Last Friday was a pretty amazing swing dance. It was themed as 1946, which was quite fun. It lasted five hours, and I had a grand old time getting ready at Lady Specs' house previous to the dance. As I just stated, I really enjoyed myself, though a few ... unusual circumstances made the evening more than memorable. So let's go in chronological order.
Upon arriving at the dance, I reacquainted myself with a young man I met through a music camp, who I shall call D. D recognized me more quickly than I him, and we had a pleasant conversation. The instruction session ended, and the dance began in earnest. I was asked to dance a few times, on one occasion by D. Who asked again 30 minutes later. And then, again. And yet again. I believe I danced with him more than anyone else at the event. And at the end of the night as we began tearing down the grange hall, D approached me and said: 'So, if I come to more of these dances, will I be able to see you again?" O.0 That was a bit cringe-worthy. I just hope I handled it well. >.>
Also, I was pleasantly surprised to see some of the guys from my club there. I was less pleasantly surprised to see them not dancing. Due to extreme high spirits that night, I pulled out my trusty guilt-trip skills, and voila! As a side note, I am very, very proud of Cassandra's younger brother who attended the dance. He asked several young ladies who had not danced much that night to dance with him. Ach, so proud! So I guilt-tripped three young men into dancing. They may hate me now, but in my defense, it built their character.
One of the more unusual memories from that evening was dancing with a hot dog. Alright, not actually dancing with a hot dog. More like, dancing with a guy who was eating a hot dog in one hand and attempted to dance with the other. Yeah, interesting times.
However, the highlight of the evening was dancing to Sing, Sing, Sing. It's a swing dance staple, but because at most dances I sit out, I've never danced to it. And it really is an amazing song, with all the drums in it. ... So I did ask the guy to dance with me, but he didn't mind! :blush: Most enjoyable.
Overall, it was a surprisingly enjoyable evening. There are many other details which would no doubt bore you, but that was the brief overview. Although I fear I may have made myself out a liar: I danced so often on Friday I can't remember how many times I danced. New personal record, methinks.
B, who must get ready for paging tomorrow
28 February 2010
23 February 2010
You know there was a tournament last weekend, right? Well, I observed something interesting at the tournament: Parents I had never met before came up and introduced themselves. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but they already knew my name. O.0
Hobbes and Escapists' mom, for instance. I was talking with Calvin's mom, and as the conversation ended, a nice looking woman with a few children clustered around her came up to me.
"Oh, [Problematic's real name]! I'm Mrs. Winslow! It's so nice to meet you at last." There was handshaking involved, but the entire time, I couldn't help wondering: How did she know my name, and what was tales of horror and shock had Escapist and Hobbes and M told her to put that weird intonation in her last words? I have an inkling as to the first question, but not for the second.
The next time this happened was later on Friday. Once again, a mother came up to me, introduced herself, and her tone implied prior knowledge of my exploits.
Goodness! What have I been doing to the poor kids at speech?
B (who is channeling Jedi Gerbils)
Hobbes and Escapists' mom, for instance. I was talking with Calvin's mom, and as the conversation ended, a nice looking woman with a few children clustered around her came up to me.
"Oh, [Problematic's real name]! I'm Mrs. Winslow! It's so nice to meet you at last." There was handshaking involved, but the entire time, I couldn't help wondering: How did she know my name, and what was tales of horror and shock had Escapist and Hobbes and M told her to put that weird intonation in her last words? I have an inkling as to the first question, but not for the second.
The next time this happened was later on Friday. Once again, a mother came up to me, introduced herself, and her tone implied prior knowledge of my exploits.
Goodness! What have I been doing to the poor kids at speech?
B (who is channeling Jedi Gerbils)
22 February 2010
*sigh of relief*
If it seems as if I disappeared from the world for the past week, there's a very good reason for that. I had another tournament that ended Saturday. The week leading up to the tournament was filled with preparations, as usual, though the amount of preparation I had to do was out of the ordinary.
You see, this tournament, I iron-manned. I competed in Impromptu, Extemp, OO, Persuasive, Thematic, and LD debate. I broke in three of the six, which isn't a bad record after all. Let me explain. There are three types of rounds: Debate rounds, Pattern A rounds, and Pattern B rounds. I was in all three. Which meant that I had lots of running around to do.
That wouldn't have been half bad if it weren't for ::looks around for suitable adjective:: incredibly annoying, painful, and demanding social normative ideals concerning women's professional dress codes. Specifically, the ones about heels. I brought flat shoes to wear in between events, but since there wasn't much 'in between events' for me, my shin splints now have shin splints. Fortunately, my feet have finally readjusted to being flat, though it's always an odd transition: I've got major issues with my feet, and heels are not exactly conducive to pain-free living. :P
I spent Thursday and Friday madly running from one event to the other, but Saturday not so much, which made it an 'off day', except it wasn't. See, I broke in extemporaneous, the current events event. This is entirely amazing considering that out of seven possible minutes of speaking, I usually filled about five. Also, although I did extemp two years ago, I never competed with it at a qualifying tournament, so the tournament this weekend was only my second time doing it. It was completely surprising. Since Extemp takes roughly 40 minutes to do (30 minutes prep, seven minute speech) I was late to the other speech I broke in. In semis, I arrived at the room only to discover that two of the three judges had gone for lunch while waiting.
Well, I'm slowly recovering from the tournament, though I've got a post-tourny cold coming on. Oh, joy. I think I'll toddle off to class now.
Yawns,
B
You see, this tournament, I iron-manned. I competed in Impromptu, Extemp, OO, Persuasive, Thematic, and LD debate. I broke in three of the six, which isn't a bad record after all. Let me explain. There are three types of rounds: Debate rounds, Pattern A rounds, and Pattern B rounds. I was in all three. Which meant that I had lots of running around to do.
That wouldn't have been half bad if it weren't for ::looks around for suitable adjective:: incredibly annoying, painful, and demanding social normative ideals concerning women's professional dress codes. Specifically, the ones about heels. I brought flat shoes to wear in between events, but since there wasn't much 'in between events' for me, my shin splints now have shin splints. Fortunately, my feet have finally readjusted to being flat, though it's always an odd transition: I've got major issues with my feet, and heels are not exactly conducive to pain-free living. :P
I spent Thursday and Friday madly running from one event to the other, but Saturday not so much, which made it an 'off day', except it wasn't. See, I broke in extemporaneous, the current events event. This is entirely amazing considering that out of seven possible minutes of speaking, I usually filled about five. Also, although I did extemp two years ago, I never competed with it at a qualifying tournament, so the tournament this weekend was only my second time doing it. It was completely surprising. Since Extemp takes roughly 40 minutes to do (30 minutes prep, seven minute speech) I was late to the other speech I broke in. In semis, I arrived at the room only to discover that two of the three judges had gone for lunch while waiting.
Well, I'm slowly recovering from the tournament, though I've got a post-tourny cold coming on. Oh, joy. I think I'll toddle off to class now.
Yawns,
B
17 February 2010
Hard Hats Required Beyond This Point
I mentioned yesterday that I've been cleaning my room. However, the more proper word at this point would be excavating. I cleared the topsoil away, as usual, but this time, I braved the collected junk from last time I did major room renovations.
Last time I did something huge with my room was hmm, 6-7 years ago, roughly. Back then, my idea of 'good taste' in decorating involved cutting out pictures of twee baby animals with really bad (not groan bad, just not funny) puns and taping them to the walls. Of course, not overlapping all of my ballet posters. I had drawers full of junk, and any posters that weren't on the walls were shoved underneath my bed. However, since I decided to take out my desk and move the bed, I had to disturb this sediment sufficiently to get work done.
As a result, later on in the evening (or should I say early in the morning?) two large black trash bags bulging at the seams appeared outside my room. I finally got around to disposing of all that junk. To get an idea of why I call it junk, though, let me tell you of some of the items inside.
There was a tissue I colored with red markers to look like a bloody tissue - I've had that for years. There were boxes and boxes of plastic jewelry, and there were all sorts of odds and ends: miniature American Girl magazines, old, unused toothbrushes, and some crocheted dog sweaters, toy poodle sized.
And they're finally gone! It's amazing how great it is not to have the hoard of a 10-year-old packrat gathering dust in my room. Now, I've still got the huge collection of china dolls sitting atop my clothes closet, but I've gotten used to that: I no longer wake up at night thinking that one of them is moving and about to turn into a murderer on me. They can move around all they want now.
Oh, I nearly forgot. The other reason for celebration is that almost all the lights in my room work now! Puella "Fiat," inquit "lux!." Luxque erat.
Yes, I am unreasonably happy. But I'm not ashamed. If you've had to live with 'bloody' tissues for the past 6 years, you'd be glad to be rid of them too.
B, who must go dust off.
Last time I did something huge with my room was hmm, 6-7 years ago, roughly. Back then, my idea of 'good taste' in decorating involved cutting out pictures of twee baby animals with really bad (not groan bad, just not funny) puns and taping them to the walls. Of course, not overlapping all of my ballet posters. I had drawers full of junk, and any posters that weren't on the walls were shoved underneath my bed. However, since I decided to take out my desk and move the bed, I had to disturb this sediment sufficiently to get work done.
As a result, later on in the evening (or should I say early in the morning?) two large black trash bags bulging at the seams appeared outside my room. I finally got around to disposing of all that junk. To get an idea of why I call it junk, though, let me tell you of some of the items inside.
There was a tissue I colored with red markers to look like a bloody tissue - I've had that for years. There were boxes and boxes of plastic jewelry, and there were all sorts of odds and ends: miniature American Girl magazines, old, unused toothbrushes, and some crocheted dog sweaters, toy poodle sized.
And they're finally gone! It's amazing how great it is not to have the hoard of a 10-year-old packrat gathering dust in my room. Now, I've still got the huge collection of china dolls sitting atop my clothes closet, but I've gotten used to that: I no longer wake up at night thinking that one of them is moving and about to turn into a murderer on me. They can move around all they want now.
Oh, I nearly forgot. The other reason for celebration is that almost all the lights in my room work now! Puella "Fiat," inquit "lux!." Luxque erat.
Yes, I am unreasonably happy. But I'm not ashamed. If you've had to live with 'bloody' tissues for the past 6 years, you'd be glad to be rid of them too.
B, who must go dust off.
16 February 2010
Music Tuesday?
I must apologize for the lateness of this post. Ideally speaking, music Monday ought to come on, you know, Monday. I shall explain why it did not.
Yesterday, Mom, Dad, and I drove to Olympia to meet the family who would host me during my week paging. We were gone five hours, and the rest of the day was spent preparing for Grey, Ophelia, and Gabby's visit tomorrow, and debate club.
Today, I'll introduce you to a rather happy little song: Rollerskate, by Matias Aguayo. When I first heard it, I literally got vertigo. Also, I love the acapella voices in the background. I can't find any lyrics, so just listen and enjoy!
Yesterday, Mom, Dad, and I drove to Olympia to meet the family who would host me during my week paging. We were gone five hours, and the rest of the day was spent preparing for Grey, Ophelia, and Gabby's visit tomorrow, and debate club.
Today, I'll introduce you to a rather happy little song: Rollerskate, by Matias Aguayo. When I first heard it, I literally got vertigo. Also, I love the acapella voices in the background. I can't find any lyrics, so just listen and enjoy!
14 February 2010
St. Valentine's Day
Ahh, St. Valentine's Day, also known as Single's Awareness Day. The day we dedicate to the concept of love. Honestly, I've had a hard time relating to St. Valentine's day.
At this point, I must offer a caveat for all my male readers: The following post is decidedly for ladies, and as such, you'll find precious little to relate to. ;) You have been warned.
You know, I've been thinking about what happens on St. Valentine's Day for a couple weeks now. Ideally, you'll open the door to find your love standing on the threshold with flowers, reservations for dinner, and a pair of tickets to a romantic comedy. Or something like that. St. Valentine's Day is, after all, the holiday for items. But think about it: the Saint's day is just one more stigma for girls to date, court, or prematurely give away their emotions. We've got enough pressure to be alluring, attractive stumbling blocks for our guy friends, without having an entire holiday dedicated to True Love.
I got an email from a girlfriend of mine today, detailing her plans for the evening with her recently acquired boyfriend. Now, don't get me wrong - I appreciated the good will implied in the salutation that I would "find love soon," but still, I'm sixteen. I don't need to worry about courtship or other vaguely matrimonial type topics. And frankly, every time I see girls my age prematurely giving their hearts away, I cry for them.
Last year, I went goth for St. Valentine's Day. This year, I did something more important. Yup, I prayed for the gentlemen in my acquaintance and friendship. I prayed that they would look to God for guidance in their relationships, and I prayed that God would help me be a sister for them, and not a stumbling block. And I challenge all of you to do it this week, with me. God calls us to treat our male friends as brothers in Christ. I don't know about you, but my birth brother gets my support all the time: why shouldn't my male friends not get it as well?
And for any guy readers who have made it this far, no comment is necessary.
B
At this point, I must offer a caveat for all my male readers: The following post is decidedly for ladies, and as such, you'll find precious little to relate to. ;) You have been warned.
You know, I've been thinking about what happens on St. Valentine's Day for a couple weeks now. Ideally, you'll open the door to find your love standing on the threshold with flowers, reservations for dinner, and a pair of tickets to a romantic comedy. Or something like that. St. Valentine's Day is, after all, the holiday for items. But think about it: the Saint's day is just one more stigma for girls to date, court, or prematurely give away their emotions. We've got enough pressure to be alluring, attractive stumbling blocks for our guy friends, without having an entire holiday dedicated to True Love.
I got an email from a girlfriend of mine today, detailing her plans for the evening with her recently acquired boyfriend. Now, don't get me wrong - I appreciated the good will implied in the salutation that I would "find love soon," but still, I'm sixteen. I don't need to worry about courtship or other vaguely matrimonial type topics. And frankly, every time I see girls my age prematurely giving their hearts away, I cry for them.
Last year, I went goth for St. Valentine's Day. This year, I did something more important. Yup, I prayed for the gentlemen in my acquaintance and friendship. I prayed that they would look to God for guidance in their relationships, and I prayed that God would help me be a sister for them, and not a stumbling block. And I challenge all of you to do it this week, with me. God calls us to treat our male friends as brothers in Christ. I don't know about you, but my birth brother gets my support all the time: why shouldn't my male friends not get it as well?
And for any guy readers who have made it this far, no comment is necessary.
B
12 February 2010
Grab Bag 2
Wow. Life has been happening at such a velocity that I once again find myself in need of a grab bag of assorted topics. I rather hope it slows down after next week.
So, let's work this in reverse chronological order. Next week there is another tournament, in which I shall be competing in five speech events and debate. Scary, right? Well, it's even scarier because I haven't finished writing one of the speeches, and I need to memorize another.
Because of the tournament, I went judge recruiting yesterday at Coop A. I talked to about 20 adults, and got at least one confirmed recruit, if not more. I spent almost the entire lunch hour, plus half and hour after lunch selling the NCFCA. But I was quite exhausted afterwards.
I've also started getting expressions of love from various colleges. I got four pieces of physical fan mail yesterday, and all week, my inbox has been flooded with emails from various colleges (some of which I've never heard of) expressing interest in my mind. The funny thing about it, though, is that they're not addressed to me: these letters, emails, and pamphlets are all addressed to some Arab girl that has a name roughly like mine. As far as I can tell, the PSAT I took last year got my name wrong, or couldn't read my handwriting, or something, because everything I've gotten from them hasn't been addressed to me. So someone's created an alter-ego for me, and I haven't even got a say in it. Oh well, I might use this new ego in a story someday.
Well, last night, I went to St. John's Cathedral in Seattle for their "Great Music in Great Cathedrals" program. It was absolutely amazing. Before it started, though, I got to go up behind their giant pipe organ, and look at all the air supply equipment. The amazing thing about it was that most of the equipment (including the bellows) was made out of wood. You could hear the air moving through the system, too. The entire time I was up there, the overture from Phantom was playing in my mind. It was most salubrious.
I also recruited judges at Coop B on Wednesday, but because my Rhetoric class got out late, I arrived ten minutes after people had started recruiting, leaving very few parents interested in hearing my spiel.
On Tuesday, I finished the translation of Ovid's account of Orpheus and Eurydice, a feat which I am very proud of. After all, Latin poetry is like Latin, only worse. I have less-than-fond memories of a particular sentence that spanned eight lines, and word order/matching entirely ignored. That sentence took me a good 30 minutes to piece together. >:|
Also on Tuesday, I once again kidnapped Lady Specs before speech club, leaving myself in charge of waiting for our speech coach to show up. I don't know what drives me to do it - it's not like club particularly likes me anyways. I'm too sarcastic, and not nearly enthusiastic enough. But what Lady Specs doesn't know won't kill her, right?
After spiritual classics on Monday, Mom drove me home, and once again, the man on the corner was trying to signal to passengers. This time, though, he appeared to be saying that eating them would make them handsome, strong, and acrobats. I believe he's taking his job a little too seriously.
Last Friday there was an extemp filing party. It was there that I learned that Mrs. Incredible will be paging at the WA State Senate the same week I am. Most exciting. As extemp is wont to do, we discussed current events, filed, and generally made fun of each other.
A week previous to this Tuesday, Calvin generously gave me a online profile which he, Hobbes, Escapist, and Johnny wrote on the way down to a tournament the weekend before. It certainly was amusing in a 'let's not go there again' sort of way, if that makes sense. And no, I won't be posting it online. I humiliate myself enough on this blog; I don't need someone else to do it for me. In exchange for the only copy of this profile, I agreed to write the biography of Calvin, which I am almost done with. It's rather turned into a police report or mental hospital report, but that suits him better, anyways. Another perk of mine is that it is less noticeably awkward, though I'm slightly worried about how Calvin will receive it: I don't exactly hesitate in my more kritiky remarks. :P
Now, for the past week, I've been struck by a mild cold, which seems to have graduated to medium this morning. I hope that if I get sick now, I'll be better by next Thursday. Ach, Murphy'll probably make certain I am sick through the awards ceremony, but who knows?
Finally, I've got a couple of prayer requests for any willing prayer buddies: Last week, my uncle told his daughter that he was dying, and since then, things have been pretty rough for the extended family. My mom is looking to fly back there soon, but she's had two false starts already. The second is that I'll finish and memorize my speeches in time for the tournament next week. I've got a huge load of school work currently, which raises doubts as to if I'll get them done.
Speaking of school work,
B
So, let's work this in reverse chronological order. Next week there is another tournament, in which I shall be competing in five speech events and debate. Scary, right? Well, it's even scarier because I haven't finished writing one of the speeches, and I need to memorize another.
Because of the tournament, I went judge recruiting yesterday at Coop A. I talked to about 20 adults, and got at least one confirmed recruit, if not more. I spent almost the entire lunch hour, plus half and hour after lunch selling the NCFCA. But I was quite exhausted afterwards.
I've also started getting expressions of love from various colleges. I got four pieces of physical fan mail yesterday, and all week, my inbox has been flooded with emails from various colleges (some of which I've never heard of) expressing interest in my mind. The funny thing about it, though, is that they're not addressed to me: these letters, emails, and pamphlets are all addressed to some Arab girl that has a name roughly like mine. As far as I can tell, the PSAT I took last year got my name wrong, or couldn't read my handwriting, or something, because everything I've gotten from them hasn't been addressed to me. So someone's created an alter-ego for me, and I haven't even got a say in it. Oh well, I might use this new ego in a story someday.
Well, last night, I went to St. John's Cathedral in Seattle for their "Great Music in Great Cathedrals" program. It was absolutely amazing. Before it started, though, I got to go up behind their giant pipe organ, and look at all the air supply equipment. The amazing thing about it was that most of the equipment (including the bellows) was made out of wood. You could hear the air moving through the system, too. The entire time I was up there, the overture from Phantom was playing in my mind. It was most salubrious.
I also recruited judges at Coop B on Wednesday, but because my Rhetoric class got out late, I arrived ten minutes after people had started recruiting, leaving very few parents interested in hearing my spiel.
On Tuesday, I finished the translation of Ovid's account of Orpheus and Eurydice, a feat which I am very proud of. After all, Latin poetry is like Latin, only worse. I have less-than-fond memories of a particular sentence that spanned eight lines, and word order/matching entirely ignored. That sentence took me a good 30 minutes to piece together. >:|
Also on Tuesday, I once again kidnapped Lady Specs before speech club, leaving myself in charge of waiting for our speech coach to show up. I don't know what drives me to do it - it's not like club particularly likes me anyways. I'm too sarcastic, and not nearly enthusiastic enough. But what Lady Specs doesn't know won't kill her, right?
After spiritual classics on Monday, Mom drove me home, and once again, the man on the corner was trying to signal to passengers. This time, though, he appeared to be saying that eating them would make them handsome, strong, and acrobats. I believe he's taking his job a little too seriously.
Last Friday there was an extemp filing party. It was there that I learned that Mrs. Incredible will be paging at the WA State Senate the same week I am. Most exciting. As extemp is wont to do, we discussed current events, filed, and generally made fun of each other.
A week previous to this Tuesday, Calvin generously gave me a online profile which he, Hobbes, Escapist, and Johnny wrote on the way down to a tournament the weekend before. It certainly was amusing in a 'let's not go there again' sort of way, if that makes sense. And no, I won't be posting it online. I humiliate myself enough on this blog; I don't need someone else to do it for me. In exchange for the only copy of this profile, I agreed to write the biography of Calvin, which I am almost done with. It's rather turned into a police report or mental hospital report, but that suits him better, anyways. Another perk of mine is that it is less noticeably awkward, though I'm slightly worried about how Calvin will receive it: I don't exactly hesitate in my more kritiky remarks. :P
Now, for the past week, I've been struck by a mild cold, which seems to have graduated to medium this morning. I hope that if I get sick now, I'll be better by next Thursday. Ach, Murphy'll probably make certain I am sick through the awards ceremony, but who knows?
Finally, I've got a couple of prayer requests for any willing prayer buddies: Last week, my uncle told his daughter that he was dying, and since then, things have been pretty rough for the extended family. My mom is looking to fly back there soon, but she's had two false starts already. The second is that I'll finish and memorize my speeches in time for the tournament next week. I've got a huge load of school work currently, which raises doubts as to if I'll get them done.
Speaking of school work,
B
11 February 2010
[expression of amusement]
My readers may have noticed that I have a geo-traffic map on my sidebar, where you can tell where in the world my blog has been accessed by. I was browsing it today, and much to my amusement, I found the tag "Beirut, Beyrouth hit It's Raining." It cracked me up.
Did I just label myself as a history nerd? I hope not.
B
Did I just label myself as a history nerd? I hope not.
B
10 February 2010
Chew on this
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
~John Donne
Same Diff
So after speech last night, Dad and I took Escapist, Hobbes, and M home. In the car, Hobbes said something that got me thinking. We were talking about arguments. Apparently, I'm better to argue with than Lady Specs, and Hobbes postulated that this was because I was in debate. He said that the few arguments I'd had with him were far more reasonable than the ones he'd had with Lady Specs.
This rather confused me, for in my recollection, I had never argued with him. When I asked him to explain what arguments we'd had, Hobbes reminded me of two separate conversations: one about the incessant 'free will/determinism' debate that seems to suck the life blood out of all homeschool Christian conversations; the other, about vegetarianism and omnivores.
And this is where I started thinking. Hobbes, obviously, viewed those conversations as arguments. My memory, however, was of two discussions. So is there a difference? How can one participant have an argument, but the other have a discussion? And how come a 'friendly argument' is easier to have 'with a debater' than with someone else?
I'm not certain, but I think it all boils down to the mindset you approach the conversation with. From past observations, the people who have arguments are so passionate in their beliefs that any attack on the beliefs is seen as an attack on the person themselves. I know in both conversations with Hobbes, he vigorously defended his position. But so did I. So what made the conversation experience different for us?
Thinking about it, now, I think I've hit it. I go into a conversation disassociating my beliefs with myself. I've learned from debate that just because someone attacks my assertions doesn't mean they attack me. The implication, therefore, is that an argument arises when two people, so passionate that their identities depend on their beliefs disagree. A discussion would then be a conversation where the two people uphold their arguments without viewing them as part of their identities.
Hmm. Interesting. I shall have to think on this more.
Do you have any thoughts?
B
This rather confused me, for in my recollection, I had never argued with him. When I asked him to explain what arguments we'd had, Hobbes reminded me of two separate conversations: one about the incessant 'free will/determinism' debate that seems to suck the life blood out of all homeschool Christian conversations; the other, about vegetarianism and omnivores.
And this is where I started thinking. Hobbes, obviously, viewed those conversations as arguments. My memory, however, was of two discussions. So is there a difference? How can one participant have an argument, but the other have a discussion? And how come a 'friendly argument' is easier to have 'with a debater' than with someone else?
I'm not certain, but I think it all boils down to the mindset you approach the conversation with. From past observations, the people who have arguments are so passionate in their beliefs that any attack on the beliefs is seen as an attack on the person themselves. I know in both conversations with Hobbes, he vigorously defended his position. But so did I. So what made the conversation experience different for us?
Thinking about it, now, I think I've hit it. I go into a conversation disassociating my beliefs with myself. I've learned from debate that just because someone attacks my assertions doesn't mean they attack me. The implication, therefore, is that an argument arises when two people, so passionate that their identities depend on their beliefs disagree. A discussion would then be a conversation where the two people uphold their arguments without viewing them as part of their identities.
Hmm. Interesting. I shall have to think on this more.
Do you have any thoughts?
B
08 February 2010
Victoriam Speramus
Krypteria is a metal group from Germany. The amazing thing with this group is that it combines the goth element of Latin lyrics with symphonic metals' sweeping backdrops. Victoriam Speramus was the first song of their that I ran across. It is most beautiful.
Victoriam Speramus
When all the lights go down
And when the final curtain falls
When there is nothing left to say
Eternity eventually will linger
Through abandoned halls
And leave us dark in disarray
The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:
Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc
One man’s piece of might
Might me another man’s despair
In these so enigmatic times
When some pray for redemptions
I hope they redeem themselve through prayer
To reach this all, this is your life (?)
The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:
Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc
The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:
Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc
Victoriam Speramus
When all the lights go down
And when the final curtain falls
When there is nothing left to say
Eternity eventually will linger
Through abandoned halls
And leave us dark in disarray
The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:
Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc
One man’s piece of might
Might me another man’s despair
In these so enigmatic times
When some pray for redemptions
I hope they redeem themselve through prayer
To reach this all, this is your life (?)
The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:
Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc
The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:
Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc
06 February 2010
Venture
Last August, I joined a new Venture Crew as one of the required non-Boy Scout members. Since then, I've accepted the job of secretary for the crew. For those of you who don't know, Venture is affiliated with the Boy Scouts, except it is co-ed and covers older teens through age 21.
My crew is kind of funny. It's made mostly of Boy Scouts, with a couple girls who come on occasion. However, the girls view Thursday nights (the night we meet) as their night-off, so the past few meetings I've been the only girl present. Last meeting, I was asked if I was 'frightened by all the macho boys' by one of the advisers, and my first reaction was to snicker. Compared the the guys in speech club, the Boy Scouts are - not angels, but certainly a lot less awkward.
One of the advantages of being the unequipped newbie in the crew (relatively speaking, since I'm also a Girl Scout) is that there's opportunities for hand-me-downs. And this is the point of my post. The first meeting after Christmas, one of the crew came in with a spare uniform. Our crew decided on the official shirts, but aren't picky about the rest of the stuff. So anyways, one of the guys had bought a shirt that didn't fit for some reason, but as looking to pass it off to someone. And since I'm the new one, I went home with a men's medium green tent.
In all fairness, it isn't too bad. I mean, put a big belt around the waist, and it makes a cute dress. Without the belt, it's a sack. Here's a cartoon of what it looks like:
This, meanwhile, is how it should look:
Random post, right? Well, I'd stay and comment, but I've got some minutes to type.
B
My crew is kind of funny. It's made mostly of Boy Scouts, with a couple girls who come on occasion. However, the girls view Thursday nights (the night we meet) as their night-off, so the past few meetings I've been the only girl present. Last meeting, I was asked if I was 'frightened by all the macho boys' by one of the advisers, and my first reaction was to snicker. Compared the the guys in speech club, the Boy Scouts are - not angels, but certainly a lot less awkward.
One of the advantages of being the unequipped newbie in the crew (relatively speaking, since I'm also a Girl Scout) is that there's opportunities for hand-me-downs. And this is the point of my post. The first meeting after Christmas, one of the crew came in with a spare uniform. Our crew decided on the official shirts, but aren't picky about the rest of the stuff. So anyways, one of the guys had bought a shirt that didn't fit for some reason, but as looking to pass it off to someone. And since I'm the new one, I went home with a men's medium green tent.
In all fairness, it isn't too bad. I mean, put a big belt around the waist, and it makes a cute dress. Without the belt, it's a sack. Here's a cartoon of what it looks like:
This, meanwhile, is how it should look:
Random post, right? Well, I'd stay and comment, but I've got some minutes to type.
B
04 February 2010
Wood
"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good.." - For Good, from Wicked
I happen to agree with the song. Actually, I've been thinking about this lately, and I think I've hit on a very proper analogy. The only problem is, I'll sound terribly sentimental explaining it. But I'll give it a shot, anyways.
So, our hearts are rather like blocks of plain wood. We start our earthly journeys with a completely unfinished block, and as we meet, greet, brush past - interact - with other travelers, we start handing these blocks off. A sort of 'guest artist' deal, if you will.
I get your block for a time, and you get mine. We both have the opportunity to carve a little on the wood in our hands. Maybe you'll add your initials to my block, maybe I'll shave off a little curl. Ideally, at the end of our lives, the people we know will have lovingly carved a statue out of the original block.
Unfortunately, this is not always the case. Sometimes, I gouge holes in your block, accidentally or on purpose, it doesn't matter. I've just defaced your wood, made it incomplete, hurt it deeply. The people with these gashes in their hearts get nervous. They don't want the wood defaced like that again, so they just avoid handing the wood over. They clutch it close, never trusting others with it again.
But then again, there are other people, with wood glue, and sandpaper. They fill the gouges, they smooth away the splinters and beaten edges left by destruction. And pretty soon, the injured block doesn't look so bad. The holes, the gashes; they're still there, but they're less important now. They're faults that let the real beauty of the growing statue shine through. They are there, but they don't dominate.
It sounds so pretentious, doesn't it? But still, it's interesting to meditate on. Certainly, after thinking about this for a few months, I've been more careful with how I use my tools.
B
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good.." - For Good, from Wicked
I happen to agree with the song. Actually, I've been thinking about this lately, and I think I've hit on a very proper analogy. The only problem is, I'll sound terribly sentimental explaining it. But I'll give it a shot, anyways.
So, our hearts are rather like blocks of plain wood. We start our earthly journeys with a completely unfinished block, and as we meet, greet, brush past - interact - with other travelers, we start handing these blocks off. A sort of 'guest artist' deal, if you will.
I get your block for a time, and you get mine. We both have the opportunity to carve a little on the wood in our hands. Maybe you'll add your initials to my block, maybe I'll shave off a little curl. Ideally, at the end of our lives, the people we know will have lovingly carved a statue out of the original block.
Unfortunately, this is not always the case. Sometimes, I gouge holes in your block, accidentally or on purpose, it doesn't matter. I've just defaced your wood, made it incomplete, hurt it deeply. The people with these gashes in their hearts get nervous. They don't want the wood defaced like that again, so they just avoid handing the wood over. They clutch it close, never trusting others with it again.
But then again, there are other people, with wood glue, and sandpaper. They fill the gouges, they smooth away the splinters and beaten edges left by destruction. And pretty soon, the injured block doesn't look so bad. The holes, the gashes; they're still there, but they're less important now. They're faults that let the real beauty of the growing statue shine through. They are there, but they don't dominate.
It sounds so pretentious, doesn't it? But still, it's interesting to meditate on. Certainly, after thinking about this for a few months, I've been more careful with how I use my tools.
B
03 February 2010
Igor
For your reading pleasure, I present you a transcript of tonight's Happy Hour. You see, tonight I :ahem: returned to my roots.
Problematic: Hey, Mom! I've got arms!
Mom: [nonplussed]
Problematic: You know what you do with arms?
Mom: What?
Problematic: Hugs! Free Hugs!!![tackles Mom]
Problematic: Hey, Dad! I've got arms!
Dad: Why is it that when I've got work to do, all the bugs come out of the woodwork?
Problematic: [hangs on Dad] Hey, I like cheese!
Dad: Yes, squirt, I know.
Problematic: [sings] I like cheese, I like cheese, I like cheese.
Dad: Who put a quarter in her?
Problematic:[turns to Mom, rasps] I like cheese.
Mom: Trees?
Problematic: [croaks] I like trees. Do you like trees? 'Cause I like them. A lot. Do you like trees?
Dad: [Getting out Peanut Butter] Good thing you live in the Pacific Northwest.
Problematic:[galumphes to Dad] I like trees. Do you? Trees are my friends.
Dad: Hey, come back!
Problematic: I like trees, I like trees a lot. Do you? You should.
Dad: [tries to smear Problematic's face with Peanut Butter]
Problematic: [Hanging on Dad] Igor likes peanut butter too. Igor likes trees... and peanut butter... a lot! Do you like peanut butter? O-ho-ho... Peanutty buttery peanut butter. Igor likes a lot!
Dad: [going to living room] Weirdo.
Problematic: [Galumphing and scurrying towards Dad] Do you know why Igor likes peanut butter? Because peanut butter is nutty!
Dad: Like Igor!
Problematic: [chortles]O-ho-ho-ho. Very smart, funny man. Igor is nutty... Yes, yes, we are! Igor is a nut, just like... PEANUT BUTTER!!! And trees. Igor likes trees, too. Do you know why we like trees? Because trees are nutty, too!
Mom: Don't you mean woody?
Problematic: [bug-eyed] Igor always says what Igor means to say!
Dad: Didn't you say you liked cheese, originally?
Problematic: Of course, Igor likes cheese. Cheese. Is. Nutty! Nutty, just like Igor! And Trees! And Peanuuuuuutttt Buuuuuttterrrrr!!! [jumps around]
Preposterous B
Problematic: Hey, Mom! I've got arms!
Mom: [nonplussed]
Problematic: You know what you do with arms?
Mom: What?
Problematic: Hugs! Free Hugs!!!
Problematic: Hey, Dad! I've got arms!
Dad: Why is it that when I've got work to do, all the bugs come out of the woodwork?
Problematic:
Dad: Yes, squirt, I know.
Problematic: [sings]
Dad: Who put a quarter in her?
Problematic:[turns to Mom, rasps]
Mom: Trees?
Problematic: [croaks] I like trees. Do you like trees? 'Cause I like them. A lot. Do you like trees?
Dad:
Problematic:[galumphes to Dad]
Dad: Hey, come back!
Problematic:
Dad: [tries to smear Problematic's face with Peanut Butter]
Problematic: [Hanging on Dad] Igor likes peanut butter too. Igor likes trees... and peanut butter... a lot!
Dad:
Problematic:
Dad: Like Igor!
Problematic: [chortles]O-ho-ho-ho. Very smart, funny man. Igor is nutty... Yes, yes, we are! Igor is a nut, just like... PEANUT BUTTER!!! And trees. Igor likes trees, too. Do you know why we like trees? Because trees are nutty, too!
Mom: Don't you mean woody?
Problematic: [bug-eyed] Igor always says what Igor means to say!
Dad: Didn't you say you liked cheese, originally?
Problematic: Of course, Igor likes cheese. Cheese. Is. Nutty!
Preposterous B
01 February 2010
Till Kingdom Come
Have you heard of Coldplay? Probably. I started listening to them about a year ago, which is a rather amusing and pathetic story of itself. But the point is, I liked them. When it comes to quiet rock, they're the first band I turn to. The funny thing about Coldplay - an 'alternative rock' group, as iTunes calls it - is that it attracts Christians like flies. For some reason, we've classified them in the group of 'Secular-Bands-We-Wish-And-Can-Almost-Imagine-Were-Christian.' Other bands like that include Linkin Park, Five For Fighting, and (of course) U2. I've got friends who say things like "I like Coldplay because it's almost Christian!"
I'm not one of those people. The argument that "the lyrics of the song express hope/redemption/ [other Christian theme here] so the songwriter must be a Christian" falls flat to me. A secular artist can express a Christian truth while still being a secular artist. I don't listen to Coldplay because I can imagine its lyrics are Christian. I listen to this particular band because many of its lyrics express truth about the world, and they express it well.
That being said, I particularly enjoy Till Kingdom Come. The interpretations are varied. I shan't offer one. However, one thing I appreciate about this song is that the music doesn't overwhelm the song's message.
"Still my heart and hold my tongue
I feel my time
My time has come
Let me in
Unlock the door
I never felt this way before
And the wheel just keeps on turning
The drummer begins to drum
I don’t know which way I’m going
I don’t know which way I’ve come
Hold my head inside your hands
I need someone who understands
I need someone, someone who hears
For you I’ve waited all these years
For you I’d wait 'til kingdom come
Until my day, my day is done
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me
In your tears and in your blood
In your fire and in your flood
I hear you laugh, I heard you sing
I wouldn’t change a single thing
And the wheels just keep on turning
The drummers begin to drum
I don’t know which way I’m going
I don’t know what I’ve become
For you I’d wait 'til kingdom come
Until my days, my days are done
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me"
I'm not one of those people. The argument that "the lyrics of the song express hope/redemption/ [other Christian theme here] so the songwriter must be a Christian" falls flat to me. A secular artist can express a Christian truth while still being a secular artist. I don't listen to Coldplay because I can imagine its lyrics are Christian. I listen to this particular band because many of its lyrics express truth about the world, and they express it well.
That being said, I particularly enjoy Till Kingdom Come. The interpretations are varied. I shan't offer one. However, one thing I appreciate about this song is that the music doesn't overwhelm the song's message.
"Still my heart and hold my tongue
I feel my time
My time has come
Let me in
Unlock the door
I never felt this way before
And the wheel just keeps on turning
The drummer begins to drum
I don’t know which way I’m going
I don’t know which way I’ve come
Hold my head inside your hands
I need someone who understands
I need someone, someone who hears
For you I’ve waited all these years
For you I’d wait 'til kingdom come
Until my day, my day is done
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me
In your tears and in your blood
In your fire and in your flood
I hear you laugh, I heard you sing
I wouldn’t change a single thing
And the wheels just keep on turning
The drummers begin to drum
I don’t know which way I’m going
I don’t know what I’ve become
For you I’d wait 'til kingdom come
Until my days, my days are done
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me"
A Grab Bag of Assorted Things
Rightyo. I believe the title is self-explanatory, so let's get started.
It's kind of creepy when a complete stranger motions that he'd like to eat you. What happened was this: Thursday was driving me home from a class this afternoon, and we'd pulled up to a major intersection. There was a guy holding a sign for some sort of food chain standing on the corner. Because Thurs and I were the first car at the intersection, this guy's attention was immediately drawn to our car. In the intervening three minutes, he repeatedly gestured at me, rubbed his belly, and then made a thumbs-up. At least, I think that's what happened. I lost my glasses this morning before class, so that's the general impression I got from him. He finally realized that threatening to eat me wasn't going to make Thurs change lanes, so he started doing acrobatics. Thurs applauded when he managed to balance the sign on his chin, completely ignoring his little sister's discomfort. On the plus side, I now have added incentive to find my glasses again.
You may remember that I blogged a few weeks ago about sending in my application for the Washington State Senate Page Program. Well, on Friday I received my letter of acceptance from the State Secretary. Hoohoo! If I don't post for the week of March 1st, you now have a reason. Yes, I am very excited about it.
[fluid and witty transition here]
I hate breakfast. It might be because my own dear brother is a picky eater. For years, the only food he'd eat for breakfast was Grape Nuts, slathered with sugar. He ate them dry. Now, if you have any experience with Grape Nuts, you'll agree with me when I compare eating them dry to eating gravel and glass splinters with nothing to wash them down. And because I'm not as picky, I ate what he ate. As a result, I have an eternal loathing for breakfast food. I tut at toast, I choke on cereal - hot and cold -, I exclaim at eggs, and cinnamon rolls, bear claws, and other sweet pastries cause utter revulsion for me. I love breaking my fast in the morning, but I am far more likely to eat a sandwich or leftovers rather than breakfast food.
However, there is one cereal I like. It's not terribly healthy, but it isn't horrible either. And at the rate I'm eating it, I'll have very healthy cholesterol levels. Yup. I love Honey-Nut Cheerios. And Mom got a huge box of them last week. I am in bliss. I believe I've had a bowl every morning since then, which is saying something, considering I hate routine and get bored by habit. So yes, I can have breakfasty breakfast, now.
I do believe that is all.
Good day!
B
It's kind of creepy when a complete stranger motions that he'd like to eat you. What happened was this: Thursday was driving me home from a class this afternoon, and we'd pulled up to a major intersection. There was a guy holding a sign for some sort of food chain standing on the corner. Because Thurs and I were the first car at the intersection, this guy's attention was immediately drawn to our car. In the intervening three minutes, he repeatedly gestured at me, rubbed his belly, and then made a thumbs-up. At least, I think that's what happened. I lost my glasses this morning before class, so that's the general impression I got from him. He finally realized that threatening to eat me wasn't going to make Thurs change lanes, so he started doing acrobatics. Thurs applauded when he managed to balance the sign on his chin, completely ignoring his little sister's discomfort. On the plus side, I now have added incentive to find my glasses again.
You may remember that I blogged a few weeks ago about sending in my application for the Washington State Senate Page Program. Well, on Friday I received my letter of acceptance from the State Secretary. Hoohoo! If I don't post for the week of March 1st, you now have a reason. Yes, I am very excited about it.
[fluid and witty transition here]
I hate breakfast. It might be because my own dear brother is a picky eater. For years, the only food he'd eat for breakfast was Grape Nuts, slathered with sugar. He ate them dry. Now, if you have any experience with Grape Nuts, you'll agree with me when I compare eating them dry to eating gravel and glass splinters with nothing to wash them down. And because I'm not as picky, I ate what he ate. As a result, I have an eternal loathing for breakfast food. I tut at toast, I choke on cereal - hot and cold -, I exclaim at eggs, and cinnamon rolls, bear claws, and other sweet pastries cause utter revulsion for me. I love breaking my fast in the morning, but I am far more likely to eat a sandwich or leftovers rather than breakfast food.
However, there is one cereal I like. It's not terribly healthy, but it isn't horrible either. And at the rate I'm eating it, I'll have very healthy cholesterol levels. Yup. I love Honey-Nut Cheerios. And Mom got a huge box of them last week. I am in bliss. I believe I've had a bowl every morning since then, which is saying something, considering I hate routine and get bored by habit. So yes, I can have breakfasty breakfast, now.
I do believe that is all.
Good day!
B
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