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Entries are in reverse chronologickal order, as it seemed easiest to write them that way. (Not that I went back through time to write them, I mean; I simply wrote newer ones above older ones. Tho' it would be neat to travel backwards through time I guess.)

It may interest you to learn that last week I discovered the Kingdom of Loathing. It's a rather clever online game that, so far, I recommend highly. It's especially full of all sorts of witty references to things. (Well, I thought it might interest you. If it doesn't, kindly ignore this paragraph.)

Oh yes, it's the last day of the year. If I may pass judgement with only a little bit of hindsight, I'd say 2006 was a pretty bad year in general. Specifically, though, it was good for me. You may note that I completely failed on the New Year's resolution that I made last New Year's Eve and then promptly forgot. Mebbe I'll do it this year; mind you, I'm not resolving to do it, but merely mulling the idea over. That reminds me: some mulled cider sounds pretty good right now. My mother makes something she calls wassail (combine apple cider, a little orange juice, and mulling spices), but I suspect it's properly called punch because it has two or more kinds of juice in it.
 

21 Decembre: Quiet, Mnemosyne
It's getting to the point that now I'm beginning to forget people I knew in high school. Well, perhaps not yet forget them, but there are many people whom I haven't had a thought of in many months. In most cases this is a good thing. In a few cases it leaves me scratching my head trying to recall whom I'm thinking about when I have a particular memory of something happening. Oh well; it's probably worth it. I suppose my memories will probably refine themselves so that I'll only be left with the important stuff, anyway.

Unrelated. I don't believe there's anything like a 'War on Christmas' going on, but the phrase "Happy Holidays" bugs me to no end. What does it mean? What especially gets me is how commercials portray family members saying the phrase to each other: are these people complete morons who don't know what particular winter holiday their relatives are celebrating? Granted, the options are varied (Christmas, Hannukah, Saturnalia, Yule, Zamenhof Day, etc.), but they are finite. I don't insist that everyone celebrate Christ's birth, I simply wish that they use an utterance that has meaning.
 

11 December: Take That, Objectivity!
There's something exhilarating about complicated things, especially when one is on the brink of understanding them: there is that glorious moment of epiphany when everything fits. Listening to a fugue or reading about special relativity, it is very nice to finally see how two great minds (Bach and Einstein, respectively, of course) go about doing something so very impressive.

In my honors class (oh? Didn't I mention I'm one of those again? It's nice, and most certainly it encourages me to think more about things in general), we've been studying relativity. What fascinates me is that, apparently, there's no objective reality for us to gauge physics anymore. Does this have implications for philosophy? Probobably. It always annoyed me that philosophers claim to seek a sort of objectivity by which they can pretend to understand everything. (Now I see that not all philosophers seek it; they are called pragmatists. There is something about pragmatism that strikes me as sensible. I am interested in results.) Anyway, it seems (from both the philosophical and scientific readings we've been assigned in class) that there is no objective reality: the only viewpoint we can be sure of is that of our own. Hmm.
 

3 December: A Severed Head
I just finished Iris Murdoch's novel. Never do I recall loathing every single one of a book's characters so much. Mind you, loathing a work's characters doesn't necessarily mean I dislike the work. Humbert Humbert comes to mind: he is surely loathsome, but he is compellingly so; the characters of A Severed Head are not compelling, in my humble opinion. I am sick of them by novel's end, them and their bestial debauchery. Do I sound prudish? -- this doesn't bother me. I tire of the modern idea that a little vice is to be celebrated. The soul grows weary of depravity.

So, is the book successful as art? Probably; it certainly is well-written. It functions well as cautionary tale, I suppose. But all the same, I didn't enjoy it. It's far too much like that horrible telivision show, Friends: six people are paired in nearly every possible combination, then the show (book) ends.
 

29 November: La Fuente
If you've not seen The Fountain, you should. You may not like it: presently, about half of critics have panned it, but the other half like it. I certainly think it's worth seeing (and the soundtrack is intriguing. I must look into the Kronos Quartet). I am interested to hear what others think of it. Is death "the road to awe"? I wonder what different sorts of lenses people view the film through? I propose a panel discussion! Heaven knows what we need is more panel discussions.
 

27 November: Regarding Colleges
I have no desire to work at a college; it is a place where a majority of the people fit into one of two categories, neither of which I want to associate with. (1) Most people are here to get their names on a piece of paper so that they can make more money. (Rather unrelated: have you noticed how many males my age refer to people as "dude"? Why on earth is this word still in our lexicon? Ugh.) (2) The other major group of people fancy themselves "academics". The profession of college professor attracts a particular sort of petty-minded person: one who is just as much part of the aesthetic sphere as the materialistic masses, but who fancies himself special because he's academically superior to the hoi polloi. (I suppose I should note that not all academics are this way; I merely have observed it enough to make a generalization.) What good is academic superiority? I have begun to wonder whether knowledge, in and of itself, is a good thing at all: why aren't immensely educated people also better people?

In any case, I simply do not care to be so busy that I cannot take time to simply live. Learning should not be a process of furiously cramming for a certain number of weeks, then taking a break. If we long for vacations, then there's something wrong with what we're doing the rest of the time.

Mostly unrelated: if you haven't yet, you really oughtta read Walker Percy's Lost in the Cosmos.
 

17 November: Concerning Vests
I mentioned a little more than a month ago that I'm the accompanist for a string ensemble made up of my former cello teacher's students. It's not that great of a gig (heh, gig): considering all the rehearsals I have to attend, I'm not even making minimum wage. The children are loud, and they all play string instruments. Not very well, but very loudly. We perform at a lackluster local holiday festival (the "Festival of Trees" - a bunch of fake evergreens tackily decorated and set up in a drafty convention center). Mind you, I can tolerate the low pay and urchins and lousy venue, but what bothers me is the vest. You see, all of us have to wear a vest for the performance; I don't mind vests in principle, but, you see, this particular vest is covered in teddy bears. Teddy bears merrily dressed in holiday attire, playing little string instruments. I find it unfortunate that I must wear such a vest.
 

12 November: What dreams may come?
I am having trouble distinguishing dreams from real memories. This may be because my dreams are, almost without exception, inane snippets that very well might happen in real life. For example, I think I dreamed a few nights ago that I was sitting in a classroom somewhere in the college's music building, writing. On the wall there was a painting by Lucas Cranach the Younger (this one); I remember the painting very clearly, but the strange thing is that I don't remember ever seeing it before I dreamed about it. (I only found out that it really exists after searching the internet.) But another strange thing is, such a painting wouldn't be out of place at a Lutheran college such as Augustana. (For those of you too disinterested to click the link, the painting depicts the crucifixion of Christ; on Christ's side is shown Martin Luther with an open bible. Sola fide, sola scriptura, etc.) So, all in all, I am confused as to whether I dreamt this or not.

Finals this week. Everyone is tired and unpleasant. I look forward to the week of rest.
 

30 October:
It's simply wonderful weather today: the smell of autumn is in the air, and it's just the right temperature. I have always enjoyed the feelings of nostalgia that fall brings.

You know, music nearly always puts me in a good mood. I suppose, then, that it's fortunate I'm a music major. But does enjoyment of something constitute a vocation? I also get great pleasure from philology and literature and history and ceramics; I suspect I would greatly enjoy learning Latin and/or German as well. Does that mean that I could have a career in any one of those things? I don't know. But it's nice to think I have options if I lose a hand or something. All too often it seems college is about limiting our aspirations into a single career; after all, our education system is a business and an industry, much like any other.
 

19 October: Vicissitude
From time to time I peruse the blog of a very old friend of mine. (I mean that she has been my friend for a long time, not that she is very old; she's several months younger than me, actually.) It makes me nostalgic: she seems to be exactly the same person she's always been. Her personality is not perfect (she can be over-meticulous and somewhat querulous at moments, much like myself), but it is reassuring that she is the same friend I've always known. I feel that I've changed much more than she, and sometimes I wish this weren't so. It is a sort of betrayal to the younger me to have changed. Are we obligated to keep our sense of self consistent? I don't know.
 

14 October:
This whole term I've been quite busy with music. This is, of course, not a bad thing, though it's meant that I don't have nearly as much time for other things. Surely you've noticed that this blog simply isn't tackling any particularly complex issues much anymore; I suspect that this is because I no longer am taking any class that requires thought. Both of my music classes as well as my Spanish class (which is going much better than it was, by the way) are about absorbing material, not about taking in information and synthesizing opinions. I am not challenged to truly think anymore. (That is not to say that music requires no thought. It requires quite a bit, when done properly, but it's just not the same as, say, reading Elie Wiesel.)

Last weekend I had four different gigs. Heh. "Gigs." I still feel a little silly calling them that; the musician's lexicon is rather lackluster, in my opinion. Anywho, I played for a children's choir rehearsal, two (dark) Lutheran services and the Catholic mass. I must admit that, of the services, I appreciated the Catholic mass the most: it is remarkable to see people taking it seriously. Even if they don't live particularly holy lives outside church, one gets the sense that these Catholics view the Mass as something special. They aren't like the Protestants, whose church is no more or less sacred or profane than the rest of life.

I didn't think I would, but sometimes I rather enjoy rehearsals with children. The choral rehearsal last week was a pleasant affair; the kids were genuinely enthusiatic, and the conductor was just a wonderful woman (the kind of person who goes out of their way to be nice, but who does it entirely sincerely). Then, yesterday evening, I rehearsed (as accompanist) with my old cello teacher's string ensembles. Children are often wonderfully honest. They're also sometimes misguided and ignorant. Consider, for example, this snippet of conversation I heard yesterday:

Young violinist (matter-of-factly): "We play in the terrible clef."
Teacher: "That's 'treble' clef, dear..."

"This is so much thinking!"          -anonymous girl, overheard at bingo

Is this--Bingo, debauchery, materialism-- is this what they call Life? What are my other options? How does one go about joining a monastery?
 

28 September: I hate being Oscar.
It's tough having a good roommate. My roommate is usually out of the room, he's always very quiet when he comes in late (lest he awaken me from slumber), and he's conspicuously neat and tidy. We have had absolutely no squabbling of any degree in a month of rooming together, probably because he's so agreeable. That makes me the bad roommate: I occasionally leave clothes on the floor, and I think I sometimes wake him up when I leave early in the morning (but he's so polite that he pretends he's still asleep).

I think I would do better being the good roommate; I simply don't like feeling like the rude, dirty, noisy one. (You must understand, this is all relative, of course, but still...) The worst thing about it is that I would be an ingrate to complain about the one single thing that irritates me just a little bit: when he gets up in the morning (after I've already left for classes), he opens the blinds. This makes the room uncomfortably warm in the afternoon, so when I get in (before him, since our schedules work that way), I have to turn on the air conditioning. I rather wish he would just leave the darn blinds closed; it's not like he's in the room during the day. But you see, it sounds whiny of me to say this, since, after all, I'm the roommate with some clothes on the floor who makes such a ruckus in the morning. Oh well. It is surprisingly therapeutic just to write about the problem; besides, soon enough it will be sufficiently cold that the open blinds won't be an issue.
 

26 September: Close to the Madd'ning Crowd
I enjoy people-watching; I enjoy it quite a bit. Does this make me odd? It's just fascinating to look at people, because so many of them are so easy to read. One's face, one's stride can tell an awful lot about a person. People are especially interesting when they don't know they're being watched. Okay, perhaps that is a little creepy, when I say it like that. But I am merely curious about my fellow human beings. I don't think enough people take time to just observe the world around them. Do you?
 

21 September: Some CDs I recommend to Everyone
You know, there are few things as enjoyable--or as emotionally stimulating-- as good music. And sometimes it's difficult to know what to look for. (Ooh, that last sentence there was delightfully non-prescriptive; not only does it start with "and", but it also ends with a preposition!) Here are a few that I think you should probably listen to:

• West Side Story, the original Broadway cast recording. Though not every voice is ideal (I think there have been better Marias and Tonys than the originals), this recording is the one to have. As for the music itself, it's just one great tune after another. And, also included is a symphonic suite (directed by Bernstein himself) of music from the show.
  
• Henryk Górecki: Symphony No. 3, performed by Dawn Upshaw and the London Sinfonietta, directed by David Zinman. This is an emotionally exhausting work (though I mean that in the best of all possible ways). It's an excellent recording of it, as well.
  
• Rachmaninov: All-Night Vigil (also known as the Vespers): another deeply spiritual work, and all a-cappella. A wonderful piece.

11 September: Peace
Nice service yesterday. It's very reassuring to see young people actually involved in church. The ELCA, with which Augustana is affiliated, seems to encourage Happy Lutheranism. The Missouri Synod, which I've attended all my life, are Dark Lutherans. It's not a pleasant existence, being a Dark Lutheran. In fact, after seeing yesterday's service, I think I'll try to be one of the happy ones instead. Perhaps the biggest difference in the service (from what I'm used to) was the Peace (when we're supposed to greet each other): instead of uncomfortably shaking the hands of a few people adjacent to oneself, the people here roam the church looking for strangers to greet (and sometimes hug). It definitely breaks up the flow of the service, but I think that's alright. I think sometimes we Lutherans get too caught up in how a church service 'should' feel, without considering that we should be friendly to each other at all times.

I went to the Catholic mass yesterday as well; it was much like the morning service. I must note, though, that the Catholics seem far less enthusiastic about the Peace - they only shook hands of the people around them. I still enjoyed both services I attended, though.

Unrelated: I've been invited to join the music fraternity on campus. I am conflicted about this. A fraternity is a bit like buying all one's friends prepackaged: sure, it's more convenient to have them all there together, but you don't really get to pick what kind you want. And yet there are many nice people involved (and it is, of course, a dry fraternity). I must ponder some more.
 

8 September: O Glorious Day
My first class this morning was at seven-thirty. That may sound early, and to be perfectly honest, it is. But that's alright: it was Conducting, which was a bit like a yoga class. We did stretches and talked about where to concentrate energy, which in itself sounds rather New Agey, I think. It turns out one is supposed to put the energy in one's feet, though when conducting one should give the impression of energy with every movement. I'm looking forward to the class, anyway, though I wonder whether I am sufficiently coördinated to conduct well.

Then, I had Musicianship (which is what we here at Augustana call Music Theory): it is most certainly my favorite class. The professor is just the right sort of person to get people excited about music; also, he's the organ teacher, and I'll be having lessons with him! Today in class we heard different samples of music. Did you know that that circus march everyone's heard is actually entitled Entrance of the Gladiators, and written by Czech composer Julius Fučík? We also listened to The Planets and some Gould recordings and two Dave Brubeck pieces. It was very much fun. One always leaves such a class in a good mood.
 

5 September: The Eternal Struggle
Socrates was on to something: if ethical codes are self-evident, we don't need God to dictate an ethical code to us. I thought of this, smugly, during the church service this past Sunday. I then thought, not so smugly, that even if we can deduce on our own what we should do, it seems humans have a remarkably difficult time doing what is right. Our beliefs and our actions don't line up. Even if we don't need a supreme Lawgiver, we need a God to aid us in doing what we know to be right, and one to forgive us our failings.

It seems that, though many of the students here are vapid and mindless sheep who are content to live "the American dream" (that is, the idea that money can buy us happiness), some are wrestling with deeper problems.

In Bible study tomorrow we're looking at the story of Jacob; I'm especially interested to hear whether prayer to God should be conversation or struggle. If I learn anything I may relate it here.
 

3 September: Movin' On Up
Well, I am finally cosily ensconced in my dorm room. It's nicer than I expected, and I've had no problems whatsoever with my roommate. There have been a few problems, and I was in quite a cranky mood this morning. My identification card, which is required to scan in front of a scanner-thing to let me into my dorm building, won't work. I don't know why. Also, my internet access wasn't working for a while (obviously it's fixed now). And I have a sore throat. Usually such inconveniences wouldn't bother me, but today they did. I'm not quite sure why. Irredisregardless, I feel much better since I had dinner. I suspect that perhaps I was in such a bad mood because I had no carbohydrates for breakfast. Well, that's my theory.
 

31 August: This Summer in Summary
(alternate titles: "Summing Up the Summer", "A Sum of My Summer", and perhaps my favorite, "A Summery Summary") School is almost upon us again. (Well, it is upon most other students, but Augustana starts quite a bit later than most other schools. I rather wish it didn't. But then, it has a trimester schedule, which I very much prefer. It's a fair trade, I suppose.) Thus, it is time to take into account my accomplishments and failures of the past three-and-a-half months. I failed to find a job (besides church organistry, which, though it pays quite well hourly, is rather limited to an hour a week). I applied at a library, a newspaper (for delivery), a golf course, an office on campus, and a temp agency. None of them wanted me. (Well, to be honest, the temp agency offered one job, but it was not temporary, and it had simply bizarre hours.) I also lost my tennis shoes, but I hope to find them. However, this summer I did have plenty of time to think, and I got some experience moving furniture. That's about it. Summer is a good time to remind oneself about what one believes and who oneself is. All the same, I can't wait to move on campus (on Saturday!).

I must share this: an article about Finnish profanity!
 

25 August: Limitations
Hurrah for scientists demoting Pluto. It makes much more sense this way; if we included Pluto as a planet then who knows how many trans-Neptunian objects we'd have to include? Astronomy is one of the many hobbies I used to enjoy as a tot that I now don't really have time for. Getting older, it seems, is sometimes nothing more than giving up more and more aspirations of childhood. The trick is to know which ones to discard. It was easy to dump astronomy as a possible career choice because I don't enjoy mathematics. The more educated and experienced I get, the more and more I find myself funnelled into a specific job. (Music, if you're curious). I suppose there are worse careers. Garbage-collection, for instance. Or working with children.
 

22 August: À la recherche du temps perdu
I went out to Geneseo today to visit the dentist. It was discovered that I have my first cavity. Too bad, I think. But, at this rate, it's not so bad. One for every twenty years is pretty reasonable, I suppose.

It's nice revisting my ol' home town. For one thing, since I didn't go to junior high or high school there, I have few bad memories. (That is, I never had to deal with that horrible small-town 'who cares about anything but football?' attitude prevalent in such places; I experienced that in Eldridge instead.) There is a nostalgia in revisiting the town, in seeing the parks and little shops and churches and the nice old houses. (One thing one notices about Illinois and Iowa towns: they are planned differently. Illinois was settled before Iowa, and thus has older, better architecture. In the older towns, houses and businesses are spaced differently, designed for carriages and pedestrians instead of automobiles. There are more trees.)

There is something irresistable about never being able to return somewhere. I know it would never be the same, moving back. The worry-free idylls of childhood are gone. I can never see the world the same way again. But fortunately, it will be the same way for Eldridge, and for Augustana. Eventually. It's nice to know that, some day, I'll look back nostalgically on what I'm doing right now.
 

15 August: Creature Comforts
A pleasant discovery: House. And a few months ago I found that I also enjoy The Office and My Name Is Earl. Along with PBS, Law and Order (especially SVU), Monk, and Mythbusters, I could watch television every night if I made it a priority. It would be surprisingly easy to live wholly in the aesthetic sphere of existence. How long would it take for me to get tired of it? I wonder. I'd rather not try and find out, though.

I am very much looking forward to moving into the dorm at Augustana. I can even check who my neighbors will be, thanks to the stalkery wonders of Facebook. Results are mixed: I don't know anyone on my floor except my roommate, but at least it's not completely dominated by one group (fraternity members, football players, etc.). Hopefully they're all quiet, or, if not, hopefully they're not in their rooms very often. I checked out my room, too: it's not too small, and it's close, but not too close, to the bathroom. I happily anticipate getting a fern to hang near the window.
 

14 August: Wal-Mart, Revisited
Took my grandmother to Wal-Mart today, like I did some months ago. It hurt my soul to go there, but my grandmother is on a limited income and at least has good reason to shop there. (Or, at least, better reason, comparatively speaking, than people who simply want to save more money so that they can buy more useless luxury items, like stereos and flat-screen televisions and Hummers.) Whereas, months ago, I was annoyed, today I felt more pity than anything else. Many people's faces there have this hopeless, drained look. You can see it especially on the mothers who have four unruly, screaming children and a full cart of sugary groceries. I don't think it's a coincidence that I saw so many minorities there, either; income distribution is most certainly still closely tied to ethnicity in this area. Many of these people are trapped in their poverty, and Wal-Mart does provide affordable goods. But I still cannot accept that the store is ultimately beneficial to the community or to its employees. It is, of course, quite good for its owners and the owners of the foreign factories where its wares are produced, but I don't think these people really need or deserve it.

I can be quite self-righteous about not liking Wal-Mart, but I shop at Target. Is that any better? I don't know.
 

9 August: Two Pertinent Quotes
Socrates once said, "the unexamined life is not worth living". While driving in the car today, it occurred to me that perhaps "the unlived life is not worth examining". It then occurred to me that this was a pretty obvious corollary. Searching the internet, I found that, alas, it is so. But I thought it was rather clever of me to think of it. In any case, I think the quote is worth considering. How much should we consider what to do before doing something? (Is it ironic that I'm analyzing how much I should analyze things? One hears the word 'ironic' so much that it loses all meaning.)

William Butler Yeats once wrote, "the best [people] lack all conviction, while the worst / are full of passionate intensity". That's only partly true. While there are some evil-doing people who are quite busy, I think that most people, in general, lack all conviction. And that's how most bad things happen, nowadays: nobody cares enough to do the right thing. We are apathetic. It is just so hard to overcome the mass of people who want things to stay the way they are that those few who want to change things for the better are exhausted. (I apologize if that last sentence was a bit long; I generally try to keep them shorter, or, at least, more broken up by punctuation.) We can write letters to congressmen, or send money to a charity, but it all seems to amount to very little. Even in our communities, we are prone to inertia. It is all rather distressing, and I don't have a solution. Thus, my problem: what can I do to overcome such a world? I don't know. Bah.
 

4 August: Three sites to waste your time with
The internet is a remarkable way to fritter away hours and hours. As you're already probably aware of this (you're reading this blog, after all), I thought you might enjoy these sites:

• One mile from home - This Englishwoman takes a walk every day and makes an artwork of the view. She's quite good, actually; I've been using one of her pictures as my desktop.
• The Society of Mutual Autopsy: A Review of Religion and Culture - This webzine (at least I think it's a webzine; am I using the word properly?) offers interesting viewpoints on faith and culture.
• The Nine Planets Solar System Tour - Nerds will enjoy this informative site about the solar system! Well, I did.

3 agosto: Por los campos de Iowa
My grandmother gets issues of Farm & Ranch Living, which reminds her of her youth growing up on a farm in North Dakota. (I almost wrote "rural North Dakota", but that's rather redundant, isn't it?) Looking through it makes me a little nostalgic for an upbringing I never had. My grandmother grew up living a life exactly like Wendell Berry (There's that name again!) advocates, and it makes me wonder whether I could have done it. I suppose I could, if given no other options, of course. At only two generations' remove from such a lifestyle, I wonder if I could go back to it.

Nicer weather, today. I walked out in the orchard, where the asian beetles (yet another evil caused by globalization) have destroyed most of the leaves on the fruit trees. For some reason, they seem to prefer the plum and peach leaves, while leaving the apple and cherry leaves less damaged. It's nice to have cats that will follow you as you walk; they're like dogs, but instead of the dog's view of things (where the human is just someone higher on the totem pole, someone to be obeyed), cats follow you because they want to. A relationship with a cat is based on mutual respect, not hierarchy.
 

30 July: Ever meet a fellow by the name of Hill?
Went into Iowa City today to see a community theater production of The Music Man. It is perhaps my favorite musical ever. And the production was very good, too. (It would have been excellent, but the Harold Hill wasn't up to par with the rest of the cast, in my opinion.) If you have the chance, I suggest you go see it. It was expensive - $15 for students - but well worth it, I think.

There is a joy one gets from seeing good musical theater. It is refreshing to see real people singing and dancing to the music of real people playing real musical instruments. Our culture has very little of that left: I've complained before about the industrialization of music. It is terrible that most people go through life without experiencing music firsthand as performers, even as amateurs. Everyone should be involved in music, I think. (That is not to say, however, that everyone who thinks themselves capable should be a music major in college, though. Far too many music majors should not be. I've said that before, too.) Everything today is done by professionals, and that's not good. Compartmentalization has limited us all. Widespread song and dance among all people vanished along with the sense of community that made them possible. I wouldn't mind being a musical anthropologist, visiting remote villages and collecting folk songs, like Béla Bartók or Ralph Vaughan Williams. If there are any folk songs left.
 

29 July: Foresight
Turned twenty yesterday. I must say, it's been my most satisfying birthday to date: not only am I no longer a teenager, but the day itself was very good. I got only a(n excellent) CD, and that's the way I prefer it. I hate feeling spoiled. Also, it is nice to meet up with friends. As much as I gripe about people sometimes, I must admit (sappily, perhaps) that true friendship is probably the best thing in life. Failing that, it is just nice to have people to be pleasant to, and who are pleasant. To go two days without sensing the faults in those around me is a blessing indeed.

These long, hot days of summer remind us of the changefulness of our lives and the permanence of earth. Summer is gone in a moment, and yet each day is an eternity. The clouds endlessly run across the face of the sun, and the long grass bows in the wind. The cicadas drone in the cottonwood trees. Forget heaven; to join in this would be enough.
 

15 July: Merely Players
Well, the two performances of Oliver! we've done went well. I must say, it's always much better when there's an audience.

You know, it's usually really easy to spot an actor. There's something about actors: they seem to exude self-confidence. (Some, indeed, are arrogant.) Many crave attention. But are they this way because of experience on the stage, or are such people drawn to become actors because they already have such qualities? I suspect it is the latter. It's rather awkward backstage for the musicians, either way. Or, at least, for me. I have to make my way through a throng of such confident people to get to the orchestra pit each evening. They seem to like crowding around doorways and other high-traffic areas, for some reason.

I'm not bad at acting, but I lack the brazen confidence and desire for attention. My only role on the stage was as Mr Witherspoon in Arsenic and Old Lace; he's the guy who arrives in the last five minutes and then dies. Oh well.
 

13 July: The Greeks didn't have a muse of automobile maintenance, did they?
As I have been for the past four years (at least; perhaps it was five), I'm in the orchestra for a musical put on by a local community theatre. This year we're doing Oliver! (yes, the exclamation mark is part of the title. That's rather unfortunate. But the show is pretty good). But now I find that it just ain't as fun as it used to be. I no longer feel I belong there; for one thing, many of the musicians are as much as four years younger than I, and I really don't need any reminding of why I'm glad to be out of high school. The girls, especially, are the worst. They are remarkably jejune. (I readily admit that I looked that word up. But I am proud to say I used it well. You see, it can mean both "dull" and "childish", and thus perfectly encapsulates the conversation of said high school girls.)

I went into town today. Stopped by the library, where the things I had checked out were a day late. I paid a fine of thirty cents. Since I was in town, I thought about getting my car's oil changed - it needs it, apparently - but decided against it. I don't care for getting the oil changed; it's something about those auto mechanics that makes me uncomfortable, perhaps because of how little I know about cars. It is widely assumed that men are supposed to know about cars. I know quite a bit about many things, but very little about cars. I'm not sure whether it's a good trade-off or not. Would I sacrifice my knowledge of the geography of Central Asia, or of the history of Colonial Peru, or of the short stories of Borges to be able to competently discuss automobiles with mechanics? Probably not. I wonder if this is what the rest of my life will be like: running into town to do some errands, considering getting the oil changed, deciding not to, paying thirty cents' fine. Some people's lives are no more exciting than this. I suppose I could get used to it. But it is rather mundane.
 

7 July: The Ages of Man
Are my salad days already behind me? Am I past the time of youthful indiscretion? I am of two minds about it. While it would be nice to be excused for mistakes I make, I do feel that our culture expects far too little of young adults. (I use the term "young adult" as it sensibly should be used: to refer to young adults, not to adolescents. Adolescents are not "young adults"; they are adolescents.) Robert Bly, that windbag, says our society is one of perpetual adolescence, one in which people of adult age are never expected to act as adults, that is, responsibly, unselfishly, or prudently. I do not wish to contribute to this trend. Most college students, if I may generalize, are childish; they go to college and effectively escape adult responsibility while trying their hardest to experience the pleasures of adulthood. This is misguided.

I believe I can say that my adolescence is past me; I no longer see the world so much in terms of my own self. I have gained much empathy. (I am still, to an extent, selfish, but so are most people. This, regrettably, is not so much a feature of adolescents but of people in general.) Now that the storms of the teenage years are mostly past, shall I waste the next three years acting as immaturely as college permits? I hope not. Fortunately, that is not my nature.

And then, once college is finished, comes my profession, whatever it may be. I hope I am never successful. May I never value my job above my integrity, above my loved ones, above my faith. May I never develop a love of money. (Needless to say, I am unequivocally opposed to that horrible Prayer of Jabez. It is not only foolish and greedy, but spritually dangerous. Jesus said something about "daily bread", not a lifetime of financial comfort.)

And then, once the long years of work are over, if I live that long, comes infirmity. Alzheimer's is common in my family. I won't be conscious of my life by then. I shall live only in the present, disregarding past or future. My outdated clothes and decaying body will be the concern of those unfortunate people whose job it will be to take care of me; I'll have left dignity and reason behind. While I cannot say I enjoy the thought of my distant future, I am rather morbidly curious.
 

3 July: Egg Tempera
Well, I finally did it: I applied at a temp agency today because I was desperate enough for employment. I hope not to get stuck in some horrible job like The Office; that would be bad. It has been quite an emasculating experience so far this summer, being unemployed. Perhaps a job will brighten my somewhat dreary outlook on human existence. I've been reading about Jonathan Swift lately; he was quite the misanthrope. George Orwell wrote quite a good essay about it in Shooting an Elephant. At times I can certainly relate to Swift's pessimism about people in general.

I was just watching a few minutes of an infomercial about some knife that apparently uses "sonic waves" to cut things. It looks pretty stupid. I fear I could never be on an informercial - I would be far too ironical.
 

29 June: Mowing

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound--
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

I was finishing the same pasture today and I saw one of the baby rabbits that had escaped; this time I chased him to safety. Most likely he'll be killed by one of the cats, anyway, but at least my conscience is a bit more clear. Nature is brutal, to be sure, but humans can be even more so.

 
16 June: Garrison Keillor Again
I mentioned Keillor yesterday, and, lo and behold, Slate has an article on him today. It sums up a lot of what I was thinking (but thinking unclearly enough that I didn't write about it): there's something about him that makes you wonder whom he's really making fun of. Since you probably won't read the article, here's the section that made me say "why yes, that's true!":

... though he'd never acknowledge it, [Keillor's] own public image is deeply paradoxical. He's a cosmopolitan provincial (he's lived in Copenhagen and owns a multimillion-dollar apartment on Central Park West) and a sophisticated simpleton (a plainspoken yarn-spinner who just happens to write world-class prose). Once you start thinking about this--once Keillor's trademark simplicity begins to look complicated and unnatural--the paradoxes start tumbling out like herrings out of the pickle-barrel: His plainness seems pretentious, his anti-bombast bombastic, his anti-snobbery snobbish.

15 June: More Dichotomy
I picked up Virginia Woolf's novel Orlando: A Biography at the library today. It's far easier going than I remember Mrs. Dalloway being, perhaps because it is such a different sort of setting and plot: whereas Dalloway was all about the minutiae of one woman's life, Orlando is not at all about such things. Woolf's voice as a writer is wonderful to return to, as well. She can be long-winded, which is tiresome during the school year, but during the summer it is nice to take things slowly and richly. It's too bad Woolf is simply written off as "that crazy woman writer who drowned herself in a river"; I think it's a mistake to equate any person with a single act of their life, even if this happened to be the last act of her life. One could equate me with any number of things with which I'd rather not be equated.

Woolf makes quite a contrast with Garrison Keillor, whose books I've also been reading lately. Woolf's writing was admittedly difficult for her; Keillor dismisses authors who consider writing to be difficult. His writing is that of an urbanite looking back at his rural past; she was exiled in the country and thus pined very much for London. They certainly read differently, but I enjoy both in different ways. I like their books. (Whenever I express fondness for a book, I hear a professor of mine asking, "you liked it?" He considers it irrelevant that a book should be liked. Of course it is; in fifty or sixty years, at most, I'll be dead, so pretty much nothing I think matters in the long term. But I shall continue to pronounce judgement on all literature I digest. And perhaps write about it here.)
 

11 June: Solitude & Sincerity
Yesterday I pretty much had the house to myself. I did the laundry, made myself a moderately delicious lunch of hash browns and eggs. Later, I watched some britcoms. It was perhaps the most satisfying day I've had in weeks. Solitude is underrated nowadays; not enough people appreciate the joys of being alone.

As you may or may not know, I am somewhat of an organist; I played both services (8:00 and 10:30) at church today. The first service went well - all the dedicated churchgoers seem to go to that one. The second service went very poorly indeed. Unless you've been an organist, you have no idea how discouraging it is when the congregation doesn't sing! Indeed, it seems far too many churchgoers don't do much of anything at services - their eyes glaze over and they do nothing (except, perhaps, occasionally turn around to look at the clock). I don't understand why such people go to church; if it isn't doing them any good, why do they attend? If people can't sincerely profess their faith and live it... I am much more comfortable around sincere atheists than shallow Christians. (But then, some religious people get so "sincere" that they start speaking in tongues and handling snakes. Fortunately, Lutherans don't put up with that sort of nonsense.)

 
8 June: Regret
Oh man, I had typed out a whole entry for the blog yesterday and then I lost it. It almost made me shake my fist in impotent rage. I don't have the heart to try and replicate it, but I assure you that you should feel disappointed.

Today was one of those dog days of summer; I just couldn't do much of anything. I was playing a game of solitaire on the computer, but I found it too much work - I couldn't concentrate on what cards were supposed to go on which. Some people feel like this everyday, I suspect.

If I were somehow to lose my memory, I wonder how I'd regain it. Would I hole myself up in the attic, reading my old books and writings, learning about my past by absorbing all those things that made me who I was? Would I read this blog? Hmm. I wonder if John Locke took amnesia into account when he made all that fuss about a tabula rasa; if everything we are is determined by our experiences, then complete amnesiacs wouldn't have much of a personality, would they? Oh, I don't know.

 
2 June: Shall We Dance?
I just got home from a dance concert, put on by a dance studio that teaches students up to twelfth grade. Mind you, I never would have gone if I weren't bound by some small fraternal loyalty to my sister, whose senior (and final) year this was. I had anticipated a very long, unpleasant evening.

Fortunately, I was somewhat disappointed. (I mean, my anticipation was disappointed, so I wasn't so disappointed. I trust you understand what I mean.) There were actually some entertaining parts. I would not go again, but I suppose there are worse ways to waste an evening. I do, however, wish to say that I feel sorry for the following people:

• The one girl in every dance class who's much taller than the rest. She always looks freakish.
• Chubby girls who don't dance so well. Fortunately for them, they are becoming less and less rare in this country.
• The many musical artists whose songs were misappropriated or remixed. For some reason, half of all the remixes were in a techno style. It got a bit much after a while.
• The audience. I mean, honestly, the thing was three-and-a-half hours long.

 
25 May: Two Iowas, and some Closing Remarks on the School Year
My family and I visited Kalona, Iowa yesterday; the area is known for its Amish (or Mennonites. I'm not sure about the differences between Amish and Mennonites, and I'm not sure which are more prevalent in Kalona). We then stopped in Iowa City - a liberal, relatively diverse (by Iowan standards) university town - for lunch on the way home. It's rather strange how two such different places can be so close geographically and so far away culturally. Wendell Berry has quite a few good things to say about the Amish, and I found myself appreciating their lifestyle more than I ever had before. Here is a people that believes in community, in integrity, in the value of faith and honesty and hard work. Those are all good things that the rest of the United States (and most of the modern world) seems to lack. Their goods are all reasonably priced and locally made. But the Amish are also fundamentalists; several houses have (hand-made) signs with Bible verses or other religious quotes by their mailboxes - a particularly memorable one said "Heaven or Hell - it's your choice." I have complained before about this sort of attitude. (For one thing, I have trouble believing that a merciful God would allow us to make such an important decision on our own.)

But then, driving back through Iowa City, I was struck by how wrong things seemed in comparison. Traffic, noise, advertising everywhere. We ate lunch at a yuppyish Asian place; it was chicly decorated, but the food was overpriced (and grown thousands of miles away, I suppose) and the service slow. The residents of Iowa City, if I may generalize, are open-minded and well-to-do, but I wonder whether they're any more happy than the Amish. I certainly felt better out in the country with the fields and trees than in the sea of concrete that is "civilization".

It's been about a week since I finished my first year of college. When, in years past, I finished the school year, it was always a relief to be done - not because it was much work, but because it was just so tiring to be around such childish and stupid people all the time. (I don't mean just students, of course; some teachers were just as bad.) Now, I don't feel any relief to be done with schooling. This is good, in that it means I didn't have to put up with un-put-upable people, I suppose. But now I rather wish college weren't over; I feel useless and slothful without anything to be learning. Oh well. I must resolve to be productive. It's a pity it's always so hot during the summer. My ancestors roamed the forests of Northern Europe and never had to tolerate such unpleasant temperatures, and I rather wish I didn't have to either. Oh well.
 

16 May: Rustic Pursuits
My mother and I went morel-hunting today in a local county park; we failed to find any non-poisonous fungi. Morel hunting is a lot like gambling: both pursuits don't require much skill, are quite addictive, and are largely unsuccessful most of the time. We're going out to my nuncle's farm tomorrow, and he often finds morels on his property; hopefully we'll have better luck then.

I bought a CD of bluegrass music; my family snickered at this. I don't understand why they do so, because the country music they listen to is so derivative, unoriginal, and boring that I can't stand to listen to it. Bluegrass music, now that it is unpopular among most people, is thus much more genuine. There is no hugely profitable bluegrass music industry, so the music is still an art form (of sorts, anyway. It certainly is more artful than any popular music). I think many things are like that: as long as it's done by individuals who have an interest in it, it's good. When industries take over, the art, be it music, furniture-making, or farming, suffers immeasurably because no one really cares any more.

 
12 May: Urg.
It has been a positively grueling week: I had to turn out two too-big tasks for a couple of my classes. But that's done now. All I need to do is final exams next week, and those appear eminently doable.

Yesterday there were people in animal suits walking around campus. (At least, I assume they were people...) This made me rather uneasy; people in costumes have always made me vaguely uncomfortable. It's one of the many reasons I have no desire to see the show Cats.

Today it was rather wet and blustery. I don't mind such weather, but for the fact that it was all rather half-hearted: there wasn't really enough rain to need an umbrella, but the weather was still rather gloomy. I don't mind gloom, but I just wish the day would be consistent. Yesterday I was walking by the slough (that's what we call our pond on campus; unlike Slough, ours rhymes with "boo") and I saw some ducklings. They sure were cute little things. Certainly nicer to look at than all the beer cans and other trash in the pond.

You'll please pardon the intellectual vapidity of this entry; I am quite, as they say, "beat".

 
5 May: Wendell Berry Again
About two weeks ago I commented on Berry's essay "Why I Am Not Going to Buy a Computer". As you can scroll down and see, I came to the conclusion that his choice to avoid the technology was "arbitrary". Well, I have come to realize that he has a pretty good reason to make such a choice. G.K. Chesterton once said that "art, like morality, consists in drawing the line somewhere". It's a pretty good quote, and especially reassuring in today's world of moral (and artistic!) relativism. Ultimately, we all must decide when enough is enough. In thirty years, assuming I'm alive then, there will surely be new inventions to make our lives easier. Hopefully, I will have the good sense to not become dependent on the new invention (let's refer to it, for discussion's sake, as a mimspludger). However much the commercials praise the mimspludger's qualities, however many seconds it saves, I will not buy one. Berry's point is not that the computer, in particular, is evil, but that he has decided to stop wasting energy and destroying, bit by bit, the environment. That's a good thing, if you ask me. (It is true, though, that his tone in the essay is a bit self-righteous sounding, which detracts from his argument, I think.)

So, what shall I do, now that I am effectively dependent on this "thinkin' box" called a computer? Use it as little as necessary, I guess. I'm not going to throw it away, or anything. (Or, heaven forbid, stop blogging...) Berry certainly is right about the problems of our economy (namely, its propensity to encourage wastefulness, avarice, and envy). I just wonder whether anyone will ever acknowledge his ideas. Not likely, I suppose. In the meantime I will continue to take the stairs instead of the elevator.

Unrelated. Viewing the statistics on this page, it seems many of my blog readers are using some form of Firefox. Good for you. It's much better than that awful Internet Explorer.

 
29 April: The Ligeia Effect
Many people I have met at college resemble, in some way, people I knew in high school; many times have I heard people tell each other, "oh, you look/sound/act just like my friend ____!" We easily notice similarities. What I have found myself doing, however, is thinking of my new acquaintances in the same way I thought of old friends whom they resemble. I'm not sure whether most people do this. I subconsciously assume that they enjoy the same things, have the same opinions, even think the same things about me as my old acquaintances. It's rather confusing. Is the brain just lazy? Hmm. In his short story Ligeia, Edgar Allen Poe narrates the story of a man whose first wife - Ligeia - dies, who then marries again, and whose second wife dies but is, somehow, mysteriously resurrected as Ligeia. It's a macabre little tale, but it reminds me of my situation. Past friends (I refer to them as "past" because, quite simply, I don't, nor ever will, see them as much or be as close to them as I once did) are resurrected, somehow, as new ones. This can be frustating; we expect new friends to act in certain ways, only to be disappointed (or, perhaps, pleased).

 
26 April: Lebenslust
If things go as plannt, I will be living on campus next year. This is probably a good thing: my roommate will be quite pleasant, quiet, and usually out of the room, and we got into the building we wanted (with air conditioning, thank goodness). The primary challenge I will face is meeting so many people. I don't meet people well; I don't remember names (or worse, I confuse a person for somebody else), and I get nervous around people with whom I am not acquainted. It is by far the most stressful part of college for me - meeting so many people my age. Professors at least I can understand as human beings. Fellow students, well, I just don't understand many of them. (It seems everyone my age is far too comfortable. If the eighties were the decade of "nihilism with a smiley face", then it is only now that we have young adults whose entire lives have been lived with this attitude. It's not that we don't care, it's just that we're not very empathetic. Empathy is a lost art nowadays. I think I've said [or written] that somewhere before. Oh well.) There are a few exceptions, of course. People like my friend Chaundre (who often reads this blog, it seems; hello Chaundre!) live quite differently from myself, yet I respect her as a person. It is comforting to realize that unalike people can still understand each other (for the most part).

I sat in on my college's student government yesterday; my, what a sorry spectacle that was. Most of our student "senators" just as lazy as the rest of the student body. (Come to think of it, our United States senators are, for the most part, just as lazy as the average American.) I am getting less and less hopeful about government in general: if the professionals are just as incompetent as everyone else, what do we pay them for?

But I tire of being such a misanthrope, sometimes. There is much in the world to enjoy: spring, as they say, has sprung, and the flowering trees are lovely to smell and behold. There are turtles in the lake, and violets along the path. Life is far too pleasant to keep complaining about everything.

 
20 April: Hell is other people on cell phones

"If God wanted you to carry on loud, one-sided conversations with yourself in public, he'd have made you a crazy person."
                         - Garrison Keillor

But perhaps worse than all that, they remind me constantly how stupid most people are. Taking walks on a college campus as often as I do, it seems I can't go anywhere without being near somebody yapping away on a cellphone. We have a beautiful campus ("115 sylvan acres of lush woodland perched above the mighty Mississippi River"), but nobody appreciates it because they're too busy talking about what sort of vodka to buy for Friday night. This is perhaps the most distressing insight into the human condition possible. While walking to the library today, I heard a guy talking about how he had never known the difference between "weary" and "wary"; he was complaining about how someone else had told him the difference, and how it made him feel stupid. Well, I can personally say he seemed a lot stupider recounting this story loudly (into a small, shiny object with buttons on it) with perhaps a dozen people listening. Cellphones give us a glimpse into the lives of others; this is unnecessary, at best, and quite discouraging most of the time. We come to understand how pointless, boring, crass, wasteful, hateful, and unintelligent our fellow human beings are.

But enough of that. As I mention, I've been taking walks: it's a pleasant pursuit, at least when there's nobody else around. But several people with whom I've had classes have said 'hello' to me, and I didn't know their names. It's a dreadfully awkward situation. I have stopped referring to anyone by their name, so that hopefully nobody will be the wiser.

Wendell Berry, in his essay "Why I Am Not Going to Buy a Computer", says computers force us to have "a direct dependence on strip-mined coal", and that we are thus "implicated in the rape of nature". He goes on to smugly proclaim that he'll be sticking to his 1956 typewriter and wife for spell-checking, thank you very much. While I respect his striving to avoid raping nature and all, I find his smugness rather baffling: isn't the typewriter made of cast metals made in a mill that runs on, you guessed it, strip-mined coal? Ultimately, if we're going to do anything at all, we're somehow "implicated in the rape of nature". Mr. Berry's line drawn in the sand is completely arbitrary. Why don't we avoid ambulances and bullet-proof vests and artificially-produced insulin as well? While I respect Berry's opinion, I will continue to use computers. My line may be a bit further in the sand, but I believe the usefulness of this machine outweighs its nature-rapery. So, environmentally-conscientious reader, you may write me angry letters now, since you obviously aren't going to use a computer, are you?

 
18 April: A customer by any other name
I was eating a late lunch at Panera today. It's a nice place; rather faux-trendy and yuppyish, but the food is good. They take your order, and call out your name when it's ready. I find it very boring to use my own name. In fact, I prefer to use aliases. Why not try it yourself, next time you go? Many of these names are sadly disused:
Adelaide Aloysius Athanasius Boris Calvin Cosmo Ernest Felix Gunter Hans Helga Hildegard Ingrid Klaus Lendol Linus Mortimer Neville Olaf Olga Ophelia Otto Rüdiger Sasha Thaddeus Umberto Vladimir Wilhelmina

Lots of old men wear funny hats, have you noticed? I hope it's something all old men do, not just something this particular generation of old men are doing. If I live to be seventy and I don't get to wear a funny hat, I will be indignant.

By the way, happy Easter. Unless you're Orthodox, then happy one more week of Lent, suckers!

 
7 April: When I'm 64
I wonder, will our clothes and hairstyles look completely ridiculous in twenty, forty, a hundred years? I mean, just look at all those horrible mistakes people made in the fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties, and early nineties... What was everyone thinking? Did they realize how odd they'd look in the future? It frightens me to think that people will judge my generation by our "popular" "music". Nearly everything found on radio stations today makes me shudder, and this is what future people will think of when the 2000s are brought up. (That reminds me, people should be saying the year as "twenty ought six" instead of "two-thousand six". It sounds more old-timey, and thus better.)

One can tell a lot about a culture by its idioms. Take the Finns, for example. For a Finn, to die is "to throw the spoon in the corner". If something goes easily, it "breaks loose like a grandma's tooth". And, though in English to go down the tubes means something unfavorable, in Finnish, "to go into the tube" means to succeed. Strange folk, those Finns.
 

31 March: The Horror, the Horror
Feeling rather low today. This is a good process, I suppose: I must constantly reëvaluäte my ideas, and such a mood encourages introspection. That is to say, I am absurd, and I know it. Perhaps what depresses me more is how other people go through life without ever thinking about such things. How do they bear it? All around me are people who are convinced that they know something, anything at all, and I don't believe it. I certainly don't know anything, and it's only by questioning my ideas that I came to see this. Without the vital questioning, what do they do? Ignorance may be bliss, but having become aware of the ignorance, what then? Auch. I'm tired of existentialist angst; if every day were like this I don't know what I'd do.

For the meantime, then, I will dullen the pain with theater. I'm attending a play tonight in French Antillean Creole: Manman Dlo contré la feé Carabosse. Since you've probably never heard of it, I don't suppose it's worth discussing here, but I hope I enjoy it.

Remember, daylight savings time starts this weekend. Last time it switched I forgot to change my clocks: I arrived an hour early for church, only to find myself locked out. It's not a very nice feeling, being locked out of a church.

Addendum, later that evening.
Well, it's true: distracting oneself can work awfully well. I'm in a good mood now, feeling quite charitable towards the world. It's easy to be pleasant when one's stomach is full, when one is entertained, fulfilled, and happy. The trick, I guess, is figuring out how to be satisfied and nice when things don't go well. I wonder if anyone has ever done it.

 
27 March: More Than a Snifter...
In the line for lunch in the cafeteria today, I was behind a drunk girl. (I hasten to add she was wearing a sorority jacket...) She was leaning really heavily on her lunch tray on the counter, and couldn't understand why it wouldn't stay put. She seemed rather disoriented. Now, I have no problem with my peers drinking responsibly (besides the fact that they're breaking the law, I suppose). But it seems none of them can. I suppose it's just a problem most grow out of, but then, it seems, their children will the get the idea that this is perfectly acceptable. Some will become alcoholics - but at least they won't be shunned by society. Only poor alcoholics, the kind whose parents can't afford to pay for college, end up homeless.

It's raining all day today. My cats insist on going outside, only to come in minutes later, very wet. I don't understand them.

 
21 March: The Era of Good Feelings
Yesterday I undertook an experiment, of sorts. That is, I signed a pledge last week to go without meat on Monday, and I did it. (I ate eggs for breakfast, but I was told that was acceptable.) Vegetarian life isn't particularly interesting: it's just like normal, but a bit less carnivorous. Looking at things in perspective, I didn't save many animals - half a chicken, perhaps. I would be more inclined towards vegetarianism if meat weren't sometimes so tasty. That, and I am often offended by PETA activists. Some of the things they do (e.g. equating meat-eatery with the Holocaust, advocating people drink beer instead of milk) is just plain crazy.

I'm in a mellow mood, presently. I have that certain sort of easy-going happiness that comes from meeting with old, dear friends and finding they've only changed for the better. It is sometimes helpful to remind ourselves: we can only change in two ways - for the better, or for worse. It is almost always our decision as to what we ourselves become. Frustration comes from trying to change (or prevent the change of) others. I find that one can only decide the morals, the tastes, the ideas of a single person on this entire earth: oneself.

I was walking down some of the many stairs to be found at my college's campus. Coming up the stairs was some girl; she tripped. Fortunately, she was unhurt. I don't mind telling you that I laughed a bit at her clumsiness. (She did too, a little. But I would've even if she hadn't.) Sometimes the best thing we can do is realize the absurd and call it like we see it. I don't know how I could go through life without humor. (How some others do it is beyond me.)

 
17 March: The Ineluctable Modality of the Incompetent
At college, one can easily spot quite a few people who are obviously in the wrong career. (Heck, some people in college should be digging ditches instead.) This brings up a dilemma: how do professors tell their students that they're very clearly incompetent in the field in which they wish to become professionals? Well, it seems most teachers don't even tell their students this. Far too many bright-eyed optimistic students go into careers they shouldn't go into. Some are too arrogant to admit they're unqualified, and some are just stupid. What really makes it difficult is when a nice person happens to be thusly unaware: how can we tell them they're wrong without shattering their dream? Well, we are obligated to, on behalf of society. This is everyone's problem. It is we competent ones who must deal with these people in the workplace, and, even worse, some of them will be working in hospitals and nursing homes. By refusing to be rude (that is, honest), we are effectively condoning this. It's all very distressing, if you ask me.

 
12 March: Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
Heavy thunderstorms today. It's raining like mad, and it's glorious. I feel alive now. The works of men are eroding, and the waters are rising: the springs of the deep and the floodgates of the heavens are opened. Nature is reclaiming the land, and we are given a small vision of earth after the extinction of the human race.

I have always been a hill-dweller, so I never was nervous about flooding. I am therefore guilty of indifference to the misfortune of others. I have been thinking about sin lately. Some sins, like gluttony, make themselves evident to others: these are easily recognized, and thus easily condemned. But what of the invisible ones, especially pride? Though less easily seen, they are just as addictive, and more dangerous because other people are less likely to notice. W.H. Auden once said, "All sins tend to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is damnation." He's right, I think.

 
10 March: Neither do I condemn you?
I have been struggling with faith these past few days; in particular, I don't know what sort of religious person I can (and should) be.

Religious people can be divided into four types, based on two different criteria: tolerance/intolerance and virtue/sinfulness. (Of course, "virtue" is a relative term: since nobody's perfect, this quality is really the earnest attempt to be good - that is, avoiding sin as much as possible.) Observe:

It's obviously a good thing (but extremely difficult) to be a saint, and it's obviously bad (but easy) to be hypocritical. That leaves us with the two other options: "justifiably harsh" and "weak but agreeable". Which is worse? To avoid most sins but be intolerant? Or to sin more but be more charitable (and overly-indulgent)? I have known Christians of all three latter types, and certainly saints do exist. But what are we to do? How can we be both tolerant and expect ourselves and others to stay out of sin as much as possible? Should we expect little out of ourselves and others, or expect as much as we can, and carry it out to the best of our abilities? Such is my quandary.

Then there is the matter of what defines sin. But that is another discussion.

 
8 March: Spring Rain

It rained all day today.
Fields became lakes,
And muddy hillsides melted
As sediment washed away.

Some people don't care for this weather,
but I rather like it.
Nature has cleansed herself, and
The world is baptized anew,
Ready for the sins of another year.

(Sorry again for the poem. If you don't like it you can always ignore it.)

 
6 March: The Traveler Returns
This past week, my "spring break", I went on a little roadtrip, by myself. It seems most people don't go on roadtrips alone, but I rather prefer it that way: I really get tired of being in a confined space with people for long periods of time, and that's just the sort of thing that happens on a roadtrip.

I went to the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky, and enjoyed it very much. When I told others this is what I'd be doing, I didn't assume it would be somehow interesting to them, but it seems people are somewhat curious about my trip, so I will relate it here.

By far the worst part of the whole experience was the driving: over eight hours there, and then over eight hours back. With the time change it was actually nine there, seven back, but that didn't make much difference. I went through four states:

It was a relief finally reaching the monastery. (To be precise, it's an abbey. The difference between a monastery and an abbey is that the latter has an abbot. Now you know.) It was a wonderfully quiet place, surrounded by placid woods and the western foothills of the Appalachians. As nice as it was to be in the chapel, listening to the monks praying the seven offices of the day, I think the woods were a more spiritual place. It was perhaps the first day of spring down in Kentucky, and the earliest flowers were blooming. Birds twittered pleasantly. (Here on the tundra it's still winter, alas.)

When people hear I went to a monastery, they expect I went through some great spiritual awakening, but I didn't, really. I didn't expect to, either: I have learned that patience is best, especially in such matters. (Teresa of Ávila said it better, if you ask me: La patiencia todo lo alcanza.) It was just nice to have some quiet time to evaluate things. (I must mention as well that the one monk I talked to - the guestmaster of the visitors' quarters - was quite a character. I tend not to talk much with people I don't know, but I had a good ten-to-fifteen minute conversation with him. Monastics aren't sheltered from the world, nor are they naïve: they're just normal people who want something more from life than crass materialism and the empty values of modern "culture".) I hope to visit there again.

 
25 February: Remembrance of Things Past
Looking at myself five years ago, I think I'm glad I've changed. And five years ago, when I looked back at myself five years before that, I was glad I had changed then, too. So far, my life has been a process of changing myself (for the better, hopefully) from one stage to the next. I wonder why this is: am I coming closer to realizing my "self"? Or is it far less profound? There are people out there who don't change so much: are these people just more self-aware? Or complacent? Or, perhaps, am I the only one who worries about such things?

Even just months ago, I can criticize what I wrote in my blog. I often appear snobbish and self-centered: perhaps I still do. (After all, this entire entry seems to be me writing about me, doesn't it?) Looking back at how I used to be, I can only wonder whether, in five or ten years, I'll regret how I am now. What will I know that I don't know now?

I'm tired of all this angst. I'm going to bed.

 
22 February: Je me souviens
Exams were this week. I'm glad they're over. It's not that they're overwhelmingly difficult; it's just that it's stressful to be confined in a room for two hours and be expected to complete pages and pages of work, the successful completion of which is a major determinant of one's grade. They certainly aren't efficient gauges of whether one knows the material: it seems everyone just crams for them and then forgets all about them once completed. College students have a tendency to put as little work into things as possible. Well, it seems like everyone under forty has a tendency to put as little work into things as possible. That's what our culture is about, isn't it? Getting the most from the least possible work. It's not just sloth, it's greed too. I've noticed this while driving: the "me first" syndrome. People will speed, disregarding others' safety so that they can get to work three minutes faster. Not because they enjoy work, but because they feel entitled to be first in line. Selfishness, that's what it is. Selfishness is enshrined in American culture.

I would be blogging more, but I've been having conversations in which I vent about these sorts of things. With another outlet, it's less necessary that I write about it here.

Is anyone else plagued by feelings of insincerity? I try to be friendly to people, and often I am quite successful at it, but I sometimes feel that I should somehow feel more sincere about being nice. I can fully mean a kind comment, and yet I second guess my motives. Why? Often I have nothing to gain by being pleasant (other than the pleasant feeling that comes from acting pleasantly), and yet a part of my mind wants to attribute my good acts to some ulterior motive. It's too bad, really. Am I feeling guilt for others' insincerity? It's very distressing, experiencing shame for other people's faults. I should become a hermit, perhaps.

 
14 February: Let's Try This Again, Shall We?
I had typed out this entire entry, when my computer froze. Of course, I hadn't saved it, and thus I lost it. (Well, I didn't lose it - I mean I lost the work I had saved. I didn't lose control or anything.) So let me apologize: this is the second time I'm typing this out, so I may not do it very carfully. (You'll notice I mispelled "carefully". I don't care.) So, without further ado, this blog entry:

You know, it's awfully awkward when one is engaged in conversation with a person and is smiling or grimacing or making some sort of facial expression in response to the conversation when one looks at a third person. It gives the third person the impression that one is smiling or grimacing (or whatever) at him. I have given many wrong impressions this way. I hope other people do it too: it'd be even worse if I were the only one who does this.

Last Saturday I heard a wonderful opera on the radio, based on Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's The Little Prince. It was very good, and there aren't many good children's operas. (There is, of course, Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel, but I find that far too long-winded for children. Especially nowadays - they just don't have the attention spans.) Even if you don't care for opera, you might consider seeing it if you have the chance, especially if you've read The Little Prince (and I hope you have. It's a wonderful book that everyone should read).

I'm not sure I'll ever get used to being called "sir" in stores. I don't feel like a "sir". The employee certainly wouldn't call me "sir" if I weren't a customer. What is the point? It seems very insincere to me, and it cheapens the language, I think. We should only call someone "sir" if we mean it.

I've started writing articles for Wikipedia, lately. (This one and this one, if you're curious. If you see any way you can improve them, feel free, but please don't vandalize.) Interestingly, it seems my article on Rachmaninov's All-Night Vigil has been translated into Japanese! (If you try to view the page, though, you'll need a Japanese font installed.) It's nice to think my contributions could help someone else learn something. Perhaps.

 
7 February: Curiouser and Curiouser
As you may or may not know, as part of my geocities account I can see how many page views I get on my website. Curiously, somebody is pretty consistently checking my site around six in the morning (in my timezone, anyway). Now, why would anyone be doing that? Is checking my site the first thing they do in the morning? The last thing they do before going to bed, perhaps? Either way, I see no sense in it. It's very strange, that's what it is. Very strange.

Hmm. What a short entry. Is this a sign of things to come? Is my life becoming steadily less and less blog-worthy? Perhaps. But worse things could happen, I suppose.

 
3 February: The Smallest of Epiphanies
While lunching with a friend today, she and I discussed things. In particular, how it seems nearly everyone is completely clueless. Looking around us, there were dozens of fellow college students, good and bad, intelligent and stupid, moral and immoral. Doubtless the vast majority of them will go on to financial success, marriage, children. But then what? What goals are these if they lead to nothing else? Are all of these people so blind as to not see where their "happy", "successful" lives will lead them? My friend and I both see this: the unthinking, bestial way so many people live. But then, how are we much better? We have recognized our predicament, perhaps, but now what? Life is at a crossroads, now. Shall we cross the Rubicon? Well, first we must find it.

The wind in the trees
The mountains of clouds above
Changing weather, now.

 
31 January: My Quarrels with Søren Kierkegaard
You know, I've found I tend to stop paying attention in conversations an awful lot. My mind just shuts itself down and I'm left staring into space with a vacant expression. I wonder if other people notice. Actually, I'm pretty sure they do - I would think I'd be the last one to figure it out. I hope I haven't inadvertently offended anyone. That would be bad.

Presently I'm watching a PBS program about a bunch of crotchety scientists who are trying to recreate a Roman Bath. They all argue over the littlest things. I guess that's proof that intelligent people aren't always the most efficient. I wish I had a Roman Bath: they're like Turkish baths, but somehow more dignified, I think. I have mixed feelings about the Turks.

Been reading Kierkegaard in class lately. I'm not sure what I think of him. While I certainly agree with his conclusion that faith cannot be logical, I wonder about his attitude towards Ethics. You see, he separates humans into three "spheres": the aesthetic (people who live for pleasure of one kind or another), the ethical (people who acknowledge that they should do certain things and shouldn't do other things), and the religious (people who obey God's will). Kierkegaard cites the Bible story of Abraham almost sacrificing Isaac as an example of where the religious conflicts with the ethical. He says the best people (the "knights of faith") obey God's will above ethical obligations. I just have trouble understanding how God could conflict with Ethics. I always thought the shared basic ethical precepts of all humans was a proof of God's existence: if what we call the "ethical" is just a human construction, then aren't morals relative? But I don't think morals are relative. How could they be? It's all very vexing. I don't know. (Of course, Socrates says he knows nothing and thus knows more than everyone else. But I don't know particularly more than most people, I don't think.) Oh well.

 
25 Janiero: A Day in the Life
My, it's been a while since I wrote in this thing. I've been too occupied with living to write about it. (I would tell you all that's happened, but nearly two weeks is far too much time to summarize. Too many things have occurred.) But, just for fun, let's sum up what I did today:

• I got up at four (in the morning) to finish my Spanish paper. Fortunately, I did.
• I left early for school to get gasoline at the gas station. It's gone up six cents since I last got it.
• I very nearly collapsed of boredom in my musicianship class. But that's nothing new, really.
• It wasn't quite as boring in my English class, but it certainly wasn't as fun as a barrel of monkeys. (You know, I'm not sure exactly how fun a barrel of monkeys is supposed to be. Sounds like you could get rabies from it or something. They're not very sanitary creatures.)
• My classmates watched me writhe in agony as I gave my Spanish presentation - in broken, tortured Spanish - on the character of Sancho Panza in el Quijote. I'm quite glad it's over.
• The day took a turn for the better when I had my cello lesson; my teacher quite easily sensed that I was exhausted, and was thus even more patient and kind than usual.
• I nearly got run over in the parking lot by some ten-year-old hooligans on bikes. Twerps.
• I got shouted at in choir. I get shouted at every day in choir. Not by the director, mind you, but by those beastly basses who stand behind me. They don't sing, they shout, is what they do.
• I then drove home, listening to NPR. I can't say I support Google's decision to allow the Chinese government to censor it. It's not right. I can't say I really care for the Chinese government. If I knew more about the situation I think I might support a Free Tibet. (That reminds me. Did you know that the current Dalai Lama has said he will choose not to reincarnate himself in a Chinese-occupied Tibet? It's a very interesting situation, I think.)
• Currently I'm writing this blog entry, but I'm very tired. If I weren't staying up to watch Law & Order, I would go to bed. Oh well.

 
12 January: Toward the Unknown Region
I have a busy weekend up ahead. That is, I won't be busy, but my time is already quite planned in advance. Tomorrow after school I'll be going on a retreat at a local convent. (They have a guest house, you see.) I hope to be physically and spriritually refreshed by the experience. (I am bringing along my new Vaughan Williams CDs; perhaps that will help.) One of the nuns from the place has come to my honors class before; she seems like the best sort of Christian: very charitable, accepting, and loving. If only all of them were like that...

Then, on Saturday, the choir I'm in is singing at a Martin Luther King Day celebration. We're singing gospel music! With the swaying, and the clapping, and the lots of improvised things that I have no idea how to do! It will be an interesting experience, no doubt. I just hope we don't make fools of ourselves in front of the people who actually know how to sing the stuff.

Then, on Sunday, I hope to attend a performance of Così fan tutte. With any luck, it will be good. There are so many Mozartian things going on this week to celebrate Mozart's 250th birthday. Not that he's around to enjoy it.

When I started this blog entry I was thinking of something quite clever, but it seems I have forgotten it. I wonder what it was. An amusing anecdote? A witty limerick (or clerihew)? A charming observation characteristic of the certain things I tend to observe? The world will never know. I wonder how many great things have been thunk (yes, I'm using thunk as the past participle of think), only to be forgotten moments later. Think how much better the world would be if only we were never distracted! Let that be a lesson to you: don't distract people. Ever.

 
8 January: Sigh...
I'm depressed. I just feel so pessimistic about the inherent goodness of people sometimes. Especially my peers. And children. And adults.

I remember it was quite a shock when I first realized that adults aren't any more intelligent, more kind, or better than people my age - they just happen to have a lot more experience. Most adults have also solidified their beliefs; that is, they have stopped considering other viewpoints and have become content with whatever bigotry they prefer. Among people my age there is some hope, perhaps: not everyone has yet stopped listening and thinking. But... oh, I don't know, sometimes.

We're going to read Søren Kirkegaard in my Honors class soon. I look forward to it immensely: from what I've heard of him, I think it will be enlightening. In particular, his rejection of a rational defense of faith. I've heard lots of "rational" arguments for the existence of God, and none of them really ever convinced me. Even Mr. Lewis's trilemma didn't do it. I find myself rooting for non-religious people in arguments, even if I don't agree with them. It just seems that most religious folk are under the impression that they can justify their faith, which I don't think is possible. For one thing, if the key concept (and I believe it is) of Christianity is grace - underserved love - then how can the rest of the religion be logically justified? God doesn't act by our logic. If He did, by all means we should all be in hell. Bertrand Russell said something (I can't find the quote) about how people seize upon information without questioning it if supports their pre-established ideas - I think he was on to something. But then, he came to many other conclusions with which I disagree quite strongly.

Have you ever read a clerihew? It's a silly poem that I think I shall take up writing. Poems cheer me up, mostly.

 
5 January: Adventures among the Hoi Polloi*
I took my grandmother to Wal-Mart a few days ago. (Not because I wanted to, but because she's on a limited budget and has no problems shopping there.) It was not a pleasant experience. Naturally, I am opposed to the place, for many obvious reasons. (I'd provide a link to some site critiquing it, but there are so many of those I couldn't decide. Try googling "WalMart EVIL" - there are 3,120,000 results...) It's a depressing place, WalMart. Lots of very unpleasant people, many of them desperately clinging to the underbelly of the lower class. (I thought that metaphor was clever, but I'm disappointed now that I read it.) A few months ago I tried making a WalMart Bingo page, but I gave up halfway through. You may enjoy it, though. Anyway, to summarize: I don't like WalMart.

I drove by a church bulletin board that same day and read this message:

I don't what to think about poor people and religious zealots. Not being one, I find it difficult to relate. I don't understand how they can do the things they do (that is, shop at retailers that rely on cutthroat business practices and exploitation of foreign labor, and condemn others to an eternity of fiery damnation, respectively). But it seems both groups are becoming a majority - in this nation and in this world (except for Europe, Canada, Australia and New Zealand). I guess I could blame it all on ignorance, but that seems too simple. There must be more to it... Are there more factors that produce such people? What can be done? Perhaps I'll just move to Canada...
 

* If you want to be pedantic, then saying "the hoi polloi" is technically incorrect, because hoi is Greek for "the". But I opt to follow the standard English usage.