Personality Thing

It would appear that Bracie beat me to posting about this.

Anyways, there's this website that tracks what people think about you compared to what you think of yourself. Not thinking ahead very far, I set up the website with my real name. This is a problem: to post the website here would give away my name to those who don't know me, but making a new one is redundant because only my friends would be able to give accurate results. *sigh*

B

Bandwagon

There it is. It's coming around the corner. The 'solid, unmoving cattle of humanity' has turned into a seething mob of humanity, and it's all centered on one option. People rush it, clawing frantically for a few precious inches of territory. A calliope plays from the back, beckoning all and sundry to jump on, enjoy the ride, and jeer at those not privileged enough to join them. As people stream toward it, you're faced with a choice: You either join the mad rush to jump on the bandwagon, or you block the bandwagon's path.

This all is to say that Problematic has been run over by the bandwagon, and she's not sure she likes it.

There is a Reaper

Today's post is brought to you by All Soul's Day, commemorating the souls who took the stairs in the past year. Actually, I'm just looking for an excuse to post one of my favorite poems: The Reaper and the Flowers, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

' There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

"Shall I have naught that is fair?" Saith he;
"Having naught but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again."

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eye,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.

"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,"
The Reaper said, and smiled:
"Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child."

"They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear."

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love:
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away. '

So if Sunday you're free...

Last night, my brother Thursday and I made a last minute decision to dress up for All Hallow's Evening. Previously, we had planned to spend the evening studying and hiding from trick-or-treaters, but this decision moved us to action.

Roughly two hours before nightfall, we decided to dress up as turn-of-the-century carolers and sing creepy songs (for free) to the autumn folk abroad last night.

I ended up looking something like this (see right) except with less pink, and more dark purple, black, and gray, not to mention a larger hat, and no parasol. This fashion, by the way, is from the late Victorian era, just before the turn of the century.

Thursday dressed right in line, coming in men's dress from the 1890s. He looked very dashing with his red scarf and top hat. (below)

Anyways, so we went and sang to everyone. This is what generally happened:

"Good evening. A very happy All Hallow's Eve to you. May we sing you a song?"

"Uh, sure. Hey, guys, come here! They're going to sing to us!"

At which point, Thursday and I would sing "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park" or "We Will All Go Together When We Go", both by Tom Lehrer, as well as, "Senses Capture" by Leaves Eyes, and "Escapist" by Nightwish. We had a great time, even diverting a group of candy-seekers from their quest. They followed us to a house to listen to us sing. It was quite amusing.

B

As a side note, today was 'celebration Sunday' for our church. We arrived at the church (which is an hour away from our house) at 6:00 am to catch a bus down to Oregon, stayed the day, and got back home at 9:00 pm. That meant getting up at four after four hours of sleep. The best part was the bus trip.

Christian Morbidity

This summer I attended a five-day Christian leadership camp for teenagers. The camp was held on a local university's campus, and so the girls were all housed in the same dorm. In order to truly keep us 'unruly' campers under tabs at all times, girls were divided up into groups of 8 to 12, and a staff person was assigned with each group. Supposedly, the groups would do everything together - eating, walking, sitting during lectures, as well as quiet time and something they called 'T-time.' For those in the groups fortunate to have friends attending, the only time we were required to be around the group was one meal a day, and at T-time.

My group was interesting. We had a very sweet girl only a few years older than I as the group leader, and she turned T-time into 'arts-and-crafts' time. Thus it was that the second night, I came out of T-time with a name tag for my door, with the legend "death before dishonor" scrawled on front.  I really don't know why I got such a hard time about it... I even put stylized flowers on it like all the 'normal,' 'perfectly healthy' girls. Well, they were stylized purple roses, but it was a huge concession on my part! As were the bright colors elsewhere on the placard.

At this point, my introduction has only something slightly to do with the title of the post, so I'll wrap up. The group leader and the other girls saw my name tag, and rather than seeing the phrase "death before dishonor," they could not get past the "death" part. So I was roundly ragged on for being 'morbid.' In fact, I was in informed that Christians should not be morbid, and that it is not pleasing to God.  Oh, and that by using that phrase, I was most likely depressed.

...Wait a second. Rewind there. What is this, saying that Christians should not be morbid? Christians believe that this world is just the temporary precursor to the afterlife. Last I checked, the only way to get there was to die.  Christians should be the most 'morbid' people in the world. We realize that the mortality rate is 100%, and that everyone is going somewhere when they die. Which means that Christians should be spreading the news of "we're all going to die, but guess what?! We've got a solution! His name is Jesus!", not avoiding the issue like the plague.

By treating death as 'taboo,' Christians adopt the same fear of death as the rest of the world, in direct violation of the phrase 'in the world, but not of it.' What is so scary about death when we've got our Lord and Savior waiting for us on the other side?

B

Edit: I didn't realize that my morbid post would be published on All Hallow's Eve... What an interesting coincidence. 

Problematic's Rules of Living

I will now present to you a few of my mostly light-hearted truths of life. They are things I try to incorporate into my daily life, and maybe you can too. NB: These are newly rearranged in order of importance.

Rule 12: "Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast." Oscar Wilde
Rule 11: "Chocolate flavor" is not chocolate.
Rule 10: Chew, then swallow.
Rule 9: Coming home is always more fun if you have to break and enter to do so.
Rule 8: It is impossible to gracefully hike in a skirt. Either you hike, or you walk gracefully.
Rule 7: "Music with dinner is an insult both to the cook and the violinist." GK Chesterton
Rule 6: If your water has an ingredient list, it's not water.
Rule 5: Music is life.
Rule 4: Living is a hard habit to break.
Rule 3: There is always a light at the end of the tunnel.
Rule 2: Love your neighbor as yourself.
Rule 1: And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment. Mark 12:30

I have to admit, rules 2 and 1 are the ones where I have the hardest time, but as rule 3 so aptly puts it, there's always hope.

B

New Background 2

I rather liked the last one, but I'm also attached to this one, too. We'll see how long it sticks around. :)

B

The Merry Men and Robin Hood

This week, in case you didn't know, has been designated by some blogger as "Maid Marian Fashion Week." Which is why, in case you've been paying attention, there are quite a few Robin Hood related posts on the internet. As a loyal Robin Hood fan, of course I felt the urge to blog about his lady love. In all actuality, I didn't. But the fact remains: This post is - and will be - devoted to a topic pertaining to Maid Marian.

Something about heroics intrinsically captures human imagination. Maybe disbelief is a factor - disbelief that another person is willing to risk their life for a stranger. Or perhaps it's admiration - of the hero's bravery, courage, strength, or other attribute. Well, whatever it is, heroes attract our imagination, and, by corollary, we are attracted to the ones loved by heroes.

For instance, numerous stories, paintings, etc. have been dedicated to Maid Marian, Robin Hood's romantic interest. This post is another example.

I've always imagined Marian a kind of elf. As in, straight from Middle Earth. In fact, when the Lord of the Rings came out, I saw Galadriel and thought "Wow, she's like Maid Marian, only legal!" Everyone seems to think that Marian wore boots. In my extremely humble opinion, she went barefoot. And she was kind of like a ninja - assassin.

Imagine it. The scene cuts to Sherwood Forest, where a road winds through a shadowed grove of trees. It is dusk, and a group of nobles are traveling quickly, eager to get home for the evening. One nervously glances toward the shadows in the roots of the trees, but sees nothing. The perspective changes, and Marian is crouching behind the tree, readying her medieval-English versions of ninja stars. The nobles are startled as Robin Hood and twenty-odd men stop the path in front of them. Marian smiles as Robin launches into the usual rot about rich people sapping the lifeblood of the poor, and she slips from behind the trees, and climbs onto the bottom of the carriage, clinging upside down as the cavalcade starts again. Foolish Robin. If only he didn't try so hard, he might be a half-good outlaw.

Later that night, she sneaks into the Sheriff's castle, and as he sleeps, she carefully places her black-mail letter on his headboard, held in place by a wickedly sharp ninja star.

I was kidding about the ninja part. That would be a little weird. But the fact remains, I always think of Marian as the one caring for the plants of the forest, like an elf. Ah well, it's too bad we'll never really know.

But hey! It's fun imagining it.
B, who is feeling very silly

Rain Walk #2

2 down, 3 to go.

Once again, I was able to get myself soaked. And once again, I have come up with a fresh batch of interesting thoughts. My next post shall be one of those. As a side note, 'The Highwayman' sung by Loreena McKennit is a great song for long walks in the rain.

Now, if you don't mind, I've got to dry off now. :P

B

Edit: Not the next post, but the one after that.

Letter to the Editor

I usually pre-write my posts the week before I plan to post them, but today, I'm going to break the mold. For my Rhetoric class, we were supposed to write a letter to the editor of our local newspaper about media bias. The following letter is presented for your political-junky reading pleasure. Enjoy.

"Editor, the Times:

Although a private company, a newspaper has a responsibility to all of its readers. This responsibility is delivering truth about the day’s news to its readers. Some newspapers find themselves in the unfortunate position of providing propaganda, rather than filtering it out.

Biased media representation of facts harms not only the truth, but the readers of these newspapers. Newspapers do a disservice by prepackaging half-truths and interpretations for their subscribers. When readers subscribe to a newspaper, they expect to receive reliable information, not propaganda; personal opinion presented, not as fact, but merely opinion. Most of all, readers expect fair-dealing with hot topics.

These hot topics include such controversial issues as evolution and its critics, the fight over homosexuals’ place in society, and political candidates. It is in these areas and areas like them that newspapers tend to stumble with the concept of ‘truth.’ Misrepresenting ‘the opposition’ on these issues does not make ‘the opposition’ less trustworthy, it only misinforms voters.

To sum, when a newspaper steps from providing news to reporting misleading news, it has violated its responsibility of delivering truth to its subscribers.

Best of wishes as you strive for accurate reporting."

New Background

It's time for a change. Change we can believe in. Change to celebrate the sheer magnificence of the word 'change'. This new background will only stay for a few days, to celebrate a particularly imaginative mood of mine.

B

A brief complaint

The problem with being known for plotting is that people always suspect you when you're not doing anything. The other day, I was out and about with my good friend Lady Speckles. She was trying on a ring in a jewelry store, and, though I was not particularly interested in engagement rings, I made a genuine compliment on how the ring looked on her finger. She gave me a sharp look, said "I don't think it looks that bad,"  and tried on another.  Later that same day, she asked my opinion on something, but I didn't have an opinion, so I made a non-committal reply, and she gave me the same look, and said something to the extent of "Whatever you're planning, I don't want to be in it."

Now, I like the reputation of be a plotter, but it takes a lot of energy to plot properly. So when people accuse me of plotting when I'm not, it's slightly annoying.

End Rant.
B

Eagles

As you look through literature, common motifs become apparent. One such motif is the eagle. Specifically, the eagle has come to represent the heroes in books, while bats or ravens represent the villains. The eagle and the raven face off, prepared to fight to the death, and all the attention focuses on this 'match of the century.' But no one ever remembers the pigeons, the extras, the set changers of the main drama.

Eagles are the important folk. In stories, they tend to have big, shiny swords, larger egos, and a moral center that constantly pits them against those of opposing views. In real life, they are smart, witty, and centers of attention. When an eagle walks into the room, you're certain to notice. People observe every move, every word spoken. Each action an eagle makes has thousands of effects that ripple outward like waves in a still pond. They can be political, like President Obama, or scientific, like Einstein, or even just flashy, like the actors in Hollywood or Oprah Winfrey. Eagles are, in short, the noticeable, 'cool' ones. They go out to combat with zeal, passion, and energy, trying to raise the poor, oppressed population as they go.

Ravens are the Eagles' doppelgangers. They are charismatic, energetic, 'go-do'ers. Ravens are the ones that dress in black, have evil henchmen, and tend to live in dark, stormy castles. The job-description includes oppressing the poor population, burning villages, and serving as the Eagle's scape goats. The truth of the accusations laid against them may vary, but from the Eagles' perspectives, they are always in the wrong, and should be destroyed. They too, are political, like former President Bush or Vladimir Putin, or scientific, like Oppenheimer, or flashy, like Oprah Winfrey or Rush Limbaugh. Regardless of the truth of the accusations, they are always shown in the worst light possible, and can be counted on to fight the Eagles to the death, burning and destroying Pigeons as they go.

But what of these Pigeons? Who are they? We are. The unimportant, unflashy, non-sword wielding, oppressed population is us. We're ignorable. When an Eagle is present, no one looks at us. We are roused by the Eagles to fight against the Ravens, and then the Ravens come through, and we fall with the Eagles. We are caught in the middle and used by both of the important birds. Our plumage isn't fierce, nor is it glossy. It's gray, fluffy, common. We have no talons, no sharp beaks, and we scrabble on the ground for the leftovers of the Eagles and Ravens. We're Red Shirts.

If this prospect depresses you, I have an uplifting message: Embrace your mediocrity! Where would the Eagles and Ravens be without their extras? They'd be left in a room, glaring daggers at each other, unable to do anything. Without expendable, unimportant background players, the plot of a story cannot progress. Just because it may not be as interesting, awesome, or cool, the stories we possess are just as legitimate as the ones the heroes and villains occupy. We are the heroes of our own stories, and we should not wait for the other birds to make fools of us. Seize the day, because who knows when you'll be thrown under the band wagon?

Proudly a pigeon,
B

Thank you, everyone

My birthday party was today. After all is said and done, I had a good day. I woke up this morning, and didn't feel like celebrating much, and I was slightly worried that no one would have fun at said party. But even then, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

My least favorite part was the awkward handshake things I gave to my guy-friends, but hey, it would have felt just as awkward to give hugs to you... So sorry, Escapist, Qwip, and A.O for the awkward bits. :P

I'm tired right now, so I'll keep this short. I just wanted to thank everyone who attended. It was such a blessing to have my friends celebrate with me. So thank you everyone, for making my day truly happy.

:)

B

Now this is confusing

Dear Ophelia, from The Reluctant Dragon had a photo contest these past few months. The rules where simple: Take a photo of yourself doing something weird, and photoshop the words "Weird is the New Normal" onto it. Send it to the official email, and await the results. I did that, and surprisingly, I won the contest. This is just a shout-out for a good friend. Check her out.


Here's the entries: http://lereticentdragon.blogspot.com/2009/10/entries.html

B

Mr. Sandman

I've been having sleepless nights recently. This last time, rather than feeling sorry for myself and angsting (can-of-wormsing that now), I actually had a brilliant chain of thoughts. Well, maybe not. But the fact remains, I did do something more useless than moaning about my life. I classified the types of sleepless nights I have. Yes, you all should be inhaling a collective gasp.

As I wrote in a previous post, some nights I stay up, doing nothing more than angsting. This provides a much needed emotional - release, 'specially when considering how much I bottle them up. I cry, I journal, I weep, and in short, I have a bad old time. Some nights, though, I don't release my emotions. This may be because I'm asleep.

On the occasions that I am not asleep, however, I am having one of two types of insomnia. My favorite type of insomnia is summarized by the phrase "the melody of mermaids keeps me awake at night," from Senses Capture, by Leave's Eyes. See, sometimes my creative juices get going right around midnight. It's on these nights that I stay up and write, draw, hum, notate, and emote into the wee hours of the mornings. Sometimes, it's lyrics to a song, or lines of a poem. Sometimes, it's new inspiration for one of my countless stories. And other times, I get the idea for a motif in a new musical composition. It's a fact of life that I physically cannot go to bed until I've recorded all of these new inspirations. So I sit in my room, scribbling madly on a piece of paper, listening to my music, and the product may be music clefs, pictures, poetic twists of a phrase, imponderable questions, or lines from a story. Good times.

The third type of insomnia, however, is much, much more mundane. It is pure sleeplessness. And it was this type of sleepless night that I've been having this past week. The ones where you stare at the ceiling for hours, feeling the sweet touch of sleep brush against your consciousness, only to be frightened away as you reach out to it for relief. Those are the nights where you just think. And think, and ponder, and pray. Ah well, such is the life.

Count your sheep,
B

It rained!

I wrote about my love of rain a few weeks ago. I also wrote that I wanted to go and out get soaked in it a few times before spring.

Today, I am happy to say, I had that opportunity. After getting up quite early to take the PSAT, and after sitting through two hours of rhetoric, I was quite ready for a change. So I took a while and went rambling in the rain, finally ending up sitting on a rock in a park, thinking. While I was joking in that previous posts about the 'great contributions' to art from these sessions, I do end up thinking interesting thoughts. Today was no different.

When at last I got home from rambling, I had acquired a new pile of sopping clothes, a soggy journal, and a fresh, shiny pile of interesting thoughts that I don't care to share at the present. The forecast predicts more rain, and I'm going to try to get ahead in my school work so I can spend more time in my favorite element. :)

Wish me luck,
B

My value is romanticism!

You may recall from a few posts back that I'm a 'hopeless romantic.' Due to my preference for time period extending from the 1800s until the end of the Industrial Revolution, I've picked up some mannerisms. For instance, saying 'excuse me, [gents/ladies]' as passing someone in the hall.

I said this the other day as I was passing in the hall, and a small kid (4-5 year old) asked me what a 'gent' was.

That opened a whole can of worms for me. It was a very good question indeed.If you can't tell where this post is about to go, I fear I shall have to be more specific: What makes a gentleman a gentleman?And more relevant to me, what makes a lady a lady?

Historically speaking, the terms 'gentleman' and 'lady' were used to describe a specific class of people in England... Today's usage, however, is what I am more interested in. Surprising as it may seem, the present day use of the term 'gentleman' was used back during the time its other use was common.

For example, in 1386, Chaucer said thus: "Certes he sholde not be called a gentil man, that... ne dooth his diligence and bisynesse, to kepen his good name." In plain English, "Certainly, a man should not be called a gentleman unless he endeavors to keep his good reputation with diligence." This is only a mediocre definition, so I shall provide a few more.

William Harrison, during the 16th century, writes that "gentlemen be those whom their race and blood, or at the least their virtues, do make noble and known." In other words, gentleman are those widely known as noble spirited either because of their noble birth, or their virtues.

My favorite one, by far, though, is General Robert E. Lee's "Definition of a gentleman." :

"The forbearing use of power does not only form a touchstone, but the manner in which an individual enjoys certain advantages over others is a test of a true gentleman. The power which the strong have over the weak, the employer over the employed, the educated over the unlettered, the experienced over the confiding, even the clever over the silly--the forbearing or inoffensive use of all this power or authority, or a total abstinence from it when the case admits it, will show the gentleman in a plain light

The gentleman does not needlessly and unnecessarily remind an offender of a wrong he may have committed against him. He cannot only forgive, he can forget; and he strives for that nobleness of self and mildness of character which impart sufficient strength to let the past be but the past. A true man of honor feels humbled himself when he cannot help humbling others." This is such a lovely definition, I shall do nothing to explain it.

So to sum, a true gentleman is a 'gentle-man' - one who treats everyone with respect, and does nothing to push others into decisions unless it is for the other's good. The list probably could be expanded, but I sense my shoulder editor has something to say.

This may be all well and good, but it isn't it a little demanding of you, B, to expect others to be gentlemen but leave no responsibilities for yourself as a lady? Good point, editor.

The attributes of a great lady may still be found in the rule of the four S's: Sincerity, Simplicity, Sympathy, and Serenity. - Emily Post

"And now when everything is made as simple and striking as possible, there probably is no time to develop such a complicated characteristic as "being ladylike" (in its former soulful meaning). ... the former concept "lady" meant also beauty. Not the beauty of features or clothes, but a graceful behavior coming from self-control. A lady is not loud-voiced, her laughter is not shrill, she moves freely and peacefully. Everything in her is beautiful even when she is homely. ...

In the era of competition the ideal of woman has become somewhat hard and "efficient". Perhaps this will be once overcome when a real lady steps forwad, in her refined and composed brilliancy." - Kersti Bergroth, Finnish writer

A lady is a woman who makes a man behave like a gentleman. - Russell Lynes 

Sometimes I look at the list (sincerity, simplicity, sympathy, serenity, grace, self control, thoughtfulness) and feel a little overwhelmed. I notice that the phrase 'sarcastic' is tellingly missing from the descriptions of ladies.  Actually, that's been bothering me a bit the past week or so. While it can be validly argued that Christ was sarcastic on occasion, the scriptures only record a few examples of Him doing so. So my argument that being sarcastic is being like Christ, something He ordered us to do, I can't justify my continual use of it. Christ only used it to point out the hypocrisy of the Pharisees, and didn't use it in every day language. The conclusion I am forced to is that my over-use of sarcasm is not a good habit to possess.

Oh, the struggle it is to be a lady, to be kind, charitable, and to ignore my inner cynic.

"Thoughtfulness for others, generosity, modesty and self-respect are the qualities which make a real gentleman or lady. "- Thomas H. Huxley

Praise to you if you stuck through that long and rambling post. End part 3

B

Learning Experience

Last year, as you may or may not know, I was in the class of my nightmares. Literally. I used to have bad dreams about walking into a doorless room with a bunch of faceless guys who laughed at me. Logic class wasn't quite so bad. There were two doors, and they all had faces.

However, during that class, I had a few unfortunate encounters of with the young men in my class. The school year started out alright, but a student transferred into the class a few weeks in, and it was from this chap that I had the most difficulties. At first, it was just making too many 'girl' jokes or syllogisms based off the difference between boys or girls. Pretty soon, he was sitting next to me because "you look depressed and need friends." Things came to a head when this particular young gentleman started picking inappropriate subjects for conversations with me, and I told Dad. Dad threatened to change this guy's voice up a few octaves, and in the end, the young man in question was made to offer an apology (of sorts) for his behavior. A week later, he pulled me aside and told me that 'it wasn't really serious' and that I 'shouldn't have got my parents involved,' not to mention that I'm {censored}teen and I "need to become independent from what my parents think." After that, I had no problems with him.

However, there were a few other mild cases from different young gents last year, and by the time June rolled around, I was feeling fairly creeped out. Well, the other day, when I was writing my previous post, I realized something. Something that was important enough to write a separate post. See, while I was wrapped up in all the mildly traumatic happenings, I'd completely forgotten that there are, in fact, decent gentlemen out there. They weren't as obvious or flashy as the indecent ones, but nevertheless, they were there. And I didn't really notice it last year.

Before last year, I was pretty wary of guys due to other unpleasant encounters. But looking back, I think that God was using logic class and the other places to teach me not to be distrustful of the group as a whole. Not all of the three who helped me read this blog, but I still am terribly thankful.

(end sappy part two)

B

Maturity

I had a landmark birthday last month. I was asked if I felt like I was my new age. The funny thing was, it felt no different than the year before, and the year before had felt like the one before that, which, in turn, resembled strongly the year before that. However, this birthday, I definitely feel older than two, three, four, or five years ago.

Five years ago, I was holding conversations with other girls using only the word 'hi!' Not too much has changed, (but the word is now 'death!') except now I know what subtext is, and can have a real conversation using subtext alone. Four years ago,  I was in the middle of exuberant puppyhood. Three years ago, I realized how lame it was getting crushes on people and forswore it completely as 'yucky.' Today, I acknowledge there is a time and a place for it, but now is not that time. Two years ago, I made myself introverted. In the present time, I struggle to reverse the process. And last year was ... a learning experience, shall we say. This year, I have realized what I learned.

Through this short timeline, it's fairly easy to see that I've matured as a person. The funny thing is that it feels like maturity ambushed me one day and gave me no warning, and yet, it doesn't feel like one day I woke up and suddenly had a new measure of it. Before I was in double-digits, I always wanted to be 'grown up,' but now that I'm on my way, I'm not so sure about it anymore. To put it frankly, some days I feel like a little kid in a big kid's mind, and I want out. *sigh*

Help me if you can, but I want to get back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh. ;) This is the first in a series of three related posts.

B

Another amusing fact: this is my fiftieth post. There will be cake.