. But I am also aware that in every single account of depravity there will be stories of compassion and fellowship. If humans have the ability to appall each other with their cruelty, surely they also have the ability to astound us with their nobility and love?
cliche but applicable...
So who is a man like Cormier....or Palahnuik or Thomas Hardy...to reject that spark of goodness? I understand the urge to write "reality" and there is certainly enough hatred, violence, and cruelty in the world. But I must protest on two counts. The first is that, if you want to write reality, you can't ignore those bright shining lights of goodness no matter how misanthropic a view of humanity you have. And the second is that if you write a story like The Chocolate War or Fight Club and send it out into this dark world and people read it and see nothing but more darkness then what have you done but convince them of the futility of goodness and light?
I guess what made me so angry was the way the book seemed to have given up on goodness. None of the characters felt any remorse for their actions or even appeared to have any awareness that they had behaved incorrectly. I do believe that all people have an inherent goodness in them--we Mormons call it the Inner Light of Christ, but you can call it whatever you want. It boils down to a conscience. The ability to know that good is good and evil is evil (evil, as distinct from "badness" which is open to interpretation). I reject the idea that goodness doesn't exist and that people, if left unchecked, will devolve into depravity. I stand up for goodness.
I debated for a long while whether or not I wanted to post this, and then whether or not I wanted to post all of it. But, obviously, in the end I decided to share it exactly as I wrote it because most of the time I choose not to say the thing I want to say and I don't know if that is the right decision always. So this time I'm saying it and we'll see what happens. This post is dedicated to a good friend of mine, that he may do with it what he wishes:
I have amazing friends.
Amazing, brilliant, ambitious friends who plan to go out into the world
and set it on fire. I have friends who
plan on going and putting out those fires when they get out of control. I look at my friends and I know that the future
of this world is in good hands.
But that’s not me.
When the time comes for that conversation and everyone is laying out
their Lives of Awesomeness I am content to let them talk. Because I plan on living a small life.
A small life, not to be confused with an unimportant life,
is one concerned with small things. It
is not a life that takes in the grand sweep of politics and the swirling
world-governing laws of science. It is a
life centered on people. A life centered
on my future family. A life that may
travel the world, but will never move it—at least, not overtly.
Perhaps the most inflammatory essay I ever wrote centered on
the two different types of civic involvement.
I referenced the schools of thought of W.E.B. Dubois and Booker T.
Washington from the Civil Rights Era (I was, at the time, applying these
philosophies to issues of feminism). Dubois
was a staunch advocate of aggressive and even violent change. If the world isn’t right then you scream and
kick and shove until it is. Make people
notice you. Make people notice the
problem. Make people change! Washington, on the other hand, espoused
almost the polar opposite policy. If the
world isn’t right then tuck in and do the best you can. Work hard, live right by yourself, and
eventually people will notice. Right
comes out in the end.
Then and now I unabashedly align myself with Washington. I am so glad that we have Duboisians and I am
so glad that I do not have to be one of them.
Both are, I think, required to change the world and it is for that
reason that I feel no embarrassment, shame, or guilt for my lifestyle.
And what, exactly, is my lifestyle? It is a life in progress. I am not perfect, in fact I am so far from it
that I don’t think I could see perfect with one of those telescopes that they
use to look at planets in other galaxies.
But I am trying to, and mostly succeeding in, being happy.
I live a life that revolves around books and movies and
jokes and thinking and most importantly of all, my life revolves around the
people I love. Those of you who know me
the best hopefully know that that is true.
I live life on an individual basis, not a grand scope.
These are all broad, practically generic statements. I’m struggling to express myself adequately
without getting caught up in unnecessary detail but I feel that doing so is
reducing my thoughts to truisms. I can
only assure you that I mean what I say.
What do I most want to say?
I know who I am and I am happy with that person. I have chosen the life that I am leading and
I am satisfied with that choice. I love
so many things in this world and I am happy that I get to experience them all
and live this small life of mine. I am
so glad that I have the luxury of forming my own future and growing slowly into
the person I want to be.
And if my small life doesn’t seem up to par with yours, then
you can go to hell.
So my friend Danielle and I have this thing where we go and watch whatever Twilight movie happens to be out and we laugh hysterically. It worked well for Twilight and New Moon. She was out of the country for Eclipse so I missed that one, but I hear she went and saw it down in Brazil and laughed enough for both of us. She has recently moved out to New York to be fabulous, but she's back in town for a few days visiting for Christmas so we figured we'd better get us to a late showing of Breaking Dawn 1.0
if your goal is mocking this seems promising, right?
What. The. Hell.
What the hell is that movie? I'm sorry to be vulgar, but that is really all I can say, over and over.
So, for people like me who had no idea what was going on, here's a rundown. I actually was just going through doing a play by play but it was taking way too long. Especially when I realized that this movie is really just four things: wedding, honeymoon, express pregnancy, and delivery. That's all you need to know. They get married, they go on a honeymoon, she gets pregnant with the demon baby of death, and then she gives birth to said baby. And somehow they stretch that into a movie just 3 minutes shy of 2 hours.
But that makes it sound sort of normal. Oh no. My first serious "this is wacked out!" alarm went off when she wakes up from her wedding night. She's all gooey eyed remembering how beautiful it all was and then Edward walks in and asks her how bad she's hurt. Then he pulls up her sleeves and you see his little fingerprints all over her arms and shoulders. Suddenly you get a whole new perspective on abusive relationships as you listen to him abjectly apologize for hurting her, swear he never meant to and he'll never do it again, and listen to her get angry with him for...not for hurting her, but for refusing to hurt her even more. What the what? He sticks to it for a couple days and all the booty shorts and little negligees in the world won't sway him...until she wakes up from a dream crying cause he just doesn't want her...BLECH!
But that was nothing compared to Gollum!Bella of creeptastic pregnancy emaciation. The emotional manipulation that happened between her and Jacob. The bizarre militancy of Rosalee standing guard over PregnantGollum!Bella. The sippy cup'o'blood to keep sweet li'l baby happy. The abrupt change in Edward from baby loathing to baby worship. All of it leading up to a scene that I don't think I'll ever be able to erase from my memory...the Vampire C-Section of Horror. This is what happens, absolutely no exaggeration. Bella, Edward, Alice, Rose, and Jacob are having tender bonding times when Bella drops her Cup'o'Blood as Edward hands it to her. She dives after it and breaks her own back. She falls, breaking her knees, and is about to splat her little head on the tiles till Edward dashes forward to catch her. This sends her into labor, but Carlisle is out catching a bite, so it's up to Rose, Alice, Edward, and Jacob to deliver the little one. Bella is lying there on the delivery table, back still broken, and the rest stand around at a loss till Edward says the baby is suffocating and Bella screams to get him out. Jacob stands in as the husband, holding her hand and shouting at her to hang in there as Edward snatches up a scalpel and slices open her stomach. Unfortunately, her uterus has become vampirized and scalpels are useless against it...so Edward rips it open with his teeth! He comes up with his face covered in in his wife's blood and starts cooing over his new little girl! Everyone just stands there! No one thinks "Oh hey! This woman has just had her stomach and uterus ripped open and may be hemorrhaging out, plus her back is broken. This may be a good time to vampirize her completely...you know...while she's still alive." Oh no. No one even thinks "Oh hey, daddy might want to wipe some of the blood off his face." They just stare at the baby, watch it take a bit out of it's mother, and coo over how cute it is. Until Bella stops breathing that is. Edward finally realizes his wife is in bad shape and hands the baby off to Rose. He takes out a syringe of "vampire venom" and jams it into her heart. When that doesn't appear to work he just starts sinking his teeth into her at random, a visual accompanied by a truly cringe-inducing squelching sound. Nothing seems to be working, and he cries and Jacob cries and Bella looks like dead Gollum. Oh. But inside she's becoming a vampire and screaming her head off. But you can't tell. She just looks dead and sad.
I would post a picture...but you can't find any
pictures of a scene that horrifying! What does
that tell you?
You know what? Forget the fact that Jacob then imprints on a baby girl. Forget everything else about this movie--the bad acting, the horrible special effects, even the other questionable plot points. What the HELL was that scene? How do people go and watch that and still think that this is a great, beautiful, powerful love story? What was that!? I can't ask enough because I can't get an answer. I walked out of the theatre so disturbed and so confused and so completely creeped out that all I could say was "why did we see that movie again?" over and over and over.
Today I went to the photography class I have been looking forward too all summer. I thought I registered for it last winter, but turns out I was mistaken. I emailed the professor a few weeks ago but I never heard back. So today I ditched the class I'm actually registered for and crashed this one, full of naive hope that I could add. Sill, silly girl
You see, art classes are not for the general masses Oh no! They are exclusively reserved for Art People. I was informed today by a man named Val that his first priority is his Visual Art students--they're the ones he's paid to teach--so they are his first priority for adding.
Now, don't mistake me. I understand the need to restrict some classes and require pre-req's and so on. But here are my two problems with Val's attitude. First, he's only paid to teach VA students? Excuse me? So, if somehow he got a classroom full of Non-Art People they would expect him to teach for free? Any Non-Art Person who sneaks in is just getting slip-shod volunteer time? Hmmm...And second, if this is a VA majors only class then mark it as such. But don't say it's an open enrollment class and then tell the commoners that they're only allowed if there's enough room. No. Open classes are first come first served., and if I care enought to get to class 20 minutes early just so I can add the class and your Art Person shows up 5 minutes late...or on Tuesday...well, who do you think is more interested in your class?
Which leads me to my last point. As I say, I completely understand limiting your upper level classes to actual students in the major. But introductory, 100 level classes exist specifically to introduce people to a discipline. The classes are already severely limited by size, why do you need to limit them further? Oh wait, it's only the art department that does that. Unless you're in the program already there is simply no way you can take any kind of art class.
This policy is frustrating to me on so many levels. Primarily, what if you simply don't know that you could or should major in art? When your access to those classes is limited you aredenied the opportunity of making an informed decision. But even more important, to me at least, are the people who know that they aren't going to be artists, but maybe want to develop a talent anyway. Isn't that supposed to be something we'r encouraged to do? So why is the Art Department so set on preventing it?
So how do we fix this problem? First, and easiest, don't list your class as open enrollment if it really isn't. "We let in non-majors if we need to fill desks" does not qualify as open enrollment. Then, having created a closed enrollment class, make one that's legitimately open--even just a section of one. Give Non-Art People a chance to be a little bit arty and see if maybe they're good at it. It's only one section of one class after all...
The beauty of the internet is the way it brings you into contact with things you never would have known existed. Like the article about Ligers I discovered yesterday. And then, from there, I was swept off to this little gem.
On the one hand, I appreciated the way he approaches this. He is very rational, very calm, and very frank. When I read his article, fully expecting--based on the title--to become incensed , I found myself examining the issues dispassionately. I could evaluate his viewpoint objectively and weigh his evidence without bias.
But then I remembered that we were talking about a man cheating. And a woman needing to get over herself, take a look at things from his perspective, and then she'll understand that she was completely overreacting.
Wait...what?
All of a sudden his detachment, his rationality, his "honesty", and his dry wit became unbearably insulting.
What was his opening statement? Given the opportunity and complete freedom from any possible consequences every man would have sex with any woman he finds attractive. Its just the way men are, he claims. They like sex, they want sex, and if they can get it, no strings attached, they're going to take it. Sex, to a man, is nothing more than an extremely pleasant physical sensation and has no connections whatsoever to any sort of emotional attachment.
I've had enough discussions about this sort of thing with my guy friends that I will consider this much of his argument as...possible. I don't like it, but I'm willing to admit he might have a point. My problem rests more in the conclusion to which he brings this theory.
If a married man has an affair with another woman, it doesn't mean that he loves his wife any less. Quite the contrary--he still loves her every bit as much as he ever did. In fact, his little fling is so inconsequential that women really need to stop getting upset and realize that this is their chance to build a better, stronger relationship with their man. Don't hold it against him. As soon as you realize how unimportant it all was to him you'll see that you were just being silly to take it so personally. In fact, as you become all understanding and cool, you'll probably realize that that fling was actually your man's cry for understanding from you. If you had been understanding enough, honest enough, open enough he wouldn't have had to go somewhere else to get all of his needs met.
Wait...did you just imply that a man cheating is unimportant...and his wife's fault? Setting the deeper implications of that argument aside for just a moment, I have to address this basic rhetorical fail. You don't get to have that both ways Mr. Nicholson. You can't argue the insignificance of sex to a man
For the man it’s all the other way round. The act of sex happens outside himself. It’s something he throws away. It has no long-term consequences. So he can have his fling and still love you, unlikely though that may seem.
and then turn right around and claim that he was satisfying important, powerful desires he's always been afraid of telling his wife about
All I can say is, it may look infantile to you, but this is strong stuff. See it from his point of view. His waistline has expanded, his hair has receded, and he can’t always perform as he would like. He meets a woman who wants his body and likes him to talk dirty to her – My God! He’s born again! Just once, oh Lord, just once, let me live the dream!
Nope. Either sex is important and "powerful" or it is something he "throws away". Its not both. Where did you learn logic?
Am I being nit-picky? Ok, I'll let your contradictory rhetoric go and just respond to the general idea. Ladies, men just don't think of sex the same way as us and we'll save ourselves a lot of pain by seeing things his way. He cheats on you and you forgive him and you build your more beautiful marriage.
So, what you're saying is that this should be a world without consequences.
No, really. That's what you're saying to me. Each time you tell me I need to be understanding, I need to see things from his perspective, what you're really saying is that my perspective doesn't actually matter. Because if I could just get it into my head that my man can have sex with someone he doesn't love then I'll stop having to be upset and we can all be happy. It doesn't matter that he had sex with someone he doesn't love. Can you explain to me again Mr. Nicholson how this is supposed to be making me feel better?
What it comes down to is that morality, reason, and ethics are all one-sided. Women need to understand men, but men don't seem to be under any kind of advisement to understand women. A man doesn't need to consider that, while he may (or may not...) consider sex insignificant recreation, a woman considers it intimate and powerful (I'm going to go ahead and say "women" here and just hope it is a given that there are exceptions to every rule). No, men are simply instinctive creatures who can't control their actions and women need to appreciate what its like and then they won't get upset.
You know what, forget the women in this scenario. The sort of implications being thrown around about men here are about as insulting as it gets...
A good man (and perhaps, I'm naive for thinking they exist ) wouldn't cheat on his wife even if he didn't think there would be any consequences simply because he would understand that, known or not, his act was a betrayal of the one he loved. A good man wouldn't be able to accept that. A marriage is a union that goes both ways. A wife striving to understand her husband and vice versa.
I'm not saying that if a man cheats on his wife then that's it, the marriage is over. I've never been in such a terrible position, but I do think that it is possible for a woman to forgive her husband and for the two of them to build a stronger marriage. But I can't accept that it is because the wife just got over herself and realized that she shouldn't have gotten upset to begin with. No, for a marriage to survive such a serious blow it requires far more from both parties than you would have me believe Mr. Nicholson. And while I agree with you that true romance is two people loving and accepting each other through both success and failure, I think that you don't quite understand your own flowery sentiments. Love doesn't just mean that she will forgive him, but that he would never ever make her have to.
