Sunday, November 29, 2009
I must start by reminding my like 4 readers that I am obviously home for Thanksgiving break because my dorm room does not require the necessary appliances for cooking. (After reading this, you will probably think this is a good thing.....) Thus the references to parents and tupperware and ovens and all other assorted vehicles of cooking mania that I do not normally have in my posession. (don't ask why I'm talking so formally - it's 7 am. Just... let's leave it at that.)
Meet my "fried rice." (the SECOND batch of it. Because cooking horrible abominations isn't good enough - I have to do it twice. o.O The second one is actually the worse of the two...)
First... I am the worst rice cooker on the planet. Every single time I attempt to cook rice, I fail. I always end up with like 3 inches of water with the rice, DESPITE my best efforts to follow the direction on the packaging. Thus, my rice always resembles mush. Sigh.
Second... this one is not my fault. My house consisted of NO vegetables WHATSOEVER... except, well, tomatoes... and this. So... I used both. XD I sauteed the tomatoes (and didn't realize that for some reason my oven's dials do not turn the way I thought they should... I assumed I had it on "medium low" heat... when in actuality I had it on "medium high" heat. When my tomatoes were frying to a crisp and splattering everywhere [hot grease, mind you - hot buttery tomato-y grease], I turned it to what I thought was "low" but turned out to be "high" ... AHG! Anyway)
Third isn't that bad... leftover ham from Thanksgiving... to substitute for the "pork" that would normally go in fried rice. Ham is pig. Pork is pig. Makes sense? (I'm waiting for someone who can actually cook to post and be like "OMG NO, COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!")
This is the result of my first attempt. I actually ate a good portion of it (NOTE this entire thing occurred because I haven't done any homework over Thanksgiving like... at all... and am now attempting to smash it all into the last 24 hours of it. So it was like 5 am and I was starving and craving Chinese food.... so I [again avoiding homework] went online and found a fried rice recipe. Thankfully we didn't have the ingredients for the "Sweet and sour chicken" recipe I found, or else this would probably be a post about how my house just burned down)... Things were looking rather good at first... I discovered that I actually LIKE scrambled eggs when they are cooked in a tbsp of butter... it balances out that nasty sulfuric taste and replaces it with a sweet buttery goodness @_@
But in the end, utter disaster. It has taken up its permanent home in the tupperware in the fridge... with a sign begging someone to eat it (which means, depending on who finds it first, either dad will devour it and claim it's delicious and I won't be able to tell if he is just trying to make me feel better or if his tastebuds really are that far gone O_O... [my father is known to eat just about anything "edible" and like it... besides peas and those cereal snack bars that had the "milk" in them, I've never heard him say he doesn't like something]... OOOOR my mom will throw it out. Dad usually wakes up first, let's hope for that one.)
So... all in all... I should stick to cooking simple things like spaghetti, toast, and rice krispie treats, because frankly.... tomatoes? in fried rice? WTF.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
If their music is to be believed, emo-ish rocker boys only date girls with awesome names (off the top of my head - Adelaide, Constantine, and Delilah).
I want to make up words.
I wish I could carry like a wagon of stuff with me at all times. I always want to hand someone a brightly coloured helium balloon, but never have one handy. Also in this wagon would be a large box of delicate, glass things for SMASHING against walls when I feel the need. >:(
Leftovers are cruel. In life, there are no clean cuts. Nothing ever breaks in a straight line. There's always that ragged, straggly mess that you have to deal with.
My literature teacher is obsessed with this idea that if everyone just read lots of books, they would know exactly how to live their life. Epic fail. Fiction either describes accurately, or paints life with a gilded sheen. Neither of which is really that helpful, I have found. One is depressing, and the other is more so.
I have a broken sword in my room and anytime I see it, I am torn between staring at it for hours, working up the courage to touch it... or throwing it out my window and screaming until security comes and yells at me.
I don't know how I feel about living in a world where some "indy" company tailoring to "organic" loving people can sell a chandelier made out of old spoons for $700. -.-' !!!!!!!!!!!!!
The tension created in me when I'm trying to pick a side is greater than any of the passion I feel after I've picked my side. I like the tension. I love it when I can feel myself GROWING. I think I'm happier when I'm "depressed" if it means I'm learning, I'm stretching, I'm changing (even though it's painful)... it's most honestly depressing when days, weeks, go by and I'm the same. I'd rather be hurt and start moving on than to just be floating there... waiting.
That sword again. It made me slam my fridge door a little too hard.
The sword is the leftovers. Obligations to people I want to shove off a cliff and forget about. But no. I have to return this grrdamn effing SWORD.
Grrdamn. I've decided I like this word. Decided it earlier. It's like ... g... damn but without using the Lord's name in vain... which, despite how far from my Christian moral center I deviate... this is the ONE thing I CANNOT do. I think besides murder, it's the only commandment I have never broken.... that is, if you consider emotional infidelity to be adultery, or lust, for that matter... and if you think you can commit adultery against a boyfriend. :P
I think I like listening to loud rock-ish music because seriously, anything sounds cooler if you're yelling it with a powerful guitar and drums behind you... this guy is singing "Does anybody care at all" and it almost sounds like a battlecry the way he's singing it. I dunno how he pulls it off. But it makes me want to say EVERYTHING with guitar and drums behind me...
Imagine this entire entry written with guitar and drums behind it. And I'm yelling. :P
Sword sword sword sword.... what do you think would happen if I set it in the hall... OH!
I hid the sword mess in my closet. Under my sheets and up on a shelf. No more shocking me with the sight of it and its stupid memory and its stupid handholding and its kisses and its faces and the way it makes noises when it wants you to pay attention to it and the way it keeps texting me and stupid coke and stupid trying to be my friend and I will never say "keetty!" like that and I will never ever ever ever as long as I live say "Meow?" as a question!
If he read this, he'd hate me. And I care. I effing care.
Emo emo emo emo emo emo asdfomsadf...
Asimov is awesome.
"There's more to living than being alive."
I think there's got to be some sort of method for counseling YOURSELF. It's really not that hard, once you take the class and read the book and realize basically they're conning you into seeing stuff you WOULD see if you just calmed down long enough to view your world objectively... and they're charging you inordinate amounts of money for this. Unless you're one of those people who just needs someone to "care" and to "hear you" .... counselling oneself is easy. Story - Goal - Restory.
What's my story?
I have lots of goals... and lots of failed attempts at restory. Hmm.
Death has a daughter and her name is Katarina. When she was five, she hoped to be a ballerina. But now she's sixteen. Oh, poor, poor, Proserpina.
The name I was given means "Gift from God." The name I chose means "God exists." His name means "Christ-Bearer."
Katarina means "Pure," apparently. Death's daugher is purity? If that's not warped, I dunno what is. How can death even have a child anyway? Blerg.
If he is the Christ-bearer... who is his Christ? Metaphorically, of course. Somehow I think this is me, unsure of how it got that way, but there it stands? If.... He must BEAR me. The Christ... omagwsh. aslkfdjasldfkjsadlfjasdlkfjsadlkfj!!!!!! Revelation! Shock shock horror horror ... I used to call him Chris. I was the only one who ever did. Everyone else called him Chuck -.-' Well they still do but anyway. Now I'm the only one who calls him Christopher. He is his full name to me now... I dunno when that happened but he commented on it the other day, that he is Christopher instead of Chris now ... and I don't know when that happened. But if the Christ-half is "Chris" and I used to call him that, used to view him as my salvation, my hope, the thing that would make me whole, blah blah... all those unhealthy "romantic" things you grow up and realize are why you hate your life... what has he become now, recently? If I am the Christ-figure in his life, if I am the one who is always saving him. If I am constantly complaining that I'm holding him, that I'm the leader, that I solve his problems.... I sent a very angry email a few hours ago to this exact effect... But... His name. I need to remember my own name sometimes. It's true, no one who was truly deep in the trenches of God's soul stops following God because they have an honest intellectual disagreement with him, but because they get busy, they get distracted, and they fade away. Once you've tasted, once you've touched, you can't recant your own experience. You can't argue with you. It's not that. You just give up. >.< I've given up, at least, if there is no universality in the statement. It's true in my universe.
I hate how I've gone on this giant intellectual journey tonight and the damnable boy is SLEEPING. Bullocks. :P I like this word.
There's still the issue of the sword.
Apparently sometime in July I thought I didn't know what arduous meant and found it necessary to put on a notecard. -.-'
I want to write him, but I figure I'd publish it in like 30 years and then he would think of me ... that thing I'm always mocking some singers for... "You know, I bet all these songs are about like the SAME chick, and everytime one comes on the radio she screams at the speakers 'IT WAS FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, GET OVER IT!!!' " or as someone used to say, at the end of this rant, "Dude, it was ONE DATE!!!"
I ran from the joust to Burgess without stopping because of that boy (didn't need to - was too happy). I had the one and only panic attack I've ever had because of that boy (didn't need to ... and I still think about it almost weekly). All HE has ever done is cause me to stare at the ceiling, lying awake, not moving to the point where I can't tell where my arms are anymore and my lips glue together..... I guess I did say God's name in vain once when yelling at him. That's something? Why am I valuing relationships based on what horrible things they could make me do when they piss me off.
Emo emo emo emo emo...
I have a rosary (I'm not Catholic) and a... hindu version of the Rosary (I'm not Hindu either) hanging above my bed, several inches from each other... they seem to be quite happy together, next to Hello Kitty and someone's jacket tag.
I would not like to meet ANY of my favourite literary characters. They're all a little too much to handle, honestly.
My music is too much like me. Sometimes I wish I could just like whatever's on the radio.
"Homeless people can never enjoy camping."
I'm a little too tied to objects, to physical places. I think that's why my love language is gifts. I dunno why... the objects I use to represent people are often more important to me than the people themselves. I can deal with them better, I guess.
Need to sleep. Can't sleep. Need to sleep. Can't sleep. I have to do tons of homework this weekend. If I'm not gonna sleep now, I should do homework now so that later, when I should be doing homework, I can sleep instead. Good plan.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Here are 3 facts that you will actually use in your everyday life that I have gleaned from my psych studies. :P (Weirdly, they all have to do with sleep... was not intentional)
- The human sleep cycle is such that if you are going to nap, nap for either 20 minutes or an hour and 30 minutes. Any more or less than that and you will wake up groggier than you were before the nap. How many times have you slept for "just an hour" and woke up feeling like crap? Sleep for an hour and a half next time. You'll wake up nicely rejuvenated. (NOTE: This is not an excuse to not get a full night's sleep. -.-' But if you have to sleep less than your 8-10 hours, try and sleep in 1.5 hour increments... such as four and a half hours, or 6 hours... you'll wake up far less sleepy). Also, the "20 minutes" is from the minute you close your eyes and snuggle into your sheets. Your sleep cycle actually begins when you begin to relax into sleep, not from the second you fall out of consciousness. :)
- Speaking of sleep - during sleep, your brain converts all your short term memory into long term memory. So the things that happen to you during the last couple of hours before you sleep are the things first converted into long-term memory. Practical application? Study for tests at night before you sleep. (NOTE: This does not mean 15 minutes before you doze off - during that last stage before true sleep you aren't gonna actually remember squat)
- From the idea of Maslov's Hierarchy of Needs - If you are not well-fed, well-rested, etc. then you are not going to be able to function in more complicated realms of your life, such as relationships and spirituality. If I have to listen to one more person think some life-changing event has happened with God or with their boyfriend that can actually be attributed to dehydration or lack of a full night's sleep, I'm going to stab someone. Do yourself a favor and before you think that you're "falling out of love" with someone or there's "just a wall between you and God," look back over the last week - have you been getting enough sleep? Have you been eating healthy food? If not... calm down. Go eat a full meal and get a night's sleep before you make any big decisions.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Here is my version:
Nothing is so beautiful as morning-
When clouds, in clumps, dazing pink and purple and pretty;
Light’s rays lightly linger in long streaks of colour, lighting
Humble treetops, roofs of buildings, so they scorch and sear
The eye, bricks reflecting molten fire to my gaze;
The ground is sparkling, and the morning insects sing
The unassuming colours of the sky; the sky all lazy
With loveliness; the waking people move so slow.
What is all this creeping and this crawling?
A strain of the day’s sweet life, unfilled potential
In our world – Run, live, before it cloy,
Before it hurry, and burn in dusking orange,
Innocent morning and the waking dreams of dawn,
Most, your sweet awakening, shall always be worth the waiting.
And here is his poem:
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring-
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. - Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.
Edit: I'm irritated at Blogger because it removed all of the indentations that are present in both poems. No matter how I try and put them in, however, they do not show. So I guess you'll just have to imagine that they are well-formatted and lovely. Sigh!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
In other news, I am in love with John Ruskin.
Until I took Brit Lit 3, I was unaware that this man had ever existed, but he did, in fact, exist, between the years of 1819 and 1900. He is absolutely fabulous.
First off, he was emo: "I wonder mightily what sort of creature I should have turned out, if instead of the distracting and useless pain, I had had the joy of approved love, and the untellable, incalculable motive of its sympathy and praise. It seems to me such things are not allowed in the world. The men capable of the highest imaginative passion are always tossed on fiery waves by it." ... and I think emo boys are wonderful... just because I want to swoop in and make them happy. Haha.
Second, he has a DELICIOUS flair for description. These are some excerpts from his description of the painting The Slave Ship by Turner (whoever he is): "... the torn and streaming rain clouds are moving in scarlet lines to lose themselves in the hollow of the night ... the fire of the sunset falls along the trough of the sea, dyeing it with an awful but glorious light, the intense and lurid splendor which burns like gold and bathes like blood ... its thin masts written upon the sky in lines of blood, girded with condemnation in that fearful hue which signs the sky with horror" and excerpts from a segment of "The Stones of Venice" (about gothic architecture) where he described gothic architecture as being reflective of its harsh environment (as opposed to architecture in hot climates, which is bright and merry): "Let us watch him with reverence as he sets side by side the burning gems, and smooths with soft sculpture the jasper pillars, that are to reflect a ceaseless sunshine, and rise into a cloudless sky: but not with less reverence let us stand by him, when, with rough strength and hurried stroke, he smites an uncouth animation out of the rocks which he has torn from among the moss of the moorland, and heaves into the darkened air the pile of iron buttress and rugged wall, instinct with work of an imagination as wild and wayward as the northern sea; creations of ungainly shape and rigid limb - but full of wolfish life, fierce as the winds that beat, and changeful as the clouds that shade them." Ahhhh.... if I had been alive then, I would've given him all the approved love he could need, hahaha. ;)
Third... I think he's very very smart. I've been thinking about his idea, presented in "The Stones of Venice," that "If you will have ... precision out of [people], and make their fingers measure degrees like cogwheels ... " you, in effect, turn them into a machine. But if you encourage them to think, to imagine, to create, etc. then you will turn them into a human being: "You must either make a tool of the creature, or make a man of him. You cannot make both."
He was of course talking about how most of the work we now use machines to do, humans were doing in his time, and since all their days were spent doing the work of a machine, they became a machine themselves, unable to think about anything other than manual tasks. It makes me wonder how this can be applied in a modern world, where work like that is done by REAL machines. Would Ruskin be happy with this change? That we have, in a way, "freed" our workers from having to be machines? But... in my opinion... those who used to do "machine" like work, aren't doing anything any more intellectual, creative, or imaginative. Our lower-class workers are janitors, wal-mart greeters, cashiers, fast food cooks, etc. They aren't doing repetitive manual labor, but they aren't exactly employing their mental faculties, either. So have we improved? I think maybe Ruskin had too high of hopes for the "machines." He thought that if you just had them do something less repetitive, a latent creative/intellectual faculty would spring forth. I don't think this is the case. Some people are creative, thinking people, and others aren't. Just because you give someone a job that doesn't fit his description: "All the energy of their spirits must be given to make cogs and compasses of themselves. All their attention and strength must go to the accomplishment of the mean act. The eye of the soul must be bent upon the finger point, and the soul's force must fill all the invisible nerves that guide it, ten hours a day, that it may not err from its steely precision, and so soul and sight be worn away, and the whole human being be lost at last - a heap of sawdust, so far as its intellectual work in this world is concerned" ... doesn't mean that they're going to instantly burst forth in creativity. In fact, when I do manual labor, repetitive tasks where I don't have to think... I find that I think MORE. I can "zone out" and my brain can fill the empty space with its own thoughts, as creative and intellectual as they want to be... most of my best thinking is done while driving, for example.
And what about the countries where some people still do the work of machines, for almost no money? We haven't improved at all on that front.
Another quote from this section, saying that we do nothing to help the masses of factory workers except to teach and preach: "To teach them is but to show them their misery, and to preach to them, if we do nothing more than preach, is to mock at it." Good point, on the preaching. I kind of want to spray-paint this on Evangel's campus, haha... especially speaking to those who believe that helping someone is just a means to get them to listen to your preaching (more or less direct quote from a friend of mine recently... sigh). I don't know what kind of teaching Ruskin was thinking of, though... but generally, giving someone an education helps them rise out of their poverty, not just show them how miserable they are. If one of those factory workers back in the day had had some sort of trade or skill, they could have gotten a job somewhere much better.
Also, I love how people 100+ years ago used to go on random rabbit trails and wander about in their thinking when they wrote. It makes it hard to figure out what the "point" of what they're saying is, but it's the rabbit trails that usually contain the most interesting information, haha! He randomly starts talking about art, in this segment (which, remember, originally was about gothic architecture, haha! So I have no idea where he thinks he's going with all of this) and he says:
"No great man ever stops working till he has reached his point of failure" ... "His mind is always far in advance of his powers of execution, and the latter will now and then give way in trying to follow it; besides that he will always give to the inferior portions of his work only such inferior attention as they require; and according to his greatness he becomes so accustomed to the feeling of dissatisfaction with the best that he can do, that in moments of lassitude or anger with himself he will not care though the beholder be dissatisfied also ... if we are to have great men working at all, or less men doing their best, the work will be imperfect, however beautiful. Of human work none but what is bad can be perfect, in its own bad way ... imperfection is in some sort essential to all that we know of life. It is the sign of life in a mortal body, that is to say, of a state of progress and change. Nothing that lives is, or can be, rigidly perfect; part of it is decaying, part nascent ... Accept this then for a universal law, that neither architecture nor any other noble work of man can be good unless it be imperfect." (Ah, so that's how this relates to architecture.)
This is encouraging to me, even if I'm not sure I believe in it. I write stories and poems... and sometimes I am too afraid to even START my story because I'm afraid it won't be good. I'll go over one chapter over and over and over again, hoping I'm making it better, but wondering if I'm really just ruining the whole thing... I'll write something, come back months later, and decide to just throw out the whole idea because it would be too much work to salvage it from the wreckage of awful writing that it has become. I'm so concerned with "getting it RIGHT" I think I might end up taking away some of the artful "imperfection" that he's talking about. Although I think I don't agree (and my art teachers over the summer wouldn't agree either, actually) that art is only good unless it's imperfect. Teachers and the entire system of people whose opinion is worth anything constantly badger us into perfecting our pieces... of art or writing or whatever... unless you're some kind of hippie who thinks anything that "comes from the heart, mannn" is good... o.O;;; you don't go to an art museum to see people's mistakes. You go to see something so brilliant you could never even hope to come close. So I dunno. On the one hand it's encouraging, on the other I'm like "psht yeah right" and I return to my endless labors. :P
So yes... this is John Ruskin, my new dearest love. Haha. ^_^ What do you think of him? :P
Friday, September 18, 2009
Two words: Epic fail.
So I've been randomly, for the past few days, coming up with one-sentence descriptors that might follow the query "What is one interesting fact about you?" ... I don't think any of them can appropriately follow Murphy beating the crap out of some guy, but oh well. I came up with ten!
1. I can sing (aaaalmost) all of the words to Johnny Cash's "I've Been Everywhere" song - without the music. With the music I could probably do better (although I get the verses out of order but who cares about that).
2. I rescue worms off of the sidewalk when it rains and they all decide to slither forth from their homes. Reasoning? 1. People squish them. 2. They are stupid, blind creatures that need moisture to live (but not buckets of water to drown in), so when it finally stops raining and the sun comes out, they dry up and die before they can find their way back into the dirt.
3. I taught myself how to raise one eyebrow by practicing in the mirror for hours... I also taught myself how to tap just one toe while the rest is steady, but that skill appears to be unreliable... o.O It shorts out.
4. When I was like 10, I taught myself to write words starting with the 2nd letter (like in "Rawk," I'd write the A, then the R, W, and K) and now I randomly screw up and start with the 2nd letter (So I end up with "Arwk") ... The moral of this story, kids, is not to ever train yourself to do something stupid, because psychology will bite you in the face for the rest of your life.
5. Sometimes, I don't brush my teeth before I go to bed because it makes me feel rebellious. Muhaha.
6. I firmly believe that flies are telepathic.
7. I have a strange obsession with describing mornings... although I hate waking up to see them.
8. I think I'm only an English concentration to help me endure my psychology courses... each semester, I manage to get through the classes because I think "after this I get to read poetry!" or "Okay, just get through the next 30 pages of this crap textbook and you can read Emerson"..... woo!
9. I can hit absolutely anything with a baseball bat, if it is thrown in my general direction and not like 30 feet away from me. I'd probably be awesome at baseball except... I can't catch a ball that is rolling on the ground. Seriously. It's comical.
10. I think Jane Austen kind of sucks.
And also, upon pondering the meaning of life... I have decided that the reason for my existence is the following:
Time with God
Sending people notes in the mail
Cute, colourful cartoons
Pictures of food with eyes on them
Emails - any
Old book smell
Text messages - any
Buildings that make you feel small
Humor (except perverse humor)
Songs you can never get sick of
Smells - almost any
Candy & chocolate - most
The dollar aisle at Target
^________^ That's just about it.
Oh, and I was inspired by a bunch of people recently getting blogs.... to make my own! And since I already had this one but wasn't doing anything with it, I figured... might as well make it into a blog full of awesome.