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.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Monday, August 4, 2014
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:
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.
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.
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.
Friday, April 4, 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
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:
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:
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:
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:
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:
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+ . . .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:
+U= 1-1+1-1+1- . . .
2U=1Simple 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+ . . .If you do this arithmetic, you'll see that you end up with this:
+X= 1-2+3-4+5- . . .
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+ . . .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:
-X=-1+2-3+4-5+6- . . .
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.)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!
-(1/4)=3N (I subtracted N from both sides.)
N=-1/12 (I flipped the equation and divided by 3.)
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?It ultimately comes down to this question: Do we discover mathematics or do we create it?
Is Math a Feature of the Universe?
Friday, February 28, 2014
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.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
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):
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.
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):
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.
Monday, January 13, 2014
. . . 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:
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:
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:
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.
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 . . . StuffHe 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 RegenerationFor 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 RegenerationIn 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.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
You Know What's Stupid? (The title of this article is in no way meant to reflect the author's belief that humans are intellectually inferior to dolphins.)
Happy Holidays!
Merry Christmas!
Homosexuality is an abomination!
Homosexuality is natural!
Abortion is a woman's choice!
Abortion is murder!
Great. Now that I've sufficiently offended everyone and taken political correctness off the table, maybe I can actually get down to saying something worth saying. And here it is:
Let's start from where most people in my life are sitting:
Now the other direction:
This situation was bound to happen eventually. Why is ANYONE surprised about what happened?!
Political correctness has gone too far. I'm all for being open and accepting, but come one, people. Chill out. These aren't new ideas! In fact, these ideas have been around for a while!
The idea that marriage is for love is an incredibly recent development in society. In all honesty, marriage was for centuries a sort of political union solidified by children. The first people to have marriages were royalty and they were for just that reason. In as late as the 18th century, extra-marital affairs and not marriages were considered the highest form of romantic love. By this interpretation of marriage, homosexual marriage is stupid and a waste. On the other side of that coin, however, that isn't what marriage is anymore. Marriage is a public declaration of love and a legal joining of households. If you want to marry any other legally recognized, consenting, sentient being, go for it!
The idea of homosexuality, however, also isn't anything new. In ancient Greece, including Sparta and Athens, women were considered to be for making babies. You didn't have sex with your wife because it was enjoyable. You had sex with your wife because it was your civic duty to propagate your family line. Other men were there for your enjoyment. On the other side of that coin, however, homosexuality did disappear for a while with the rise of Christianity. For many years, it was accepted as deviant behavior. It's gonna take a while before Christians ever relent on that. Get used to it.
Creationism isn't science. You don't believe in evolution or the big bang? Fine. But they are science. If you can't accept that, homeschool your children. The idea that creationism should be taught in public schools is really just silly. Do you also want your child to be taught that Farakrea the Great Celestial Sloth, vomited the world into existence? What if that's what I believe? Hmmmm? Don't I have a right to let my children learn that as science? Hmmmm?! (The previous statement regarding Farakrea the Great Celestial Sloth should be regarded as an example of how strange creationism seems to those who do not believe it and not a statement of belief on the part of the author or any sane person on Earth.)
While I'm angsting about that: I was once presented with the argument that evolution is a ridiculous theory because humans have never observed it happen. Duh. The earliest written record dates to the 6th century BC (or BCE depending on whether we're being politically correct or traditional). That means that all of recorded human history has taken place over about 27,000 years. According to scientists who support the big bang theory and evolution, Earth is roughly 4,540,000,000 years old. That means that humans have observed approximately 0.0006% of the Earth's life. That means that if you condensed the Earth's life down to a year, humans wrote stuff down for the last 3 minutes. I know you didn't work a single day last year because you slept through my New Year's Eve party. You lazy jerk!
Forcing political correctness is the same thing as imposing your beliefs on others. You are forcing me to say that what you believe is equally valid to what I believe. Honestly, some of the things you believe are just dumb. While I'm riding that train of thought, in some circles, it's now becoming politically incorrect to be politically correct. I'm looking at you "You better say Merry Christmas" people!
Update (like five minutes later): Also this: Tolerance. That is all.
Merry Christmas!
Homosexuality is an abomination!
Homosexuality is natural!
Abortion is a woman's choice!
Abortion is murder!
Great. Now that I've sufficiently offended everyone and taken political correctness off the table, maybe I can actually get down to saying something worth saying. And here it is:
Everyone is in the wrong.I'll start with where everyone else seems to be this morning:
Duck DynastyBasically (for those who haven't heard and are too lazy to read the article above), Phil Robertson said some things in an interview that were considered offensive to the GLBT (That stands for gay, lesbian, transgender, and bisexual for you kiddos reading! Ask your parents about those words! They'll love it!)(The previous parenthetical statement may be taken as honest or sarcastic. Whichever one offends you more.) community, and has been taken off of Duck Dynasty indefinitely by its network, A&E, who is a supporter of the GLBT community.
Let's start from where most people in my life are sitting:
A&E: You are stupid.Look at what A&E has done: They made a right-wing, conservative Christian family into celebrities and then were shocked when they expressed beliefs contradictory to more liberal ideas. What did you expect? Something like this was bound to happen. The Bible does have verses that say that homosexuality is wrong. The one that Phil Robertson paraphrased was 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 in which the author says in no uncertain terms that homosexual men (It really doesn't say anything about women, so you gals are good to go!) will not inherit the kingdom of heaven. The Robertson family has never done anything to suggest that they are anything but firm believers in the Bible. Is anyone really surprised that Phil said something that lined up with the traditional interpretation of scripture?
Now the other direction:
Phil Robertson (but more so, anyone surprised by his suspension): You are stupid.Look at what the Robertsons did: They, as a right-wing, conservative Christian family, got into business with a company that is a self-proclaimed "supporter and champion of the LGBT community". What did you expect? Something like this was bound to happen. Television companies have to be very careful about what they put on their stations. More importantly, however, they have to make sure that whatever they air lines up with their core beliefs as a company. As a company that believes in tolerance and acceptance, they have a moral obligation to do something about one of their biggest stars saying something so powerfully against their values. Is anyone really surprised that A&E took Phil off the air for saying something that was incredibly offensive to their audience?
This situation was bound to happen eventually. Why is ANYONE surprised about what happened?!
Political correctness has gone too far. I'm all for being open and accepting, but come one, people. Chill out. These aren't new ideas! In fact, these ideas have been around for a while!
The idea that marriage is for love is an incredibly recent development in society. In all honesty, marriage was for centuries a sort of political union solidified by children. The first people to have marriages were royalty and they were for just that reason. In as late as the 18th century, extra-marital affairs and not marriages were considered the highest form of romantic love. By this interpretation of marriage, homosexual marriage is stupid and a waste. On the other side of that coin, however, that isn't what marriage is anymore. Marriage is a public declaration of love and a legal joining of households. If you want to marry any other legally recognized, consenting, sentient being, go for it!
The idea of homosexuality, however, also isn't anything new. In ancient Greece, including Sparta and Athens, women were considered to be for making babies. You didn't have sex with your wife because it was enjoyable. You had sex with your wife because it was your civic duty to propagate your family line. Other men were there for your enjoyment. On the other side of that coin, however, homosexuality did disappear for a while with the rise of Christianity. For many years, it was accepted as deviant behavior. It's gonna take a while before Christians ever relent on that. Get used to it.
Creationism isn't science. You don't believe in evolution or the big bang? Fine. But they are science. If you can't accept that, homeschool your children. The idea that creationism should be taught in public schools is really just silly. Do you also want your child to be taught that Farakrea the Great Celestial Sloth, vomited the world into existence? What if that's what I believe? Hmmmm? Don't I have a right to let my children learn that as science? Hmmmm?! (The previous statement regarding Farakrea the Great Celestial Sloth should be regarded as an example of how strange creationism seems to those who do not believe it and not a statement of belief on the part of the author or any sane person on Earth.)
While I'm angsting about that: I was once presented with the argument that evolution is a ridiculous theory because humans have never observed it happen. Duh. The earliest written record dates to the 6th century BC (or BCE depending on whether we're being politically correct or traditional). That means that all of recorded human history has taken place over about 27,000 years. According to scientists who support the big bang theory and evolution, Earth is roughly 4,540,000,000 years old. That means that humans have observed approximately 0.0006% of the Earth's life. That means that if you condensed the Earth's life down to a year, humans wrote stuff down for the last 3 minutes. I know you didn't work a single day last year because you slept through my New Year's Eve party. You lazy jerk!
Forcing political correctness is the same thing as imposing your beliefs on others. You are forcing me to say that what you believe is equally valid to what I believe. Honestly, some of the things you believe are just dumb. While I'm riding that train of thought, in some circles, it's now becoming politically incorrect to be politically correct. I'm looking at you "You better say Merry Christmas" people!
How to Spread the Christmas SpiritIf I want to say Happy Holidays, I'm going to! I want all of your holidays to be happy! It really is a bummer to not be happy on any given holiday. I want you to have a Merry Christmas, but I also want you to have a happy Hanukka, Kwanzaa, Eid al-Fitr, Thanksgiving, New Years, Boxing Day, Eat-a-Red-Apple Day, Humbug Day, Maple Syrup Day, Ninja Day, Monkey Day, Make-A-Cut-Out-Snowflake Day, and, most importantly, Bacon Day! If I thought I could keep your attention long enough to wish you all of those, I would, but there just isn't time to do that with everyone you meet. It's so much easier to say "Happy Holidays". This time of year has so much to celebrate, why are you limiting yourself?
Happy Holidays and Other Four Letter WordsTo those of you who are reading this and realizing how wishy-washy and noncommittal I'm being about whether anyone is right or wrong with their particular political correctness (except maybe teaching creationism as science), it's because I have one very simple point here:
Everyone is in the wrong.No matter what you do, you're going to offend someone. Get used to it. Get over it. Now get on with your life, and enjoy all that this rich, complicated, fascinating world has to offer you!
Update (like five minutes later): Also this: Tolerance. That is all.
Monday, September 16, 2013
My Diabadass Sister
It's been a while since I got a haircut.
When I was younger, I always kept my hair buzz-cut. It was short. I mean REALLY short. I knew it was time to get a haircut whenever I had to do anything to it when I woke up.
I don't remember why I started doing it, but somewhere around my freshman year of high school, I started growing my hair out. And I liked it! My hair grew out in beautiful blonde curls (of which I am INCREDIBLY proud!) and somehow having bigger hair made my head look smaller. Ever since, it's been my identifier: the thing that makes me unique. Because of that, I've resisted getting it cut since then like a turkey resists going out on Thanksgiving, but in high school, I still always knew when to get it cut, because the coaches would tell me.
Then I graduated.
Ever since I graduated from high school, my hair has gotten out of control. It's REALLY long right now, and if it were straight, it would be even longer. When I pulled it straight just now, it reached to at least six inches below my shoulder . . . and that wasn't one of the longer locks.
Knowing when to get a haircut is more difficult now. In the past, I've tended to get a haircut just before something big is about to happen. I planned on getting a haircut just before camp at the start of the summer, but the one person that I trust to cut my hair right now was suffering from a hand injury. I honestly can't remember when I got a haircut before that, so, needless to say, I haven't had one in a while.
That's about to change, because of this beautiful little girl:
But first, something completely different.
There is currently a disease raging across this nation. This disease affects adults and children with no discrimination by age, weight, or lifestyle. It appears suddenly and causes immediate dependence on multiple daily injections. Right now, around 3 million Americans are plagued by this disease and roughly 15% of those are children. EVERY YEAR this disease accounts for $14.9 billion in health care costs.
There is currently no known cause or cure.
Type 1 diabetes has hit pretty close to home for me ever since my baby sister was diagnosed with it her freshman year. She has done her best since then to keep this news under wraps, hoping that people wouldn't treat her differently, but now that she's graduated from high school, she's decided that it's time for her story to be heard.
For some reason, and I reiterate that no one knows what that reason is, the bodies of people with type 1 diabetes don't produce any insulin. This means that from her freshman year onward, Sarah gave herself at least six shots of insulin a day in addition to pricking her fingers countless times to check her blood sugar. Yeah, be nice to diabetics. They have to deal with enough pricks already.
But a few pricks just scratches the surface of what diabetes has meant for Sarah.
Being diagnosed with diabetes means an entire lifestyle change. She must pay close attention to what she eats, when she eats it, the regularity of her exercise, how much sleep she gets, her stress level, and dozens of other factors that contribute to your body’s blood sugar levels. The insulin pump she recently switched to using has reduced the number of shots every day, but since there is no known cure for type 1 diabetes, she will continue to deal with it her entire life.
Despite all of this, Sarah participated and excelled in basketball, tennis, softball, track, and cross country, was a section leader and state solo & ensemble qualifier in band, class president, student council member, was on multiple UIL academic teams, AND was valedictorian of her class.
She's pretty awesome.
So here's the deal. On September 28th, the American Diabetes Association is sponsoring the Step Out Walk for Diabetes in our area and our family has put together a team. When we started fundraising, we set a goal of $1000, and I REALLY want to see us at least reach that goal. As of the time I'm writing this post, we have $414. It's a start, but it's not quite there yet.
Sarah (along with several other people) has been telling me for a while now how badly I need a haircut. Hopefully, she'll be getting her wish soon.
If our team can reach our goal of $1000 by the walk, I will not only get a haircut, I'll let her decide how it should be cut.
Whether you want to donate to the ADA and help them to, in my sister's words, "kick diabetes' butt," or whether you want to contribute to the "convince that weird kid with the unnecessarily long hair to get a haircut" fund, you can donate here:
Help those people who "give vampires a sugar rush".
Help the ADA fight diabetes.
When I was younger, I always kept my hair buzz-cut. It was short. I mean REALLY short. I knew it was time to get a haircut whenever I had to do anything to it when I woke up.
I don't remember why I started doing it, but somewhere around my freshman year of high school, I started growing my hair out. And I liked it! My hair grew out in beautiful blonde curls (of which I am INCREDIBLY proud!) and somehow having bigger hair made my head look smaller. Ever since, it's been my identifier: the thing that makes me unique. Because of that, I've resisted getting it cut since then like a turkey resists going out on Thanksgiving, but in high school, I still always knew when to get it cut, because the coaches would tell me.
Then I graduated.
Ever since I graduated from high school, my hair has gotten out of control. It's REALLY long right now, and if it were straight, it would be even longer. When I pulled it straight just now, it reached to at least six inches below my shoulder . . . and that wasn't one of the longer locks.
Knowing when to get a haircut is more difficult now. In the past, I've tended to get a haircut just before something big is about to happen. I planned on getting a haircut just before camp at the start of the summer, but the one person that I trust to cut my hair right now was suffering from a hand injury. I honestly can't remember when I got a haircut before that, so, needless to say, I haven't had one in a while.
That's about to change, because of this beautiful little girl:
But first, something completely different.
There is currently a disease raging across this nation. This disease affects adults and children with no discrimination by age, weight, or lifestyle. It appears suddenly and causes immediate dependence on multiple daily injections. Right now, around 3 million Americans are plagued by this disease and roughly 15% of those are children. EVERY YEAR this disease accounts for $14.9 billion in health care costs.
There is currently no known cause or cure.
Type 1 diabetes has hit pretty close to home for me ever since my baby sister was diagnosed with it her freshman year. She has done her best since then to keep this news under wraps, hoping that people wouldn't treat her differently, but now that she's graduated from high school, she's decided that it's time for her story to be heard.
For some reason, and I reiterate that no one knows what that reason is, the bodies of people with type 1 diabetes don't produce any insulin. This means that from her freshman year onward, Sarah gave herself at least six shots of insulin a day in addition to pricking her fingers countless times to check her blood sugar. Yeah, be nice to diabetics. They have to deal with enough pricks already.
But a few pricks just scratches the surface of what diabetes has meant for Sarah.
Being diagnosed with diabetes means an entire lifestyle change. She must pay close attention to what she eats, when she eats it, the regularity of her exercise, how much sleep she gets, her stress level, and dozens of other factors that contribute to your body’s blood sugar levels. The insulin pump she recently switched to using has reduced the number of shots every day, but since there is no known cure for type 1 diabetes, she will continue to deal with it her entire life.
Despite all of this, Sarah participated and excelled in basketball, tennis, softball, track, and cross country, was a section leader and state solo & ensemble qualifier in band, class president, student council member, was on multiple UIL academic teams, AND was valedictorian of her class.
She's pretty awesome.
So here's the deal. On September 28th, the American Diabetes Association is sponsoring the Step Out Walk for Diabetes in our area and our family has put together a team. When we started fundraising, we set a goal of $1000, and I REALLY want to see us at least reach that goal. As of the time I'm writing this post, we have $414. It's a start, but it's not quite there yet.
Sarah (along with several other people) has been telling me for a while now how badly I need a haircut. Hopefully, she'll be getting her wish soon.
If our team can reach our goal of $1000 by the walk, I will not only get a haircut, I'll let her decide how it should be cut.
Whether you want to donate to the ADA and help them to, in my sister's words, "kick diabetes' butt," or whether you want to contribute to the "convince that weird kid with the unnecessarily long hair to get a haircut" fund, you can donate here:
http://main.diabetes.org/goto/FreitagHelp force me to get a haircut.
Help those people who "give vampires a sugar rush".
Help the ADA fight diabetes.
Monday, September 9, 2013
The Brine of Pickled Fish
I think tomatoes are gross, but they are absolutely nothing compared to the atrocity that is ketchup.
According to Wikipedia, the word ketchup comes from a Chinese word meaning the brine of pickled fish which pretty much says everything you need to know about it. Originally, it had nothing to do with tomatoes, but today it's mad from tomatoes, vinegar, the tears of demon children, and other assorted spices (depending on who makes it). In the early 19th century, ketchup was more popular than fresh tomatoes. Apparently, people were afraid that it was unsafe to eat raw tomatoes.
My disgust of ketchup goes far beyond a simple dislike for the way it tastes. I have something closer to a ketchup-phobia. It makes me want to puke when I simply touch it. I can't believe when I see people eating it, and it disgusts me when I think about it ending up on any of my stuff.
I truly believe that ketchup in an abomination and a crime against nature.
But as long as they keep it away from me, I've never stopped anyone else from eating it.
Just a little something to think about this week.
According to Wikipedia, the word ketchup comes from a Chinese word meaning the brine of pickled fish which pretty much says everything you need to know about it. Originally, it had nothing to do with tomatoes, but today it's mad from tomatoes, vinegar, the tears of demon children, and other assorted spices (depending on who makes it). In the early 19th century, ketchup was more popular than fresh tomatoes. Apparently, people were afraid that it was unsafe to eat raw tomatoes.
My disgust of ketchup goes far beyond a simple dislike for the way it tastes. I have something closer to a ketchup-phobia. It makes me want to puke when I simply touch it. I can't believe when I see people eating it, and it disgusts me when I think about it ending up on any of my stuff.
I truly believe that ketchup in an abomination and a crime against nature.
But as long as they keep it away from me, I've never stopped anyone else from eating it.
Just a little something to think about this week.
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