Yeeaaaah, Sure. It's all the NFP.
VATICAN CITY - Islam has surpassed Roman Catholicism as the world's largest religion, the Vatican newspaper said Sunday.
"For the first time in history, we are no longer at the top: Muslims have overtaken us," Monsignor Vittorio Formenti said in an interview with the Vatican newspaper L'Osservatore Romano. Formenti compiles the Vatican's yearbook.
He said that Catholics accounted for 17.4 percent of the world population — a stable percentage — while Muslims were at 19.2 percent. ASSOCIATED PRESS
Shit. Well, I guess David and I are going to have to start making babies now. I can't stand being #2. Catholic Baby Havers Unite!!! Or we could try to convert some people or something.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Potential Problem
I've been thinking a lot lately about potential and how maybe for the first time in my life I don't have any. I'm not sure if that sounds arrogant or sad, and maybe it's both. I'm not necessarily depressed about the potential problem or anything, but it has led me to some interesting reflections.
Americans, and maybe every society, love a person with potential. When I was in school- high school, college, grad school- I was always asked about my plans and what I intended to do with my degrees, and it all sounded very interesting- precisely for the fact that I hadn't done any of it yet. I would tell people what I wanted to do and I would get wrapped up in the idea of just being able to do those things...someday, and that kind of potential is fun and attractive. Having the potential to teach English at a community college is much cooler than actually doing it(and I like my job). And now, at parties and get-togethers, I love talking to people who haven't graduated yet because I get to imagine with them what they could do, and it's exciting. It's much more fun talking about the future with a person in law school than it is talking about the future with a lawyer.
This doesn't just happen with school and jobs either. When David and I were engaged so many people would ask about the wedding, where we were going to live, our plans, and on and on and on. And it is fun to talk to engaged people because they have their entire lives together before them, none of it has happened yet, and it's fun to see all that potential. I think that's why older people love to ask young couples when they are going to get engaged; they want to be excited about the future. But almost two years after our wedding, no one cares about how long we've been married, and they certainly don't care that we were once engaged. And I'm not saying people should. I mean, honestly, who doesn't get married? Almost everyone does it, even people who are terrible at it, so I don't feel special about it. Yet when I was engaged to be married, oh man, people thought that was sumpthin' special. But no, after people are married, they have to move on to the next big potential thing: having a baby.
How do I know that I've milked my marriage for all its potential? People are starting to ask me when I'm going to have a baby. And having a baby is exactly like to two examples above. During the nine months of expectancy, people are positively beside themselves about what could be with their friend's baby. What are you going to name it? How far along are you? Do you have the baby's room ready? And to be fair, pregnant women deserve some excitement about their potential. Just from an outsider's perspective, it looks like it sucks being pregnant, so these women should at least have people asking them fun questions. But what happens after the baby is born? Well, they have a baby. They have the thing they were expecting. I certainly don't make a big to-do about the fact that someone has a baby every time I see them the way I did when that same person was pregnant. That would be weird. "Oh, you have a baby." "Oh, you still have a baby" "What's it like still having a baby?"
So maybe fulfilling one's potential is never as exciting as possessing that potential . That doesn't mean the fulfillment isn't better- just maybe less interesting. I'd rather be working than back in school (most days), I'd rather be married than engaged, and I'm sure most women would rather have their children on the outside instead of the inside. But still, it's nice to have some potential. I don't know when I'll get some potential back, but I'll be excited when I get it.
Americans, and maybe every society, love a person with potential. When I was in school- high school, college, grad school- I was always asked about my plans and what I intended to do with my degrees, and it all sounded very interesting- precisely for the fact that I hadn't done any of it yet. I would tell people what I wanted to do and I would get wrapped up in the idea of just being able to do those things...someday, and that kind of potential is fun and attractive. Having the potential to teach English at a community college is much cooler than actually doing it(and I like my job). And now, at parties and get-togethers, I love talking to people who haven't graduated yet because I get to imagine with them what they could do, and it's exciting. It's much more fun talking about the future with a person in law school than it is talking about the future with a lawyer.
This doesn't just happen with school and jobs either. When David and I were engaged so many people would ask about the wedding, where we were going to live, our plans, and on and on and on. And it is fun to talk to engaged people because they have their entire lives together before them, none of it has happened yet, and it's fun to see all that potential. I think that's why older people love to ask young couples when they are going to get engaged; they want to be excited about the future. But almost two years after our wedding, no one cares about how long we've been married, and they certainly don't care that we were once engaged. And I'm not saying people should. I mean, honestly, who doesn't get married? Almost everyone does it, even people who are terrible at it, so I don't feel special about it. Yet when I was engaged to be married, oh man, people thought that was sumpthin' special. But no, after people are married, they have to move on to the next big potential thing: having a baby.
How do I know that I've milked my marriage for all its potential? People are starting to ask me when I'm going to have a baby. And having a baby is exactly like to two examples above. During the nine months of expectancy, people are positively beside themselves about what could be with their friend's baby. What are you going to name it? How far along are you? Do you have the baby's room ready? And to be fair, pregnant women deserve some excitement about their potential. Just from an outsider's perspective, it looks like it sucks being pregnant, so these women should at least have people asking them fun questions. But what happens after the baby is born? Well, they have a baby. They have the thing they were expecting. I certainly don't make a big to-do about the fact that someone has a baby every time I see them the way I did when that same person was pregnant. That would be weird. "Oh, you have a baby." "Oh, you still have a baby" "What's it like still having a baby?"
So maybe fulfilling one's potential is never as exciting as possessing that potential . That doesn't mean the fulfillment isn't better- just maybe less interesting. I'd rather be working than back in school (most days), I'd rather be married than engaged, and I'm sure most women would rather have their children on the outside instead of the inside. But still, it's nice to have some potential. I don't know when I'll get some potential back, but I'll be excited when I get it.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
How Many Babies Can Fit in a Tire?
The title of this post is from a movie that I cannot go a day without quoting- Waiting For Guffman. I consider the fact that I quote it daily one of my most obnoxious qualities, and I have scores of obnoxious qualities. In the movie, the main character, Corky St. Clair, says, "It's a Zen thing, like how many babies can fit in a tire." This is such a brilliant line because he's poking fun at that old Thomist query, "how many angels can fit on the head of a pin?" And why bring this up now? Well...
I've been reading Chesterton's biography of St. Thomas Aquinas. It's cool because ol' GK is doing some of that Augustine/Aquinas, Plato/Aristotle stuff that I love. Even though Chesterton is sometimes annoyingly over the top and almost always distracted, his Aquinas bio is still a good, fun read.
So anyway, I've been thinking quite a bit about that portly,profound theologian lately and I came up with what I thought was a pretty funny pun: St. Thomas Aquinas was the world's first deep fat friar. Whoo, I'm still laughing. God, that would be great if I was the first person to ever think of that, but I doubt that I am. It's the first I've ever heard of it though. Oh, I tell you, this steel trap is sharp. I'm off now to ponder how many cats I can fit in a dryer.
I've been reading Chesterton's biography of St. Thomas Aquinas. It's cool because ol' GK is doing some of that Augustine/Aquinas, Plato/Aristotle stuff that I love. Even though Chesterton is sometimes annoyingly over the top and almost always distracted, his Aquinas bio is still a good, fun read.
So anyway, I've been thinking quite a bit about that portly,profound theologian lately and I came up with what I thought was a pretty funny pun: St. Thomas Aquinas was the world's first deep fat friar. Whoo, I'm still laughing. God, that would be great if I was the first person to ever think of that, but I doubt that I am. It's the first I've ever heard of it though. Oh, I tell you, this steel trap is sharp. I'm off now to ponder how many cats I can fit in a dryer.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
My Husband Is A Monkey
This is what happened when my monkey-husband decided to jump on the bed
From a chair stacked on a hope chest
In what can only be described as a WWF style, top of the ropes, spinning elbow drop.
Why? Because he finished changing a light bulb and thought it would be fun to jump from the chair onto the bed. David says it'll just take a 2X4 and a couple of nails to fix. I remain skeptical. Currently, our bed cannot support 3 out of its 4 slats. I would say this is the kind of thing for which David would find himself sleeping on the couch tonight, but I think it's obvious that we'll both be sleeping there. I told David that the only reason why it's funny is because we're comfortable enough in our finances that we could buy a new bed if need be. If we were poor, I would not be laughing nearly as much. Oh, man. At what age or stage in our life was responsibility supposed to kick in? Because I clearly don't think it has for the O'Neils.
From a chair stacked on a hope chest
In what can only be described as a WWF style, top of the ropes, spinning elbow drop.
Why? Because he finished changing a light bulb and thought it would be fun to jump from the chair onto the bed. David says it'll just take a 2X4 and a couple of nails to fix. I remain skeptical. Currently, our bed cannot support 3 out of its 4 slats. I would say this is the kind of thing for which David would find himself sleeping on the couch tonight, but I think it's obvious that we'll both be sleeping there. I told David that the only reason why it's funny is because we're comfortable enough in our finances that we could buy a new bed if need be. If we were poor, I would not be laughing nearly as much. Oh, man. At what age or stage in our life was responsibility supposed to kick in? Because I clearly don't think it has for the O'Neils.
Monday, March 03, 2008
My Alter Ego
Okay, I already Myspaced about this, but then I realized that some of you don't have Myspace. I would Facebook about it, but I'm just not that Facebooky yet. I feel like I'm already committed to Myspace and if I committed equally to Facebook I'd have to quit my job just to keep up. Anyway...I was grading some papers last night and came across two mistakes in my name that led me to invent a teaching alter ego.
I make everyone put their name, my name, the assignment, and the date at the top of the paper just like every teacher does. And as I was looking over someone's paper last night, I noticed that my first name was not Monica but, in fact, it was really Maniac. Imagine my surprise. I thought about the possibility that this person was insulting me, but then I decided that they just didn't know how to spell my name. When the infallible red squiggle showed up, this person just changed the name to the first option. So Maniac it is.
Then, I have another person who has been calling me O'Bryan all semester long. And really, aren't all Irish pretty much the same? I could get upset about this, but my real last name has only been my last name for a year and a half, so in some ways I feel like O'Neil is my Rent To Own name instead of my married name. Maybe after five years I'll feel like an O'Neil. Maybe not, but that's for a different post.
So after being called both Maniac and O'Bryan last night, I decided I would adopt both names as my teaching/grading alter ego. I informed David of this by saying things like "Maniac O'Bryan's not gonna take any shit from you" or "Maniac O'Bryan likes 12pt Times New Roman" or "Maniac O'Bryan loves the smell of red ink." And I said all of this while punching the air and stomping my feet. Well, he thought I was going crazy, so you can imagine his relief when I told him that I had just adopted a teaching/grading altar ego. Whew!! I mean, crazy people don't do that.
So that's just a little insight into what I do for a living. The fun never stops.
I make everyone put their name, my name, the assignment, and the date at the top of the paper just like every teacher does. And as I was looking over someone's paper last night, I noticed that my first name was not Monica but, in fact, it was really Maniac. Imagine my surprise. I thought about the possibility that this person was insulting me, but then I decided that they just didn't know how to spell my name. When the infallible red squiggle showed up, this person just changed the name to the first option. So Maniac it is.
Then, I have another person who has been calling me O'Bryan all semester long. And really, aren't all Irish pretty much the same? I could get upset about this, but my real last name has only been my last name for a year and a half, so in some ways I feel like O'Neil is my Rent To Own name instead of my married name. Maybe after five years I'll feel like an O'Neil. Maybe not, but that's for a different post.
So after being called both Maniac and O'Bryan last night, I decided I would adopt both names as my teaching/grading alter ego. I informed David of this by saying things like "Maniac O'Bryan's not gonna take any shit from you" or "Maniac O'Bryan likes 12pt Times New Roman" or "Maniac O'Bryan loves the smell of red ink." And I said all of this while punching the air and stomping my feet. Well, he thought I was going crazy, so you can imagine his relief when I told him that I had just adopted a teaching/grading altar ego. Whew!! I mean, crazy people don't do that.
So that's just a little insight into what I do for a living. The fun never stops.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Penny-Anti?
There's a debate raging in the country that is likely to start another civil war. And who else but Abe Lincoln, or at least his likeness, would find himself at the center of it? Yes, I'm talking about the old penny debate. In the past year or so, copper, zinc, and other metal prices have shot through the roof making it more expensive for the mint to produce coins. Right now, it costs about 1.5 cents to make a penny, which means the production of the penny is costing us millions of dollars a year. There are essentially two arguments in this penny debate/
Argument 1-
The penny is worthless. You can't buy anything with it. It costs too much to make and distribute. It's worth more melted down for it's minimal amount of copper (pennies are mostly zinc)than it is as a piece of currency. So let's abolish the penny.
By the way, it is illegal to melt down your pennies and sell them for copper. Just the fact that this law exists in America not only illustrates to me the worthlessness of the penny but also frightens me because I usually think of smelting currency as a problem in developing countries.
Argument 2-
But, but, but, *sniff sniff* it's the penny! We just gotta keep it. It's been around forever! We won't be able to say, "penny for your thoughts" anymore.
Here's my response to that last one. If anyone offers you a penny for your thoughts, you should punch them in the face. They are essentially saying that your thoughts are worthless.
Here's the real, or at least more logical, argument- If the penny is abolished, prices will round up and cost the consumer more money. You will have to buy juice for $3 instead of $2.98.
So there's the debate. I say get rid of pennies, or at least make it legal to smelt them. I've always wanted to smelt something. Where do you stand? Are you penny-anti? (Har, har, I made a word joke) or are you pro-penny? Or should we just scrap it all and beg the EU to use the euro?
Argument 1-
The penny is worthless. You can't buy anything with it. It costs too much to make and distribute. It's worth more melted down for it's minimal amount of copper (pennies are mostly zinc)than it is as a piece of currency. So let's abolish the penny.
By the way, it is illegal to melt down your pennies and sell them for copper. Just the fact that this law exists in America not only illustrates to me the worthlessness of the penny but also frightens me because I usually think of smelting currency as a problem in developing countries.
Argument 2-
But, but, but, *sniff sniff* it's the penny! We just gotta keep it. It's been around forever! We won't be able to say, "penny for your thoughts" anymore.
Here's my response to that last one. If anyone offers you a penny for your thoughts, you should punch them in the face. They are essentially saying that your thoughts are worthless.
Here's the real, or at least more logical, argument- If the penny is abolished, prices will round up and cost the consumer more money. You will have to buy juice for $3 instead of $2.98.
So there's the debate. I say get rid of pennies, or at least make it legal to smelt them. I've always wanted to smelt something. Where do you stand? Are you penny-anti? (Har, har, I made a word joke) or are you pro-penny? Or should we just scrap it all and beg the EU to use the euro?
Monday, February 25, 2008
Gross
Ummm... All I have to say is that Edmund sold his brother and sisters out for nothing because this stuff is naaaassssty. It tasted like chocolate covered rosewater jello. It was devoid of Eastern promise. I understand that the White Witch's Turkish delight was charmed and ensorcelled (totally thesaurused that one)but she had to. That's the only way she could get anyone to eat it.
I probably had the cheapest version, so I'll need to re-try other varieties, but this stuff made me want to vomit. However, I picked up this Turkish Delight in the coolest grocery store ever! It was in the English foods section, naturally. Just for the record, I still like Turkish coffee, Turkish baths, Turkish gold, and Turkish Superman.
I probably had the cheapest version, so I'll need to re-try other varieties, but this stuff made me want to vomit. However, I picked up this Turkish Delight in the coolest grocery store ever! It was in the English foods section, naturally. Just for the record, I still like Turkish coffee, Turkish baths, Turkish gold, and Turkish Superman.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Goats
David and I have been obsessed with goats lately. Yeah, goats. We often say our cat is a goat because she'll eat anything and she loves to be in high places. I've said that goats are the grandfathers of the animal world; they are kind of scary, kind of funny, mercurial, have white beards, and love to eat. These are all things I could say about my own grandfather, God rest his soul.
But last night David and I went on a goat joke tirade that I'll share with you now. Please forgive us for the corny humor, but I actually think some of these are funny. Here's how the goat joke conversation went-
Monica- What do goats use to go shopping? Goat carts.
David- What do goat cheerleaders cheer? Goat team!
Monica- What do goats use to store things? A goat rack.
David- What do goats eat for breakfast? Goatmeal.
Monica- What do you call a goat fashion show? Goat couture (I personally think this is the funniest one)
David- Who do you call when you have a goat problem? Goatbusters.
Monica- What do goats sing in church? Goat tell it on the mountain.
Oh yes, the goat jokes were flying fast and furious for about 15 minutes. If any of you still want to be my friend after that display of lameness, you should leave a comment and post your own goat joke.
But last night David and I went on a goat joke tirade that I'll share with you now. Please forgive us for the corny humor, but I actually think some of these are funny. Here's how the goat joke conversation went-
Monica- What do goats use to go shopping? Goat carts.
David- What do goat cheerleaders cheer? Goat team!
Monica- What do goats use to store things? A goat rack.
David- What do goats eat for breakfast? Goatmeal.
Monica- What do you call a goat fashion show? Goat couture (I personally think this is the funniest one)
David- Who do you call when you have a goat problem? Goatbusters.
Monica- What do goats sing in church? Goat tell it on the mountain.
Oh yes, the goat jokes were flying fast and furious for about 15 minutes. If any of you still want to be my friend after that display of lameness, you should leave a comment and post your own goat joke.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Here's to Incest
When David first started graduate school, he worked at a liquor store part-time. I would go visit him there, but I would hate it because a lot of really gross people went there to feed their daily vice and addiction. I thought it was a really sad place. I also hated it because there were "beer" ads with buxom and scantily clad women plastered on every wall. I put beer in quotations because I don't really consider Miller Lite, Coors Light, or Bud Light real beer and I don't consider those ads beer ads. They are, or course, ads for sex. I know everyone has sounded off on how sexist and awful these ads are. Anytime something can put feminists and the Catholic Church on the same side, you know its pretty offensive across the board. However, I find the Coors Light Twins ads really perplexing. By the way, this is the least salacious and suggestive CLT ad I could find. You can find them on a google search in much more overt poses.
I find these ad really disgusting and I think most intelligent men probably do too, but I'm not a man so I can't really vouch for that. But these ads confuse me for two main reasons.
As far as I know, there are only three issues left in Western culture that are completely taboo: child molestation, cannabalism, and incest. Yet here in this ad, these sisters are saying, "We're ready to have sex with you and with each other. Doesn't that make you feel like drinking a Coors Light, Big Boy?" There it is. It's right out there, incest to sell beer. Granted, I do connect Coors Light with incest, but that's because the people who drink CL are usually the products of it (frat boys, people who work at the Dollar General, people who take professional sports way too seriously). But these ads are worse than just regular, trailer park incest. This is twincest we're witnessing. Yes, twincest- the occurrence of two identical twins willing to have sex with each other, usually to advance their career in porn or "beer" ads. I don't know anyone who gets hot from thinking about incest, but these people must exist because these ads exist.
The second issue that confuses me is really out of my league, but I'm going to try to write about it anyway. This ad addresses that old "two chicks at once" fantasy that I'm told every guy in the world has dreamed of at one time or another. Observe the 01 and 02 on the twins' shirts lest the complex imagery fly over our heads. And if this twins ad accomplished this fantasy, I might be willing to let it go. But I thought the whole idea of "doing two chicks at once" (in the parlance of our time) was that the two chicks in the equation were different and added variety. But here in this ad, we have, for all intents and purposes, the exact same person: same features, same expression, same freaking DNA. So what's the point? Anyone turned on by this might as well have sex with a four armed, four legged, four breasted, two vaginaed, she-beast with pom-poms.
So there you have it. I don't get it. The ad is supposed to suggest exotic, fantastic sex, but it screams twincest. What a great way to market beer.
I find these ad really disgusting and I think most intelligent men probably do too, but I'm not a man so I can't really vouch for that. But these ads confuse me for two main reasons.
As far as I know, there are only three issues left in Western culture that are completely taboo: child molestation, cannabalism, and incest. Yet here in this ad, these sisters are saying, "We're ready to have sex with you and with each other. Doesn't that make you feel like drinking a Coors Light, Big Boy?" There it is. It's right out there, incest to sell beer. Granted, I do connect Coors Light with incest, but that's because the people who drink CL are usually the products of it (frat boys, people who work at the Dollar General, people who take professional sports way too seriously). But these ads are worse than just regular, trailer park incest. This is twincest we're witnessing. Yes, twincest- the occurrence of two identical twins willing to have sex with each other, usually to advance their career in porn or "beer" ads. I don't know anyone who gets hot from thinking about incest, but these people must exist because these ads exist.
The second issue that confuses me is really out of my league, but I'm going to try to write about it anyway. This ad addresses that old "two chicks at once" fantasy that I'm told every guy in the world has dreamed of at one time or another. Observe the 01 and 02 on the twins' shirts lest the complex imagery fly over our heads. And if this twins ad accomplished this fantasy, I might be willing to let it go. But I thought the whole idea of "doing two chicks at once" (in the parlance of our time) was that the two chicks in the equation were different and added variety. But here in this ad, we have, for all intents and purposes, the exact same person: same features, same expression, same freaking DNA. So what's the point? Anyone turned on by this might as well have sex with a four armed, four legged, four breasted, two vaginaed, she-beast with pom-poms.
So there you have it. I don't get it. The ad is supposed to suggest exotic, fantastic sex, but it screams twincest. What a great way to market beer.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Part II
I threw on the extra layers of clothing and embarked on my journey. The wind immediately cut through everything I was wearing and my legs started to go numb. This happened before I made it a block away from the apartment. I could have reasonably called off class for this, but I thought to myself, "gods be damned! These vocational scholars must have their quiz on MLA citation. If they aren't tested on how to cite a weekly periodical, how will I ever know that the esteemed writers of Time and Newsweek will get their proper nod from the academic world?" I pretty much thought that verbatim. And so I trudged on.
After about two blocks, my toes, which were protected only by thin dress socks and flimsy shoes, began to feel like they had rubber bands wrapped tightly around them. After three blocks, I stopped feeling that sensation altogether. That's when I got really scared. I started recalling everything I knew about frostbite and arctic survival, but as an English major, the only information I have comes from fictitious accounts. So... I ran like a madwoman for the next two blocks. Then I realized that "wait, this is exactly what the main character in Jack London's 'To Build a Fire' does right before he dies." See... and they say there are no real world applications for literary types.
Well, I immediately slowed down to a fast walk and regained some of the feeling in my feet by doing some toe calisthenics while trying not to think of a cold and icy death. My air passage ways constricted completely when I finally met a warm blast of air as I entered the school. I thought I was going to hyperventilate for a couple of minutes but I got my breathing under control just in time to teach class. Luckily, the walk back was about 20 degrees warmer and so felt like Spring Break 2008 in comparison to earlier that morning.
We let the truck sit all that night in hopes that it would thaw out by Saturday evening. Saturday rolled around and we took a walk down wretched Thrall armed with hammers, a screw driver, and a wrench. As I suspected, the truck had only thawed slightly. We then commenced banging and thrashing on the thick ice that surrounded our wheels. After a considerable amount of clobbering, we tried to move the truck but to no avail. And then in a stroke of genius, I said with icy wrench in hand, "You'd think this is just the type of occasion that our membership in AAA would come in handy." David quickly agreed and we called AAA to come liberate us from the icy shackles that had oppressed us for two days.
After about two blocks, my toes, which were protected only by thin dress socks and flimsy shoes, began to feel like they had rubber bands wrapped tightly around them. After three blocks, I stopped feeling that sensation altogether. That's when I got really scared. I started recalling everything I knew about frostbite and arctic survival, but as an English major, the only information I have comes from fictitious accounts. So... I ran like a madwoman for the next two blocks. Then I realized that "wait, this is exactly what the main character in Jack London's 'To Build a Fire' does right before he dies." See... and they say there are no real world applications for literary types.
Well, I immediately slowed down to a fast walk and regained some of the feeling in my feet by doing some toe calisthenics while trying not to think of a cold and icy death. My air passage ways constricted completely when I finally met a warm blast of air as I entered the school. I thought I was going to hyperventilate for a couple of minutes but I got my breathing under control just in time to teach class. Luckily, the walk back was about 20 degrees warmer and so felt like Spring Break 2008 in comparison to earlier that morning.
We let the truck sit all that night in hopes that it would thaw out by Saturday evening. Saturday rolled around and we took a walk down wretched Thrall armed with hammers, a screw driver, and a wrench. As I suspected, the truck had only thawed slightly. We then commenced banging and thrashing on the thick ice that surrounded our wheels. After a considerable amount of clobbering, we tried to move the truck but to no avail. And then in a stroke of genius, I said with icy wrench in hand, "You'd think this is just the type of occasion that our membership in AAA would come in handy." David quickly agreed and we called AAA to come liberate us from the icy shackles that had oppressed us for two days.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
O'Neil's Arctic Adventure
Thursday and Friday were the coldest days so far here in Cincinnati. Both days I walked to work... not completely of my own volition. It displeased me greatly. Here's what happened.
Wednesday night, my husband came home from his job, a job he is technically not supposed to have, by the way, because the University of Cincinnati expects him to support himself and his needy wife on a somewhat paltry sum. Anyway, it was late, so he had to park on a different street than we usually use...and he didn't tell me about it (I'm not so mad because of the aforementioned illegal job and needy wife). The next day, he rode the bus to school in order to let me have the truck to drive to school. I went to our normal parking street,Bryant, to look for the truck, but it was not there. Then I went to our back-up parking street, Whitfield, but the truck was not there either. By this time the 15 degree weather and the fact that I'm supposed to be at work in 20 minutes is starting to get to me. I frantically call David even though I know he's in class. When the phone connects the first voice I hear is a erudite woman saying something about archeology. I know that his phone has gone off in class and only have about two seconds before he hangs up the phone, so I scream "Where the hell did you park the truck!!!!" Then I hear a hang up tone. Later, David would tell me that he would have texted me the location but he was sitting right next to the professor at the time. So I think archeology lady probably knew we were having parking problems. With a grimace, I started to walk the mile to work in a light coat, dress slacks, dress socks, and no hat or gloves whatsoever. And I was late to work. Punctuality should have been next to godliness in my opinion, so this was really, really bad.
Friday- It's about 10 degrees with a windchill of Siberian tundra proportions. I start the morning think to myself that it'll be a good day because David told me where he parked the truck, I won't have to walk, and I won't have to interrupt David's class by screaming obscenities. Thrall Street, by the way. That's where it was parked. I hardly know where Thrall Street is. So as I'm walking down Middleton and turning on the cursed Thrall Street, I notice that the street is kind of icy, which is weird because it hasn't snowed here for a week or two. As I'm walking further down Thrall, which is on a hill, I noticed that it was getting really icy. The cars I was passing had an inch or two of ice built up around the wheels. In the cold weather, a water main had burst and all of the flooding water froze on the street Thursday night. I thought to myself, "Gee, whoever is parked at the bottom of this hill is really going to be frozen to the street." Do I even need to tell you who parked at the bottom of that hill? I didn't think so.
Well, I get to the truck, which has about four inches of solid ice surrounding the wheels, and I start laughing one of those laughs that only maniacs have. I started the truck just to see how bad the situation was. When I pressed on the gas, the wheels did not move. At all. To make matters worse, there was a brand new SUV parked about a foot in front of me, so if my little 1990 Ford Ranger ever did break loose, I would have smacked to son of bitch in the bumper going about 80 miles an hour.
I got out of the truck and called David just to tell him about his impeccable parking spot. He was sitting in an apartment with the thermostat on 71 at the time, so he thought it was a little funnier than I did. To help mollify my anger, he said he'd meet me at the lobby door to give me a hat, scarf, and gloves for my freezing cold walk to work. To be continued...
Part II will be up soon.
Wednesday night, my husband came home from his job, a job he is technically not supposed to have, by the way, because the University of Cincinnati expects him to support himself and his needy wife on a somewhat paltry sum. Anyway, it was late, so he had to park on a different street than we usually use...and he didn't tell me about it (I'm not so mad because of the aforementioned illegal job and needy wife). The next day, he rode the bus to school in order to let me have the truck to drive to school. I went to our normal parking street,Bryant, to look for the truck, but it was not there. Then I went to our back-up parking street, Whitfield, but the truck was not there either. By this time the 15 degree weather and the fact that I'm supposed to be at work in 20 minutes is starting to get to me. I frantically call David even though I know he's in class. When the phone connects the first voice I hear is a erudite woman saying something about archeology. I know that his phone has gone off in class and only have about two seconds before he hangs up the phone, so I scream "Where the hell did you park the truck!!!!" Then I hear a hang up tone. Later, David would tell me that he would have texted me the location but he was sitting right next to the professor at the time. So I think archeology lady probably knew we were having parking problems. With a grimace, I started to walk the mile to work in a light coat, dress slacks, dress socks, and no hat or gloves whatsoever. And I was late to work. Punctuality should have been next to godliness in my opinion, so this was really, really bad.
Friday- It's about 10 degrees with a windchill of Siberian tundra proportions. I start the morning think to myself that it'll be a good day because David told me where he parked the truck, I won't have to walk, and I won't have to interrupt David's class by screaming obscenities. Thrall Street, by the way. That's where it was parked. I hardly know where Thrall Street is. So as I'm walking down Middleton and turning on the cursed Thrall Street, I notice that the street is kind of icy, which is weird because it hasn't snowed here for a week or two. As I'm walking further down Thrall, which is on a hill, I noticed that it was getting really icy. The cars I was passing had an inch or two of ice built up around the wheels. In the cold weather, a water main had burst and all of the flooding water froze on the street Thursday night. I thought to myself, "Gee, whoever is parked at the bottom of this hill is really going to be frozen to the street." Do I even need to tell you who parked at the bottom of that hill? I didn't think so.
Well, I get to the truck, which has about four inches of solid ice surrounding the wheels, and I start laughing one of those laughs that only maniacs have. I started the truck just to see how bad the situation was. When I pressed on the gas, the wheels did not move. At all. To make matters worse, there was a brand new SUV parked about a foot in front of me, so if my little 1990 Ford Ranger ever did break loose, I would have smacked to son of bitch in the bumper going about 80 miles an hour.
I got out of the truck and called David just to tell him about his impeccable parking spot. He was sitting in an apartment with the thermostat on 71 at the time, so he thought it was a little funnier than I did. To help mollify my anger, he said he'd meet me at the lobby door to give me a hat, scarf, and gloves for my freezing cold walk to work. To be continued...
Part II will be up soon.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Correction
Ummm.. Just a little correction. I'll be home Tuesday the 29th through that Sunday. I hope no one thought I was ignoring them. Sorry!!
I do have internet as of four minutes ago. This means I'll definitely be blogging more again.
And here is a picture of Flannery
I do have internet as of four minutes ago. This means I'll definitely be blogging more again.
And here is a picture of Flannery
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Avalanche
So, I know I haven't posted lately. I'd like to be able to say that this will be a really long post, but it won't be. I've been buried under the avalanche of Mt. Composition Papers. Its peak is said to be almost as high as Mt. Everest and it is deadlier than Everest's north face. I'm breathing from an oxygen tank as we speak. I haven't even read anyone's blog in weeks. Here is a short synopsis of what's I've been up to:
1) I got a black and white kitten for Christmas. Her name is Flannery. I'll post pictures later.
2) We got a computer and we'll have internet in our very own home starting Saturday.
3) It turns out I didn't need a root canal(most of you probably didn't even know I was in danger of needing one). This is why we bought a computer. We instead named the computer "Root Canal"
4) The semester ends here on Monday and I'll be home Tuesday the 22nd through that Sunday.
1) I got a black and white kitten for Christmas. Her name is Flannery. I'll post pictures later.
2) We got a computer and we'll have internet in our very own home starting Saturday.
3) It turns out I didn't need a root canal(most of you probably didn't even know I was in danger of needing one). This is why we bought a computer. We instead named the computer "Root Canal"
4) The semester ends here on Monday and I'll be home Tuesday the 22nd through that Sunday.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Everywhere You Look
Well, I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas. Midnight Mass rocked as did the party afterward. Christmas always makes reflect back on childhood memories. As I was reflecting back on a certain childhood memory a couple of days ago, I became confused and scared. The following is why.
I was thinking back to a time in elementary school. This was an awkward period for me to say the least. I wasn't completely sure I wanted to be a girl yet, and I shunned all dolls, pink things, flowers, etc. This made my mother so angry because she worked at a children's clothing store at the time and would bring home really cute clothes that I refused to wear. Sooooo....I had a unique fashion sense. Anyhow, here's the memory. One day I wore an outfit to school that I just loved. However, when I got to school all the other kids made fun of me for wearing it. I started feeling bad as I remembered how those terrible kids teased me. But the more I got to thinking about the memory, the less sure I was that the event had ever happened. In fact, I thought to myself, didn't I see an episode of Full House where the exact same thing happened? Wasn't it really DJ Tanner who was teased for her outfit and not me? This is where I got really scared. What other childhood memories had I confused with DJ Tanner's life. Maybe I never really dated a guy from the wrestling team who sounded just like Aladdin. Perhaps my best friend and I were never locked out of my car while doing a Chinese fire drill at a stop sign. Maybe I never had three slightly gay father figures.
Okay, so maybe those last examples were a bit over the top, but now I really am confused about whether I was ever made fun of in school for an outfit that I wore (to my face. I'm pretty sure I was constantly made fun of behind my back.) As I see it, there are only two possibilities. 1)I really was made fun of in school for something I wore and when I remembered it I automatically equated it with something that happened on Full House. 2) Only DJ Tanner was made fun of for something she wore and I somehow got my life mixed up with a fictitious character. Either possibility freaks me out. I do not want my memories equated with bad television shows, and I really do not want to mistake events that happened to fake people with something that happened to me in real life. I mean, If this kind of thing is happening now when I'm 26, I can only imagine how bad it will be when I'm 76. I'll probably be telling my grandchildren how I lost my one true love to a ship wreck in the arctic.
I have a friend from school who says her father never allowed her to watch Full House as a child. I can only envy her now. At least she knows her memories are safe.
I was thinking back to a time in elementary school. This was an awkward period for me to say the least. I wasn't completely sure I wanted to be a girl yet, and I shunned all dolls, pink things, flowers, etc. This made my mother so angry because she worked at a children's clothing store at the time and would bring home really cute clothes that I refused to wear. Sooooo....I had a unique fashion sense. Anyhow, here's the memory. One day I wore an outfit to school that I just loved. However, when I got to school all the other kids made fun of me for wearing it. I started feeling bad as I remembered how those terrible kids teased me. But the more I got to thinking about the memory, the less sure I was that the event had ever happened. In fact, I thought to myself, didn't I see an episode of Full House where the exact same thing happened? Wasn't it really DJ Tanner who was teased for her outfit and not me? This is where I got really scared. What other childhood memories had I confused with DJ Tanner's life. Maybe I never really dated a guy from the wrestling team who sounded just like Aladdin. Perhaps my best friend and I were never locked out of my car while doing a Chinese fire drill at a stop sign. Maybe I never had three slightly gay father figures.
Okay, so maybe those last examples were a bit over the top, but now I really am confused about whether I was ever made fun of in school for an outfit that I wore (to my face. I'm pretty sure I was constantly made fun of behind my back.) As I see it, there are only two possibilities. 1)I really was made fun of in school for something I wore and when I remembered it I automatically equated it with something that happened on Full House. 2) Only DJ Tanner was made fun of for something she wore and I somehow got my life mixed up with a fictitious character. Either possibility freaks me out. I do not want my memories equated with bad television shows, and I really do not want to mistake events that happened to fake people with something that happened to me in real life. I mean, If this kind of thing is happening now when I'm 26, I can only imagine how bad it will be when I'm 76. I'll probably be telling my grandchildren how I lost my one true love to a ship wreck in the arctic.
I have a friend from school who says her father never allowed her to watch Full House as a child. I can only envy her now. At least she knows her memories are safe.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Ponder Nothing Earthly Minded
LET ALL MORTAL FLESH KEEP SILENCE
Let all the earth keep silence before Him. Habakkuk 2:20
Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.
King of kings, yet born of Mary,
As of old on earth He stood,
Lord of lords, in human vesture,
In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful
His own self for heavenly food.
Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.
At His feet the six winged seraph,
Cherubim with sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to the presence,
As with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Lord Most High!
Let all the earth keep silence before Him. Habakkuk 2:20
Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.
King of kings, yet born of Mary,
As of old on earth He stood,
Lord of lords, in human vesture,
In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful
His own self for heavenly food.
Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.
At His feet the six winged seraph,
Cherubim with sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to the presence,
As with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Lord Most High!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Dulce Et Decorum Est
When we were in Ft. Wayne recently, David and I went to see No Country for Old Men and 3:10 to Yuma. This was exciting for us because we hadn't been to a movie since our wedding anniversary, May 20th. While waiting for 3:10 to start, the theater was playing a music video by 3 Doors Down. This video was interesting because it was promotional video for the national guard. The band starts out singing this song on some barren landscape and then moves to show reenactment footage from famous American battles along with the national guard's bread and butter- shots of people looking cool while jumping out of helicopters. I turned to David and told him that the band had just become the modern day Horace. Horace, or course, fought in the Roman army and then later went on to be placed firmly under the patronage(and thumb) of Augustus by way of Maecenas. He wrote some patriotic poetry in support of Augustus' moral reforms. Probably one of Horace's most famous works is his ode in which he says, "Dulce et decorum est pro partia mori", or "It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country".
I thought about this line for a couple of days and it inevitably led me to re-read Wilfred Owen's "Dulce Et Decorum Est". Owen was a British soldier who fought and died in WWI. IN the poem Owen writes about the horrors of WWI:
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
I never knew much about WWI except that a lot of unstable monarchies were fighting, at least nominally, because Franz Ferdinand was shot. Well, I checked out a book on WWI last Friday and I'm almost done with it. I was aware that many men died during these battles, but it is overwhelming to me to read statistics like 250,000 people died during a single, albeit, long battle. It guess it's all the more overwhelming because it never seemed that any of the major belligerents had clear war aims. To say that thousands of men died in vain is an understatement.
I'm particularly interested in learning about the disintegration of monarchies, resulting revolutions,war tactics at the beginning of the modern age, and documented cases of the mental stresses of "The Great War".
I remember reading Sebastian Barry's A Long Long Way in grad school and thinking that I should learn more about WWI. Now that I'm out of school I actually have time to do so.
I thought about this line for a couple of days and it inevitably led me to re-read Wilfred Owen's "Dulce Et Decorum Est". Owen was a British soldier who fought and died in WWI. IN the poem Owen writes about the horrors of WWI:
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
I never knew much about WWI except that a lot of unstable monarchies were fighting, at least nominally, because Franz Ferdinand was shot. Well, I checked out a book on WWI last Friday and I'm almost done with it. I was aware that many men died during these battles, but it is overwhelming to me to read statistics like 250,000 people died during a single, albeit, long battle. It guess it's all the more overwhelming because it never seemed that any of the major belligerents had clear war aims. To say that thousands of men died in vain is an understatement.
I'm particularly interested in learning about the disintegration of monarchies, resulting revolutions,war tactics at the beginning of the modern age, and documented cases of the mental stresses of "The Great War".
I remember reading Sebastian Barry's A Long Long Way in grad school and thinking that I should learn more about WWI. Now that I'm out of school I actually have time to do so.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Praise God(dess) (if you want)
Thank non-gender specific, politically correct, non-judgemental, life spirit-deity being! I've finally found a church for me!! Who knew I could go to a church where God wasn't allowed in order for me to find out whether he or she or it exists? I'm glad God isn't at this church. I found that pressure to praise the all knowing, all seeing deity (or not, I haven't figured it out yet and I don't want to influence your thought) really got in the way of important church activities like potlucks, free trade coffee tastings, and ultimate frisbee tournaments.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Freegan Microwave
It's been hard to keep up on the posting lately. I teach from 9-1 on MWF this semester and I tutor on Tuesdays (and soon also Thursdays) from 9-2. This means I have to use most of my time before 9 on the computer prepping for class. It also means that I don't want to hang around after class to play around on the computer. I guess one day we'll get a laptop. I imagine once David will want one once he starts his dissertation. Anyhow, back to blogging and such. Recently, my friend, Elisabeth,suggested that I get on Facebook. I know I should because I already have an empty profile and many of my friends are on there. Yet I worry that if I keep a blog, converse on myspace, and then start monkeying around on Facebook, I'll have to quit my job to become a full-time elecrtonic social networker. I've heard it doesn't pay much.
Well, onto the title of my post. Nope, I'm not angry at our microwave. In fact, until Sunday at approximately 11:30, we didn't have a microwave. As we were walking back to our apartment after church, we happened upon a microwave sitting out on the curb across the street from our building. I wanted to pick up this microwave and take it back to our apartment, but I was paralyzed by the fear that I would look like a stupid, poor trash picker for the thirty seconds it would have taken me to walk it across the street and into our building. Luckily, David was not hindered by this fear. He picked it up and we went to our apartment to see if it worked. It actually does work to our surprise. I cleaned it thoroughly, but it still smells like a sickening combination of all the foods that have ever been prepared inside of it. Think of the microwave in the break room of your first job that no one ever cleaned. I hate the microwave smell. But our freegan microwave does work and the smell, which I think most microwaves that are not cleaned daily acquire, does not affect the taste or our food, so it's a keeper.
If we had done this five years ago, it would have been called trash picking, but today it has a much hipper, cutting edge, and socially aware name: Freeganism. Vegans, who, in my experience, are always looking for ways to make their eating routines more bizarre and are also looking for ways to whine more frequently about how hard it is to live under self-imposed dietary restrictions, have added a new element to their stringent practices. Some feel that even if they eat a vegan diet, the money they spent on that food may have gone to people who firebomb duck ponds, cut down redwoods to make a single toothpick, or majored in something besides peace studies in college. In order to insure that their money does not go to Hoggish Greedly types, freegans rummage through the dumpsters of supermarkets and other stores to provide food, clothing, and furniture for themselves.
And although I poke fun at their ideology, I have to agree with freegans in basic principle if not in practice. Our country is incredibly wasteful. We throw away things if they are not absolutely perfect. And we do this because we know that we can go to Wal-Mart and replace whatever it was with another poorly made model for $2.88. We surround ourselves with stuff and then make believe that the stuff defines who we are or makes us better people for owning it. But I'll get off my soapbox because I am equally annoyed by the people who treat me like I just killed a small business owner's baby because I went to Starbucks.
Well, our freegan microwave rocks. And kudos to the vegans and freegans for finding a way to make eating more difficult and more idealistic yet again. I am happy to have benefited from another person's trash- even if I made my husband do the fetching.
Well, onto the title of my post. Nope, I'm not angry at our microwave. In fact, until Sunday at approximately 11:30, we didn't have a microwave. As we were walking back to our apartment after church, we happened upon a microwave sitting out on the curb across the street from our building. I wanted to pick up this microwave and take it back to our apartment, but I was paralyzed by the fear that I would look like a stupid, poor trash picker for the thirty seconds it would have taken me to walk it across the street and into our building. Luckily, David was not hindered by this fear. He picked it up and we went to our apartment to see if it worked. It actually does work to our surprise. I cleaned it thoroughly, but it still smells like a sickening combination of all the foods that have ever been prepared inside of it. Think of the microwave in the break room of your first job that no one ever cleaned. I hate the microwave smell. But our freegan microwave does work and the smell, which I think most microwaves that are not cleaned daily acquire, does not affect the taste or our food, so it's a keeper.
If we had done this five years ago, it would have been called trash picking, but today it has a much hipper, cutting edge, and socially aware name: Freeganism. Vegans, who, in my experience, are always looking for ways to make their eating routines more bizarre and are also looking for ways to whine more frequently about how hard it is to live under self-imposed dietary restrictions, have added a new element to their stringent practices. Some feel that even if they eat a vegan diet, the money they spent on that food may have gone to people who firebomb duck ponds, cut down redwoods to make a single toothpick, or majored in something besides peace studies in college. In order to insure that their money does not go to Hoggish Greedly types, freegans rummage through the dumpsters of supermarkets and other stores to provide food, clothing, and furniture for themselves.
And although I poke fun at their ideology, I have to agree with freegans in basic principle if not in practice. Our country is incredibly wasteful. We throw away things if they are not absolutely perfect. And we do this because we know that we can go to Wal-Mart and replace whatever it was with another poorly made model for $2.88. We surround ourselves with stuff and then make believe that the stuff defines who we are or makes us better people for owning it. But I'll get off my soapbox because I am equally annoyed by the people who treat me like I just killed a small business owner's baby because I went to Starbucks.
Well, our freegan microwave rocks. And kudos to the vegans and freegans for finding a way to make eating more difficult and more idealistic yet again. I am happy to have benefited from another person's trash- even if I made my husband do the fetching.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Christian Music
I'm here at work. I should be making a syllabus for my English 102 students. I'm not doing that. Instead, I want to talk about modern Christian Music... and how I pretty much hate it. I'm not talking about church music. That is a completely different subject. I'm talking about rock 'n roll the Lord's way or whatever you want to call it. I think that fewer Catholics on the whole listen to Christian pop music, and I have to say that for that reason this post goes against my general religious inclinations at the moment. Right now, in the non-blogging world, I'm feeling the call to reach out to as many non-Catholics as possible to let them know that there are really awesome and positive aspects about being Catholic. And yet, I hold a special hatred for really lame-ass music (and a special love for making outrageous claims). And so I'm writing this post. The following is an explanation of my reasons.
1. This Band Sounds Just Like Creed
For half the Christian pop bands I've ever heard of, I've been told that they sound "just like Creed." That's a huge strike one. I don't even listen to that crappy band, so why would I want to listen to a heavier handed, crappier version of a band I hate? And more importantly, why are so many Christian bands imitating such a supertard band? I guess this reason hits at a larger issue. I don't like most music that I hear on pop radio stations these days, so I guess it would follow that I wouldn't like their Christian counterparts. I can remember when this started. I was in high school and a friend was taking me to school. A Matchbox 20 song came on the radio and I thought I was going to die of a severe lame overdose by the time the song ended. I just kept thinking that there had to be better music out there somewhere and that one day I would find it. That's the only reason I didn't die that day. And I did go on to find better music on smaller labels and with original sounds.
2. If You Like 50 Cent, You'll Love Tithe 2 Him
I read an article in Touchstone a few months ago that equated Christian pop music to those Designer Impostors perfumes. You know the type: "If you like Calvin Klein's Obsession, you'll love Unstable Stalker." The article said that some Christian music stores even have conversion charts. So say you like 50 Cent's style, but you hate all his sinning, cursing, and references to criminal activity. Not a problem! Just go to your nearest Christian retailer, look up ol' fiddy, and find the Christian version of him on the chart. David asked me once why I become so angry when I talk about Christian music, and I think this kind of thing is at the heart of it. People in the Christian goods market are out to make a buck just as quickly at the next guy. And many people fall for it because, hey, as long as it is "Christian" then it is acceptable. No one will have to explain to their friends why they are listening to certain music or reading certain books as long as they have been labeled Christian. Think about it. You wouldn't buy your kid a meat cleaver. But what if it was a Veggie Tales meat cleaver? Slap a picture of a Christian tomato on that bad boy and you just might reconsider. After all, it is Christian. Had enough of your pagan tic tacs? Just go to the Christian outlet and buy yourself some "Testamints" as a Christian alternative. So, I guess my second problem with Christian music expands out to the Christian goods market and the disgusting lengths it will go to in order to make a buck. Oh, and this also includes the people willing to buy this stuff. Honestly, a lot of Christian retail stores make me want to vomit.
3. Gross Misuse of Initials,Numbers, and Zs
I think everyone knows that Christian bands try too hard to sound cool by adding numbers or initials to the names of their bands. Ever hear 4Him, DC Talk, Reliant K, 3inOne,FFH, or DJ Morphiziz? Wow. All I have to say about that last one is WTF? I can see the meeting between the agent and this guy in my head.
Agent: Say, we're gonna sign you to our label. Do you have a catchy rapper name?
DJ Morphiziz: Well, I was thinking about something to do with morphing, because God really morphed my life.
Agent: Morph, morph. I like it, but could we throw some Zs in? Kids really love Zs.
DJ Morphiziz: Well, I guess I could do DJ Morphiziz.
Agent: That's great, kid. I love it. The Zs are the kicker. In no way will this make you sound stupid.
4. Sounds Better When You Are Drunk
I generally avoid drunkenness and anything that sounds better to me when I'm drunk. Taco Bell is a great example of that. Here's another example- I remember once I rode a skateboard down New York Street hill. At night. Bare foot. With a beer in my hand. I had been on a skateboard about three times in my life before that. I know this wouldn't have sounded like a good idea except for all that Gin I imbibed about a half an hour earlier. I also remember when my friend Jack punched his hand through a window at Wabash in order to show a freshman about "drunken responsibility." I know that wouldn't have sounded like a good idea if he wasn't drunk. What's my point you ask? Well, my friend John has gotten me to listen to Christian music while I was drunk. Each time I resisted, and each time he told me that Christian music is best listened to drunk. And what happened? I had a totally awesome rock out session to "Our God is an Awesome God" and "Sister Christian," two songs I hate when I'm sober.
Actually, what's the whole point to all this? Do I think that everyone who listens to Christian music sucks? No. Do I think their taste in music sucks? Well, I can't judge too quickly. I just don't like Christian music and I think Christian retail is just as profit driven as any other market... unless I'm drunk.
1. This Band Sounds Just Like Creed
For half the Christian pop bands I've ever heard of, I've been told that they sound "just like Creed." That's a huge strike one. I don't even listen to that crappy band, so why would I want to listen to a heavier handed, crappier version of a band I hate? And more importantly, why are so many Christian bands imitating such a supertard band? I guess this reason hits at a larger issue. I don't like most music that I hear on pop radio stations these days, so I guess it would follow that I wouldn't like their Christian counterparts. I can remember when this started. I was in high school and a friend was taking me to school. A Matchbox 20 song came on the radio and I thought I was going to die of a severe lame overdose by the time the song ended. I just kept thinking that there had to be better music out there somewhere and that one day I would find it. That's the only reason I didn't die that day. And I did go on to find better music on smaller labels and with original sounds.
2. If You Like 50 Cent, You'll Love Tithe 2 Him
I read an article in Touchstone a few months ago that equated Christian pop music to those Designer Impostors perfumes. You know the type: "If you like Calvin Klein's Obsession, you'll love Unstable Stalker." The article said that some Christian music stores even have conversion charts. So say you like 50 Cent's style, but you hate all his sinning, cursing, and references to criminal activity. Not a problem! Just go to your nearest Christian retailer, look up ol' fiddy, and find the Christian version of him on the chart. David asked me once why I become so angry when I talk about Christian music, and I think this kind of thing is at the heart of it. People in the Christian goods market are out to make a buck just as quickly at the next guy. And many people fall for it because, hey, as long as it is "Christian" then it is acceptable. No one will have to explain to their friends why they are listening to certain music or reading certain books as long as they have been labeled Christian. Think about it. You wouldn't buy your kid a meat cleaver. But what if it was a Veggie Tales meat cleaver? Slap a picture of a Christian tomato on that bad boy and you just might reconsider. After all, it is Christian. Had enough of your pagan tic tacs? Just go to the Christian outlet and buy yourself some "Testamints" as a Christian alternative. So, I guess my second problem with Christian music expands out to the Christian goods market and the disgusting lengths it will go to in order to make a buck. Oh, and this also includes the people willing to buy this stuff. Honestly, a lot of Christian retail stores make me want to vomit.
3. Gross Misuse of Initials,Numbers, and Zs
I think everyone knows that Christian bands try too hard to sound cool by adding numbers or initials to the names of their bands. Ever hear 4Him, DC Talk, Reliant K, 3inOne,FFH, or DJ Morphiziz? Wow. All I have to say about that last one is WTF? I can see the meeting between the agent and this guy in my head.
Agent: Say, we're gonna sign you to our label. Do you have a catchy rapper name?
DJ Morphiziz: Well, I was thinking about something to do with morphing, because God really morphed my life.
Agent: Morph, morph. I like it, but could we throw some Zs in? Kids really love Zs.
DJ Morphiziz: Well, I guess I could do DJ Morphiziz.
Agent: That's great, kid. I love it. The Zs are the kicker. In no way will this make you sound stupid.
4. Sounds Better When You Are Drunk
I generally avoid drunkenness and anything that sounds better to me when I'm drunk. Taco Bell is a great example of that. Here's another example- I remember once I rode a skateboard down New York Street hill. At night. Bare foot. With a beer in my hand. I had been on a skateboard about three times in my life before that. I know this wouldn't have sounded like a good idea except for all that Gin I imbibed about a half an hour earlier. I also remember when my friend Jack punched his hand through a window at Wabash in order to show a freshman about "drunken responsibility." I know that wouldn't have sounded like a good idea if he wasn't drunk. What's my point you ask? Well, my friend John has gotten me to listen to Christian music while I was drunk. Each time I resisted, and each time he told me that Christian music is best listened to drunk. And what happened? I had a totally awesome rock out session to "Our God is an Awesome God" and "Sister Christian," two songs I hate when I'm sober.
Actually, what's the whole point to all this? Do I think that everyone who listens to Christian music sucks? No. Do I think their taste in music sucks? Well, I can't judge too quickly. I just don't like Christian music and I think Christian retail is just as profit driven as any other market... unless I'm drunk.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Inspiration
I have a great post up in my head that I want to write. It would be great. I'm sure it would be funny and I'm sure it might infuriate someone, which is the best kind of post. However, I've been a little too depressed lately to try to be funny. Well, let's not call it depressed. That conjures up too bleak a picture. Let's call it crestfallen. No one can be that sad if they say they're crestfallen.
We went to a party last night. It was cool, but I felt like was a little rusty on the whole talking to people who aren't David issue. I tried to be nice, pleasant, and not too weird. Who knows? Maybe I pulled it off. The people at the party were genuinely neat and interesting. It was a bunch of classicists and their spouses, and as someone with a classics background and a spouse, I wasn't entirely out of my element. One of the coolest parts about the party was that the hosts (a classics PhD student and her husband)live two floors below us. What is even cooler is that they play board games!! They have all the good ones like Settlers, Caylus, Powergrid, Puerto Rico and so on. I think we're going to play games with them in the future. Well, actually, David is ditching me tonight to play board games with his classmate's husband, his professor's husband, and other people.
David said I had to wait a year before applying to a PhD program. But then yesterday he said I could apply for next fall. I am at least looking into it. How's work you say? Well, I'll just say that I have never been so inspired to go back to school in all my life, and my students are the ones who have inspired me to do it. They are a very inspirational group. Oh, case in point- I'm in a computer lab right now, and an inspirational student (not mine) just came up to me as I was typing the previous sentence and asked me if I was a fast typer. I said I was and asked why. He asked me if I wanted to make three dollars by typing his English comp paper for him. I responded that I didn't think I should considering that I am an English comp teacher at this very school. There was a lot of backpedaling and mumbling before he went back to his computer. I have not seen him solicit anyone else. Ah, inspiration. It really can come from anywhere.
We went to a party last night. It was cool, but I felt like was a little rusty on the whole talking to people who aren't David issue. I tried to be nice, pleasant, and not too weird. Who knows? Maybe I pulled it off. The people at the party were genuinely neat and interesting. It was a bunch of classicists and their spouses, and as someone with a classics background and a spouse, I wasn't entirely out of my element. One of the coolest parts about the party was that the hosts (a classics PhD student and her husband)live two floors below us. What is even cooler is that they play board games!! They have all the good ones like Settlers, Caylus, Powergrid, Puerto Rico and so on. I think we're going to play games with them in the future. Well, actually, David is ditching me tonight to play board games with his classmate's husband, his professor's husband, and other people.
David said I had to wait a year before applying to a PhD program. But then yesterday he said I could apply for next fall. I am at least looking into it. How's work you say? Well, I'll just say that I have never been so inspired to go back to school in all my life, and my students are the ones who have inspired me to do it. They are a very inspirational group. Oh, case in point- I'm in a computer lab right now, and an inspirational student (not mine) just came up to me as I was typing the previous sentence and asked me if I was a fast typer. I said I was and asked why. He asked me if I wanted to make three dollars by typing his English comp paper for him. I responded that I didn't think I should considering that I am an English comp teacher at this very school. There was a lot of backpedaling and mumbling before he went back to his computer. I have not seen him solicit anyone else. Ah, inspiration. It really can come from anywhere.
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