Stephanie has been sending me tons of Darren Criss interviews, and obviously he is adorable. I tried to think why he is so fantastic, and at first I stopped at, "well duh, he's crazy talented." But there are many people who are equally, if not more, talented, and they do not make me squee. What Darren Criss has is confidence, humor, and joie de virve.
I was listening to "I Want It All" on my way to work this morning, rocking out like I do. And suddenly I burst out grinning and said, "I DO want it all." And that is true. I want the whole life experience. I want love, and I want adventure, and I want friendships, and I want life, and I want death, and I want pain, and I want joy. I want it all.
Right now I'm in one part of the All. I've had other parts before, and I'll have more in the future. I intend to completely enjoy every bit of it All.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Media
Scott forewarned me during TeamKids that the handout said vampire/witch media is bad bad bad! We laughed about this, as we are similarly in love with magic type media, but he clung to the fact that the example given was a girl who watched those things and also pretended to cast spells.
I cannot cling to that, because I have dressed up as a witch (hello, I AM Hermione) and also I have bought wand aps for my friends with iPhones.
But anyway, it got me thinking about how we're indoctrinating a new generation of kids with crazy cray ideas. Vampires? Metaphor for eternal life, and also, yes, sex. (But who's to say that sex is not something to be creatively analyzed and explored....within reason and with appropriate age levels blah blah, I'm getting off topic.) Witches? Okay, they're just awesome. No, but really, through witches and magic, we can explore all kinds of issues of power and control.
Supernatural stories are fantastic when they bring light to the natural. And they are just plain fun when they throw stuff around and say, "Wouldn't it be so cool if there was a clock that pointed out where every family member was? Or if there were people who could run super crazy fast?" Etc. That's the imagination, and it is awesome.
There will always be people who take something good and twist it to something bad. But I very firmly believe that that is not a reason to give up the good thing altogether. Be smart about media choices, know your weaknesses and your temptations, sure. But to indiscriminately paint a whole genre as evil just pisses me off.
I would argue that chick flicks are far more damaging than supernatural stories (though they tend to cross and blend quite often, it is true). Romance stories of "true love" can kill a person's self-esteem, give false ideas of love, and promote the idea that the love a boy is where true and lasting happiness lies. I have a friend who refuses to watch chick flicks because she knows all they do is make her discontented with her life. I completely admire this friend, and I wish I had her strength.
But in the spirit of seeing past the label, I will also point out that chick flicks show how the humiliating things in life can turn out to be pretty hilarious. And they can show that your first impression of a person is often incorrect. And also love is a good thing to celebrate, even if it is a rare and candy-coated version.
So I wish TeamKid had gone deeper, and looked at what makes media good or bad, healthy or unhealthy. I'll admit that some of the stuff I watch/read/listen to might not be awesomesauce all the time. But I can promise that the problem goes deeper than any genre label.
I cannot cling to that, because I have dressed up as a witch (hello, I AM Hermione) and also I have bought wand aps for my friends with iPhones.
But anyway, it got me thinking about how we're indoctrinating a new generation of kids with crazy cray ideas. Vampires? Metaphor for eternal life, and also, yes, sex. (But who's to say that sex is not something to be creatively analyzed and explored....within reason and with appropriate age levels blah blah, I'm getting off topic.) Witches? Okay, they're just awesome. No, but really, through witches and magic, we can explore all kinds of issues of power and control.
Supernatural stories are fantastic when they bring light to the natural. And they are just plain fun when they throw stuff around and say, "Wouldn't it be so cool if there was a clock that pointed out where every family member was? Or if there were people who could run super crazy fast?" Etc. That's the imagination, and it is awesome.
There will always be people who take something good and twist it to something bad. But I very firmly believe that that is not a reason to give up the good thing altogether. Be smart about media choices, know your weaknesses and your temptations, sure. But to indiscriminately paint a whole genre as evil just pisses me off.
I would argue that chick flicks are far more damaging than supernatural stories (though they tend to cross and blend quite often, it is true). Romance stories of "true love" can kill a person's self-esteem, give false ideas of love, and promote the idea that the love a boy is where true and lasting happiness lies. I have a friend who refuses to watch chick flicks because she knows all they do is make her discontented with her life. I completely admire this friend, and I wish I had her strength.
But in the spirit of seeing past the label, I will also point out that chick flicks show how the humiliating things in life can turn out to be pretty hilarious. And they can show that your first impression of a person is often incorrect. And also love is a good thing to celebrate, even if it is a rare and candy-coated version.
So I wish TeamKid had gone deeper, and looked at what makes media good or bad, healthy or unhealthy. I'll admit that some of the stuff I watch/read/listen to might not be awesomesauce all the time. But I can promise that the problem goes deeper than any genre label.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Family Times
This was a weird weekend of family that probably covered every emotion possible.
Roy and Cat flew in Friday night, so we did the requisite staying up, catching up on life thing that night. Cat asked to look at my clothes to maybe borrow something the next day, which was nicely sisteresque. And then it really was the next day, and it was grandpa's funeral. Ugh. Funerals are weird, because we could stand around joking about how cousin Chris was going to be Judas to uncle Larry's Jesus the next day, then cry at pictures, then laugh about nicknaming Grandma Stark "Geranium", then cry at seeing Grandpa laid out awfully in a casket, then laugh at Grandpa Stark asking if he could call Cat "Kitten."
I was never close to Grandpa McGarrah, but he was a cool guy. I learned more about him this past week than ever before. I wish I'd known him when he was younger, able to drive around and be awesome.
I hate burials. It seems super disgusting to me, being prepared for burial, then laid to rest in one uncomfortable position until I decompose in a solitary vault. I happened to read a poem by Billy Collins earlier this week in which he says he wants to be buried in pajamas, curled into himself like the world's oldest fetus. I like that idea, of death as rest after a lifetime of stress.
After we got back from Canton, we got out a bunch of Grandpa McGarrah's rocks and admired them for like, hours. I wasn't into it at first, but the more I watched Roy and Cat and Mom fawn over them, I started to realize how awesome they are. Too little too late, I wished I'd appreciated my grandpa's hobby when he was still around to share it with me.
Then in a total change of emotion, Sunday was Easter. Church was good, and Roy and Cat came to second service. We headed to Bloomington for Easter dinner with our Stark cousins. The older we get, the less intimidated I am by their awesomeness. I chatted with Tom's husband George about Vampire Diaries (finally someone outside the interwebs who watches it!), watched Epic Rap Battles with Steve, and fawned over Darren Criss with Chelsea.
But mostly I hung out with Jay's kids. For someone who desperately clings to the idea that I don't like kids, I sure do default to them fairly often. Braxton and I played baseball until my cousins joined us and turned it into an actual sport with fast moving baseballs. I opted to find Ethan, who is possibly the most adorable 2-year-old in existence. He has never once said a word to me, and I desperately wanted him to. (I think this is at the root of my bad-boy affection...wanting someone aloof to change their ways and love me.)
AND IT WORKED. Grandpa was showing him some rocks and fossils in the back porch, and of course Ethan loved him because everyone loves Grandpa, so I sat nearby and Ethan passed them on to me. And then he told me that one was the color pink, so BAM, that is language. And when we left, I asked if I could have a hug, and he totally complied. I'm overly pleased.
Monday morning I went to Grandma and Grandpa's with Roy and Cat. Grandma gave Cat and me some free clothes and coffee, which is always excellent. Roy had such a good time he told Cat they would have to visit Peoria again soon. That would be nice, since I was at work when they got on their plane to go back to Washington.
I hope Roy buys a tiny house and drives it to Peoria next time.
Roy and Cat flew in Friday night, so we did the requisite staying up, catching up on life thing that night. Cat asked to look at my clothes to maybe borrow something the next day, which was nicely sisteresque. And then it really was the next day, and it was grandpa's funeral. Ugh. Funerals are weird, because we could stand around joking about how cousin Chris was going to be Judas to uncle Larry's Jesus the next day, then cry at pictures, then laugh about nicknaming Grandma Stark "Geranium", then cry at seeing Grandpa laid out awfully in a casket, then laugh at Grandpa Stark asking if he could call Cat "Kitten."
I was never close to Grandpa McGarrah, but he was a cool guy. I learned more about him this past week than ever before. I wish I'd known him when he was younger, able to drive around and be awesome.
I hate burials. It seems super disgusting to me, being prepared for burial, then laid to rest in one uncomfortable position until I decompose in a solitary vault. I happened to read a poem by Billy Collins earlier this week in which he says he wants to be buried in pajamas, curled into himself like the world's oldest fetus. I like that idea, of death as rest after a lifetime of stress.
After we got back from Canton, we got out a bunch of Grandpa McGarrah's rocks and admired them for like, hours. I wasn't into it at first, but the more I watched Roy and Cat and Mom fawn over them, I started to realize how awesome they are. Too little too late, I wished I'd appreciated my grandpa's hobby when he was still around to share it with me.
Then in a total change of emotion, Sunday was Easter. Church was good, and Roy and Cat came to second service. We headed to Bloomington for Easter dinner with our Stark cousins. The older we get, the less intimidated I am by their awesomeness. I chatted with Tom's husband George about Vampire Diaries (finally someone outside the interwebs who watches it!), watched Epic Rap Battles with Steve, and fawned over Darren Criss with Chelsea.
But mostly I hung out with Jay's kids. For someone who desperately clings to the idea that I don't like kids, I sure do default to them fairly often. Braxton and I played baseball until my cousins joined us and turned it into an actual sport with fast moving baseballs. I opted to find Ethan, who is possibly the most adorable 2-year-old in existence. He has never once said a word to me, and I desperately wanted him to. (I think this is at the root of my bad-boy affection...wanting someone aloof to change their ways and love me.)
AND IT WORKED. Grandpa was showing him some rocks and fossils in the back porch, and of course Ethan loved him because everyone loves Grandpa, so I sat nearby and Ethan passed them on to me. And then he told me that one was the color pink, so BAM, that is language. And when we left, I asked if I could have a hug, and he totally complied. I'm overly pleased.
Monday morning I went to Grandma and Grandpa's with Roy and Cat. Grandma gave Cat and me some free clothes and coffee, which is always excellent. Roy had such a good time he told Cat they would have to visit Peoria again soon. That would be nice, since I was at work when they got on their plane to go back to Washington.
I hope Roy buys a tiny house and drives it to Peoria next time.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Past the Pain
It is Rebekah's second month living in South Africa, and I wrote to her that around that marker, I was going through the lowest of my Senegalese culture shock. Her monthly announcements are always very cheerful, so maybe that doesn't matter to her. But I think missionaries sometimes feel burdened to always be optimistic and happy, because people are supporting and praying for them, so how can they let them down by feeling bad?
Remembering my low point made me think of Liz's goodbye letter. It was epic, because in addition to calling Spike the sexiest man in all existence, she said one of her favorite memories was riding home on the moto when I remarked, "You know, I'm going to miss this place." She wrote that she was so happy Fatick had won me over.
When I went back in November, I was really pissed that the Woodland women were calling Fatick dirty and depressing. That was my home they were insulting! But then I remembered that I had felt the same way for a good two months. Fatick got inside me, changed my attitude, and became my home. It won me over.
I've been feeling kind of terrified about living overseas. Even though I'm not deliriously happy in Peoria, I have a lot of good things going for me. The thought of leaving it all can cause me to panic. But remembering the pain of living in Senegal, and then the joy of slowly coming to love this new and completely different place...it makes me excited for the next time I'll experience it. Life is pain, and life is overcoming pain, and life is finding joy and meaning in the pain.
If it takes a couple months of culture shock to discover a new world with a deeper understanding of God, then I'll take the pain of separation and confusion and nostalgia. It was worth it before, and I think it will be worth it again.
Remembering my low point made me think of Liz's goodbye letter. It was epic, because in addition to calling Spike the sexiest man in all existence, she said one of her favorite memories was riding home on the moto when I remarked, "You know, I'm going to miss this place." She wrote that she was so happy Fatick had won me over.
When I went back in November, I was really pissed that the Woodland women were calling Fatick dirty and depressing. That was my home they were insulting! But then I remembered that I had felt the same way for a good two months. Fatick got inside me, changed my attitude, and became my home. It won me over.
I've been feeling kind of terrified about living overseas. Even though I'm not deliriously happy in Peoria, I have a lot of good things going for me. The thought of leaving it all can cause me to panic. But remembering the pain of living in Senegal, and then the joy of slowly coming to love this new and completely different place...it makes me excited for the next time I'll experience it. Life is pain, and life is overcoming pain, and life is finding joy and meaning in the pain.
If it takes a couple months of culture shock to discover a new world with a deeper understanding of God, then I'll take the pain of separation and confusion and nostalgia. It was worth it before, and I think it will be worth it again.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Individualism
I was told that my father writes extremely well, and that perhaps I got my writing ability from him.
At first, my internal brainscape looked something like this: YAAARGH! I am a unique and beautiful snowflake! How dare someone suggest my talents are the result of something as mundane as genetics!!"
Then I realized that it's kind of sweet to share something with my dad. And where did I think I got my writing ability anyway? But to assure myself that I was still an individual, I came up with a surefire fact that forever separates my father from me:
When I discovered icanhascheezburger, I wasted hours laughing my butt off at the hilariously captioned pictures of cats. When Dad found it, he couldn't get past the bad grammar.
At first, my internal brainscape looked something like this: YAAARGH! I am a unique and beautiful snowflake! How dare someone suggest my talents are the result of something as mundane as genetics!!"
Then I realized that it's kind of sweet to share something with my dad. And where did I think I got my writing ability anyway? But to assure myself that I was still an individual, I came up with a surefire fact that forever separates my father from me:
When I discovered icanhascheezburger, I wasted hours laughing my butt off at the hilariously captioned pictures of cats. When Dad found it, he couldn't get past the bad grammar.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Postsecret
AHHHHH! This terrifies me! HOW DO YOU KNOW!? What do you do if this happens!?
Done. I'm never getting married.
Until I read something romantic and want it again.
I'M SO FICKLE I SHOULD NEVER GET MARRIED.
Thoughts on Death
When I was in middle school, I was intellectually suicidal. I wanted to die, I thought it would be better to die than be alive, but I never seriously thought of going through with it. There wasn't even anything weird or bad going on in my life. I was just intrigued by death, and as a Christian, I fully believed that it would be a better place, so I would pray that God would kill me.
Death is still interesting to me. Personally, it sucks, but intellectually, the process, both of dying and of bereavement, is fascinating. For example, death really shows you who your friends are. I won't lie. I have totally divided my "friends" into good or bad whether or not they hugged me/said something comforting to me or if they did nothing. If I'm not sure they know about my grandpa, they go into a dubious "to be decided" category. Some people I assumed would be there for me were not, and some people I did not expect went out of their way to say something to me. That means a lot.
Marianne quoted W.H. Auden, and made me realize why poets are so crazy awesome. He said, "Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic."
Grandpa McGarrah was 96. Even though he was healthy, we obviously knew he wouldn't live much longer. But still, we went about our picnicking, ignoring the distant rumbling. And then the storm hit and killed the fun. I don't think anyone can ever truly be prepared for death, theirs or someone else's. It is always a shock.
All this makes me wonder if I am a good friend. Do I call people or leave them messages when someone in their family dies? Am I liberal with my hugs? Do I live life boldly even with thunder echoing in the background? Do I make sure people know I love them, so that they will not die unsure?
Death is still interesting to me. Personally, it sucks, but intellectually, the process, both of dying and of bereavement, is fascinating. For example, death really shows you who your friends are. I won't lie. I have totally divided my "friends" into good or bad whether or not they hugged me/said something comforting to me or if they did nothing. If I'm not sure they know about my grandpa, they go into a dubious "to be decided" category. Some people I assumed would be there for me were not, and some people I did not expect went out of their way to say something to me. That means a lot.
Marianne quoted W.H. Auden, and made me realize why poets are so crazy awesome. He said, "Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic."
Grandpa McGarrah was 96. Even though he was healthy, we obviously knew he wouldn't live much longer. But still, we went about our picnicking, ignoring the distant rumbling. And then the storm hit and killed the fun. I don't think anyone can ever truly be prepared for death, theirs or someone else's. It is always a shock.
All this makes me wonder if I am a good friend. Do I call people or leave them messages when someone in their family dies? Am I liberal with my hugs? Do I live life boldly even with thunder echoing in the background? Do I make sure people know I love them, so that they will not die unsure?
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