Masculism and Other Evils

Let me start off by saying that I am 100% prepared for the angry comments, so bring them on.

(Ok, I'm actually only about 60% prepared, so maybe go a little easy on me.)

Masculism (n): political, cultural, and economic movements aimed at establishing and defending equal political, economic, and social rights and participation in society for men and boys. (Wikipedia)

The very idea of masculism in our current society is ridiculous. Most people (not the least of whom being whoever programmed the spellchecker on my computer) don't even recognize it as a word. If you bring up issues that men face, one of two things happen:

1. You are laughed at. "You're joking, right?"
2. You are told to shut up and quit whining. "Guys don't have it that bad!"

The first of the two responses usually comes up if you try to bring up such issues with no context. If you start talking about issues that concern men and boys without any kind of prompting, you are ignored or mocked.

The second response usually occurs if feminism is ever mentioned. I will grant you that the second of the two quoted phrases is true. Guys in developed countries don't have it that bad when compared to people in other situations. However, that same logic can be applied to women in developed countries. If you are reading this, you probably don't have it that bad compared to someone else. However, if we all give in to that "logic", you will inevitably have one person on Earth who is allowed to suffer, and everyone else just has to feel guilty about feeling bad about things. I suspect that one suffering person has one of the names on this list: The 100 Most Unfortunate Names in Human History.

My current favorite example of the second response came alongside this article:

HeForShe is Rotten for Men

The person who originally posted this link on Facebook for my reading pleasure did so with commentary that ridiculed the author and talked about how shocked they were that a woman would write it, completely ignoring any of the points the author brought up. I encourage you to read the article. If you are very in favor of HeForShe, try not to get angry, but instead look for the issues that affect men.

You see, the author screwed up.

She tried, she really tried, to bring up male-oriented issues in a way that would put them in the public eye. Unfortunately, she did so by attacking a rather large and powerful feminist movement. The saddest part about the whole thing is that she raised some very important points. Some were even brought up by Emma Watson when she originally introduced the HeForShe campaign. I'll lay them out here in case you couldn't get past the mildly "anti-feminist" (achoo) comments made therein:

• Divorced fathers' roles as parents being valued less than mothers'.
• Male victims of domestic abuse and sexual violence being virtually ignored.
• Wrongful accusations of rape.
• Sexual harassment policies that selectively penalize men.
• Lack of options to avoid unwanted parenthood once conception has occurred.
• Men not being allowed to bring up any of the above topics.

Those don't even get into higher conviction rates and harsher penalties for men as compared to women or any of the "small things" affecting younger boys. The whole idea of HeForShe is that Watson is encouraging men to be a part of the feminist movement and join in the discussion of gender equality. Unfortunately, as one particular paragraph in the article points out, that isn't really an option much of the time:

Men must, indeed, "feel welcome to participate in the conversation" about gender issues. But very few will do so if that "conversation" amounts to being told to "shut up and listen" while women talk about the horrible things men do to women, and being labeled misogynist for daring to point out that bad things happen to men too and that women are not always innocent victims in gender conflicts. A real conversation must let men talk not only about feminist-approved topics such as gender stereotypes that keep them from expressing their feelings, but about more controversial concerns . . . Such a conversation would also acknowledge that pressures on men to be successful come not only from "the patriarchy" but, often, from women as well. And it would include an honest discussion of parenthood, including many women's reluctance to give up or share the primary caregiver role.

If you want men to join in the discussion of gender equality, quit shutting them down for bringing up issues of gender inequality. The feminist movement is getting better about moving away from man-hating/blaming, but there is still no forum for us to discuss issues that men face. We're still just supposed to shut up about those.

All anyone can really do is call things the way they see them, so here's what I see on a near-daily basis at my job where I teach children about bicycle safety.

As part of the classes that we teach, the kids get an opportunity to ride our bikes through a course designed to allow them to learn and practice rules of the road to keep them . . . you know . . . not dead. We go through the process of making sure that every child has a helmet and bike that is the right size for them. Unfortunately, not all of our bikes are "gender neutral".

We work very hard to ensure that no child is made fun of for the bike that they are on, but here is what I still see far more regularly than I'd like: Because I have to put kids on bikes and in helmets based on size rather than gender, sometimes boys end up on pink or purple bikes or with pink or purple helmets. It happens. Sometimes those are the only ones I have available that fit them. The sad part is that even if they are not mocked openly at the time, you can see on their faces that they are concerned, knowing that, whether they are ever openly made fun of, they are being silently laughed at for riding on a "girl's bike" or wearing a "girl's helmet".

On a daily basis, I hear some comment about "girl's bikes". Only three times in the last year that I've worked there have I heard any complaints about "boy's bikes". Furthermore, two of those complaints were essentially jokes and none of the three girls who raised concerns were even noticed as out of the ordinary by their peers.

How I wish I could say the same about the boys.

You see, when you're younger, girls are allowed to do or play with whatever they want regardless of their gender. Girls can be into sports and cars and cooking and princesses and dolls. Girls can wear dresses, pants, shorts, and however many sparkles they do or don't want. They are encouraged to explore their interests. Boys, however, don't have those options. Boys, once they are into the years where people notice differences between boys and girls, are mocked (even if it is just silent laughter) when they play with dolls. We think that guys wearing dresses are hilarious. To boys, having makeup put on them is torture. Boys are encouraged to "man up".

Guys can have one of several labels in their youngest years. Sadly, these labels never completely leave them. They can be fairly easily condensed, however, into three basic ranks:

• Cool: The boys that fit into the mold of what is expected of young men. They like sports, cars, fighting, and are ambitious and express only the emotions of happiness and anger.
• Nerd: The boys that aren't exactly feminine, but don't like the things boys are expected to like. They include basically everyone that isn't into the things "cool" boys are into, but haven't received the dreaded lowest ranking . . . yet.
• Gay: The boys that at some point did or liked something feminine or showed emotions such as sadness or fear and are now forever pariahs that should not be trusted under any circumstances.

Why does this matter? Because there is a clear descending order of respect through those ranks and no easy way to move back up without changing your personality and/or completely lying about who you are. To learn more about this issue, please read this Ben approved article:

Why Straight Men Are Right to Be Afraid of Homosexuality

My point in all of this is not to diminish the suffering of women or any other social group in any way. My point is that there are issues that apply to men. There are certainly areas in which society still values women less than men, but there are also areas in which society values men less than women. While the feminist movement claims to be working toward gender equality, its very name and definition exclude men's issues from the conversation.

Feminism (n): a collection of movements and ideologies aimed at defining, establishing, and defending equal political, economic, cultural, and social rights for women. (Wikipedia)

I am not much of a feminist. I'm sorry, but I'm not. This isn't a political statement. This isn't an endorsement of any idea contrary to feminism. It's simply a statement of fact. I do not consider myself to be a feminist, because I simply don't see it as a movement that needs my support. There are enough feminists out there already. You don't need me.

I am a bit of a masculist. I clearly see issues of gender inequality that lean in women's favor on a daily basis. I'm not a huge advocate. Again, this is simply a statement of fact. To be perfectly honest, I don't think of myself in this regard much either, because masculism simply isn't recognized as a genuine movement.

Honestly, I don't think either of these terms suggest someone that is truly interested in complete gender equality. Both ideas are focused on the "equality" of one gender in particular (which to me is a bit contradictory at this point). I think it's time we quit pretending to work toward complete gender equality. If we as a society are going to work toward that, great! Let's quit playing make-believe and what-if and actually do the work! If a man and a woman both want a position and both are equally qualified for it, they should have an equal shot. This means everywhere: in business, politics, and in the home. Women should be able to run for president without being considered crazy or power hungry. Men should be allowed to be a stay-at-home parent without being called lazy or unambitious.

Pari passu is a Latin phrase that essentially means "on equal footing". This is what we are actually all wanting to work toward, isn't it? Let's ditch feminism and masculism. Let's quit contradicting ourselves by making things "equal" for just one sex. Let's start working toward genuine gender equality.

I'm not a feminist.

I'm not a masculist.

I'm a paripassist.

(Or whatever word someone more clever than me comes up with.)

Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 23

Hi. My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer. It's been 23 days since my last writer's block.
If you haven't already, please read Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 1.

I got frustrated after I scrapped and restarted chapter 3 and started looking for something else that I can do during my writing time. I really just needed a break. I started looking at some collaborative writing projects going on around the web.

The best that has ever happened is clearly The Salem Door Project. That one was a pet project of mine that unfortunately lost its momentum and died after chapter 13, leaving the story unfinished. There were 16 of us writing it and each would write one chapter before passing it on to the next. No edits except for grammar or continuity errors. If any of you guys who were working on it still remember the password, I haven't changed it. We can still finish this thing! I think the problem with it was that people underestimated the time commitment it could take in order to participate.

I felt a bit better about that project when I realized that most collaborative writing projects seem to die off rather than end. One of the most interesting collaborative writing projects I discovered followed basically the same idea as "Salem Door", but each author was only allowed to write three words. You can check that out here: 3-Word Story.

I never found a collaborative writing site that really caught my interest.

I've had the idea for a while now of doing something similar to the VlogBrothers. The idea would be that you would have two (maybe three) people who are essentially digital penpals whose letters can be read by anyone. I just haven't been motivated enough to find someone crazy and bored enough to do this with me. If you're interested, please your audition in the form of a fun-to-read letter to veebjamn@yahoo.com or to me as a message on Facebook. I can't promise by the time you send it to me I'll still be interested, but it never hurts to try!

Ok, occasionally, there are things that it hurts to try. Punting a bowling ball comes to mind.

I finally found a website that I'm happy with. In fact, I may be a little too happy with it.

It's called Scribophile, and the basic idea of the site is that you post your work and other writers critique it. They have a system set up where you earn points for critiquing other people and spend those points to post your own work. They also have articles on different ways to improve your writing, how to get stuff published, and other stuff about writing as a career. It also has a forum to talk about whatever. If you did decide to join, I would suggest that you not bother wasting your time trying to find me, because unless you know my work or the way I think really well, you're going to have a hard time. I'm under a different name and my profile picture is a composite of Robin Williams, Jim Belushi, a couple other dudes who shall remain nameless for my protection. I'm not sure why, but I really want to stay anonymous on there.

I've posted one work and gotten pretty good reviews so far. They like me! They really like me!

One of my critiques pointed out a current formatting standard that I have been doing wrong. (I'm a skeptic, so I didn't just take their word for it. I looked into it, and their story holds up.) The standard several years ago used to be that at the end of a sentence, you hit spacebar twice. I think this may go back to typewriter days, and I'm not sure I understand the reasoning. I got into the habit, though, because I felt like it made things look nicer. The current industry standard, however, is to only hit spacebar once. It's a disgustingly difficult habit to break. I've been double-spacing for YEARS now!

I've spent the last few days on and off the site. For a couple of days, reading and reviewing on there was part of my hour of writing. I've had to change my standard on that, however, because I noticed that it is already so addictive that I spend large chunks of my day doing it anyway. While it may improve my writing (time will tell), it isn't actively pushing me toward my other goals. So, it no longer counts. Since I did do it consciously for a set hour during those days, however, I'm counting it for them.

Someone once told me that they like when my blogs have a final thought or question that ties the whole post together, something to take home with you and think about. Unfortunately, when I'm just babbling about my life like today, that's hard to do. So I will, instead, leave you with this song that has been stuck in my head since I heard it:

Shake It Off

Personally, I think the video's adorable.  I also leave you with this question that you should answer in the comments: While she's shaking off the haters, what do you need to just shake off?

I need to shake off using double spaces. Seriously, I think I had to backspace after at least every other sentence in this post.

My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It's been 23 days since my last writer's block.
Today I wrote from 9:50-10:50pm.

Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 18

Hi.  My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It's been 18 days since my last writer's block.
If you haven't already, please read Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 1.

I feel a desperate need today to point out that while it has been 18 days since the last day where I didn't write something, not all of those days involved writing anything GOOD.  I have also discovered that my chapter-a-week goal may be a little unrealistic.  Just a little.

Last week, I diligently made sure that Chapter 3 was written by my self-imposed deadline of Sunday night.  I really was never quite happy with it, though.  Things happened that were driven neither by events in the story nor the narrative process.  Characters acted completely out of character.  I had a girl in an all boys school.  It was a mess.  I hit all of the plot points I wanted to for the chapter, but I got there inelegantly.  And if there is one things I am not a fan of and will tear other authors apart for, it is inelegant plotting.  (Here's looking at you, J.J. Abrams's Star Trek reboot!)

Luckily (and I use this word hesitantly) for me, no one will ever read that chapter, because on a whim last night during my writing hour, I deleted every trace of the former Chapter 3 and started from scratch.  I knew that if I tried to use bits and pieces of it that I liked, I would end up forcing the same worthless plot upon myself, and I didn't want that to happen.

The new Chapter 3 is already much better.

There's another odd thing that I've found myself dealing with a lot lately.  People in my life are slowly either realizing or accepting that I am writing a book and am very serious about doing so.  Of course, the first question that anyone asks when they find out you're writing a book is either, "What kind of book?" or "What's it about?"

I find both questions hard to answer.

From a technical definition, I would file my book under the heading of 'low fantasy', but I think it would be almost as accurate to consider it 'high fantasy' or 'urban fantasy'.  (For explanations of what those terms actually mean, click on them and skim the Wikipedia articles.  If you're feeling really ambitious, actually read them.  I don't recommend it, though.  It's a dangerous and time-consuming habit to get into.)  Usually, I just say fantasy, but I feel like that leaves an unfortunate impression.  My book doesn't take place in a Dungeons and Dragons or LOTR sort of world, which I feel like is what most people expect when you say 'fantasy'.  It does, however, involve some weirdness and supernatural aspects.  Since I don't offer much explanation for the weirdness, I can't personally consider it sci-fi.

So, for now, my answer to "What kind of book?" is "Fantasy.  But probably not the kind you just thought of."

The other question is infinitely more difficult.

When I write, especially when I'm writing good stuff, I don't really know exactly what's going to happen.  I'm not sure of what plot points are important yet and I don't know if what I think the book is about is the same thing that you would think the book is about.  I'm not sure what's teaser material and what's spoilers.  Unfortunately, that means that at least for now, I have to stay very VERY vague.

Plot-wise (which I believe most people actually want to know about), my book is about a boy who gets someone in trouble and eventually finds out the world isn't quite what it seems.  So, you know, half the books on most people's shelves.  Is that vague enough for you?  Thematically (which is really kind of where this one all started), the book is about the power of words and the human imagination and how one person's decisions can affect other people.  That, however, makes the book sound WAY too high-minded for what it is.

Hopefully, one day I'll be able to tell people what it's is about without ruining it for them.

Hopefully.

In the meantime, I'll just continue to write it one day at a time.

The other day, I was thinking about people who do "Novel in November" or National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo or whatever you want to call it.  The idea is that you are supposed to write 50,000 words between November 1st and November 30th.  That averages out to just under 1700 words a day.  Some people round it out to 2000 words a day for a total of 60,000 words by the end of the month.

From what I've read, most publishers would consider this a short novel.  Also, the movement focuses less on quality and more on quantity, believing that you can always go back and edit it later.  At least you have the first draft down.  For some, this is a good strategy.  For me, however, I don't think it would work.  Because of the way my fickle bitch of a muse works, I have to edit as I go.  If I just trudge forward telling myself that I'll do edits and rewrites later, they simply won't happen.

2000 words a day is pretty intense.  I've been shooting for around 2500 words for each of my chapters (No.  I don't know how many there will be.), so 2000 words a day would be about a chapter a day.

And I'm having trouble with a chapter a week!

I don't mean to scare people off of NaNoWriMo or suggest that it's a bad idea.  For some people, it could be a great starting point.  It's just not for me.

How could I write the entire book in a month when I can't even figure out what it's about?

My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It has been 18 days since my last writer's block.
Today I wrote from 11:05pm-12:05.

A Friend Like Me

If for some strange reason, my blog is the only website on the internet that you visit that contains anything remotely related to news, you might want to make sure you're sitting down.  Today, the world lost a truly wonderful man.  Today, many people around the globe lost someone they didn't realize was important to them.  Today, the world is short one Robin Williams.

I have long claimed myself to be a cold-hearted monster.  I heard stories of presidents being assassinated and people crying and mourning their death, and I never understood.  Why would you mourn someone you never met?  Why would you cry over the death of someone that was basically a stranger to you?

Today, I understand.

I have never before been upset by hearing that a celebrity died, but today's news shocked me to my core.  Robin Williams has long been a sort of role-model for me.  He was goofy, charismatic, quick-witted, and fearless but simultaneously deep, emotional, and passionate.  He was probably the first actor I knew by name and has almost always been one of the first additions to any list I ever made of my favorite actors.

Many years back, I decided to cast the Greek gods using all A-List actors.  The first time I did this, I cast him as Dionysus.  At the time, my thoughts were that both were essentially big goofballs.  Things didn't stay that way.

As early as I can remember, my favorite movie was always Aladdin.  There are many fantastic characters in that movie including Jafar, one of the greatest villains of all time; Abu, probably the coolest pet anyone could own; Raja, animalkind's best hope of rivaling Abu for the title of coolest pet; and Jasmine, by far the most attractive Disney princess.  But all of that would still only add up to a really good movie.  Aladdin, however, is a GREAT movie because of one, simple, brilliant casting choice:  Robin Williams as Genie.

Genie was a fantastic character for the same reason that all of Robin Williams's characters were:  there was more to him than just a goofy demeanor.  When I was a kid, I loved watching and listening to Genie because he was rambunctious, wild, and fun.  As I've grown up, I love watching and listening to Genie because he's layered, emotional, and believable.  The same can be said for all the roles I knew him in as a child:  Mrs. Doubtfire, Professor Brainard, Peter Pan, Alan Parrish, and Patch Adams.  In all those roles, I feel in love with him as a kid because he related to me.  He was essentially a living cartoon character.  Then, as I grew up, I stayed in love with him because those roles continued to relate to me.  Those characters dealt with heartbreak, rejection, loneliness, and being held down by society's expectations.

It wasn't until many years later that I started to see Robin Williams as more than a goofball.  The first time it really stuck out at me was the movie Bicentennial Man.  That movie really isn't funny.  It is still one of the most beautiful movies I've ever seen, but it really isn't funny.  I was shocked, but it opened my eyes to a whole new world (yes, I meant to) of Robin Williams's talent.

I recently recast the Greek pantheon using actors that weren't necessarily A-List, but were definitely some of my favorites.  More importantly, they were actors I felt best fit the character I cast them as.  Robin Williams, of course, made the list once again.  This time, however, as I was looking through pictures trying to decide who to cast him as, I came across a shot of him from August Rush and immediately recognized who I wanted him cast as:  Apollo.

As time has progressed from my original casting, my interpretation of Dionysus (at least in the context of this dream casting) has gotten much darker and more malicious, and Robin Williams just didn't fit the part for me.  Apollo, on the other hand, is kind of an odd god.  He is, historically, one of the oldest gods in the Greek pantheon, but part of the second generation in the context of the mythology.  This leaves him with the odd position of being both an old and young god.  To me, that is Robin Williams.

When I was in High School, I was into competitive One-Act-Play pretty intensely.  It gave me an opportunity to shed my skin and be someone else for a little while.  My sophomore year, we did a play called The Day Room.  It is a very strange play about people that are most likely living in an insane asylum and living multiple lives.  It is, however, very confusing and I'm only mostly sure that that's what it's actually about.  We didn't advance with that play past the first level of competition, but, in a twist that I had never seen before and have never seen since, a cast member from our non-advancing play won one of the most coveted individual awards given at these competitions:  Best Actor.

Yes.  It was me.  I was awesome.

My part in The Day Room was, for the first half of the play, a guy at a hospital who is just there for a check-up, but turned out he was part of the psych ward (or something like that).  The second half of the play, however, took place in a collective delusion.  Everyone from the psych ward believed themselves to be at a hotel room, many of whom were planning on going to a play later.  I spent most of that half of the play sitting in a straight jacket in a rolly chair staring at a spot on the floor about three feet in front of me.  Every once in a while, someone else would point a remote at me, turn on the "TV" (me), and flip through the channels.

I was, so I'm told, rather hilarious, because I had a different voice for each channel that they flipped to and all our timing was perfect so that they clicked the button, I clicked on, changed channels, or turned off.  Our judge told us that she kept looking over at me expecting to see me moving during the interludes between channel surfs, but never caught me.

Then she gave me the single greatest compliment I ever received in my acting career.  She said that when she first read the play, she envisioned Robin Williams in that part and that he couldn't have done it any better.  That comment left me flabbergasted.  I didn't even know how to react to that.  Robin Williams was my idol and I had just been compared to him.  (Granted, my cynical self has analyzed the performance and maintains that he would have found a way to add more subtext, but oh well.)

For someone that grew up with as many (if not more) fictional friends as real ones, someone who could create as wonderfully entertaining, deep, and believable characters as Robin Williams is a godsend.  His characters were as much my friends as anyone I knew in real life.  As I said, I have never before felt much about the death of any celebrity, but I have also never had to deal with the death of someone I believe in so strongly.

It wasn't until this last year that I finally saw Dead Poet's Society (I know.  You can burn me at the stake later.), and to be perfectly honest, the reason I finally looked it up was because of an Apple commercial.  The passage that Robin Williams speaks over that commercial, however, touched me deeply, and his delivery of it was simply so powerful.  It was one of the things that pushed me deeper into me writing, because it sums up a piece of my philosophy on writing:

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute.  We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion.  Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love:  these are what we stay alive for.  To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?"  Answer: that you are here; that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.  That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Robin Williams was my idol.

His characters were my friends.

And none of us will ever have a friend like him.

Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 7

Hi.  My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It has been 7 days since my last writer's block.
If you haven't already, please read Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 1.

That's right, people.  Seven days!  No screw-ups!

As of today, I have officially written for one full hour every day for one week, and I am PUMPED!  Honestly, this is longest I've gone with consistent writing in well over a year (despite what I may have told some people).

Possibly even more exciting, I spent almost the entirety of that week on my book and . . . drumroll please . . . CHAPTER 2 IS DONE!!!  It still has to go to my primary editor to make sure it doesn't completely suck, but I really don't think it does.  I love it!  I had one little section that I got frustrated on, but I think that it could end up paying off.  Basically (without giving anything away) a character had to do something in order for the scene to progress, but that something was very vague.  Later on, the narrative process demanded that I reference that action again, but I didn't know why the action had taken place in the first place.  Thus, I was as confused then as you probably are trying to read the gibberish of the last couple sentences here.

Yesterday, we spent the entire day moving my sister into her new apartment, and carrying lots of heavy things up and down stairs when you're as out of shape as I am is exhausting.  By the time I got home and was in a place where I could do my writing for the day, I was so tired that I seriously considered not doing it.  I persevered, however, and maintained my streak.  I'm not saying it was a particularly productive hour, but dammit, I wrote!

I've found over the years that one of the most frustrating things about writing is that no one else ever seems as excited about it as I am.  I can't blame them.  I know I don't get as excited about certain things as other people.  I probably wouldn't be very excited if I were in their shoes, but that doesn't change how frustrating it is.  It's extremely disappointing and lonely to realize that you have no one in your life that you can talk to about something.

I'm not saying that I don't have anyone that I can go tell things to.  My editor and my accountabilibuddy are both huge supporters along with several other people, but I don't feel like any of them really understand.  There's no one that I can dance around with because I finished a chapter and it didn't suck.  There's no one that I can spoil the plot to who would understand why I don't know what my characters are doing.  I don't feel like there is really anybody in my life who understands what it's like to be both completely in control of someone and, simultaneously, be powerless to stop their actions.

I could be wrong.  Every single person reading this (you know, all four of you) might completely understand what I'm talking about, but if you do, let me know!  I need someone to get excited with me.

Having seen other people accomplish things, I know that once I have finished the book, there will be a line of supporters waiting to congratulate me and tell me how proud they are of me, but that doesn't help me right now.  It doesn't change the fact that I felt supremely alone when I finished chapter 2 and threw my hands in the air in triumph.  It doesn't make it any easier to celebrate by yourself.

So I now make this offer to you (Yes, you.  The person reading this right now.):  Tell me what you're celebrating.  Tell me what little thing you've accomplished that no one else seems to care about.  Tell me what you're proud of that others might not consider an accomplishment.  I will personally respond to every single person who tells me something, and we will celebrate together!  If you are close enough that we can celebrate in person, let's do it!  I will do my best to make it work.  If not, we'll celebrate electronically and still have a blast!

Just this once, don't celebrate alone.

My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It has been a week since my last writer's block.
Today I wrote from 10:30pm to 11:30pm.

Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 1

Hi.  My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It has been 1 day since my last writer's block.

It started out as a passing thought:  Man, I really need to write more.
Which became a persistent theme:  Why am I not writing?
Which forced an introspective analysis:  Apparently, I am bad at self-motivation.
Which gave birth to an idea:  I need someone to keep me accountable.
Which led to a question:  Will someone be my accountabilibuddy?
Which yielded a volunteer.
Who made a half-joke:  It's like I'm his sponsor!
Which left me thinking . . . again.

It's really not a bad idea.  The whole idea, by my understanding, of things like Alcoholics Anonymous is that you find people who are dealing with the same thing as you.  Another part of it, someone once told me, was that it is a group of people (or at least one person (your sponsor (have I used enough parenthetical statements here?))) that you basically report to and turn to for support.  It's people to keep you accountable.

And it's brilliant.  It's something that I desperately need.

I want to write a novel.

There are not a whole lot of sentences that I can write out like that without lying.  I don't really know what I want to do with my life.  I have a few ideas of things to try, but I don't feel super passionate towards much else.

Apparently, I never did know what I wanted to do with my life.  I spent some time today thinking through what my responses were all those years that people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.

In early elementary (Forgive my impreciseness.  My autobiographical memory is pretty shoddy.  I'll explain later.) I remember there being an assignment where we drew a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up.  I drew a person painting (and, of course, wearing the obligatory beret) and said I wanted to be a famous artist.  Not an artist.  A famous artist.  Let's be honest, I didn't really even know what that meant.

I remember at a camp that I went to, there was one night that they made a big deal of telling what you wanted to be when you grew up and I remember my answer very vividly:  I want to be a bio-genetic engineer.  Let's be honest, I didn't really even know what that meant.  Neither did anyone else, but they all thought it sounded impressive.  I told them it meant that I wanted to work with DNA, combining it from different creatures to create new species.  I'm still not sure what the actual term means (if anything).

The last time I really remember giving any kind of straight answer about what I wanted to do when I grew up was while I was filling out college applications.  Scholarship committees want to know what you plan on doing with the money they might be giving you, so I had an answer ready for them:  I was going to get my Ph.D. and become a college professor.  Let's be honest, I didn't really even know what that meant.  But it sounded nice, and that's what was important.

I've never settled on anything for very long that appealed to me as something to do when I grow up.  That is, except for this one solitary sentence:

I want to write a novel.

I'm not sure when I first started enjoying writing.  My family has had several times in the last month where we sat around talking about the past and memories from childhood.  I quickly realized that some of my most vivid memories were of me physically alone in my room, surrounded by a horde of my invisible . . . associates.  They weren't always friendly.  My memories of my adventures on the other side of my imagination are just as vivid as (more vivid in some cases) my memories of things that actually happened.

I've always made characters and stories.  I actually used to get frustrated when I tried to play with other kids, because they had no concept of character or story.  They just wanted to run around.  I wanted to get lost on the other side.

The first conscious memory I have of thinking that writing might be something I would be interested in doing was in my junior year of High School.  In my literature class, our teacher was having us write short stories.  Somewhere along the way, a joke was made about having an awards show when we were done writing them because it would be close to the time of year when the Oscars came on.  She took that joke and ran with it and the First Annual Lehman Awards were held.

The day of the awards, we all dressed up.  She had rolled out red butcher paper in the library to make a red carpet and there was a photographer there for the yearbook asking about what we were wearing.  There were hors d'oeuvres, a podium, and a table full of little trophies.

I was for more excited than I showed.  Or at least, I choose to believe I played it cool.

Our teacher presented the first award and that person got up, gave a little speech and presented the next award until everyone in the class had gotten one.  Some of the awards were silly, some were more serious.  Some were things like, "Best Love Story Since Twilight" or "Most Interesting Twist".  We laughed a lot that day at all the silliness.  I sat and listened to everyone else get their awards and laughed and clapped, all the while wondering what she had chosen to give me an award for.

I was the last person to win a category and it was drawing close to the end of class.  I looked around at some point and realized I was the only one who hadn't gotten an award yet and started getting excited.  Mine was definitely not what I expected.

I still have the certificate, and the trophy I got that day is sitting right in front of me right now.  But really, I don't need either to remember what my award was.  For the short story The Inevitable Future of the Avoidable Past, my award was "Winner of the First Annual Lehman Awards".  My pessimistic brain didn't understand this.  My immediate reaction was that there was simply nothing worth picking out of my story.  I assumed that that was the award simply because she couldn't think of anything else to give me.

She gave each of us a book with all of our short stories in it so that we could read each others' and I did so eagerly, hoping to figure out what was so much different about everyone else's that they got real awards and I didn't.  Again, I was surprised.

I preface my next statement with an apology:  I'm sorry to anyone else that might be reading this who had a story in that book.  I am sorry that what I am about to say is going to sound very conceited.  Truly, there were some good stories and some good prose in there.  I simply felt that mine, however, after reading them all as objectively as I could, was on a different level than all the others.  The story was more elegantly crafted, it moved better, the characters were more believable and it wasn't simply a rip-off of something that was already out there.  (Actually, the movie Eagle Eye came really close, but, in my defense, I didn't see that movie until last year.)

That was the first time I remember truly thinking that there might be something special in my writing.  Worlds, creatures, stories and characters had always come naturally to me.  That, however, was the first day that I truly came to respect my own writing abilities.

And so, we come full circle, to the only idea that has ever held any weight with regards to what I want to do when I grow up.

I want to write a novel.

Everyone who knows anything about this will tell you that the best way to learn how to write better is to read, write and accept critiques.  Observe, practice and get coaching.  Most people on the interwebs suggest setting out a particular place and time as your writing time.  A time when everything else is put on hold and you write.  Something.  What you write is supposedly not that important.

I have set a few goals for my writing:

• I will write for an hour every day.
• I will write at least one chapter in my novel every week.
• I will admit to someone if I fail at either of these goals.

The third goal is, for me, possibly the most important.  As the current state of my apartment will tell you, I am TERRIBLE at self-motivation.  I am almost tolerable with keeping stuff at least straightened if someone else will be using the area.  Over the summer, however, I have been living by myself and it has spent most of that time looking as if it had been ransacked.  (I promise I'll have it mostly cleaned up by the time you get home.)

That's where my accountabilibuddy, my sponsor, comes in.  She is going to contact me regularly and make sure that I am writing.  Knowing her, she won't let me off easy if I don't.

I can't promise you that I will write here every day.  I will promise you, however, that in my "Writers Not-So-Anonymous" entries, I will be completely honest about the writing that I am doing.  If you would like to join me on this adventure, you can read along.  I will try to post here a couple of times a week to give some updates.  Try here being the operative word.

You can also join me if you are struggling with the same thing.  If you would like to join Writers Not-So-Anonymous, feel free to leave comments or write your own blogs about it and send them to me.  We can link to each other!

My name is Benjamin and I'm a writer.  It has been 1 day since my last writer's block.
Today I wrote from 9:15pm to 10:15pm.

Rehumanizing Noah

I have decided to join the world on one of the most highly discussed topics currently on the internet.  I will, however, be joining what I believe to be the minority in the discussion:  people who have actually seen the movie.  Hold onto your hats, folks, because "NOAH", directed by Darren Aronofsky and starring Russell Crowe, Emma Watson, and some other people you only slightly care about, is more biblically and traditionally accurate than you first thought.

Before you start judging this movie, do me two HUGE favors:  watch the movie and read Genesis 6-9.  Four chapters.  That's it.  You can do it.  I promise.  In fact, it'll take most people longer to watch the movie than to read the biblical account.

WARNING:  HUGE SPOILERS AHEAD.

I've read so many people lately talking about how bad of an interpretation the movie is and all the things that are wrong with it.  I will, in this post, be analyzing as many of these issues as I can think of.

See, the key with almost all of these issues is that just because YOUR Bible, an English translation of a book that was written in Hebrew multiple generations and an enslavement after Noah died, says something happened, doesn't mean it literally happened exactly that way.  More importantly, just because it doesn't say something happened, doesn't mean it didn't happen.

When you actually read the biblical account of Noah and the ark, you'll find that there isn't much there.  If you were to make a movie that truly reflected the text including where it seems to put the most emphasis, you might could fill a half hour assuming you had a nice long sequence of Noah meticulously measuring the boat and spent at least ten minutes watching things drown to death.  I don't know about you, but I'd watch the HECK out of that movie!

I'm gonna go ahead and knock out the stupidest complaint I've heard:  (The following should be read in an obnoxiously childish and nasally voice.)  "The movie never even says the word 'God'."  No.  It doesn't.  Nor should it.  If the movie was going to have any kind of accuracy in that respect, the characters would use dozens of different titles for God, all in some language that would make them sound like gibberish to most people (since this story takes place before the Tower of Babel).  It's SO much simpler to simply say "the creator".  Duh.

Now that that's out of the way, let's move on to some real issues.

(The following should once again be read in the same whiny voice used above.)  "God talked to Noah.  There were no cryptic messages or need for interpretation."  ACHOO!!!

Have you ever talked with someone who believes they have heard God speak to them?  I have.  I know one unnecessarily well.  When you get the chance to talk to one of these people, go ahead and ask them if God used words.  Chances are they'll say no.  Compared to most people's interactions with and messages from God, Noah's dreams in the movie are incredibly straightforward.

In the movie, Methuselah makes it pretty clear the way most theologians will agree that God speaks to humans:  "You have to trust that he will speak to you in a way that you can understand."  I think that's a much better lesson from the story than "Noah was awesome and God won't ever talk to you that way.  Sorry."

(Hopefully you're catching on, but, you know, whiny voice.  Ok?)  "There were no rock monsters."

Believe it or not, the movie actually has a fantastic explanation for this firmly rooted in Abrahamic tradition and the books of the Apocrypha.  The "rock monsters" are, in the movie, fallen angels.  Specifically, a group of angels call the Watchers.  That shit's straight out of the Book of Enoch.  They're "rock monsters" because they are being punished for disobeying God's will.  That is actually a little thing we in the business like to call creativity.  If you can find me a photograph of a fallen angel that doesn't look like a rock monster, I may be willing to concede this point.

The real problem people should have with the Watchers is not that they are "rock monsters", but what I consider to be the most clever and intriguing thing about them in this movie:  the reason they fell.

In the movie, they are cast out of heaven for sympathizing with humanity.  They descend to Earth after man is cast out of Eden to teach tem how to use the world to survive on their own.  For this, they are punished with imprisonment their own bodies.  In the Book of Enoch, they are punished for having sex with humans because human chicks are SEXY!  (Seriously.  That's basically what it says.)

If you're gonna take issue with the "rock monsters", that's what the issue should be.  But, really, this answer is less creepy, more interesting, and leads to a beautiful lesson of redemption.  Aren't "God's will is the law even if it doesn't make sense to us." and "Obey God's will and he will welcome you back home, regardless of your screw-ups." much better lessons than "Don't screw members of other species no matter how sexy they are."?

(You know the drill.  Whiny.)  "Noah didn't fight people off of the boat."

Really?  You think that Noah just built a highly conspicuous boat and then when things started flooding no one tried to get on?  I don't even feel like giving a long response to this one.  Just grow up and get real.  Human nature is easy to predict.  Either there was no way whatsoever for them to get on the boat (highly unlikely) or Noah beat them off with a stick.  Literally.

(You don't have to imagine this one as whiny.  This one's basically legit.)  "Shem, Ham, and Japheth had wives when they got on the ark."

I'll grant you that the simplest interpretation of the story would suggest this.  In fact, almost any sane person would interpret the story that way.  It puts off the incestual creepiness of repopulating the earth off for one more generation . . . but still just one.

What the Bible actually says is that they and their wives got on the ark, which, technically, they did in the movie.  Just creative interpretation.

(Let's whine again.)  "There were no stowaways on the ark."

How do you know?  Were you there?  Whatever.  Let's just chalk this one up to Hollywood and move on.

(I'll let you off without whining on this one.  I don't agree with you, but I understand why you would be upset here.)  "Noah didn't try to kill his grandchildren.  He was a good man."

Did he try to kill his grandchildren?  The Bible doesn't say he did.  It also doesn't say he didn't.  Might he have?  Consider this:

Let's assume for a moment that Noah was a human with human thoughts and human emotions.  (I know.  Shocker.  (I know.  I shouldn't have to even say this, but people don't seem to get that.))  He was presented with the idea that mankind was so irreparably screwed up that God planned to drown the entire world.  You don't think that Noah would take a moment to reevaluate his own existence?  Or his family's?  Humanity ruined creation and infected themselves with sin.  Every human is sinful.  Period.  It's really not a very far leap at all to "all of humanity should be destroyed".  Killing his grandchildren would have been the only way to ensure humanity's extinction.

Noah made a conscious decision to let all of humanity die.  He believed that human kind was so evil that they deserved to drown.  All of them.  If you met Noah right now, you probably wouldn't think he was such a nice guy.  But, more importantly, you haven't met Noah.  For all you know, he was a racist prick.  You just don't know.

Let's look at the lesson though.  Which would you rather have taught to you:  "You must follow God's will to the letter.  There is no disobeying."  or  "God gives you choices in life and allows humanity to be masters of their own fate."

(Last one, and I'll even let you have it whine-free.)  "The movie supports evolution."

Yep.  It sure does.  But you know what?  It also supports creationism.

What the movie actually does is present both stories simultaneously and layers them together so that you can clearly see that you can believe in the big bang theory and evolution and still believe God created the heavens and the earth.  That's what I believe, and I LOVED that sequence in the movie.  If you see nothing else, find a way to see that sequence.  Nothing so succinctly explains the harmony between science and religion as that sequence did.

Is this movie an actual purely biblical retelling of the Noah story?  No.  But no sane person would enjoy that movie.  It would suck hard.  It is, however, a fantastic movie.  The movie does a beautiful job of presenting the lessons it wants, especially the primary lesson of cleansing inherent in the story.

The problem most people are having with the movie is that they want the fluffy version where everyone is good or bad and the good guys win.  They don't want to watch people drowning to death.  They don't want to think about the characters having lives.  They want a cute little old man surrounded by pretty animals with a rainbow above them.  If you want that, don't bother with this movie.  If you want that, try VeggieTales or another children's show.

This movie is a fantastic example of how the Bible can be interpreted creatively.  You can stick with the childish story you were raised on, or you can join those of us not bound to tradition and enter a whole new realm of story telling.  If you did both favors I asked for at the start of this post and still don't like this movie's interpretation of Noah, do me one more favor:  when I start writing biblical stories, don't even waste your time reading them.  I can tell you now, you'll hate them.

I support creative interpretation.  Everything else is just boring.

My Favorite Number

Currently, my favorite number is -1/12 for one very particular reason.

But before you hear that reason, do me a favor and start adding together all the counting (mathematicians call them "natural") numbers.  You can use a calculator if you like.  There is a very particular reason for this.

But before you hear that reason, a story!

Once upon a time, there was a hotel with infinite rooms and no vacancies.  One day, a man came to the completely full hotel and asked for a room.  Now, the clerk working at the front desk was extremely clever.  He told the man that getting him a room would be no problem.  The clerk then went to the woman in room one and told her his plan.  The woman in the room agreed, packed up her things, and went to room two, sending its occupant to room three.  The person from room three then moved to room four, the person in room four went to room five, five went to six, and so on.  The clerk then showed the new guest to the newly vacant room one.

The infinite hotel paradox is fundamental in the explanation of why I have chosen my favorite number.

Now, consider the following equation:

U=1-1+1-1+1-1+ . . .

It's easy to see by looking at this that if you were to stop after an odd number of actions, U=1, and if you were to stop after an even number of actions, U=0.  What if, however, you never stopped?  What if you continued this infinitely?  What would your answer be then?

To answer these questions, I will add U to itself and use the principle from the infinite hotel paradox to shift the numbers by one position:

  U=1-1+1-1+1-1+ . . .
+U=    1-1+1-1+1- . . .

Set up this way, you can see that all of the positive 1's line up with a negative 1 and vice-versa except for the first one.  Thus, we know the following:

2U=1

Simple algebra then tells us that U=1/2.

So if you add and take away 1 an infinite number of times, you somehow end up with 1/2.  Math.

That result almost makes sense.  1/2 is the average of the two numbers the equation was bouncing between, so it seems appropriate that it would end up there.  I'm not done, though.  Consider this infinite sum:

X=1-2+3-4+5-6+ . . .

We're now going to use a similar premise to the one above.

  X=1-2+3-4+5-6+ . . .
+X=   1-2+3-4+5- . . .

If you do this arithmetic, you'll see that you end up with this:

2X=1-1+1-1+1-1+ . . .

Look familiar?  What I've just shown is that 2X=U.  We already know that U=1/2, so 2X=1/2.  Do your algebra and you'll find that X=1/4.

Alright, folks.  Here we go.  Hopefully, you've been adding up the natural numbers this whole time, because that's where we're going next.  When you get done adding all of them together, we're going to call that number N.  If you like equations better, N looks like this:

N=1+2+3+4+5+6+ . . .

Now, let's figure out what N is.  You just keep on adding so you can check my work, and I'll start subtracting X from N.

 N=1+2+3+4+5+6+ . . .
-X=-1+2-3+4-5+6- . . .

If you're still with me, you can see that all the odd numbers will disappear and all the even numbers will be doubled.  So you'll be left with this:

N-X=4+8+12+16+20+ . . .

Which some of you may recognize as this:

N-X=4(1+2+3+4+5+ . . . )

Now, notice that the right side of this equation is simply N being multiplied by 4.  We know that X=1/4, so I'm going to do some substitution and rearranging.

N-(1/4)=4N (I substituted in 1/4 and N.)
-(1/4)=3N (I subtracted N from both sides.)
N=-1/12 (I flipped the equation and divided by 3.)

So there you have it.  If you add all of the natural numbers together, the answer is -1/12.  Want to know something weirder?  Physicists have used this result in string theory.  That's right.  The people unravelling the mysteries of the universe are using the fact that 1+2+3+4+5+6+ . . . =-1/12!

No foolin'.

Results like this are the reason why I'm convinced that math is closer to philosophy than science.  In order to believe this, you have to accept that infinite sums are things we are allowed to work with.  Some mathematicians disagree.  That's when we enter this weird debate over whether or not numbers exist.  I tried to write an explanation for this debate, but these guys' videos do it so much better:

Do Numbers Exist?
Is Math a Feature of the Universe?

It ultimately comes down to this question:  Do we discover mathematics or do we create it?

I Just Fixed the Government

Ahem.

Brace yourselves.  I will now fix the tax and immigration systems simultaneously.

You want to come to our country?  Great!  Come on over!  You don't want to pay the government for anything?  Fine!  We won't make you!  You want to vote and help decide what the government should do?  That's awesome!  Just pay this flat percentage of your income!  You want the government to take care of your daily needs?  Too bad.

Done.

Was that so difficult?

Am I over-simplifying it?  Maybe.  Probably.  But I don't see how that's worse than over-complicating it and surrendering all the principles upon which our government was founded.

I'm Fed Up . . . Again.

It's been a while since I've given the world a glimpse "Beneath the Curls", mostly because I've been busy plotting a novel, writing stories on another blog, and being lazy.  But, world, I'm done.

I'm fed up . . . again.  (We're all shocked.)

We've all seen the post on Facebook or email or whatever your version of social media is:  "[insert picture here] is what REAL beauty looks like!"  Generally these days, the inserted picture is of a girl that society would generally deem unattractive.  Other versions put completely not comparable pictures next to each other and make you feel guilty for finding the clearly more physically attractive woman to be more beautiful.  My favorite (achoo!) version is the one that shows every type of figure imaginable EXCEPT the one that society deems beautiful.  There are hundreds of variations that I just don't want to even include here, because I'm SO SICK of reading them!!!

Here's the deal, folks.  Society has decided that that is what physical beauty looks like.  Get over it.

I'm not saying that you aren't beautiful if you don't look like that.  I'm simply saying that until the next shift in society's view of physical beauty, the general populace will not truly and objectively consider you physically beautiful.  There was a time when full-figured women were considered the pinnacle of human perfection.  (Look up pictures of Aphrodite sometime.  That chick ain't scrawny.)  There was a time when it was beautiful for a woman to have the world's tiniest waste supported by the world's largest hips.  (Hence, corsets and poofy dresses.)

There was a time when fat men who covered their odor with a thick cloud of perfume were sexy.  (Ben Franklin was a stud.)  That's right.  This all applies to guys too.

The fact of the matter is that "sexy", right now, is a slim, fit look for girls, and a toned beefcake look for guys.  Your time may come.  Then again, it may not.  Chances are, a massive shift isn't going to all of a sudden happen in our lifetime and I can almost guarantee there won't be two massive shifts in our lifetime.  Posting stuff on Facebook is not going to help the situation.

In fact, posting stuff like this on Facebook is actually perpetuating the situation.

We all know what these posts are trying to tell us.  They're trying to tell us that beauty is what's on the inside and not what's on the outside.  But here's the deal:  That's not what they're saying.

When you look at pictures of two people, one extremely physically beautiful and one clearly not fitting society's view of perfection, you know which one is beautiful.  You can read the caption on it over and over and over, but you will still know which one is hotter.  Assuming for the moment that the caption is even acknowledged by our judgemental brains, what these posts actually say is, "Look how ugly this person is compared to this person.  The ugly one is brilliant or nice, and the hot one is stupid or mean."  At best, what the posts say is, "This person is ugly and this person is hot, but you can't tell what their personalities are like."

Note that they are still described as "ugly" and "hot" by the subconscious bowls of our minds, because that is still how the post is defining them.  All you're actually doing by continuing to send out these posts is perpetuating the definition of people as "hot" or "ugly".

There is a glimmer of hope, though.

If you'll notice, most of what I've talked about so far is society's definition of beauty.  But beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder.

You will never find a single person that is universally viewed as physically perfection.  If you ever do find that person, I beg you to get me their number.  Guy or girl, get me their number.  I will make them famous!  Or my wife!  Or I will just creep them out!  There is no one person out there who is physically attractive to everybody.  But, everyone is physically attractive to somebody.  Or (more accurately) can be physically attractive to somebody.

You see, the human mind is a fickle bitch.  One second you hate someone, the next you love them, the next you can't remember their name.  Your perception of the world around you is constantly being altered.  You can look at someone, find them physically repulsive, then get to know them and find them a little less grotesque.

Yes.  Your perception of someone's physical beauty can be altered by their personality.  It's science!

Now, I can't speak for girls or gays, but I do have some experience as a heterosexual male who occasionally carries on conversations with other heterosexual males, so listen up.  The absolute most attractive thing a girl can have in her personality is attraction toward you.

There is nothing hotter than someone who wants you as badly as you want them.  Guys like when girls play hard to get?  Maybe.  But, contrary to what many Romantic Comedies will tell you, only if they know she's into him.  We're lazy creatures evolutionarily programmed to propagate our species (which is actually the entire foundation of physical attractiveness).  Most guys aren't going to waste their time on an endeavour they know to be fruitless.

Which leads me to the next most attractive thing about a woman.

I was once told a story by a friend (who shall remain nameless for his own protection) about his girlfriend finding a dirty magazine in his room.  She flipped out on him and babbled a long stream of word vomit consisting mostly of incomprehensible obscenities.  Once he got her calmed down, he managed to weasel out of her that she actually felt threatened.  She didn't realize it at first, but what really happened is this:  She knew she could never live up to the girls pictured in the magazine, and since that was clearly what he wanted, she was quite certain that their break-up was inevitable.

He just laughed.

You see, ladies, guys may look at beautiful girls.  They may check out the random chick down the street, gawk at a naked woman on TV (or anywhere else), or notice that your bestfriend has great legs (or other parts).  But if that is YOUR man, you have one incredibly attractive thing going for you that none of those other girls have:  You're there!  The average guy is going to pick the average girl that's there over the insanely gorgeous supermodel a thousand miles way any day.

As I said before, we're lazy creatures.

Pure, cold, objective beauty isn't everything.  There are SO many factors that figure in to what an individual finds attractive.  I had a crush on the pink Power Ranger when I was little, so girls automatically become more attractive when they where that shade of pink.  Or when they play the violin.  (Not sure where that one came from.)  Merely walking a few feet closer to someone can completely change your view of them.  Getting to know them on a deeper level CERTAINLY will.  Telling someone that you like them?  Well that could just drive them up the wall.

If you want a different perspective on this (e.g. a female perspective), here is an article that my sister shared on Facebook that I can almost entirely support (that's among the highest compliments in my repertoire):

[Thigh Gap]se in Judgment

Quit sharing the posts about what REAL beauty is.  Especially, quit sharing the posts that include pictures.  It's insulting to everyone involved, especially the people in the pictures.  You can't pin down what "real beauty" is, because it's different for each person.  We each have our own image of a "perfect" someone that doesn't actually exist.

For me, it's a girl in pink playing the violin after doing something sciencey and telling me about a controversial/thought-provoking new idea she had.

She also has a British accent.

And she brought me chocolate cake earlier that day.

. . . when the Doctor was me.

Fun fact:  When you spend eleven hours alone in a car, you run out of things to do and start either falling asleep or thinking.  In order to prevent a horrifying fiery car accident, last weekend, I succumbed to the latter.

Once I got past the stuff that was WAY too personal for me to be sharing with almost anyone and the classified stuff I'm too paranoid to post on the interwebs, I got into an exceedingly nerdy analysis of the most recent seasons of Doctor Who.  (Stay with me, and I promise I'll get past the nerdiness as quick as possible.)(For those that care, I'll only talk about one spoiler that anyone who has paid ANY attention to Doctor Who information online already knows about.  Hint:  Peter Capaldi.)

For the last several years, the show runner for the series has been a brilliant writer:  Steven Moffat.  In his tenure of the show, Moffat has demonstrated a brilliant mastery of the show's time-travel aspect.  He seems to understand better than most who have written for the show before what the doctor was saying here:

Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey . . . Stuff

He set plot lines in motion that seemed to come out of nowhere and then disappeared just as quickly.  Then, just when you think that you're supposed to forget that . . . BAM!  It's an incredibly important plot point!  So many of these threads were wrapped up and tied together in the most recent episode, "The Time of the Doctor", that it took me a few weeks of percolation to finally riddle through all the timey wimey stuff.  Once I did that, however, I was able to finally think about what the doctor left us with in the end of the episode.

For those of you who don't know, the entire premise of Doctor Who is that there is an alien time traveler called "the Doctor" (we don't know his actual name).  He is from a race known as the Time Lords who have evolved an odd way of cheating death.  Instead of dying at the end of their life (whether that be naturally or otherwise), they "regenerate".  Essentially, every cell in their body is replaced, leaving them a completely different looking person with a completely different personality, but all the same memories.  This is actually just a clever writing trick that lets the character be replaced by a new actor with a new personality whenever needed.

At the end of the episode, the Doctor gives a speech that went far beyond the reaches of a simple sci-fi show:

The Eleventh Doctor's Regeneration

For those too lazy to have actually watched that video, shame on you.  I'll spoon-feed you the speech later, but you really should go watch it.  Matt Smith is incredible!  Just ignore the other people . . . on second thought, don't ignore them.  They're definitely worth paying attention to . . . for a different reason.  Definitely.

I'm in the middle of a regeneration myself.  At the tender age of five, I went to camp, and I fell in love.  As I've grown up and discovered and rediscovered myself, going through regeneration after regeneration, camp has been a constant.  After my sophomore year of high school, I entered into the Lutheran Youth Leadership Experience (or LYLE) program at camp.  I went through two year in that program, making new friends and getting to know a new me.

At the end of my second year of LYLE, I was convinced that I was done with camp.  I was sure that I was never going back.  When God smacked me over the head at one of the last worships, that changed, and I set my course as a member of camp staff for the next four summers.

They were a glorious four summers and during that time, regardless of what else changed in my life, I knew that I was camp staff.  I knew I would be back.  To be completely honest, I began defining myself by the relationships I made at camp as far back as LYLE.  For six years, my identity was tied up with camp.  But, as the Doctor pointed out, "You've got to keep moving."

For those of you who are currently summer staff, a day will come when you will know that it is your time to move on.  One day, you will realize that your regeneration is coming.  For some, it happens during staff training of their first summer.  For others, it's seven years down the road.  And for some lucky people, it could be decades.  But when the time comes, you know.  I knew by the time I was interviewing for my last summer.

Unfortunately, it didn't truly hit me until last weekend.

I got through the end of the summer with only a minor breakdown.  I honestly thought that I had gotten through it and was incredibly relieved by how easy it had been.  I was sure that because I had gone through the entire summer knowing it was my last one, it had prepared me to move on.  Then the second night of the annual staff reunion rolled around.

I looked around the room at all of the people there that I love so dearly.  My other family.  I watched new relationships forming and old ones solidified over coloring books, games, and YouTube videos.  I listened to the noise level slowly rise until someone shushed everyone and reminded them that people were trying to sleep.  Then I listened to it go right back up again.

I remembered all the long, pointless and hilarious conversations I had had and all the long, incredibly meaningful conversations that changed me forever.  I remembered demon turtles, my twin sister, those select few who got to peak behind the mask, and conversations in languages none of us understood.  I remembered the Joker, the Nookie, and King Arthur.  I remembered velociraptors, creampuffs, elephants wearing hats, and the Victorian era lyrics to Big Poppa.

I thought about all the people who had already moved on.  The truly great people who had graced those hallowed halls with their presence.  I saw their faces among those still looking forward to the next summer and I realized, probably for the first time, that I was, in some strange way, no longer one of them.  I realized at that moment that when I left there the next day, it would be the last thing I ever do as a summer staff member.

And I wept.

I was lucky enough that someone else was there who was dealing with the same thing, and my adopted brother comforted me.  We hid ourselves away and talked until I could breath and felt like I could go back.  It helped immensely, especially for that night, but it didn't completely fix it.  I cried several times on the ride home and am, in fact, in tears as I'm writing this.

Someone once told me that once you are camp staff, you are always camp staff.  I haven't been on the other side of this long enough to know how true those words are, but it really doesn't matter.  That period of my life is over.  Yes.  That will always be me, but I don't really want to have to be dragged out.

Matt Smith was not the first Doctor.  He wasn't the second, third, or even eighth.  He was the eleventh Doctor.  I'll be honest and admit that I haven't watched any of classic Doctor Who, so I don't know what kind of emotions they attributed to regeneration back then, but I have seen the last three regenerations.  Christopher Eccleston (the ninth Doctor), I felt, had one very similar to Matt Smith's.  Both of their Doctor's knew their time had come and gracefully bowed out.  David Tennant (the tenth Doctor), on the other hand, had a vastly different one.  He dragged his feet, revisited all of his previous companions, then ended with this heartbreaking scene:

The Tenth Doctor's Regeneration

In the interest of full disclosure, I am in full support of the way Tennant's doctor went out.  It was completely in character and a fitting way to send out a Doctor who, as the eleventh put it, had "vanity issues".  But I don't want to do that.

It's true.  I don't want to go.  But I know that any day now, he's a-comin'.  I'm not saying goodbye to camp.  I'm not about to break a streak as long as I've got going by not going back at some point this summer.  But I am saying goodbye to that me.  It's someone else's turn to take on the role.

We all change.  We all go through regenerations.  We are all constantly recreating and rediscovering ourselves.  To those of you who are in the middle of your tenure as yourself, cherish this time.  There will never be another you like you.  To those in the middle of changing themselves, have hope.  Just because things change, it doesn't mean that they'll be bad.  But above all, never EVER forget all of the yous that came before you.

It all just disappears, doesn't it?  Everything you are, gone in a moment.  Like breath on a mirror.  Any moment now, he's a-comin'.  The Doctor.  I am the Doctor, and I always will be.  But times change, and so must I.  We all change when you think about it.  We are all different people all through our lives, and that's ok.  That's good.  You've got to keep moving.  So long as you remember all the people that you used to be.

I will not forget one line of this, not one day.  I swear.  I will always remember when the Doctor was me.