Imagination's Fool

The best laid plans of mice...

2005-09-24T14:38:00.000-05:00

When I was young -- 8th, 9th grade, say -- I thought Robert Burns was just the coolest poet ever. I once modeled an ode of my own to his piece, "To a Mouse," in which he praises the mouse for present living -- for changing plans as necessary -- and moving on without always keeping an eye on the past:

But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

"The best laid plans o' Mice an' Men, gang aft agley..." I'm only assuming that 'gang aft agley' means something akin to 'often go awry', as my scholarship in Scottish dialect is poor at best, but Burns speaks a valid truth. My best laid plans to blog more often have, in short, been circumvented.

But like the mouse, I can't complain: they've been circumvented by work, yes, but more often by fun, by travel, by spending time with people I care about, and by doing things I didn't have time or resources to do in college.

So once more, your forgiveness, and I bring you a pretty treat in repayment of your infinite patience:

I'm moving. Moving away from Blogspot, moving away from the familiar feel of the old Foolish blog that so often catalogues and reminisces on what's past and gone to a new blog.

Henceforth, you'll find me meditating at the Monastery of Idealism at www.arwyn.org.

Change your bookmarks, make new links, and come on over for a visit now and then.

Never a shortstop again

2005-09-09T12:18:00.000-05:00

When I played softball -- which I did well when I was 10 and never well after -- I played catcher. You get lots of action at the plate -- especially in church-league slowpitch. In high school as the one senior on the JV team (no, I'm not still bitter about that -- honest...), I played first base. Action there, too.

Well, no. Not really. Because we were horrible and rarely got the ball in and got slaughtered in every game.

And Wednesday, during a team game here at work, I gave shortstop a go.

Ahem. Yes. Well. I've now got a hard splint that goes down to my elbow to support a sprained right thumb. Talk about mad skillz...

And I've had a lot of bloggable thoughts the past few days, too. I'll share more after the weekend when I have my right hand back and can type again.

Mmmm

2005-08-26T15:44:00.000-05:00

Now this is what I call science.

Beneath the Pines...

2005-08-26T14:33:00.000-05:00

I am not, in general, a homesick type of person. I've spent my fair share of time living away from home -- whether at boarding school in the 9th grade, Space Camp (yes, I'm a nerd), Girls' Camp, college, a semester in Russia...

The thing about leaving family is that I know I'll always come back. I may live away for years, but I'll always visit, and they'll always be a phone call or an email away.

But I miss Bowdoin. Lots. The tall pines, the quad, Hubbard Hall, the food, classes, friends, professors, even my job there.

It's a strange feeling. I enjoy my present job, I enjoy the work I'm doing, I enjoy the challenges. I'm content with where I am in life -- graduated, working, living, moving forward.

And yet, at the same time, there are moments when I would pay almost anything for the feeling of walking across the quad on a brisk October morning, admiring the leaves as they turn brilliant colors, and feeling entirely and utterly as though I'm exactly where I belong.

A strange feeling, indeed. I can go back and visit -- not a problem -- but...it will never be quite the same. I'll return a visitor, a stranger, one of those old alums I always saw walking along, examining everything for a sign of change and difference, trying to find the Bowdoin I knew and loved and yet -- it never will be the same.

As someone who believes that change is the only universal constant, this shouldn't come as a surprise to me. Like Siddhartha's river, Bowdoin will always be there -- and it will never be the same Bowdoin from one year to the next, one semester to the next, one moment to the next.

So part of the sorrow and the missing I feel, I know, is knowing that it will never be the same because it will never have me or my friends as an integral part of it.

And while I can accept that, intellectually, it doesn't make my heart any less heavy every time I look outside and see the summer's end approaching and know I won't be going back this fall.

Strange, indeed.

Scribble

2005-08-24T22:00:00.000-05:00

I don't think I've mentioned recently (or at all) how much I love reading Laura's blog Scribble. Always very thoughtful and insightful -- and peaceful, as reflected in the layout and the writing.

And pretty. I like the pictures. Pretty pictures!

Randomized

2005-08-24T00:07:00.001-05:00

Life's still crazy. I've been out of town the last four weekends -- Boston, New York, Yosemite, New York -- and my weeknights seem to fill themselves up with activities and adventures and collapsing to gather enough energy to make it through work the next day.

So, blogging? Heh. Um. Forgive me? And I'll give you a happy surprise soon -- within the next week, something cool and exciting and worth waiting for.

Something that will make this horrid formatting problem go away, too.

Buying a car

2005-08-15T23:25:00.000-05:00

I've already bought my new car for the time being -- and am still loving it every time I hop inside to take it for a ride -- but if I hadn't, I'd be really glad to have read this insight into the process first.

And I realize I owe y'all an update; it'll be slow in coming, though, as life's got me by the nose again. But soon!

Answers

2005-07-30T12:04:00.000-05:00

Yesterday (or, at least, some number of hours ago, before I got on a red-eye flight to the East coast and lost all track of what time it is where), I posted a puzzle for you:

(12 + 144 + 20 + 3 * 4 ^ .5) / 7 + 5 * 11 = 9 ^ 2 + 0

I promised the answer today, and here you go:

A dozen, a gross, and a score
Plus three times the square root of four
Divided by seven
Plus five times eleven
Is nine squared and not a bit more.

In explanation to those who asked, the .5 and the 2 come into it thus: the carrot (^) is used to symbolize raising a number to a given power. Therefore, x^y is the same as x to the power of y. x^2 is x squared (x*x), and so forth. Raising 4 to the .5 power is the same as taking the square root.

The whole point of those elements, of course, is just to make it more confusing. But what good's a puzzle that's too easy?

And now -- time to go out and enjoy a beautiful day with wonderful people I haven't seen in far too long. More blogging when I get back to Seattle.

A puzzle for you!

2005-07-29T17:09:00.000-05:00

I've decided the "short blog snippits" is the best way to actually get updates from me for the time being; work and RL ("real life," for the uninitiated) are still dogging me, and general exhaustion does not help.

However, I've settled into my new place -- a room, bathroom, and parking spot of my own, with kitchen and living/dining room shared with a very nice and considerate roommate who I rarely see since she comes in late and I get up (gasp!) early for work. And being settled, the exhaustion should begin to fade. I can already feel the creative writer in me struggling for expression, and blogging is only the first step.

But, like I said, short blogs. Baby steps. And since I'm taking off tonight for a weekend in Boston, I'll keep this short and leave you with a math limerick that was appended to a coworker's signature:

(12 + 144 + 20 + 3 * 4 ^ .5) / 7 + 5 * 11 = 9 ^ 2 + 0

Ten points to the first person to figure that out without resorting to Google. I'll post the answer tomorrow.

"Backstroke of the West"

2005-07-28T12:13:00.000-05:00

A blogger in Lebanon reposted a hilariously amusing take on Revenge of the Sith that really hit close to home as I learn all about writing content for global audiences and stuff that's easy to localize at work.

Revenge of the Sith, no longer; now, Star War III: Backstroke of the West.

Week in, week out

2005-07-18T23:59:00.000-05:00

Another week has gone rushing by to the same tune as all the others -- up, work, goof off, sleep, rinse, repeat. Highlights to the week?

1. Thursday. Signed my lease. Apartment is mine for six months, with the option to renew. Now? Time to move in!

2. Friday. Company flew into town. Very pleasant company. The rest of the week, I dare say, seemed to fly by waiting for Friday to come.

3. Saturday. Microsoft Puzzle Safari! Seven hours of solving puzzles and running around accomplishing mighty feats of strength, stamina, and imagination -- things like running a quarter-of-a-mile marathon in under five minutes, building an Eiffel Tower out of legos, composing haiku, remote control motorboat obstacle courses, silly dances to YMCA...ah, yes. Good times all around.

3. Saturday. Mariners game. And they won! Beat those Orioles! There's nothing quite like a beautiful summer evening and the smell of outfield grass and infield dirt and a pack of roasted peanuts in one hand and a cup of real lemonade in the other and...and a 9th inning walk-off hit to bring the M's up 3-2 after a long, low-scoring game and a beautiful pitching appearance by my dear Jaime Moyer.

4. Saturday night. Harry Potter! Book six came sometime on Saturday, but I didn't get it until the evening after the game. You can bet the late hour was no detriment to starting that most precious of books! But an even later hour did make me stop -- by 1:30, I couldn't keep my eyes open, and for the first time since book 3 didn't finish the book on the day it came out. Woe!

5. Sunday. Another gorgeous day. Sunshine, green grass, a beautiful view of the mountains, and Harry Potter all day long. Until the evening. When I finished the book. And the day became very dark. I did not like the ending. I won't tell what happens, and I'll ask the folks who comment to remain spoiler-free until I post my official reaction post, but...grrr! No! Bad! Don't like!

Ahem.

Highlights indeed. And now a wonderful weekend is ended, company has departed, and I'm left to continue to trudge out to work. I've got the apartment and I've got a bed in it; I'll get my dresser on Tuesday and a computer desk Thursday. And I still need a mattress. And an internet connection. The former I hope to have by Friday, the latter on Saturday, and then I'll feel like I can really move in.

Because, honestly, it's hard to live in a place without somewhere to sleep.

Or without a 'net connection. I'm an addict. A shameless addict. I've got to admit, it's getting better -- all the time, you know -- but a whole week without the 'net at home? Nonononono. Better to sleep on wooden planks.

So...yes. I'll be moving in really on Saturday.

And -- hopefully -- more likely to blog more often then.

Strangeness

2005-07-11T01:01:00.000-05:00

Also, some problems with the blog itself. It seems the initial post is showing up (or not) at the top of the screen, but the comments function and the rest of the posts are way far down below. Anyone else seeing this?

Anyone have any idea how to fix it?

It cropped up last weekend -- entirely randomly, it seems, when I posted 'Eep!' -- and persists no matter what I try. Suggestions -- much welcome!

Update: I'm finding a tag being entered into the code when I publish (or, at least, one that's not in the template anywhere that I can see) that comes after the body and before the postinfo that looks like this (but with the allegator brackets):

div style="clear: both; padding-bottom: 0.25em;"

Anyone know what causes that?

Update: All else fails, I think it's about time to redesign the old blog again, anyway. May even (gasp!) actually change hosting and stuff this time. And move it to (gasp!) Wordpress. But -- next week. After moving. Definitely.

Updates

2005-07-11T00:53:00.000-05:00

I know that last weekend I promised an update on Arwyn-life such as it is, and that I'd be back to blogging soon, and...

...heh. Right. Didn't happen. Basically, here's why:

0700. Drag myself out of bed.
0745. Hop in the car.
0830. Arrive at work.
1130. Lunch.
1200. Work more.
1730. Drag myself away from work and down to the gym/hunting for apartments/waiting to do this, that, or the other.
1930. Finally head home.
2015. Arrive home.
0030. Fall asleep after spending four hours of quality time with family/friends/good books/baseball games on TV.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Weekends, of course, provide a break from the pattern -- there's generally more cleaning/vacuuming/washing dishes involved, for example -- but the exhaustion factor by 4:00pm is still in effect.

In happy news, however, I've found an apartment. I'll be moving into a condo about 10 minutes from the office (if that), which I'll share with a nursing student at the UW. The master bedroom is mine -- and bright yellow -- and the place is nice, well-kept, with a small kitchen, cable TV, and my own bathroom. And the rent's low for the area. And...and...and...

Basically, the high point is the shorter commute. That's a whole hour and a half of my day that I get back. And the fact that I'll have my own room (and my sister will have her room back). And my own schedule. Basically, you know, my own life. I love and adore my family, but I'm not cut out for living at home. Visiting often, yes. Living? No.

So, happily, I move out on Friday and expect to be back to fuller-strength online activity then. With more frequent updates. And less exhaustion. I hope.

Eep!

2005-07-01T01:23:00.000-05:00

Two whole weeks, and not a word! What do you all think of me?

Life's been very, very busy. There's work, and coming home to crash, and a bit of this and a bit of that and hanging out with people and some travelling and...

...overall, it's been a very busy two weeks. Work usually keeps me busy from 8:30 to 6 or so, and then it's sitting in traffic 'til 7ish. I'm looking hard for an apartment much closer to the office -- anything less than 25 minutes as a commute would be awful nice -- but no luck so far. I've looked at a few places, toured a few, picked up some applications...but nothing has felt entirely right, and since home's a very wonderful place to be (and with my own car, the commute is on my own terms at least, so it's not too bad), I'm not rushing.

I am, however, looking forward to the long weekend. Because then I can catch up on email, blogs, and -- well, everything I've been neglecting as I presently subsist. It's nice to catch up, once in a while...

After all, it makes getting behind again much less depressing.

Anyway. Blog post this weekend to catch you up on exciting events and thoughts.

Stamping out liberalism

2005-06-16T15:51:00.000-05:00

I occasionally read columns over at Townhall.com -- some of you who have been reading this blog for a long time will remember that in Russia, I read them religiously, every day, and often blogged about them. Now, my reading habits tend more toward the random, and I only hit up TH when I see a link with commentary that makes it sound interesting.

All that's really unimportant, though, because half of the fun of reading TH columns is looking at the ads on the sidebars. Today, there was a fun add with a cute girl who looked like she could come straight from Tuscaloosa County High wearing a t-shirt outlining an US Armed Forces World Tour t-shirt. Hah. Cute. France 2003, SOLD OUT. Funny.

The link connected to a Conservative T-Shirts site where you can buy any number of "Communists Aren't Cool" and "Viva La Reagan Revolucion" shirts. Cute. They remind me of the one I bought at the 2004 CPAC -- "Member: Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy" it says.

I don't wear it much, these days. But I won't deny owning it. For now.

Overall, I don't have a problem with these shirts. People will wear what they want to wear, and I find them a bit more amusing than a lot of the more liberal shirts out there -- or the more profane.

But there's one that bothers me.

This one.

For those who don't want to bother with the link, the t-shirt has a picture of a strong elephant wearing a GOP shirt, smoking a cigar, and holding an American flag stepping on a donkey wearing a "No Blood For Oil" shirt.

The caption?

Stamp Out Liberalism

And why does it bother me?

'Cause I'm not sure that's really a valid objective for the American right, in either of the possible meanings.

On the one hand, it could mean -- and this is what I assume they intend to mean -- that we should destroy the Democratic party and the liberal movement in American politics. That doesn't sit well with me, because ours is basically a two-party system, and if one party has all the power we lose balance. The Founders were as concerned about the tyranny of a majority as that of a minority -- indeed, about tyranny in general -- and I'd be more worried about the future of a country in which the political right held all the power than one in which the right and left were vying for it.

On the other hand, it could mean -- and this is the scary part -- that we should destroy liberalism as a political idea within American politics. That is, liberalism in the "social contract for the preservation of certain natural rights" sense. Because if we stamp that out, we might as well throw the Constitution out the window -- it's steeped in liberal theory.

Now, I know it's a t-shirt. And t-shirts aren't supposed to be completely rational. I'm also aware of the fact that they're probably not advocating the destruction of the foundation of American political thought, either. Still.

Stamp out liberalism

It makes my spine tingle.

Maya

2005-06-13T19:28:00.000-05:00

I got the job.

"They" called a week ago and made me an offer. I accepted. Got my letter on Thursday. It's not a bad offer at all, and from reading through the description of what I'll be doing -- you know, I actually am looking forward to starting.

And I start on Monday, the 20th.

Whee!

I'm still looking for an apartment in the area, and realize that I'll probably be staying at home for a few more weeks until I start actually earning money from the job that I've been offered.

So, in the meantime, I bought a car.

Meet Maya:

She's a 2005 Honda Civic Hybrid, a pretty color blue, with a pretty grey interior. Apparently she's supposed to get good gas mileage; I've already got 200 miles on her, and am not even half way through my first tank of gas. That's not bad, but I think she can get better, and I'm trying to figure out how.

She's also got a manual transmission, which is something that I'm still kind of shakey with, but I imagine more practice is really what I need. I've found I enjoy having that extra control over the car a lot, so I probably won't go back to automatic any time soon -- but I do need to get the hang of this one.

The one thing that disappoints me (so far) is the acceleration. She simply does not accelerate quickly at all. I also tend to drive the speed limit (or slightly under) a lot more in her than I do in my parents' cars, which makes the long freeway commute between home and civilization all that much longer. But it does save on gas, I suppose -- a little.

That aside, she's a zippy little car in town, and good for the environment, and I really like that color blue.

I want...

2005-06-13T13:17:00.000-05:00

...this.

So cool!

(except I think the wooden pants might be a little uncomfy)

Heifer International

2005-06-06T15:30:00.000-05:00

I ran across this charity via a link on UoM -- a comment, I think, by Mike. With a little time, I could probably find it, but time is short.

And I think it's probably one of the coolest charities I've heard of.

Allow me to introduce Heifer International, where you can give someone in a third world country a piece of livestock to help improve their standard of living.

Or, to eat.

I really like the idea of giving someone a cow, or a sheep, or a bunch of little chicks, or even guinea pigs. After all, "2 guinea pigs can help Peruvian families add protein to their diets and earn income."

You can also give a share of an animal -- $10 toward a sheep, say -- which is cool. "I gave someone $10 worth of a sheep!" Yes. Sounds neat, doesn't it?

I can't claim real righteousness and say I've actually made a donation. I'm rather waiting on employment at the moment, and saving what I've got for an apartment. But still -- it's a neat prospect.

State of the Arwyn

2005-05-30T22:50:00.000-05:00

After being MIA for the past month or more -- except for a few random posts here and there when I felt I had a free moment -- it rather feels like I owe the lot of you an update. Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?

I graduated from Bowdoin College on Saturday.

I put on the black robe, the black hat, the black tassel; I marched through the gates by Hawthorne-Longfellow, past lines of professors in their peacockish robes, through straw-hatted alumni come to cheer us on, around the quad, and into my seat; I sweated under the warm May sun -- the first sunny day in weeks, it seemed, and a veritable miracle after so much rain -- and listened to the invocation, the speakers, and President Mills with a feeling more detached than I've known in a long time: I tried to hard to be present in every moment that they slipped past me unawares.

I marched up the art museum steps when they called my name (and pronounced it right!) and accepted my diploma. I shook the President's hand, and beamed as he told me I'd done well, and he was proud of me.

I almost forgot to turn my tassel.

I almost tripped down the stairs as I realized I'd forgotten to turn my tassel and reached up quick to turn it.

I almost dropped my diploma as I tried to keep my balance and turn my tassel at the same time.

Somehow, I didn't fall; I didn't drop anything; and I grinned goofily as the cameras flashed and my brother, my friend, and my roommate's father all snapped photos of me, hoping no one had noticed, and glad that I'd survived.

I marched back down the quad with the rest of my classmates, my fellow alumni, my professors, and I wandered around until I found my family.

I got sunburned on one side of my face; it still hurts.

I spent many precious hours with family who came out to see it -- with Mom and Step-Dad and Big and Little Brothers; with Dad and Step-Mom; with Grandma and Grandad; and with all of them at once on more than one occasion -- occasions that I hadn't imagined would happen, and

And now I'm in Seattle. I have a job interview in the morning. I'm a little nervous -- not too much, since I'm confident in my ability, confident that they want me, and even if they don't, I darn well feel that they should.

If it comes through, I'll start apartment shopping next week. I'm not sure where I want to live, yet -- I haven't even started looking. I want to have a job offer first. I want to know I can pay the rent.

So I'm at home, for now, sleeping in my sister's room, playing Dance Dance Revolution with my little brother, hanging out with my siblings, my cats, and my step-father's fish. Missing my roommates and friends who are all still on the other coast (except the one from California, but she's in San Diego, and that might as well be Boston). Knowing that one stage of my life is over now, and it's time to start another, looking with fondness on the wonderful three years that have just passed and with a little trepidation toward the future.

Knowing where I am now, and where I want to be next month, but having no idea where I'll be in a year, two years, five years, ten years...and wondering.

The Big Apple

2005-05-22T22:06:00.000-05:00

I remember being told, as a young girl, that on New Years Eve the place to be is New York City. Somehow my young imagination fastened onto the idea that a giant apple (The Big Apple, it was called) fell down from the sky every New Years and that people flocked to the city to experience this phenomenon.

I, of course, know better now.

But looking out my hotel window to see Times Square all bright with lights, I'm not so sure -- who's to say it couldn't happen? Maybe that's not beyond the scope of possibilities in this place...

Hmm. Am tired. Must ponder this more. But this is my first time in New York (despite my Yankees fandom from an early age, I'd never actually been), and I haven't had a chance to do much more than check into the hotel yet, and I'm looking forward to some exploring tomorrow. We'll see what comes of it.

And tomorrow evening? Phantom of the Opera. So excited!

Will, of course, share more later. For now...must go do New Yorkish things (or maybe sleep -- sleep sounds good).

Finis!

2005-05-20T22:57:00.000-05:00

I'm done. Turned in the last final yesterday. Defended Eddie on the 12th, turned in Peter on the 13th, turned in my history of warfare paper on the 19th.

I have never worked so hard, I think, than I have these past six weeks. And the last two were nothing short of hellish -- my defense, those two papers, and a horrible cold/flu on top of it. I've been sucking cough drops for two weeks now.

But!

It's also been wonderful.

My defense went incredibly well. Incredibly. I was scared -- no, I was terrified. My hands shook as I opened the door to the third-floor room where I was to defend. I nervously pushed in all the chairs, waiting for my three committee members to arrive -- and made doubly-nervous small-talk with the first one to come, the one I know least well. I shuffled my papers a few times. I moved my backpack. I set my water bottle just so and lined up five cough drops -- five, lasting 20 minutes each, should've helped me survive the hour.

No, I am not obsessive compulsive.

Not much, at least.

Not too much.

I gave a short presentation on my topic: on why I chose Edmund Burke, and why I decided to delve into his French Revolution writings, and why I think it's important to the post-Cold War era of democratization that we distill the liberal elements from his critique of the French Revolution.

It should've been a five minute presentation.

I gave it in, I think, 90 seconds.

And then the inquisition began.

Except...it didn't. Prof Y asked a question that I'd been prepared for; and I answered it, and sparked a discussion. Prof Y asked another that I was less prepared for, but I bounced it around and played with it a bit, and then Prof M jumped in and Prof F and before I knew it, the whole thing was less like an interrogation and more like a classroom discussion.

And the coolest thing was that these professors -- three profs that I respect perhaps more than any others -- were debating the topic of my thesis and...and I could jump right in and hold my own. I knew my stuff. I didn't know all my stuff -- but I did know what I didn't know (if that makes sense?) and admitted it, and then they'd start debating among themselves and ask me what I thought, and I'd throw in a few ideas I'd had, and we'd discuss it some more, and it seemed important and they treated it like it was important, and...

...and it felt real good.

And when it was over, I went home and worked on my Peter paper more. And on Saturday, feeling much better than I had been the rest of the week, I took a trip down to Boston and had a wonderful time and probably over-exerted because by Sunday I relapsed and I spent a very miserable Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday writing that last paper, which may well be one of the worst papers I've ever written, but you know what? It's done.

I'm done.

Now to enjoy a weekend trip down to New York (I have a date to see Phantom of the Opera with my absolutely amazing mother) and a wonderful and rather damp (curse you, rain!) Senior Week and finally a hectic and family-filled graduation and then?

Back to Seattle.

Hollywood FAQ

2005-05-07T14:49:00.000-05:00

After watching Lagaan last night, I went surfing for notes/lyrics/stuff on it, and came up with the fun site BollyWHAT, which outlines general Bollywood stuff. You know, FAQ and lists and lyrics and stuff.

And this.

I love it. So many of the things that bother me about Hollywood, all in one FAQ. It all makes sense now!

Eddie has landed!

2005-05-07T13:21:00.000-05:00

Friday, May 06, 2005

0030 -- Went to bed. Too tired to finish writing conclusion to Eddie that needed to be written. Left it at a rough outline for the morning.

0815 -- Woke up. Felt determined: must finish Eddie today!

0845 -- Showered, breakfasted, and all ready to work. Sat down at computer: began writing conclusion.

1030 -- Finished writing rough conclusion. Three and a half pages. Go me! Took a break: rode to the bookstore to buy folders to put Eddie in for turning in to the committee.

1034 -- Was told folders weren't in yet. Come back later.

1040 -- Returned home. Needed a break from conclusion. Ran over footnotes to make sure citations were correct. Proceeded to compile bibliography. Lots of sources. Go me!

1130 -- Darnit. Still need to finish that conclusion. Time to work hard. Worked hard.

1245 -- Done! Time for printing! Prepared to ride to bookstore to buy folders. Called ahead this time. They were in. Yay! Stopped for lunch on the way out. Turkey wrap. Yummy.

1300 -- Arrived at bookstore. Purchased folders for me and two friends who wouldn't have time to buy them -- needed to finish writing conclusions, etc.

1310 -- Computer lab. Began printing. Held up someone else's printing job while printing 330 pages of Eddie. Oops!

1330 -- Climbed stairs to Gov department office. Lugged three folders and 330 pages into office. Begged use of hole punch.

1331 -- Was given electric hole punch. Yay!

1333 -- Was told I could just have printed the darned thing on holed paper. Now they tell me!

1355 -- Done punching holes and binding Eddie. Dropped three copies -- complete with svelte title page and table of contents -- into committees' boxes. Take that, Edmund Burke!

1356 -- Strode confidently out of Gov department office. Weight lifted from shoulders (could just have been 330 pages no longer in backpack). Beautiful day!

1400 -- Arrived at work. Crashed.

1430 -- Turned on Empire Strikes Back. Everyone deserves a break!

1600 -- Field trip to C-Store for peanut butter M&Ms and Sea Dog root beer. Delicious root beer. Tempted friends with delicious root beer. Made them jealous that they did not possess delicious root beer. Would have shared, but they were on IM. More for me!

1700 -- Closed up shop at work. Rode home. Dinner. Mmmm.

1745 -- Began reading His Excellency, the new biography of George Washington that just came out. Have been wanting to read this for weeks. Learned that George's teeth were not wooden. Learned that he had troubled youth -- witnessed multiple massacres as a young militia officer. Poor George!

1845 -- Fell asleep reading His Excellency. Entirely not His Excellency's fault.

1930 -- Awoken by banging on my door. "Arwyn, time to go!" Headed over to the dance show in the Union. Watched my roommate A steal the show -- as always. Composed poetry to the stunning vision that is A on the dance floor. No one dances so well!

2130 -- After two hours of standing, raced back to the dorm with fellow honors student who also felt very, very happy to have turned in the paper.

2140 -- Unlocked Teancum*, rode into town -- beautiful night! -- to rent a movie.

2150 -- Made fool of self at movie place. Rather acted like a freshman. Boy behind counter obviously thought I was a freshman. No worries, though -- boy was not cute.

2200 -- Returned. Announced beginning of movie. Found delicious root beer (Cap'n Eli's this time -- better than Sea Dog, but only by a very little; better than everything else by lots) and settled onto couch.

2210 -- Began movie. Lagaan. Bollywood film. Excellent flick! About colonial India and cute-and-courageous Indian boy who takes on challenge from cute-but-snotty British Captain to cricket match to decide whether Indian village has to pay triple taxes during drought year or whether Captain decrees "no taxes!" for three years. Lots of music. Lots of dancing. Lots of pretty costumes. Film in Hindi -- appreciated subtitles.

Saturday, May 07, 2005

0145 -- Movie ends. Long movie! Last hour and a half -- cricket match. Developed new appreciation for intricacies of cricket. Determined that despite appreciation for intricacies, any game that takes three whole days to play is too long. And people say baseball is boring!

0150 -- Logged online to complain to Aussie friends (who are awake at such an hour) about how boring cricket is, despite appreciable intricacies. Was vilified -- as usual -- for my dismissal of their favorite sport. Silly Aussies.

0230 -- Slept. Nice, warm bed. No Eddie to work on in the morning! Dreamed about psychologist-dentists. Disturbing dream.

0730 -- Alarm. Cursed alarm! Want more sleep! Dragged self out of bed. Dressed, breakfasted, and adorned self with friend's XL blue rain gear.

0800 -- Met at fieldhouse for IronBear Triathlon. Did not swim/bike/run. Am not crazy. Received bright orange Volunteer shirt. Stood around waiting to be told what to do.

0840 -- Was driven out to bend in road by ocean. Very pretty! Very raining. Very wet. Waited.

0925 -- First biker rode past. Cheered!

1020 -- Began to feel like drowned rat. Continued cheering for poor wet/cold bikers.

1115 -- Last bikers approached, followed by big white van to rescue us poor drowned volunteers.

1130 -- Home at last! Showered. Warm.

1200 -- Brunch. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Present -- Goofing off. Doing laundry. Listening to Lagaan soundtrack. Preparing for nap.

Future -- Spring Gala tonight. Have cute dress. Have date -- roommate M. Agreed to attend with her because we are both boyless. Would say "Woe is us!" except not really too woe. Have had no time for boys because of Eddie. Curse you, Eddie!

Ahem. Now? Nap.

---

* Teancum: Book of Mormon general who did lots of cool stuff; also, my bike.

Exploding Frogs!

2005-05-04T11:29:00.000-05:00

This shouldn't be half as cool as it is. But, really. Thousands of frogs, exploding?

Scientists are puzzled about why these toads are exploding (and yes, they're toads, not frogs -- but "Exploding Frogs!" just sounds cool), but some have come up with an explanation: crows pecking out the toads' livers. I guess they eat them while the toads are still alive. And then the toads puff, and...

...boom!

If I were a toad, there's no way I would stand for that.

Writings of Strong Determination

2005-04-29T23:12:00.000-05:00

30 pages down. 100* to go.

I've edited 30 pages of chapter one so far -- and by edited, I mean "just need to run over them to make sure that all sentences have punctuation and all my citations are in the right place before I turn it in." Chapter one is forty pages long. I'm almost done with that, but I'm dreading the next ten pages. They're very rough at the moment, and will take a lot of ironing.

That's the plan for tomorrow.

Sunday, between rehearsal and the Israel in Egypt concert, I hope to get a good 20 pages of chapter two edited. It's also slightly rough but, I think, slightly less rough.

Monday, I want to finish up chapter two and get as much of chapter three done as I can -- making sure that the argument follows and all that.

Tuesday, finish chapter three, write the introduction.

Wednesday, finish the introduction, write the conclusion.

Thursday, finish the conclusion. Rewrite the introduction to fit the conclusion. Read the entire paper over to make sure all sentences have punctuation and all citations are in the right place.

Friday, write bibliography. Turn in by 5:00. Friday night: party.

And then on Saturday it'll be time to hit the books again. Whee!

But I think I'm in a good place, as long as I keep plugging away.

And I will. Diligently. Ardently. Patiently, but persistently. I'm bound to be successful -- bound to be successful.

No, really.

During meditation courses, after the fourth day, the students are asked to sit for three hours a day without moving -- that is, three times a day, they are asked to sit without opening eyes, hands, or feet, and remaining perfectly still. These are called "sittings of strong determination," and are instituted to teach focus and concentration.

Focus and concentration are two things I often lack, as you can probably tell from the rambling nature of my posts. I wonder if I don't have a minor case of ADD: when I was young, I could sit still doing the same thing for hours on end. Now, I don't last fifteen minutes before my mind begins to wander.

And that makes writing/editing 130 pages in a week somewhat difficult, let me tell you.

But I've determined that the next seven days are going to be days of strong determination. Even if I don't feel like working -- even if I'm exhausted -- I'm going to work hard during the days, rest well (a full 6-8 hours of sleep is necessary) at night, and get this thing done. And get it done well.

Because today I really saw it beginning to come together, and I think I have something really cool here -- a whole school year's work, an abstract concept of "the honors project" that is finally coming together.

And it's really cool.

---

* The figure 130 includes 100 pages of actual paper, 5 pages of introduction, 5 pages of conclusion, a 5 page outline due on the 9th, and a 15 page paper due on the 10th.

In peace may he rest.

2005-04-26T15:47:00.000-05:00

My wardrobe isn't what you'd call a rainbow, nor do I wear a grand assortment of colors: blues, greens, reds, greys, khakis, and...and that's mostly it. I have a few shirts of other colors (but they don't get out much), and some nicer clothes in varying shades of -- well, of black.

And I get to wear the latter more times this week than usual.

There's the belly dancing performance on Saturday -- black pants for that, and probably a black shirt, with a dash of color in my maroon-and-gold hip scarf.

There's the production of Israel in Egypt on Sunday -- black pants and long-sleeved black blouse for that one, too, and thanking my lucky stars that I'm not male and don't have to wear a suit or tux with jacket on the sweltering stage. Long sleeves is bad enough.

And then there's today, far more important than either of those two ephemeral, one-show performances.

I've been very fortunate, very blessed in my life. I'm almost twenty-two years old and I have, so far, attended two funerals.

Two.

If I hadn't been in Russia when my great-grandmother died, it would be three.

The first? As a freshman in high school, I attended the funeral of a friend who committed suicide right before finals. A small high school -- 200 students -- and he was a fellow "dormie," a residential student. Joe. I don't remember his last name.

And today, I crossed the quad to First Parish Church to attend the funeral of Clark Truesdell. A fellow Bowdoin student. Class of '65.

He and his wife audited my first-year Russian class -- Russian 101. We all had Russian names, then, and they were Boris and Tanya, studying hard to learn the language before taking off on a chorus trip across Siberia. I've seen them occasionally since the class -- but only once or twice, at chorus performances -- and have always made a point of smiling and saying hello. They made the class that much more fun, and I'll never hear the name "Boris" without thinking of a tall Bowdoin grad with an ever-present sideways smile.

I was touched by the kind words shared by the members of his family, and by the music chosen for the program -- "For the Beauty of the Earth," "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee," and a hymn with which I'm not familiar, "For All the Saints."

Moreover, though, I was touched by the uplifting spirit of it. Held in a Congregational church (a beautiful one, at that -- First Parish, across the street from Memorial Hall), the service was about hope and about life and about joy. It was about resurrection and rebirth.

When I think of death, my first reaction is to be grateful to believe that I will be reunited with my family someday after this life; and what I heard today was gratefulness that we can all be reunited with Christ.

Which is, indeed, something to be grateful for.

My MRS degree

2005-04-25T08:30:00.000-05:00

I'm confused.

Followed this link from the T&S sidebar because I was curious what was meant by "Women students should be content to get their 'MRS degree' rather than trying to compete with men."

But the editorial? It confused me.

Because what I think the author (the editorialist's mother) is trying to say is that women should be content if they drop out of BYU to raise a family -- and, in fact, that this should be their priority.

The editorial does not state this specifically. It briefly mentions that it should be okay to attend BYU in pursuit of a marriage:

"Unfortunately," she says, "marriage and family started taking a back seat" when "young ladies decided that they were somehow in competition with the guys" and "started equating education with power and success."

She then proceeds to say that a woman is more powerful who has created a righteous, gospel-centered home in which they "raise decent, loving children who make it through their teens without tattoos; body piercing and who have a loving relationship with their parents."

Futhermore, she reminds us that we are "some of the most beautiful, intelligent and gifted of Heavenly Fathers daughters here on this earth at this time" and wants us to let our educations continue through our lifetimes instead of putting off having children until we've completed them. She doesn't say the last specifically -- she says we shouldn't put off having kids -- but that's the gist of it.

There's a lot in here that I agree with. And there's a lot that makes my skin crawl. That makes me feel like I'm fighting a war that should have been won twenty years ago.

For example, it is a powerful thing to have a righteous home, and to raise good, righteous children. I have nothing against marriage -- I look forward to someday having a family of my own.

But.

And that's the big word, isn't it?

But, I don't see pursuing an education as merely competing with the boys for money and power. A college education is the beginning of a lifelong education. If you have the opportunity to pursue it -- if you're already in college -- then take advantage of it. More learning is good for you and, I dare say, good for your children. I can't count the ways I've benefited from my mother's college degree -- and she got hers while married and having children.

Furthermore, now that chasing toddlers and potty training take back seat to being CEO of a major corporation because we women who want to pursue education before having a family are money-grubbing, power-hungry, prestige-demanding, we don't really understand what success is.

I understand where she's coming from, here. "No success can compensate for failure in the home," the prophet said -- David O. McKay, 1954.

But a lot of women don't pursue education because they want money. Or power. Or prestige. Many of us believe that a higher education will be beneficial to ourselves, in our personal development, and to our children, as we help to raise and educate them.

My point? Education for women is good. Get married if you want -- but if you have the chance for a degree, take advantage of it. And if you have the chance to be CEO of a major corporation -- if that's what you want to do -- do that too! Just don't forget your family, if you have one. Don't forget your priorities. Don't forget that eternity is longer than this life. Keep things in perspective, and be the best you can be.

It's not competing with the men. It's becoming ourselves.

I got the power!

2005-04-23T18:42:00.000-05:00

I sat down at 12:30 this afternoon, determined to write a full seven pages of Eddie. I was going to finish chapter two. I was going to get that done, and tomorrow get a jump on three, and be finished with the main edit by Wednesday so I could go over the whole thing with a fine-toothed comb over the next week.

I really was!

And I'd written a whole four sentences when the lights flickered, my computer shut down, and the power went out entirely. 12:30. Beginning of prime-homework-doing-time on a rainy Saturday afternoon. I was awake, I was at my most prepared, I was ready. And the power committed suicide.

So I spent all afternoon reading about the Mongols and brushing up on my research for the edit. The latter was a little helpful; the former was a little tedious, and took a lot longer than I'd hoped.

The point, though, is that I worked straight from 12:30 until 5:00, when the power came back in just in time for dinner. And after dinner? A short nap, because my head was fuzzy. And now I've been up for 45 minutes, and haven't written a page.

And it's Saturday night.

Can you tell I have senioritis yet?

Happy Earth Day!

2005-04-22T17:14:00.000-05:00

Tuesday was Free Cone Day. Today is Earth Day. Is it sad that the former is more prominently marked on my calendar than the latter?

I spent most of my earth day appreciating the view in my office at work -- that is, in the basement, having little to nothing to do with the earth. I don't usually work 8 hour shifts (it's a part time college job, after all), but every now and again the hours will open up, and I'll take advantage of them.

Today was just such a day.

I did, however, take my lunch break to venture toward the Earth Day celebrations that were being had near the Union. I saw a hybrid car -- looked cool! I also got my bike fixed -- they had a free bike tune-up to promote non-car alternative forms of transportation. I don't even own a car, but it was nice to get my brakes fixed -- or, rather, I should say, get brakes. They've been out for three or four months, and let me tell you, riding on the ice with no breaks was an adventure.

But! There's no more ice! There are, instead, a row of daffodils (daffy-down-dillies, as they're called in The Secret Garden by the Campus Security building, which I appreciated as I dropped there on my way to dinner; there are buds on the trees; there are birds in the air; there is, in a word, spring.

Blessed spring!

And in honor of Earth day, I listened to my roommate tell me about how silly environmentalists are who care about fuzzy animals and don't pay attention to how we can conserve energy (she holds that if we'd pay attention to conserving energy, the fuzzy animals wouldn't be in danger, and that makes sense to me), signed a petition to ask Ford to make more fuel-efficient cars, signed a petition to save the redwoods (because I like redwoods), and wore a green ribbon to support saving the caribou and other fuzzy animals that live in the Arctic National Wildlife Preserve.

I am not, in general, a signer of petitions. I am not, in general, a wearer of ribbons. I prefer action to signatures, action to ribbon-wearing -- in short, action over outward signs of support.

But today was Earth Day. And they fixed my bike for free. So I'll wear a green ribbon and say huzzah for the fuzzy animals and turn off the lights when I leave my room.

Free Cone Day!

2005-04-19T21:00:00.000-05:00

Although this is a little late for general information, I'll share anyway: today was free cone day at Ben & Jerry's. We, conveniently, have a B&J's located a short 10 mile drive away, in Freeport.

Mmm. Free New York Super-Fudge Chunk. Mmm.

And a trip to the Gap. I only took $10 with me -- the cone was free, right? -- and found a cute shirt. For $9.54. Hey, that's got to be karma, or something.

In other news, got some work on Eddie done today; read some about the Mongols; met with a prof about a paper -- and realized I wasn't quite prepared enough to meet with him when he kept telling me I needed to narrow my topic down and develop a thesis. I know I need to narrow and develop a thesis. But I didn't want to do that until I'd run the topics by him to see what he thought was feasable, since history research really isn't my strong suite. Oh well. Pretty day, we met outside, got some good feedback, and he mentioned that he'd enjoyed having me in the class. Which is good. Always positive. I only hope I can give that paper the effort it deserves.

And with that -- back to Mongols.

Life's not fair

2005-04-19T07:08:00.000-05:00

"Life's not fair, is it? You see I--well, I shall never be king. And you will never see the light of another day...and you..."

Really puts things in perspective, doesn't it?

It's the first line of the Lion King. Scar is telling a poor little mouse about the unfair fate that life has bestowed on him when he's interrupted by Zazu, telling him not to play with his food.

And me?

Well, I may never be king. But I'm living to see the light of another day. When I'd rather be seeing the darkness behind my eyelids.

Woke up this morning in time to get ready for class...and decided that, after staying up late working on Peter, it'd be better to sleep through it and be more alive to work on Eddie this afternoon.*

But no. I couldn't get back to sleep. No. I wouldn't get back to sleep. My cursed conscience kept interfering. "Skipping class is bad, it kept telling me. You should get up and go." And I grumbled and finally got up. And now I'm going to sleep through class. And through work. And through another class. And through a metting with my warfare prof about a paper topic for the final paper.

Why couldn't I be a normal college student? Curse my hyperactive conscience and over-developed sense of responsibility! Curse them, I say!!

---

*For those who haven't read the previous posts, 'Peter' is codename for my paper on Peter the Great; Eddie is my thesis on Edmund Burke. Not boys. Which is unfortunate. I could use a date about now.

Unofficial Manifesto

2005-04-18T12:43:00.000-05:00

Pris over at Three Hours has already mentioned it, but I owe it a plug as well. I've pretty much limited my religious musings here (though they pop up from time to time, when I have Thoughts), mainly because they don't seem to fit into the general Arwyn-esque theme of the blog. If that makes any sense? It does to me, but I'm working on four hours of sleep with a paper due in 30 minutes, so "sense" is a very elastic term.

Anyway.

Unofficial Manifesto is a cool new group blog addition to the Bloggernacle: we're young, we're single, and we provide -- I think -- a distinctive angle on Mormonism in the Bloggernacle. And what exactly that distinctive angle is...well, we may be feeling our way around for a bit, but it should be an exciting process.

Promise.

And now I'm going to finish that paper.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood...

2005-04-18T12:16:00.000-05:00

And is just one of a string of very beautiful days. It was up in the 60s yesterday, you know. Which made it far too easy to procrastinate by playing a game of dodgeball, going out for ice cream, lying on the quad in the sunlight, and otherwise enjoying a beautiful afternoon with friends.

And now? I've got a paper due in an hour and I need to write a conclusion. I've got Peter mostly outlined, and Eddie...

...let's not even talk about Eddie. I went into a meeting with my committee on Friday, and came out with a good idea of what I need to do to fix it up. That means three weeks (well, two and a half now) of intense editing, which I need to focus on and get done, but which I keep putting off to get less important things (Peter, my reading on the Mongols, writing emails) finished. Tonight, though? After belly dancing class, I settle down, I focus, and I work out the section on Eddie and the American Revolution.

Right.

Speaking of belly dancing, we have a performance coming up in a few weeks that I need to practice for.

And performances? We're singing Israel in Egypt on May 1st -- if any of you New England types are interested in a Sunday afternoon trip to Maine, the performance is in Memorial Hall on the Bowdoin Campus at 3:00, free to the public, but you might want to come a little early to get a seat. We've got a 120-person choir (made up of our Bowdoin Chorus and the Downeast Singers) and a 40-person orchestra and we've been rehearsing like crazy and it should be pretty good. Fun, at least.

As you may have noticed, school seems to be piling up on me. My blogging life may be slow and quiet until after May 12th (when I defend my thesis) due to that. I'll try to keep up on things (one always needs more means of procrastination, right?), but -- consider yourselves warned.

24 days

2005-04-12T22:46:00.000-05:00

Twenty-four days until Eddie is due. That is incredibly intimidating. I have a meeting with my committee on Friday. I wish I'd been able to give them the rewritten first chapter -- it's miles better than the original, which I know they're going to tear to shreds. I'll just have to be ready to tell them what I've fixed, changed, and updated.

I still need to finish that, but I think I'm going to hold off until after Friday so I can have their input and not iron everything out completely without it.

In happy news, the Leadership paper (codename Peter) has been extended until the Tuesday after Eddie is due. So I'll turn that in the the day after a big presentation in warfare class, and two days before my defense. Somehow, that seems to make things a lot more manageable.

Speaking of leadership, Barbara Kellerman, author of Bad Leadership is coming to speak tomorrow night. I just finished her book tonight, and while I think it raises some very important points, I wasn't impressed with her analysis overall.

Basically, she argues that the study of bad leadership is as important as the study of good leadership because we learn more from our mistakes than our successes. She divides "bad" leaders into two categories -- incompetent and unethical -- and derives from those seven particular types from those two categories:

Incompetent
Rigid
Intemperate
Callous
Corrupt
Insular
Evil

For each of these types, she poses examples of leaders who exemplified them. While I think the types make sense -- they run the gamut from simply stupid to downright nasty -- the examples that she gives for each one never seem to account for all the circumstances that the leader faced. For example, she cites Bill Clinton as an example of an insular leader who only cares about the people he leads and not everyone else because he ignored the atrocities in Rwanda. Okay. Yes, he ignored a very bad thing happening in another part of the world. But a lot of American presidents have done that from policy based on the fact that the president's first responsibility is to the people of America. And she doesn't seem to consider that a mitigating circumstance.

An important element that she does bring out, and one that I think is entirely valid, is that bad leaders must be connected with bad followers in order to maintain power for any length of time. That is, if followers aren't able to recognize the poor quality of the leader and proceed to legitimize the leader's actions and decisions with their consent, then the fault for failure of the corporation or the genocide or whatever might be the result is not solely on the shoulders of the leaders.

I have a few questions ready to ask her at the lecture tomorrow night, and will report if anything particularly new or interesting is brought up.

Intelligent -- by female standards?

2005-04-11T23:44:00.000-05:00

I was hanging out with some -- mostly male -- friends the other day, and one was telling another about a girl he'd met at a party the previous night.

"...yeah, she was kinda cute, and sounded intelligent -- by female standards -- and..."
"Hah! By female standards is right!"

Guy talk, right? Guys joking around, right? Don't mean any offense by it, right?

Right. I don't call them out on things like this often. I'm "one of the guys," you know? But as an intelligent woman -- and one who wants to be perceived as intelligent by any standard -- that hit really close to him.

So I said: "Woah, guys. By female standards? That's not funny."

Discussion ensues. The first guy never comments on my complete and utter lack of humor; the second says something along the lines of, "Well, I didn't really mean it that way..."

And a third pipes up to say: "Are you really offended, Arwyn, or do you just think you're offended?"

What the heck? Do I just think I'm offended? Yes, I told him, I'm really offended. That's not cool. That's really not cool.

A short discussion ensued, and the matter was dropped. The first guy never did say anything -- no apology, no comment, no nothing, just continuing with his side of the conversation.

The second guy called me to apologize the next day. "I didn't mean for it to be offensive. I know what you mean, and my friends and I joke around about stuff like that all the time, and I guess I shouldn't have said it, and I'm really sorry." And I believed him. A sincere apology. I wasn't really mad, anyway. Just disgusted that such a comment could escape any reasonable man's mouth -- and I've tried to consider these guys reasonable for a long time now.

Storm passes. Days pass.

Tonight, I come back from watching the Miss USA pageant. I've had a good time, hanging out with the girls. I'm feeling good about Miss North Carolina, who sounds like she has an ounce of brains, being picked as the new Miss USA. That's important! I don't care who wins, overall -- it's a beauty contest, really -- but I'm also genuinely happy to see someone with a bit of intelligence to match her pretty face.

So I get back to my room, flip open my computer, load up my various chat programs. New set of guys:

"What? I missed the Miss USA pageant?"
"There were hot chicks walking around in swimsuits on TV, and I missed it?"
"Shucks!"
"Darn!"

Guy talk. I laugh. "Yeah, guys. Sorry. Missed out on all the fun. You should've seen Miss North Carolina. Really pretty -- cute girl -- and sounded kinda smart, too. I was proud to see her win."

"North Carolina. Sounds hot."
"Oh, c'mon. No one cares about intelligence in those sorts of things."
"Yeah?" says I, "Well, I do."
"Was she blonde or brunette?"
"You're not the key demographic for shows like that."
"I don't care who the key demographic is--" I reply, and anyway, women are the target audience "--I think it's cool that a semi-intelligent girl won. And she was a brunette."
"Cool..."

And then talk moved on to what her talent must have been. From a male point of view. Suggestions included, among others, "that she was not blonde" and "sleeping with most of the judges."

I left.

I probably didn't handle it as well as I could have, and I certainly couldn't have handled it any better, angry as I was. One of the boys pointed out to me that -- after all, it was only a joke. I told him I didn't think it was funny. He told me I wasn't his target audience, anyway, so it was okay.

It wasn't okay. This is the reason I quit the College Republicans. Guys...that's fine. Talk like that amongst yourselves. Pretend women just exist to be the object of your low-brow humor. I hate that you do it, I hate what it says about you as a person if you do, I hate the blatant disrespect it shows. But if you want to do it in a room full of guys -- go ahead. Be that way.

But don't do it in mixed company. Better, don't do it at all. But don't do it where you're going to make a fool of yourself and show off how very well you know how to put women down.

It's not cool, alright? And it's not funny.

Whew.

Now, having allowed my temper to cool a little bit, here's the part where I acknowledge that not all guys are like this. I know a lot of very nice, very respectful, very respectable guys. I live with five of them. I'm friends with more than I can count. They spend most of their time playing video games, doing homework, going to class (or sleeping through it). And when they hang out with us, they don't make jokes about how stupid girls are -- they engage us in intelligent conversation.

Knowing the guys that I do, I'd often thought that the complaints of modern feminists were mostly unjustified. Our generation is changing that, I thought triumphantly! I've seen it in the classroom, I've seen it on the playing field, I've seen it in the dining hall! Men and women interacting together in a respectful manner wherein both respect the intellectual capacity of the others and work together to accomplish great and really cool things

I'd thought.

We can only do so much to prove that we're equal. It takes an attitude shift from the male side as well. I'd thought my generation was making progress on that front.

Please, tell me I'm not wrong?

The girliest thing I've done all year

2005-04-11T22:06:00.000-05:00

I don't do girly things all that often. Really. Make-up? For special occasions. Skirts? When I have to. Belly dancing? Okay, I do that every week, but I don't consider that girly so much as...as...exercise?

No, really. But belly dancing is more of a movement/rhythm/appreciation of what it is to be female sort of thing. Not exactly girly, per se.

So, tonight, I'm innocently outlining a paper comparing heroism in The Song of Roland to Yoshitsune when my roommate giggles into my room and says, looking slightly embarrassed:

"Arwyn! I'm...going to do something incredibly girly in about 30 minutes and turn on the Miss USA pageant. Want to join me?"

And I stared at her for a minute, burst out laughing, and said, "Yeah, sure, if I can bring Peter." Peter? That's my leadership paper. Peter I, and progress in a change-resistant society.

Thirty minutes later, 9:45, I found myself sitting in front of the TV in the common room watching the evening gown competition and giving my not-so-humble opinion of the gowns. There was one that looked like seaweed. And one that looked like a parrot. And more than one that looked like they'd need a lot more material in the upper regions before I'd even be close to comfortable wearing them. That narrowed fifteen contestants down to ten.

And then the swimsuits. Apparently the Miss USA pageant is trying to change its image by making the swimsuit competition more about athleticism and physical fitness than about girls wearing slinky tops and bottoms and strutting around on stage.

Yeah, right.

They were all wearing the same swimsuit, though, and I wondered: if someone who objected to wearing a bikini were to make it that far, would she be allowed to wear a one-piece? Would someone who preferred to wear a one-piece even make it that far? And would wearing a one-piece -- and therefore not showing off your abs -- be detrimental to the object of competing on the grounds of fitness? Hmm. Important questions, certainly.

Another five eliminated, and we were down to the last group. After the interviews, they'd name the winners, and we'd find out who was the new Miss USA.

Now, I don't really care. Honest. But as I watched it with four of my roommates, we started to talk -- to critique the gowns, to wonder at the swimsuits, to make fun of Donald Trump's hair -- and we noticed Miss California. A cute girl, really, but more than that: she looked human. She had human proportions. She had hips. It was neat! So we started to root for her.

And then they opened their mouths.

Miss Illinois and Miss Kentucky did not impress me at all. Vapid, I think, is the best word for them. Not really focused. Not passionate. Kinda of...vapid. Yes.

And then Miss Florida. She started a granite-importing business a year and a half ago. She works construction. She was articulate, well-spoken, pretty -- I liked her lots.

And who else? Ah, yes. Miss North Carolina. Brunette, fine eyes, a degree in fashion marketing. Represented the United States at a press conference with the President of Curacao. Sounded very intelligent, projected an image of a woman who knew where she was going and what she wanted to do...and very quickly became my favorite.

I don't think I've let out so girly a squeal as I did when she won (over Miss California!) since...well, for a pretty long time.

Like I said, I don't do girly things often. But I do things with my girls often. I live with 10 other girls (and five guys, but only one joined us, and he bailed 10 minutes in when the pizza was gone), and don't get to spend as much time with some of them as I do with others. Tonight?

I spent it with A, and we talked about middle school and high school in podunk towns (she's from Maine; I spent much time in Alabama), and how her entire town has come out in support of her father -- who has recently been very ill -- in the form of cards, visits to the hospital and home, auctions, and even a "Mr. ______ _____" day with proceeds to go to help with his treatments.

I spent it with H and with C and with M, and we talked about the gowns and swimsuits and girls on TV, and life, and when we're going shopping for dresses for the Spring Gala, and how we all loved Legally Blonde but hated Legally Blonde 2 (and for some reason, the fact that I liked the first one legitimizes everyone else's liking it -- hmmm) and all sorts of things, and just had a good, fun time.

And I did outline my paper, too -- progress, right? It was fun, it was uplifting, it was girly, sure, but sometimes you've got to do the girly things to be with the girls, right?

Right.

Digital Generation

2005-04-10T17:34:00.000-05:00

My generation has become very internet-savvy. This fact is brought to my attention every time someone older than me (professors, more specifically) ask about a certain bit of information or a source and I tell them I Google'd for it or read it on a blog and seeing their forehead furrow: "Google'd? What's a blog?"

The internet is a very handy tool. Very handy. I do research online. I figure if a business doesn't have a website, it must not exist. I read the news, catch ballgames, interact with my friends -- all online.

And I'm trying to decide if it's blasphemous to wish that I could pay my tithing via PayPal the way I pay my cell phone bill or for things I win on eBay.

It'd be awfully nice not to have to worry about filling out the boxes on the white slip legibly, or writing a cheque, especially since I've run out of cheques and forgot where I put my other books (they must be in one of the boxes under my bed, but that's a scary place).

But I'm not sure the Church is quite that advanced yet. Woe! Oh well. Maybe someday.

Aie!

2005-04-10T17:22:00.000-05:00

90 pages of editing (read: complete and utter rewriting) of Eddie.

5-10 pages of writing an intro to Eddie.

5-10 pages of writing a conclusion to Eddie.

5 page paper without the verb of being for history of warfare class.

2-3 page outline of paper for leadership class.

15 page paper for leadership class.

Presentation of paper topic/research for history of warfare class.

Defense of honors thesis.

(That's not including the 15 page paper without the verb of being for warfare class that's due on the 19th of May and which I'm not counting since I'll actually have time to write it sanely.)

And all this due within the next month. By May 12th. Aie!, indeed.

With that in mind...I probably won't be blogging as much as I'd like to be over the course of the next month. I've spent the last week working my behind off and already have 30 of those editing pages done, an outline for the 5 page paper, and a rough idea of what the leadership paper is on. Feels good to have that accomplished, at least.

As I've been editing chapter one of the thesis -- and when I say (read: rewriting), I mean it in a very literal fashion in that I'm entirely rewriting that chapter -- I've had a chance to review my work from November/December and come to the conclusion that it's really downright awful. And having the chance to rewrite it is wonderful -- I've learned so much about writing major papers within the last four months that I'm really excited about how this chapter is coming along. It makes me feel just that good, comparing the dryan of December's first draft with the logical line of argument in this one. Yay! Go me!

In other news, when I'm not spending every waking hour in front of the computer with stacks of books around me trying to make the honors project presentable, spring has come. It's outside. Very pretty! And warm. And with it has come baseball. Except I don't have time to watch it. :( Very sad!

But it'll happen. I'll work really hard, get all this work done, get it done well, graduate with honors, and move on to the real world for a little while. I've done some work on the job-searching front, and have come across something that might pan out -- keeping my fingers crossed, as I haven't heard back from them yet. Will say more when it's yea or nay, lest I jinx my luck.

But, yes. See the scatter-brained nature of this post? That's basically what my brain has become when I'm not staring intensely at the screen and trying to make Eddie make sense. Wish me luck, eh? And I'll post some. When I'm feeling alive. And have interesting thoughts. :)

Daylight Savings

2005-04-03T01:07:00.000-05:00

I hereby decree that Daylight Savings is only allowed to turn off. No more of this "losing an hour" stuff -- we shall hereby only gain hours. And then somehow, over the course of the year, the hour will slowly disappear in 2-minute increments so that I never have to look at a clock that says 1:07 and groan, thinking, "No, it's really like 2:07, and I still have to be up at 8:45 tomorrow."

No more!

Went out tonight with a friend to a fun seafood place in Portland tonight. Mmmm. Yummy shrimps. And they were very kind and sauteed them in butter instead of battering them up, so I could eat them. Yes. Yummy shrimps, and good company, and a boat-restaurant floating on the water in the middle of a spring rain shower late on a Saturday night. What more could I ask for?

Ah! Except the opera. We leave in the morning, and I get to drive a school van all the way to Boston -- and into Boston. I've never driven in Boston before. This could get interesting. And then we will see the opera (or do you listen to an opera? What's the right verb?) and drive back home. And then I will sleep more.

And on Monday...oy. I'll have a lot of work to do on Monday. But the shrimps were worth it, and the opera will be worth it.

April Fools!

2005-04-01T22:05:00.000-05:00

I don't want to let the day go past without having posted to commemorate it.

If I were feeling better -- that is, if my head weren't pounding like it's being hit by a nine-pound hammer, and if my nose weren't dripping like Niagra Falls, and if I had more energy than...okay, that's enough.

If I were feeling better, I'd have come up with a hoax or a funny joke post for you. But I'm not. So...sorry. Next year?

Bloggity Blogger blog blog!

2005-03-30T21:28:00.000-05:00

I find it really, really funny that Blogger's built-in spell checking tool doesn't recognize the word blog.

Go figure, eh?

Reciprocity

2005-03-30T21:26:00.000-05:00

There are some uber-cool people out there in the Blogosphere and Bloggernacle (which is a subset of the Blogosphere, consisting of us Bloggin' Mormons) who have deemed me worthy of a meager sidebar link. And because fair is fair (and flattery is flattery), I've reciprocated with the same.

Plus, they're cool blogs. And I enjoy reading them. And will be reading them on a more regular basis now, too!

The first is Three Hours, a nifty blog by Pris, who's got a nifty drink-smuggling spy on the sidebar and some Russian in a font that kills my eyes as I try to read it. And I can't read it. Because it's cut off. Pris, what does that say, anyway? Something about an evil enemy -- I can get enough for the last two words there, but the first I can't find.

A Day in An Often Overwhelming Life is written by Kelly, a law student in Boston. Which is something I aspire to be in the near future. And her exploits aren't exactly comforting, in that respect. But they are entertaining and a fun read. And deserve to be read!

Good news/bad news

2005-03-29T20:38:00.000-05:00

I've got a little bit of both for you tonight, and will share them in pairs -- you know, so you get the good and the bad at once, instead of having all the good and positive building up and making you happy just to be let down by the bad or, on the equation's other side, getting so depressed by the bad that you can't possibly appreciate the good for what it's worth.

That is, if anyone else looks at news that way.

Ahem.

Good news: Went in to talk to my advisor about chapter three today. He liked it, and we made it all the way through all 25 pages without him saying "No, Arwyn, I'm afraid you're wrong about this" even once. That's a triumph! He did say it lacked "intellectual pizzaz," but I could have told you that, and know exactly what I need to do to jazz it up a little bit.

Bad news: I got back to school only to learn that the father of one of my roommates is in the hospital, and is very, very sick. This doesn't feel like the proper place to share details, but I'd ask those of you who are of the praying persuasion to pray for him, and for my roommate and her family.

Good news: Everything is set for our Russian Club trip down to Boston to see Eugene Onegin this weekend. I've been planning this since September, and it's always fun to see things come through and be ready. Plus, a Bowdoin grad works with the Boston Lyric Opera and sent me a nice card saying she was happy we were coming down.

Bad news:I am sick. Sick as a dog sick. Coughing, nauseous, constant headache, sore throat sick.

Good news: The ice and snow are melting, and though campus is one big puddle, I can at least see the grass. I love it when the grass comes back after a long, white winter. I love the first hints of spring. I love it, even though it means another three or four weeks of wet and mud before the really pretty days set in.

Good news: I've got a really keen idea for a novel. It's percolating right now, and I don't really have specifics, and I can't touch it until I've finished my honors thesis (else I'll never finish my honors thesis), but I'm pumped and can't wait for summer so I can tackle it.

And since I'm out of bad news, I'll leave it with the good. I realize that these news bits aren't all equal -- but in thinking of the particularly bad, I always find it helpful and cheering to think of the minorly good: of things going well with my honors project, of the coming of spring, of the anticipation of a fun trip to a Tchaikovsky opera. And while I keep the bad in mind, my world remains balanced meanwhile.

Христос воскрес!

2005-03-27T20:19:00.000-05:00

In Russia, when holidays come around, the usual greetings -- "hello!" and "good evening!" and the like -- are suspended in favor of something more festive. Around the new year, everyone greets everyone else with a cheery "Happy New Year!" -- or, rather, the Russian "с новыь годом!"

And now that it's Easter, rather than merely wishing you a "happy Easter!" which dregs up thoughts of pastel eggs and happy pink bunnies in my mind, I'll greet you with the Russian and, in my opinion, far more appropriate Христос воскрес!

(That's pronounced "Khristos voskres!" for you non Cyrillic readers)

The appropriate response -- that is, your part now that I've greeted you -- is "во истину воскрес!" (Vo eestinoo voskres!).

And what does it mean?

"Christ is risen!" I'll have said cheerfully, joyfully. And you'll have replied, "In truth, he is risen!"

And I'll mean it. I'll mean it cheerfully and joyfully.

And a happy Easter to you, too.

To the frigid northlands

2005-03-26T15:10:00.000-05:00

I had a long, welcome-back-spring-even-though-we-have-two-feet-of-snow-on-the-ground post to share with you, almost done and mostly written, but as I've mentioned before, Blogger does not love me.

I lost it.

Woe!

But I'll share the basics: I'm back in Maine after a lovely time in Northern Virginia, and I'm ready for spring to be here. I may not be ready for post-graduation stuff (my plans are still nonexistent, at best), and I may not be ready for defending my thesis (aie!), but I'm definitely ready for it to be warmer than 40 degrees (we're hovering around 34 in Southern Maine at the moment) and for leaves to find their ways back to the trees and for real baseball to start again.

Because, you know, those are all the important things about spring.

Well. Mostly.

Let's not forget Easter, of course. And Mother's Day. And my birthday. And the new Star Wars movie coming out.

And graduation.

It all really comes back to that. I'm ready to graduate and leave my undergrad years behind and go forth and do stuff. At the same time, since I'm not sure at this point what exactly I will be doing, it's still a very scary prospect.

But I'm working on that. Really, I am.

Monticello

2005-03-24T22:29:00.000-05:00

Monticello was gorgeous.

Is gorgeous, I should say.

Pretty, pretty house with pretty, pretty grounds and a pretty, pretty view of the surrounding countryside. Just brilliant.

Rather, I dare say, like its creator.

We took a nice tour guided by a very nice southern gentleman in a group of tourists (forgive me while I shudder -- it is, I dare say, entirely involuntary) that included some incredibly cute kids and a couple of rather rude German folks.

As I say, the tour was nice. I learned a few things -- I learned many things, actually, since I've only actively studied Jefferson's political writings and not his life -- and saw many things.

And that's where it all comes together for me, as I've mentioned before. I can read all I want, learn all I want, intellectualize all I want, but it's the experience that gives a story, a thought, a fact the essence of reality.

I've read the Declaration; I've read the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom; I've read many of his letters and his writings and even a few biographical sketches. I fully understand the impact of Thomas Jefferson on the founding of the United States, and have always applauded him for his brilliance, his wide range of knowledge and talents, and his faculty with the English language.

But until I walked around Monticello today, he was just a figure. Just a...just a thought. An idea. The idea of Jefferson meant a lot to me. The idea of Jefferson was an important influence on the founding of my country.

And the idea of Jefferson ceased to be an idea and became the person of Jefferson as I stood before the tall, wrought-iron fence that surrounds the graveyard in which he is buried, and peered at that tall monument, and read the inscription that I have heard and seen in my mind's eye a thousand times.

And as I flipped a coin -- a nickel, in his honor -- onto the ground before that monument that marks the site of his temporal resting place, I couldn't keep a tear from my eye.

It was then that he became real.

Thank you, Mr. Jefferson.

Matters of importance

2005-03-24T09:23:00.000-05:00

There's a lot going on out there right now. It seems that every blogger worth his salt is posting something about Terri Schiavo or the school shootings in Minnesota. You'll notice that I, however, have posted nothing on the subject.

I have a good reason for that.

Namely, that you can find ignorant people with mixed-up facts discussing these cases all over the internet, and if you want to vent opinion, there' plenty of those sorts of sites for your consumption. Since I don't know any special facts, since I haven't even been watching or reading anything more than the headlines, since I couldn't discuss the cases in anything more than a detached and philosophical manner, I'm not going to add myself to them.

Anyway, I'm on vacation. Let the real world wait until I get back to school. Then I'll tell you what I think.

Yesterday, we mostly hung around the house, recovering from Tuesday. Watched some Law and Order, played a couple games, went to the local cinema to see Bride and Prejudice, read, did some homework, and generally chilled. Very nice.

Today we're off to Monticello. Whee! More, and a review of B&P later!

Blogger

2005-03-23T09:51:00.000-05:00

Blogger doesn't seem to like me much of late. Last night, it froze up on me six or seven times, and refused to let me access my blog. Last week, it would stall and pretend it wasn't publishing when it actually was, which led to multiple copies of the same post.

I've tried beating it into submission, but with little success. I've tried honey (better than vinegar, you know), but no luck.

So until I figure out why it does not love me, bear with me -- and if the same post shows up three or four times, and I don't notice it quickly enough (ie, it stays like that all day), feel free to leave a kind comment telling me that the silly thing has been acting up again.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan...

2005-03-22T23:02:00.000-05:00

Went to bed at 11 last night. Got up this morning at 9:15.

And I was yawning all day.

After less than six hours of sleep the previous night, it was good to get some good, long hours in a warm, comfy bed, make a lazy morning of it (which I've been doing many a morning since break began, but that's details, really), and then head off into town for some good, old-fashioned sight-seeing.

I've seen many of the sights in Washington DC. As a junior in high school, I attended a leadership conference down here that, along with many a lecture and mock-UN session, took us on a pretty detailed tour of the city. I've also visited for various political functions (doesn't that sound pretentious?), and explored off-site during my free time.

So today, instead of hitting the monuments or the Capitol we went down to a place I'd never been before: the Smithsonian.

Or, at least, as much of it as we could hit in four hours.

We started by exploring bits and pieces of the American History Museum, touring an exhibit on the First Ladies, then moving on to the military history wing, and finishing up by viewing the original Star Spangled Banner in all its slow-restoration-process glory.

The First Ladies exhibit was interesting in that it really didn't tell me anything about the various First Ladies except that I don't know much about them at all. I've progressed, I guess, beyond getting my information from a museum -- if I want to know about them, I need to go buy a book. But it was kind of neat to look at some of their things and think, "Wow, Mrs. Hayes wore that!"

Similar reaction to the military history exhibit. Nothing there that I didn't know, but a lot of fun artifacts: muskets, rifles, guns...yes. Um. Fun things. The highlight was striking up a conversation with an old fellow who showed us a pair of old, Revolutionary War era shoes, and explained how left- and right-foot shoes didn't come around until the industrial age when they could be mass-produced. This made the footprints on the floor look like the soldiers were standing cross-legged: right foot on the left side, left foot on the right, even though they just had feet of neither the right nor left variety.

I beamed when he called me an observant young lady. Go me!

We skipped over pretty much everything after the Civil War. It's not right, maybe, to miss the World Wars, Vietnam, Korea, and Desert Storm -- and I give all respect to those who fought in them -- but my feet had started to hurt, my mind was wandering in the direction of lunch, and there's something about the wars of the 20th century that touch just a little bit close to me, that makes them seem a little too real, and so we passed over them today. Maybe next time.

The Star Spangled Banner, though -- that was a treat! They have the whole thing laid out on a special table as they work on conservation -- they're no restoring it, but trying to conserve it the way it presently is -- and boy, is it huge! There are bits missing, too, from where previous owners took samples to give to their friends as souvenirs. I wouldn't mind having such a souvenir, mind, but as a history buff, it pains me to see the poor flag broken -- and even a star missing! -- and wounded by American hands instead of British fire from 1814. It was fun, also, to find out what song the tune of the Star Spangled Banner came from -- To Anacreon In Heaven, the song was called, and true to legend, is an old British drinking song.

One wonders, really, if drunk British folks could hit those nasty high and low notes better than sober American me. Or maybe it's easier to pretend you're hitting them when you're drunk...

But that was neat.

Our next stop was the Natural History Museum, where I had a nasty hot dog and my friend a greasy piece of pizza, and we proceeded upstairs to view the dinosaurs.

I do love dinosaurs.

In fact, I rather felt like a child. Seeing those old bones, reading about Tyrannosaurus, Diplodocus, Triceratops, and the rest reminded me of my elementary school days when I got every book on dinosaurs that I could find out of the little Northport, Alabama library to read and study and learn as much as I could. I even slept under a dinosaur quilt from late elementary school through my senior year of high school, I loved them so.

From the dinosaurs, we moved on to the ice age mammals -- the mastodon, the saber toothed tiger, and the tar pits that preserved many a specimen. Again, when I was young, I was deathly afraid of tar pits -- and was so very glad we didn't have them in Alabama. Or pretty much anywhere that I might fall into them. Which made being scared of them a little moot, I guess, but since when have 10-year-olds been entirely reasonable?

Since when have I been entirely reasonable?

From there, we moved on to the mineral and gemstone exhibit where I got to show off my loads of Geology 101 knowledge about volcanoes and metamorphic rocks and crystals minerals and all sorts of happy geologic-type things. They were quite pretty, of course -- and I did learn a little something about iron from meteorites -- but otherwise, not much more than I'd seen in Geology class.

Until we hit the Hope Diamond.

Wow.

Big. And pretty. Very pretty.

And surrounded by a large crowd of children and tourists, all very anxious to see it.

I am, I confess, a museum snob. I prefer to visit them when there are very few people around. I do not like to feel that I'm a member of the great, unwashed masses all pressing their hands and their noses against the case of every interesting exhibit. I like to walk slowly, reading all of the placards -- especially if they're interesting and about things I'm not well-versed in.

I know that sounds snobbish and pretentious. I do try no to let it show as much as I can. But as I stood in that large and gathering crowd, I couldn't help but wonder if I'm not just another wide-eyed tourist of history, wanting to set my grubby eyes on as many wondrous things as I possibly can before they vanish out of sight for good.

From the Natural History Museum (which we explored much of, if only in the process of trying to find the dinosaurs and the rocks), we strolled down the Mall, took a ride on the carousel, wandered toward the Capitol, found a Metro station, hopped on the train home.

Overall? An exhausting but thoroughly enjoyable afternoon.

Das Capital

2005-03-21T22:55:00.000-05:00

I think we've already been over the fact that it's Spring Break. And despite the fact that it's Monday, Spring Break hasn't ended -- oh, no. We here at Bowdoin are privileged to enjoy a whole fortnight off of school.

And after enjoying the previous week of peace and quiet in Maine, I've shifted locations, and am now enjoying the next week of fun and good times visiting my roommate in the DC area. Blogging will, as a result, be somewhat limited, but I'll try to check in and recount a few adventures while I'm here.

Today's activities included getting to know two adorable little Yorkshire terriers, taking a long walk, and watching two movies that I would call "variations on the theme of cheesy": Cheaper by the Dozen and First Daughter, the former being a slightly funny but mostly depressing story about a family with twelve incredibly selfish children (or, well, eleven, or maybe ten -- the red-headed kid with the frog was nice at least), and the latter just a little better than Chasing Liberty -- but not by much.

I don't really recommend either if you're looking for a good movie, but they were kinda cute, and kinda fun, and it's Spring Break, right? Time doesn't have to be spent doing only things that are worthwhile on Spring Break.

Towards a new paradigm

2005-03-20T11:12:00.000-05:00

Friday morning, I slept late -- told the boss I was sick, because I was -- didn't go to work, got up around 10:15, and met a friend for lunch at noon. Jaunted down to the Union, where the grill is open despite it being Spring Break (and campus being deliciously uninhabited), had a very yummy chicken sandwich with pesto mayo and no bread (I love the looks on their faces: "Can I have a chicken sandwich without the bread, please?" "Does that mean no fries, too?" "Oh, no; same sandwich, same dressing, same veggies, same fries. Just no bread." "Ooooooookay.") and a wonderful conversation with said friend (who I don't converse with nearly enough), and then popped over to check my mail.

And lo and behold, I had a blue card in my box -- a package! For me! A box! Getting packages in the mail is so exciting that I'm a bit of a pathological mail-orderer, and this was no different. But it was. I couldn't wait to get home to open this one -- the seven minute charge across the quad would take too long -- so I begged a box-cutter from the guys at the mail window and slices the tape right off it.

I pulled back the flaps one at a time -- side, side, top, bottom -- to reveal a shiny blue cover with a beautiful little yellow United Nations symbol on the bottom and a title in the center with which I am well familiar:

Social capital and poverty reduction in Latin America and the Caribbean: towards a new paradigm

Sweeter than the cover, sweeter than the little yellow symbol, was opening the book -- gently! so gently! -- to the publication page and seeing -- yes, right there, on the publication page, my name.

My name! There's something magical about seeing my name in print. Something that brings a goofy smile to my face, makes me bounce up and down in the mail center at the Union and make everyone I know look at it and, see, that's me!

Someday, when my first novel or collection of poetry is published, I'm sure I'll feel just as giddy as I did on Friday morning. I'm sure I'll feel more giddy, more goofy. I spent the summer of 2002 editing several chapters of this book, and that was a challenge -- that was a real experience -- but my own book will be that: my own work, my own heart and soul, printed on the page in a sweet little font and...

Whew. Okay. I'm better now. But you can bet...it may be Sunday, now...but you can bet I'm still grinning.

Isn't it ironic?

2005-03-17T15:13:00.000-05:00

I've spent the last few days working in the mornings and ~~goofing off~~doing homework in the afternoons. Work usually means minding the desk at the media library and checking out movies to profs and students. Work-when-the-students-are-all-gone meant reading the shelves to make sure everything was in order, checking to make sure missing items weren't simply shelved in the wrong place, etc. That happens all the time because we use the Library of Congress classification system, and some of our poor freshman employees don't quite understand how it works.

While skimming the collection of DVD's, I came across a number of movies I didn't know we had that I added to my list of Movies To Watch When I Have Less Homework To Do.

And then I came across Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, and was more than a little amused to note that its Library of Congress call number is PN1997 P3666 2004.

Now, how ironic is that?

It's okay to like Longfellow

2005-03-16T14:28:00.000-05:00

Bowdoin has a tradition of having a series of students speak at Commencement that dates back to the very first Commencement exercises in 1804. For a long time, every member of the graduating class took part. As classes grew bigger, this became less and less feasible; now, only three or four members of the class speak every year. Many of the "parts" -- as they were called then, and still are called in the college archives -- were dissertations and recitations given in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, a tradition that lasted until the 1870s. After that, the parts were mostly in English.

As Commencement approaches in a few short months, and as someone who's always wanted to take part in it as more than just a member of the class who walks down the path with everyone else, I started doing my homework. I've got a speech to write. And maybe they'll let me give it.

To that end, I spent a few hours yesterday closeted in Special Collections (within feet of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain's Congressional Medal of Honor!!) looking over past speeches to get a feel for what a Commencement speech is like -- and for what has been said in the past couple years so I don't repeat the same tired cliches about how much is expected from those to whom much is given, and how we've been given a great education and now are expected to go forth and serve the common good. That's a wonderful sentiment, but everyone talks about it.

And, as you may or may not have picked up from this post so far, I don't like to be like everyone.

I am, at heart, a rebel.

I hated country music when I lived in Alabama because everyone liked it; when I moved away from the Deep South to the Pacific Northwest, I learned to love it. I don't watch Seinfeld or Friends. I refused to jump on the West Wing bandwagon. I held out as long as I could against Harry Potter and didn't start reading it until the fourth book came out. I took Russian instead of French in college because everyone, it seemed, took French -- there were five of us in my first year Russian class. There's even hints of rebellion in my religion: I find it easier to be most faithful when I'm not surrounded by people of the same faith -- that's why I'm in Maine instead of Provo.

And for a long, long time, I refused to own up to my complete and utter adoration of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow because...well...everyone likes Longfellow.

Right?

That's been my perception at least. I've never met anyone who's said, "Oh, that Longfellow guy? Can't stand him!" If you're such a person, please, leave a comment -- let me know that you exist.

I'm an aspiring poet myself -- but refuse to acknowledge it too generally, lest I be lumped in the category of "hopeless, angst-ridden aspiring poets" -- and have always admired the depth of his verse, the richness of the images he invokes...and as I've written before, anyone who can use the word "reverberations" in a metered verse has my undying admiration.

Well. As I was closeted away in Special Collections yesterday, I flipped (very gently!) through the Commencement parts for the class of 1825. Longfellow's speech was in Latin at the time, but was reprinted in 1881 in English. Reading through that...wow.

Gorgeous.

He spoke about the American literary tradition (of which there was not much in 1825), and how America would soon have native writers of her own to appreciate because of the nature of her society and the nature of her scenery. About the latter, he says:

Men may talk of sitting down in the calm and quiet of their libraries and of forgetting, in the eloquent companionship of books, all the vain cares that beset them in the crowded thoroughfare of life: but, after all, there is nothing which so frees us from the turbulent ambition and bustle of the world, -- nothing which so fills the mind with great and glowing conceptions, and at the same time so warms the heart with love and tenderness, as a frequent and close communion with natural scenery.

Amen, brother Henry!

He continues:

Our poetry is not in books alone. It is in the hearts of those men, whose love for the world's gain, -- for its business and its holiday, has grown cold within them, and who have gone into the retirements of nature, and have found there that sweet sentiment, and pure devotion of feeling can spring up and live in the shadow of a low and quiet life, and amid those, that have no splendor in their joys and no parade in their griefs.

Thus shall the mind take color from things around us -- from them shall there be a genuine birth of enthusiasm, -- a rich development of poetic feeling, that shall break forth in song. Though the works of art must grow old and perish away from earth, the forms of nature shall keep forever their power over the human mind, and have their influence upon the literature of a people.

This is what I love about Longfellow: he inspires me on so many levels. His writing, his beautiful prose and verse alike, inspires me to write -- and to write better. Here, speaking of the wonders of nature, brings to mind a moment last October when, standing on an outcrop and staring at the sun falling over the Atlantic, I couldn't keep lines of adoration out of my head -- or off my lab notebook. He inspires me to be a little less dramatic, a little quieter, and a little more thoughtful and open and observant and attentive.

The conclusion? Darn it, I like Longfellow. And I don't care if the whole world liked him first.

Picasa and Hello!

2005-03-12T14:58:00.000-05:00

I downloaded Picasa from Google this afternoon as per a friend's recommendation. Fun photo-manipulating software, sure, but the best part is that, via Hello, I can doll up pictures and post them to my blog!

Okay, okay. I'm behind the times. This technology has been out there for a long time by now. And I still don't have my own digital camera, either, so I don't have many pictures to share. But it's the principle of the thing. Really!

Once there was a snowman...

2005-03-12T14:57:00.000-05:00

Speaking of snow...here's a picture of "me as a snowman," created in mid-January while I was down at BYU visiting my brother. The way-super-cool girls that I stayed with were out building snowmen late one night, and we joined them -- eventually we had a full six snowomen (snowmen is so...inaccurate when they're actually girls) and dressed them up as ourselves. Good stuff!

Notice the Yankees cap, the Zenit scarf, the black Bowdoin jacket, the trademark black loafers, and the pastey-white skin? Yep. That's me.

Sweet, sweet spring

2005-03-12T14:38:00.000-05:00

It's been snowing for almost 24 hours now. Oh, wait -- no, I look out the window and it seems like it's stopped. Okay. So it snowed for a really long time today.

(I know you're not supposed to blog about the weather. Honest. I learned that lesson. But bear with me, hmm?)

And it's supposed to snow for the next couple days, as well.

Which is all incredibly unfair.

Because Spring Break starts today.

And how can it be spring break if winter is still out in full force? I walked home through 10 degree weather on Wednesday night -- that's 10 degrees, but really -1 if you account for the 10 mph winds blowing through the wind tunnel by my dorm. And that's cold.

Very cold.

Too cold for March.

But Spring Break has begun. No more classes until the 28th. Whee!

And how will I spend my two weeks of freedom, you ask? The first I'll spend here on campus, reading for my honors project, writing a paper for a class, filling out job applications, and studying for the LSAT.

The second week, though -- O Blessed Vacation! -- I'll be heading down to DC to visit one of my roommates and do lots of cool non-homeworking stuffs.

And to escape the three feet of snow outside.

Stupid snow.

Coder or killer?

2005-03-09T09:48:00.000-05:00

As y'all know, I'm a sucker for a quiz. I blame it on the testing mentality of the public school system -- I always tested well, and I guess I've developed an irrational attachment to it.

So here you go -- a quiz for your amusement. Can you tell which one is a serial killer and which one an inventor of a programming language?

I got 10/10, but worked mostly off gut feelings, having never seen any of these guys before. But it's always comforting to hear someone tell you that "You'd spot Hannibal Lector in seconds at an open source conference. Your liver's safe."

(Link via Volokh)

...and rain will make the flowers grow

2005-03-09T00:42:00.000-05:00

It was raining this morning. The rain turned to snow, and eventually to freezing rain tonight -- and poor Teancum, my bike, with his brakes all frozen as he waited patiently for me outside the dining hall while I gorged myself on the delicious щи (shchi -- that's cabbage soup) and икра (ikra -- caviar, both black and red) at Russian Table tonight...!

It was raining this morning as I rode to class, late, racing the clock, and praying the old chapel bells wouldn't call out the hour to punctuate my tardiness.

It was raining this morning when I nearly ran over a poor little lab named Reggie.

(You may recall the infamous squirrel incident of November.)

Reggie, luckily, is too large to get caught under my wheels. Though he stood there, staring at me with big labrador eyes, begging me not to run over him -- well, the stupid dog didn't exactly move to get out of my way.

I braked. And on the slushy, icy sidewalk, I slid a good two feet -- and I nearly hit the poor thing. But he moved. Finally.

Which is good.

Because Reggie belongs to my honors advisor.

Eep!

Late as I was, I paused to chat with Prof Honors Advisor -- because one does not just go whizzing past Prof Honors Advisor when one is two days late to turn in chapter three of one's honors thesis.

And in that small, short exchange of words, I discovered that he didn't expect the chapter from me until Thursday, soonest. So I'm golden. On top of that, I politely informed him that I would not be writing chapter four. This is, of course, not out of laziness on my own part. Rather, my concern is for the cohesion of the thesis and the fact that if I do, I'll be more than 20 pages over the recommended maximum number of pages, and I'm not insane. He recommended at our last meeting that I consider dropping chapter four in favor of breaking chapter one into two separate chapters and welding the content of four into that -- which makes more sense than separating it out, really.

So I told him that. And he congratulated me for being so far ahead of the game.

Ahead of the game!

Wow.

Arwyn, do not let this get to your head. Chapter three must be finished tomorrow. And when he turns it around and gives it back to you, he's going to have torn it to shreds and ripped its guts out and you're going to have to rewrite it completely -- just like you have to rewrite one and two over the course of the next month.

Whew.

Anyway. I sleep now. But the conversation was good and helpful and I got the feeling that I'm really not doing so bad as I often feel I am. And that's a warm and fuzzy and happy feeling.

And I'm glad I didn't hit Reggie.

New reads

2005-03-08T13:14:00.000-05:00

In my procrastinatory efforts to put off the writing and editing of chapter three (which is actually going pretty well, and which I hope to have ready for my advisor to tear apart by Thursday, latest), I've been bouncing around the Bloggernacle. The blogsphere at large is a little big for me at the moment -- I start reading Volokh or Andrew Sullivan and suddenly the entire day is gone, not just an hour or two. The Bloggernacle, being a little more contained, doesn't eat up so much of my time.

Clicking on links on people's sidebars, I've come across a couple new sites that I've started reading more regularly -- in the past I've stuck to the Big Three (T&S, BCC, and M*), but of late I've been branching out.

The first blog I've started reading more often (and which got acclaim in the New York Times recently!) is Feminist Mormon Housewives, a blog by...well...gee...some feminist Mormon housewives. Content? Lots of thoughts about being a woman in the Church and what that means, but they're not violent or acerbic or otherwise scary like some feminists can be. I've found the discussion there to be interesting, to say the least.

On the other side of the spectrum (because FMH really is something of a liberal blog), there's New Cool Thang, where Geoff Johnston brings up a lot of thought-provoking topics on the more conservative side. Mainly, I enjoy his writing and his tone.

And then there are a pair of blogs that are a little less like the aforementioned and a little more like mine -- that is, regular blogs that happen to be written by young, intelligent LDS women but that don't usually focus on religious topics.

Mellie over at Fine Eyes, Indeed not only named her blog after a line from one of my most favorite fictional romantic interests ever (Oh, Mr. Darcy! Be still, my heart! *swoon!*), but seems to have advanced well beyond my ability in self-acceptance: not only does she use chat-speak in a post title, she refers in the post to both DDR (or, as we call it over here on the East Coast, Dance-Dance) and RP vampire chat rooms in the same post (though she does not seem to engage in the latter -- which also deserves praise: if you're going to RP, at least keep away from the vampires, I always say). Kudos, Mellie. A certain level of clever, fun geekiness is what the world needs, and I adore your posts.

Finally, there's Eleventh in Line. Sarah is a fellow National Novel Writing Month winner (woo! go us!), and if her sidebar is any indication, also a fellow Tolkienite -- and that's not even mentioning her post about Star Wars novels. I always liked Timothy Zahn better than Stackpole and Salvatore, though I did appreciate Stackpole's contributions to the X-wing series and kinda stopped reading them when he stopped writing them. And Star Trek books? Yeah. We'll leave that one alone for now on this blog, too.

Anyway...been enjoying reading some new stuff, and look forward to cool posts from them in future!

(And now back to our regularly scheduled editing of chapter three)

Ow.

2005-03-08T08:03:00.000-05:00

One hour of belly dance and maybe 10 minutes tops of an IM basketball game shouldn't make one this sore.

Ow.

I obviously need to exercise more, or figure eights will be the death of me.

I started writing again tonight.

2005-03-05T23:11:00.000-05:00

Not writing that thesis that's gathered a good two days' worth of dust in the far reaches of my hard drive. Not writing that paper I've due at the end of Spring Break. No, I started writing fiction again for the first time since the end of November.

And goodness, but it feels good.

A few sentences here, a few words there, a bit of dialogue...

I opened up the folder of stories I wrote in St. Petersburg. I read through a couple and groaned at how awful they are. And then I looked back at the blogging I did then -- sure, it wasn't golden, but it was fair prose. Better than what I put out now.

So I cleaned one up a bit. My boys Nik and Aleks have developed so much since their first March days -- it's been nearly two years since I first committed them to paper. I swore on the Helsinki train that I'd finally put to paper the tales that had spent the previous two months dancing around in my head -- the stories that sprang out from behind every snow-dusted Petersburg corner.

Remember those walks? Four hours, five hours, one day even six, I'd wander wherever my feet would take me until they cried out, "No more!" -- and then I'd catch the green line to my beloved island, hop on the tram heading down to the park, and mount those five stories, and collapse in my little closet room.

And all the while, I'd think and I'd ponder. I had time for that, in Petersburg. Life was slow -- too slow, sometimes. There was no thesis to write. There were no classes to prep for -- or, at least, not enough of a challenge that prepping was necessary more than an hour or two a night. There were operas to attend, plays, ballets, the symphony. There was culture, and literature...

...and the same country songs over and over and over again on my small, 4 gig hard drive. I can't hear "Silver Thunderbird" or "Man to Man" without remembering.

And it was back in March, while reading Crime and Punishment on the way to Helsinki, staring out at the bleak Russian countryside all buried in snow...it was then that I decided to commit them to paper.

It was then they became Aleks and Nik, Andy and Vitya -- that mutinous Vitya, who rebelled against rebellion itself. My boys, whose adventures in the tiny country of Vysokia formed the stuff of the first original fiction that made me proud. The first original fiction I ever wrote out.

And I read a few of those old stories tonight. And they inspired me. They reminded me I could do better. They reminded me of November, and the fun I had with Radko, my poor little peasant boy, all caught up in a revolution.

So I started writing again tonight. I added to some of the old stories, I revised, I revisited, and I started anew with another -- this one based on an idea that I hope to develop into a novel in time to tackle it full-on come November -- an idea that's been dancing around in my head for three or four years now, and that is finally coming to fruition -- an idea that might even turn into real literature, not fun historical fantasy about my boys in Vysokia.

No worse punishment

2005-03-04T19:38:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine has been of late studying Alexander Herzen, the Russian censor, writer, and thinker. He recommended Herzen's My Past and Thoughts (talk about an original title for a memoir!) as a fun read for when I have copious amounts of free time. In my continuance of procrastination tonight, I picked it up and read through the first few pages -- and I was struck immediately by the text that spreads across the first two pages:

Who is entitled to write his reminiscences?

Everyone.

Because no one is obliged to read them.

In order to write one's reminiscences it is not at all necessary to be a great man, nor a notorious criminal, nor a celebrated artist, nor a statesman--it is quite enough to be simply a human being, to have something to tell, and not merely to desire to tell it but at least have some little ability to do so.

Every life is interesting; if not the personality, then the environment, the country are interesting, the life itself is interesting. Man likes to enter into another existence, he likes to touch the subtlest fibres of another's heart, and to listen to its beating . . . he compares, he checks it by his own, he seeks for himself confirmation, sympathy, justification . . .

But may not memoirs be tedious, may not the life described be colourless and commonplace?

Then we shall not read it--there is no worse punishment for a book than that.

It struck me that these words, written for a piece published in The Pole Star in 1855 are particularly apropos for the blogosphere.

Everyone is entitled to have a blog. Everyone is entitled to spill their guts, their feelings, their thoughts across the wide expanses of the universe.

And everyone is entitled to ignore the writings and blatherings of everyone else. The good blogs -- the good observations -- are lauded by a multitude of links. Others receive little acclaim, little adulation, little praise. Maybe they have one reader. Maybe two. Maybe fifteen, any given day, and most of those arriving through the most circuitous route.

But they have a reader. They're not just words sent out into the grand expanse that is the 'net and left to hang and settle in the dustbin of history. But what if they're boring? What if they're tedious? What if the life they describe is colourless and commonplace?

Well.

Then we shall not read them.

And there is no worse punishment for a blog than that.

Happy springtime! Kinda.

2005-03-04T13:39:00.000-05:00

Sitting at work right now, twiddling my thumbs, and watching the Braves/Dodgers exhibition game. Things look nice and pretty in Florida right now. Nice and pretty and warm and above freezing and without heaps and heaps of snow piled higher than I am tall along the edge of the road.

Warm, too, I dare say.

I'm also procrastinating. I've gotten very good at that. And the better I get at it, the worse I feel about it. You know the feeling? Winston Churchill said that no one can manage other people who cannot manage himself -- or something along those lines. He held to that principle, at least. And it is, I think, a rather true one. Self-control is an admirable and somewhat necessary leadership trait.

Well.

I'm here not controlling myself very well. I should be writing -- I need to be writing -- but I don't have the heart or the presence of mind to write right now.

And there's baseball on. Baseball!

Yay.

Huh?

2005-03-02T08:28:00.000-05:00

People approach the blogs they read for a number of different reasons. Most of the time, we visit a blog because we know there will be something interesting to read.

We do not usually visit a blog looking for summary and conclusion about chalk toothpaste. Or bowdoin sweater. Or. waking and sleeping mean in catcher in the rye(motif)Or Puff Daddy pitchers.

Most people who visit my page seem to do so while looking for something else. Sometimes these things are valid and they actually find them here and this page is useful to them. Sometimes...well. Summaries and conclusions about chalk toothpaste.

That cracks me up.

The Romance of the Three Kingdoms

2005-03-01T19:25:00.000-05:00

I've mentioned, I believe, the class that I'm taking this semester on warfare in Europe, China, and Japan. We finished our European unit two weeks ago, and after turning in a paper on it (a very fun paper, actually, having to do with the perception of faith's influence on the battlefield during the Seventh Crusade as opposed to The Song of Roland -- I think I mentioned it when I was writing it), we've turned to the next section: China.

Before this class, I knew almost nothing about Chinese history beyond what I'd learned in your average middle school history classes about fireworks and Marco Polo, what I'd seen in the movies, and what I'd read in the occasional book that may have touched on the subject. An entire lack of knowledge makes the readings for this class and the lectures all the more interesting: each brings up something completely and utterly new, something I'd never looked at or considered that way before, something to excite my interest, my imagination, and my curiosity.

Imagine, then, my joy at the chance to read The Romance of the Three Kingdoms. The link leads to the unabridged version; we read the abridged -- all 400+ pages of it as opposed to all four volumes of it.

Oh. So cool. The tale told is of the fall of the Han dynasty and the rise of three leaders who try to take over everything: Cao Cao, who holds the emperor and most of the north, Liu Bei in the riverlands, and Sun Quan in the south. It's a story of heroes who are human and conquests that are brilliant and tactics that fail. It's one big chess game: maneuver here, maneuver there, always looking three steps ahead, always trying to fake out the enemy. It's an epic, and I simply couldn't put it down.

Of course, as with any work of literature, there are lessons and ideas to be gleaned from it:

There's Zhuge Liang, the great general and strategist, who turns Liu Bei into a real competitor for the throne -- but who is almost too good, too perfect, and makes everything look too easy that there's a feeling of vindication -- pity, yes, but vindication -- when he fails in the end.

There's Lord Guan, the brave general whose pride gets him into sticky situations and whose honor and loyalty often gets him out -- but not often enough.

There's Zhao Yu, general of the southern forces, whose brilliance (with some help from Zhuge Liang) defeats Cao Cao at the Red Cliff -- but whose hatred for Zhuge Liang does him in at the end.

And...and a host of others. I've learned, over time, that I connect most to the characters in a story, and it is my connection to the characters that makes the story real for me: despite the simple narrative of this story -- little description, lots of dialogue -- I found the characters extraordinarily compelling, very real, like people I'd known or read about or written about.

And yet -- yet -- at the same time, they were entirely foreign. Their way of thinking struck me as so very different from their own. Their priorities -- family, honor, loyalty -- are ones that I've always held deeply and closely, but ones that our particular society doesn't value above all others.

The connection lie most strongly in the romantic aspects of the tale: it's a story of honor and bravery, of a time of troubles when the correct course, the right side, and the real hero is blurred and uncertain. It takes place in a land foreign to me -- entirely foreign -- and yet the themes and the heroes are somehow very, very familiar.

It would be disconcerting if it weren't such an awesome book.

Can you say that in English, please?

2005-02-28T19:19:00.000-05:00

The part of me that doesn't pride itself on being able to read convoluted writing and interpret for myself what the author intends to say really wishes that it'd had access to these translations of early modern texts when I was studying Kant and Hegel last year!

(Link via Crooked Timber, whose name, ironically in this case, comes from Kant's Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals.)

Finding Johnny Depp

2005-02-27T18:27:00.000-05:00

Oh. Is that the wrong title? My bad, entirely...

Finding Neverland: February Impressions on a Second Viewing

I see a lot of movies these days, but I rarely stay through the ending credits of all of them. Listening to the closing music, for me, is a way of dragging out the end of a film: I do it when the movie elicited such intense emotion that I need that extra five minutes of half-involvement with the flick so I'm jumping straight from an imaginary world (whether good or bad) into a real one. The Lord of the Rings movies make me stay. Master and Commander and K-19 made me stay. Finding Neverland made me stay.

Finding Neverland is supposedly based on the story of how J.M. Barrie wrote the play Peter Pan. I have a hard time buying it a portrayal of anything more than the most bare and basic fact (that he did, indeed, write Peter Pan which, it seems to me, was first a book; that he and his wife had certain troubles in their marriage; that perhaps, maybe, he did befriend a widow and her sons, etc.), but as a story, it comes off beautifully: Barrie (Johnny Depp), with an endearing Scottish accent, befriends a widow (Kate Winslett) and her sons (Freddie Highmore, Joe Prospero, Nick Roud, and Luke Spilland) and, inspired by a summer of imaginative adventure, he writes a blockbuster play and inspires the hearts and minds of many. Yay.

So, what's so good about it?

I am a firm believer in the power of imagination. Imagination leads to creativity, and creativity solves a multitude of problems, whether in the classroom, in the workplace, or in the movies. Barrie, in the film, tells the boys that if you don't believe something can happen, it won't; and if you believe with all your heart, then maybe the impossible will come true. There are limits to the power of imagination and belief -- pretending away illness is impossible, for example, but the movie acknowledges that when Sylvia Llewelyn Davies succumbs to sickness.

In a world plagued by scandals of every sort, it warmed my heart to watch Barrie befriend a family that needed some faith, some imagination, and some good fun. His friend suggests, at one point, that there are rumors circulating about his potentially impure intentions; but this character has none. He just honestly likes playing with the kids. He is, in fact, a child himself in so many ways. And while his childishness leads him down a less fortunate path with his own marriage -- and the fact that he can let his wife go like that without even seeming to try to make things work really bothers me -- it also insulates him from the greater disappointments of the world. He is Peter Pan, for good and for ill.

In that way, Finding Neverland really reflects the book. In the novel, Peter is the spirit of youth: he never grows up. He never wants to: life, for him, is a series of adventures, one after the other. Eternal playtime. And Peter Pan, in the novel, is an insufferably selfish little boy. And yet Barrie, like Peter, unable to see the root of his selfishness, develops honest, open, childlike love for others. It's touching.

I like a movie that will give me warm fuzzies. I like a movie with an overarching and moving message. But more than that, I like a movie that inspires. Sometimes the inspiration is kind of cheesy -- think Mr. Holland's Opus. Sometimes it's buried in a darker story -- Dead Poet Society, for example. And in Finding Neverland, it was just about right: watching the movie gently reminded me how much I like to imagine, to create, and to write.

And how easy it is. After all, as Barrie tells young Peter Llewelyn Davies, all it takes is a leather binding and an engaging title.

Zzzzzzzzz!

2005-02-26T18:17:00.000-05:00

Sleepy! Got up at 5 this morning for a trip down to the Boston temple with the youth from my ward. Good times, but I haven't been up that early since meditation this winter, and even then I was going to bed at 9.

Going to bed at 11:30, waking up at 4:30, not so happy. Sleepy Arwyn! But going down to Portland for a second viewing of Finding Neverland, which is a good flick, and as I haven't reviewed it yet, will give you my thoughts on it when I get back -- if I don't fall asleep first.

Lead me forth -- like sheep!

2005-02-22T19:42:00.000-05:00

I've never had the chance to spend much time with sheep. Sure, I went to the petting zoo as a kid. And I've been to this farm and that farm. And I've seen lots of sheep on TV and in the movies. But I've never spent much real personal time with sheep.

Neither have I been a sheep. Or, rather, rarely have I looked on myself as a sheep.

Sheep show up often in the scriptures: Christ is the Good Shepherd who tells the parable of the ninety and nine, and that's only the beginning. Back in those days, sheep were a big and important part of life. People could identify with sheep. When you started talking about sheep, people understood.

These days, to be a sheep is considered a bad thing. Sheep follow. Sheep are harmless creatures who say "baaa!" Sheep don't question authority -- they follow blindly, trusting their shepherd and the other sheep to go the right way.

We're singing Handel's Israel in Egypt in the Chorus this semester. The story is basically that of Israel's last little bit in Egypt: a couple plagues, the smiting of the first born, and Moses leading the Children of Israel out of Egypt. That's the first half. The second is a series of choruses wherein the Israelites praise the Lord. We're slowly working our way forward -- and for some of us, progress is slower than for others.

If you've ever heard Israel in Egypt, you know that there are a number of good, fun choruses. Picking a favorite is really hard.

For example, there's the one that goes: "He spake the word, and there came all manner of flies and lice in all quarters. He spake; and the locusts came without number, and devoured the fruits of the ground." The music that accompanies hovers and hums like one big insect -- or all manner of little ones. Fun stuff!

And then there's the hailstones that he gave them for rain -- and "fire mingled with the hail ran along upon the ground," too! That's a really fun chorus. Better hailstones than kidneystones, right?

Ha. Ha.

Moving on...

Those are fun. And interesting. And there are so many more that number in that category. But my favorite is the bit where the Lord smites the first born of Egypt -- well, no, not that part. That's not so cool. Smiting? Eh. No, I really love what comes after the plagues and the darkness and the death:

But as for His people, He led them forth like sheep.

Like sheep.

Sometimes I wouldn't mind being led forth like a sheep. Sometimes I wouldn't mind having someone else figure it all out and pave the path so I could just walk easily along it, not having to think, not having to focus.

But that's not the way I learn, it looks like. When I'm being led along like a sheep, life's too easy. I enjoy it. But I'm not challenged by it. And when I'm stumbling along, trying to find my way, not sure if I'm doing everything right, not sure if I'm doing anything right, but knowing that someone's hanging over my shoulder and if I go too far off the path, I'll get a reminder and a bit of direction to find my way back...

That's when I'm really learning. Whether in school, at work, in life, in the grand scheme of eternity -- that seems to be the only way to knock the right way into my head. Let me work at it. Let me find it. Let me stub my toes a couple times along the way.

I may hate it. Goodness, but I hate sometimes. Sometimes, I just want to be a sheep. Life would be easier if I were a sheep.

But then...I think life would probably be pretty boring, too.

Even so, the chorus is pretty: But as for His people? He led them forth like sheep.

Ask. Tell.

2005-02-21T18:39:00.000-05:00

This is coming a long way from the British Navy of Jack Aubrey's time. Back then, sodomy was a hanging crime. The Articles of War spelled out the punishment quite plain. Now? According to the Times:

Five years after Britain lifted its ban on gays in the military, the Royal Navy has begun actively encouraging gays and lesbians to enlist and has pledged to make life easier for them when they do.

The reporter adds further down that

Gays in the British military are subject to the same rules of sexual conduct as heterosexuals: no touching, no kissing, no flaunting of sexuality. Since 1991, naval women have been allowed to serve with men on ships, which operate under strict "no-sex" rules, and sailors in such close quarters have relied on what one naval official said was "common sense and good manners."

Common sense and good manners. I like that. Props to Britain for this step forward!

How to Blog

2005-02-18T17:34:00.000-05:00

If this his really how to blog (thanks to Kelly for the link!), then I'm doing something wrong.

I'm doing a number of things wrong:

#4. I don't cuss like a sailor -- I don't even cuss like a college student. Hmm. Should I fix it? No. No, thanks. I mean, they don't cuss so much over at Times and Seasons. Or at The Conspiracy. Or at most of the over blogs I read. Sure, there's an occasional word here or there (or maybe they're minor and I'm oblivious to them?), but definitely not sailor-quality. But they're successful. So much for that.

#5. I told my mom. And my family. And my work friends. And my grandparents. But not people I want to date. That would be...weird. So maybe I've done this wrong? I started this blog to keep in touch with people who live so very far away from me because I'm a horrible correspondent and always forget to write letters. I don't do phone calls so well, either. So if the original purpose of the blog was to keep in touch with these folks, it'd be silly not to tell them. Strike two.

#17. Not enough pictures? Okay. Time to get a camera.

#20. I could use to change my style a bit. Mix it up. Say things different. Audblogging, though? Not me. Not yet.

#21. Ditto. New ideas. I <3 new ideas. New ideas are fun.

#27. No one likes poems? Alas and alack! Well. Okay. From now on, no poems on the blog. From now on, poems published at FictionPress and linked to from the blog. Hah! Nothing like a loophole. Plus, then I can find them and keep them and remember where I put them.

There's a bunch of other things recommended on this list that I don't do (like write often enough, I dare say!). There's a lot of things not recommended that I do. In short? No list is the be-all-end-all of "How To Blog." One of the greatest things about blogging is how free the form is. Okay, so what if I get 15 visitors a day -- especially if they're 15 cool visitors. Because they are. Because anyone who reads this blog is by definition cool.

So there.

Poor Boonie!

2005-02-16T12:21:00.000-05:00

Jeff over at U.S.S. Mariner offers us this rewriting of Robert Service’s poem, "Boon Soul":

Boone Soul
With profound apologies to Robert Service

Behold! He is old; frosted hair soon white;
Bret’s years-eroded swing
a sometimes troubling sight,
absent now what it once did bring.

The raucous second baseman’s skills
held through select all-star years,
one-hundred sixteen wins, viewed thrills
where facing Boone ranked in pitchers’ fears.

But in watching him this year you’ll see
(along with an inevitable decline, belated)
observers muse of how next year he’ll be
himself among the For Assignment Designated.
***

Here's only wishing that Bret Boone could overcome old age. While I understand that the team has to get younger if they want to get better, I'm a sucker for sentimentality and loyalty to favorites. Boone may not be the best player around, but he's always been my favorite Mariner, and I'll be sad to have to watch the M's without him, what with Johnny-O and Edgar and so many of my other favorites gone.

First prize to Puff Daddy!

2005-02-16T10:43:00.000-05:00

I guess everyone needs to have a hobby?

And though I've come to love it in recent years, I thought growing up with the name 'Arwyn' was difficult.

In the sun he melted...melted...melted! In the sun he melted, small, small, small!

2005-02-15T15:52:00.000-05:00

Today is February 15th, and it's 43 degrees outside.

43 degrees.

We had a snowstorm on Thursday. You know. Snow. Lots of it. Cold. Brrr.

And today? Water. Snowmelt. The campus is one big puddle.

(Speaking of the campus, there are some very pretty winter pictures of it here. I have this one of Mass Hall (foreground) and Memorial Hall (background) as my wallpaper right now.)

So it was a real challenge to navigate the Russian department's candidate across the islands of asphalt and cobbles to the dining hall for lunch. One of our professors (we have two!) is going on sabbatical next year, and they've been interviewing prospective replacements. I had the honor today of lunching with today's candidate, and will get to do the same on Thursday with the next. I'll leave my impressions of being a student interviewer (kinda?) for after that encounter, however.

Today's big news, then, is that Chapter 2 is done, finished, concluded, and turned in. I handed it off to my advisor at 3:30, and have the rest of the night to myself to...

...outline a paper for my history class tomorrow. Okay. So, life's not all roses. It's puddles. But at least there's a light at the end of the tunnel: Eddie is half written, and as soon as I get this out of the way, I can look forward to a relaxing weekend of being one of the "qualified, well-trained, highly competent people...who have all promised to stay sober for 1st and 2nd round" and who has volunteered to judge at Bowdoin's 2005 Debate Invitational Tournament.

Hah!

A day in the life...

2005-02-14T00:24:00.000-05:00

I realize -- to my regret -- that I've allowed a full three weeks of the semester to pass by without giving you the requisite run-down on The Classes That Arwyn Is Taking This Semester.

This post will be significantly shorter than other posts I've made on this topic over the past two and a half years. Why? Because I'm taking significantly fewer classes. It makes life easier and posting correspondingly shorter.

Many colleges have a system of credits or hours, where the number of hours of class every week is equivalent to the number of credits you receive for the course, and a course load is figured by how many hours you're taking each week, with X being a minimum course load and Y being a maximum.

We don't do that here at Bowdoin.

A full course load is four classes. Four classes, each of which meets three hours every week, and totals up to twelve hours of class a week. That does not, however, include labs: if you're a science major, you'll be in lab for four to five hours each week for each lab you take.

The poor science majors!

They hate us Humanities and social sciences majors. Really, they do. And I don't blame them. Taking geology with a lab last semester? That was four hours every Tuesday afternoon that were sucked out of my life!

Um.

But that aside...

Four classes is a full load. Some people take three some semesters; some people take five. You may, perhaps, remember my junior fall when I took five classes.

Or maybe you don't. Because I really didn't do anything that semester except read, do homework, and write papers. Oy.

But some people do that. The key is to finish your senior year with 32 credits (that's 32 total classes), meeting all distribution requirements (our version of GE reqs), and having completed a major (or two).

Well, this is my second semester of senior year, and thanks to some extra credits I've chalked up along the way (an extra one fall of junior year, for example, and a couple from all those AP exams I took in high school), I'm taking two classes.

Yep. That's right. You count 'em. One, two.

Well...okay. I'm taking two classes. And then...yes. There's Eddie.

So, what are they? Aside from really cool and fun?

I'm wrapping up my non-Eurocentric requirements this semester by taking a class called "Conquests and Heroes". Fun, right? Exactly. It's a seminar wherein we're comparing the concept of heroism in battle and warfare in general in 12-14th century Europe, China, and Japan. We've just finished reading Joinville's account of St. Louis and the Fifth Crusade, The Song of Roland, and a bunch of secondary lit. I've got a paper due on the Europe section next Monday.

The readings are really fascinating -- this is stuff that I don't really know much about, and the element of novelty makes them all the more exciting -- and because everyone gets so into the material, the class discussions are downright enlightening.

Plus, I'm one of three girls in a class of twenty. And I seem the only one capable of making an intelligent comment without overuse of the word "like" and hair-twirling, eye-rolling, question-inflecting inanity. Go me!

The other class is equally as cool, though the coolness factor declines in direct proportion to how prolix the prof is feeling that day. You see, it's a course on leadership taught by the former governor of Maine, Angus King. And he has a lot of examples to share and war stories to tell, and he likes to share and tell them.

Now, the readings have been fascinating. I particularly enjoyed Endurance, the account of Earnest Shackleton's failed venture to cross the Antarctic continent, and strongly recommend it as an excellent read and an amazing account of an absolutely unbelievable adventure of danger and survival. We haven't really progressed beyond Shackleton yet, so I can't really tell about the others, but I will indeed share as we move on.

It's a different class than most, though. The subject -- "Leaders and Leadership" -- is one that sometimes gets covered in an academic way in the government or social sciences departments, but nothing that is really looked at from a practical viewpoint here at Bowdoin. And Governor King is definitely no professor -- in a good way, and in a bad way. It's good, because his approach to the class is fresh: he hasn't spent the last X number of years embroiled in the politics of academia and with his nose stuck in a bunch of dusty books. He's been embroiled instead in the politics of...well...politics. And while he has some great stories to share and can talk about leadership from a very practical viewpoint, he really isn't connected with where we are as students; sometimes it seems the audience he thinks he's addressing and the audience he's actually addressing are miles apart.

Overall? Good class. And I'm enjoying it. Even at 8:30 in the morning.

And that's it. Usually I have two more to relate, but...not this time. It's "warfare class" and "leadership class" and then a heck of a lot of time spent with my dear Edmund Burke and the French Revolution.

Speaking of which, I have chapter 2 almost complete: need to write my conclusion (which I have outlined) and edit it up, and I'll be done and ready to turn it in on Tuesday. Huzzah!

Faith by DNA?

2005-02-12T12:01:00.000-05:00

I've taken to reading the New York Times more and more often these days. It's a very...dare I say...effective procrastination tool. Not only am I not working when I'm reading the news -- something I haven't really done all that often while in college -- but I'm still learning something. Not doing homework and learning something!

Anyway.

Interesting editorial in the Times today by Nicholas Kristof about whether or not human beings are predisposed toward faith (or not) based on the relative strength or weakness of a gene called VMAT2 (as identified by Dean Hamer in his book The God Gene, which is now on my "to read" list).

Kristof points out that there is still plenty of reason to be skeptical about this -- including the fact that Hamer's research has yet to be duplicated -- but it's a curious point.

What if we are genetically predisposed to believe in God -- or in some deity, some religion, something beyond our understanding on which we can rely? That raises the interesting question (which Kristof also raises) of whether God designed us to believe in Him...or whether He is simply "a figment of our VMAT2 gene."

And what if faith or a tendency toward religion is prompted by a gene (if being the operative word), what are the implications from a religious point of view? Could it be part of a plan of predestination whereby some people are supposed to have a greater challenge of faith in this life? Or does it mean that those whose genes make them more inclined toward religion are the more righteous who are predestined to believe more strongly in this life and thereby achieve greater exaltation in the life to come?

But both of those prospects bother me. The idea that faith can be genetically determined -- pro or con -- leads to the notion that faith will be easier for some than for others. Or does it mean instead that some people are more prone to fall for the fallacy of religion than others? One could argue that side as well.

I think the thing about genetic predetermination that unsettles me is that it seems to do away with the idea of agency -- or, it makes it too easy to dismiss agency, and undermines my personal philosophy that you can do anything if you work hard enough and smart enough and want it enough.

I've never (and this is going to make me popular, I know) bought into the "I was born that way" defense of homosexuality. That makes one sound like a victim. "I just can't help it" means that you haven't tried to find other ways to help it. Or other people or other means.

Or, you're not willing to admit that it's what you want. It may be a choice -- that's fine. I can believe in homosexuality (or religion) as a choice. And I refuse to condemn people who make that choice. But at least be active. At least say, "This is my choice." Because then you control the situation. Then, for good or ill, you're exercising your agency. You're not claiming victimship.

So when it comes down to whether an inclination toward or away from religion is genetically determined...that, too, seems to take away the element of choice. It gives people an out. It allows them to say, "Well, my faith isn't very strong, because my genes say religion isn't valid," instead of "I've given it a lot of thought and consideration and decided that religion isn't for me" or "according to a study of history, religion is the opiate of the masses."

Basically, it seems to take away the faithful element of faith. It takes away the choice to be faithful, the choice to believe.

It does, however, open the question of who has an easier time of it: those who must struggle to develop faith against the determination of genetics, or those who are able to sail easily along the river of faith -- and never have to face that struggle.

Wanted: Oboist

2005-02-12T10:15:00.000-05:00

They should put signs up all over the city -- old-fashioned signs, you know, like posters. The kind that they put up in all the Westerns that say "Wanted: Dead or Alive."

Though they probably oughn't say "Dead or Alive". "Alive Only", in fact, would probably be more preferable.

Because, as this New York Times article points out, it's hard to play the oboe alive.

And I'm pretty sure that, dead, it would pretty much be impossible.

Procrastination

2005-02-11T23:08:00.000-05:00

Okay, okay. For all that I've learned over the past week -- the past few months, even -- there's something that I haven't learned:

How not to procrastinate.

Sure, the paper's due on Tuesday and it's Thursday night and I have 21/26 pages written and that should stand me in good stead, right?

Right?

Right.

Um.

Yeah.

I've got a lot of work to do yet, but I'm brainfogged, braindead, and not motivated.

So!

Instead, I'll tell you a story about a girl named Arwyn.

Once upon a time...

(Because all stories begin Once upon a time..., whether they happened a thousand years ago or last week. Yesterday, at 2:18 PM... just doesn't sound half so cool.)

...a girl named Arwyn stepped out of her warm, cozy house...

(That would be the big brick edifice that we call "The Tower", and which is only warm because the school overheats it and doesn't let the girl adjust her own thermostat, making her have to open the window at night even when it's -4 outside just so she doesn't boil in her bed)

...and into a raging blizzard! It raged and it roared, and its wild fury swept the cold coastlands of southern Maine!

But Arwyn was brave, and tucked her warm Russian hat around her ears, and pulled on her warm winter coat, and tugged her warm woolen mittens over her cold fingers, and out into the storm she ventured.

She slipped and she slid down the stairs from her door, and she slipped and she slid along the barren parking lot, and she slipped and she slid allllllllll the way across Maine Street...

(Where she didn't get hit by any cars -- yay! -- but did stumble into a big slush puddle and got her leather boot all wet -- boo! -- but luckily it was waterproof just enough to keep her socks all dry -- yay! -- and she continued her adventure.)

...to the house of that brave General, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain. Even that noble dwelling was caked and crowded with snow, for the blizzard was fierce, and though it stood strong in the face of adverse winds and stormy skies, the flakes had frosted its sills and lintels.

Woe!

Past the house brave Arwyn trudged, each step a chore, each minute an agony of snow and wind lashing directly into her face, stinging nose and eyes, and chapping lips with chill!

(Naw, it really wasn't that bad. The snow was in her face, maybe; and she was walking into the wind, which made it seem that bad...but life is never as bad as it seems. Right?)

Past the house and down the hill and across the railroad tracks she pushed against that harsh February wind; down the cobbled walk of Maine Street; through the raging storm and to an inn. The door stood stiff against her efforts to open it, and she struggled and struggled...

(Mainly because the door opened in and she was trying to pull it out, but that's just details. Right? Right. Details. And it wasn't an inn. It was the Big Top Deli. But fairy tales never take place in delis.)

...and finally came off conqueror. Into the dry warmth of the inn she stepped with a long sign of relief, and called for meat and bread and cheese and a drink fit for one beset so long by the cold!

(Well, meat and cheese and a drink, anyway. Or, rather, a bottle of water and an Italian sub on her own bread -- an Ezekiel 4:9 Sprouted Grain Tortilla, which she loves and adores and likes to wrap many, many sorts of things in.)

Famished by the ordeal, she tucked into her refreshment with appetite to fit a bear! And while she ate, who should step through the door but Amanda of Brunswick...

(That's my friend Amanda. She sings alto with me in the Chorus. No. She sings alto in the Chorus. I kinda try to sing. Sort of. But compared to her, I croak.)

...who had also braved the elements that blustery afternoon! After a fair meal and much fine conversation -- after they had warmed and thawed and prepared themselves again to meet the blizzard's onslaught -- brave Arwyn and Amanda forged their way toward the great castle in the distance...

(That would be the big fort at the end of Maine Street.)

...that guarded the frozen waterway, the mighty Androscoggin...

(There's a dam on the river there, at least. But the water's frozen. Like, frozen in a waterfall over the dam. So pretty!)

...that shimmered and danced beneath the cover of ice. But could they see it? No. The snow shielded that fair water from their eyes.

At the castle's entry, a knight, valiant for courage and strength, blocked their way. "Two questions I will pose to you," he called out in challenge, "And if you answer wise and fair,

I will allow you passage!"

Thus challenged, these brave and daring girls could not, would not stand down. "Ask!" they commanded, and the knight proceeded:

"First! Does not the wind blow heavy against you, and the snow obscure your sight?

"And second! Do you possess amongst yourselves the ways and means of fire?

(Right. Which, in layman's terms, mean: "Nasty weather, isn't it?" and "Got a light?")

These questions the girls answered honestly and forthright, for they were no great challenge -- no great challenge to those who had overcome the storm, overcome the rage of old Father Frost!

Into the castle, then, and up the many-tiered staircase, and to the fourth floor, and swiftly, and swiftly, and swiftly to the end of the long, long hallway--

--and thence?

Into the salon!

"Off with their hair!" cried the scissor-handed women there. "Off with their braids and their pony-tails! Off, off with it!"

And the girl named Arwyn sat in the chair, and humbly submitted to the ministrations of the woman with scissors...

(And endured "small talk". I'm horrible at "small talk." Especially with people I don't know. But the lady was cool, and seemed to be having fun with my hair, at least).

...and in the end, long braids were collected, placed into bags, and sent with a messenger upon a swift horse to a place where they are needed more.

And this is the story of how a girl named Arwyn procrastinated away her Thursday afternoon.

The End.

(Wanna see? Here and here.)

Me and Eddie

2005-02-11T19:01:00.000-05:00

Has it been almost a week since my last post? Yes. Has it been almost a week since I last had any free time to post?

Yes.

Let me tell you about Eddie.

Eddie is my honors project. It's a paper that, at the moment, has about 60 pages written already and another 45 to go -- at least. The subject? Edmund Burke and the French Revolution: Codename Eddie.

Chapter Two is due on Tuesday. I've pretty much spent since last Saturday spending every spare moment -- and many a moment that is not spare -- reading, outlining, and writing this section of the paper. For someone who had never written anything longer than ten pages before May of last year, this is quite the undertaking, and has been an amazing learning experience.

For example?

I have learned...

...that I can spend ten hours in one day doing homework and still not be done.

...that I can get up at 7:30 in the morning and start working by 8:00 or 8:30, a feat that I'd never accomplished before in college.

...that I can keep working until after ten o'clock, which had previously been my cut-off point (I'm a big afternoon/early evening homework-doer).

...that lunch isn't really that important, but dinner is indispensable.

...that friends, also, are indispensable, because no matter how many times I grumble about how me and Eddie aren't getting along very well, they're always there to point out how foolish I was to choose such a topic -- and to tell me I can get it done -- and to bribe me with fun things to do if I finish on time.

...that even a blizzard can't stop all attempts at procrastination.

...that I really don't know anything about the French Revolution, no matter how much I read or what I read or where I read it or for how long.

...that I really can write 20 pages of a paper in under a week. I know that doesn't sound impressive, but I've never been able to focus long enough to write more than 5-6 a day; and I usually get bored after a couple days; but this time, I've been plugging away since Monday morning, taking only most of yesterday off (blizzard; procrastination; classes and work and rehearsals and intramural basketball games and other important things to do), and nearly have the thing finished.

A weekend of editing and polishing, and I should have a solid 25-30 page chapter to turn in on Tuesday.

Huzzah!

And now -- back to work. I'll try to post something intelligent this weekend -- if I have braincells left -- but if not, look forward to hearing from me regularly after Tuesday.

I am Charlotte Simmons

2005-02-06T20:36:00.000-05:00

I confess: I have yet to read Tom Wolfe's new book, I am Charlotte Simmons.

But I'm probably not the only one who can say that, and it's easy to find comfort in the crowd, so I won't feel too bad about it. Yet.

It's a book that I do want to read, though, when I have the spare time for a 600+ page novel about the adventure that is college; it's a book that I've wanted to read ever since I read my buddy Ben Peisch's review of it in the Bowdoin Orient.

And it's a book that I want to read all the more now that he's been quoted in The New York Times.

Go Ben!

Cracking down

2005-02-05T20:58:00.000-05:00

Now, I understand the importance of cracking down on people who put hundreds of hundreds of copyrighted songs up on the internet for others to access for free...

...well, intellectually I understand it -- at the same time, I like free things myself...

But this is something that I don't understand at all. An 83 year old woman, who happens to be dead, "was recently targeted by the recording industry in a lawsuit that accused her of illegally trading music over the Internet."

Um.

Yeah.

Good deed does not go unpunished

2005-02-05T01:37:00.000-05:00

This story (hat tip to Times and Seasons for the link) about two girls who were sued by a neighbor for delivering cookies to her doorstep at 10:30 one night -- and who won, requiring the girls to pay $900 -- is absolutely ridiculous.

First of all, it's awfully magnanimous of the judge to decline to award punitive damages, "saying he did not believe the girls acted maliciously." Very kind. But 10:30 was "fairly late at night for them to be out"? They're 17 and 18, for goodness' sake! 10:30 is a perfectly reasonable time to be out, especially if they're just going around the neighborhood doing what they consider to be good deeds.

Now, I understand that the woman was startled; and I understand that if she'd been so scared she had to go to the hospital, that she might be a little put out...but suing? Even after the girls' parents offered to pay her medical bills?

Suing because the girls' "apologies were not sincere and were not offered in person"? Well, gee. Who is she to be able to tell if they were sincere or not? Can she read minds? Can she read hearts?

I could be more understanding to her plight. I really could. But what really gets me is at the very end when the neighbor says: "I just hope the girls learned a lesson."

What, precisely, does she hope they learned? To go to bed early? To not bake cookies? To not deliver cookies to neighbors? To not deliver cookies to neighbors late at night? To answer when someone asks "Who's there?" in reply to knocking at such an hour? She could mean any of these things...

But I think the lesson that these girls will take away from the suit is really that no good deed goes unpunished: that people are afraid to be treated kindly, and prefer the impersonal interaction of lawyers and courts to working out their own problems with their own neighbors.

Tocqueville praised America's democratic citizens for their willingness to work together to solve problems. I see just this sort of thing as evidence that we've lost something of that quality, having come instead to rely on courts rather than personal interactions to resolve our problems. Is this an indication of growing immaturity as adults?

I think so: while a crime or an intricate business deal may require use of the court system, a small thing like this out to be worked out between mature adults. This woman -- and so many parties like her on both sides of so many issues -- was unable and unwilling to work it out with these girls. She could have: their families offered to pay the damages, and the girls offered apologies. But that she did not indicates a lack not of ability but willingness to deal person-to-person without the cushioning intervention of the court system.

And that, I think, is almost more sad than this good deed not going unpunished.

Call me a skeptic

2005-02-03T17:31:00.000-05:00

The Washington Post reports that the Georgian prime minister died early this morning from carbon-monoxide poisoning in the apartment of his friend and political colleague.

The Georgian Interior Minister says it was an accident.

The Russian Foreign Minister said that "the statements of those who rush to make judgments . . . will remain on their consciences."

Allow my statements, then, to remain on my conscience, because when someone who played so pivatol a role in moving his country farther from Russia's influence dies of a poisoning from a stove installed two days before he went to visit...

...and when Russia has been supporting separatist regions in Georgia...

...I can't help but be suspicious. And this sort of thing? Unless someone comes out and says "I did it," there's no telling. Carbon monoxide bears no fingerprints.

So I'm not saying Russia did it; I'm not pointing fingers at anyone in particular. But I'm expressing real doubts that this was simply an accident.

Указ

2005-02-02T22:08:00.001-05:00

Not many Russian words end up used often in the English language. The biggest examples -- perestroika and glasnost -- come straight from the Gorbachov era, and though they are used often to describe the political actions of the time, they're not mainstream vocabulary: no one goes around saying, "Oh, yeah, well, now that Saddam's out of power, Iraq is experiencing a period of increasing glasnost." Some use it in writing (see here, here, and...well...okay, here), but it's definitely not in the vernacular.

Today's Dictionary.com Word of the Day, however, has a definition that takes it outside the Russian-specific meaning: ukaze* can be defined either as:
1. In imperial Russia, a published proclamation or order having the force of law.
or
2. Any order or decree issued by an authority; an edict.

That's the first Russian word I've come across that has that second meaning -- that delivers it outside of the specific Russian situation and defines it in a more generally applicable sense.

There may be others, and I could just be forgetting them -- but this is the first I've ever seen as a WOTD, and that's a fact.

*I'll note here and now that the pronunciation guide on the site is horribly anglicized. указ should be not yoo-KAYS, but oo-KAHZ. Russian has two sets of vowels: hard and soft. "yoo" (ю)would be one vowel; "oo" (у) would be another. In this case, the "oo" vowel is used. And "a" is never pronounced "ay".

Hah.

2005-02-02T19:30:00.000-05:00

I have many a fond memory of trips to the library as a child; even now, passing through those hallowed doors gives my stomach butterflies. So much knowledge! So little time!

We used to go every week, at least. I'd skim the shelves for more Boxcar Childre books -- I was a sucker for a good mystery -- or a new biography -- I was also a bit of a nerd -- or historical novel that suited my fancy.

And my brothers and I would always pick up the new (or very old) issues of "Boys' Life", our favorite magazine.

Ah. Here you think this post is going to turn into a childhood remeniscence, or reach some serious and solemn conclusion about the value of constructive magazines. Well.

No.

The best part about "Boys' Life"? The comics, of course, and the jokes at the end. The features were sometimes intersting, and there was occasionally a piece of fiction to enjoy (I still recall having nightmares after reading a story about a boy who was raised by Indians after watching them scalp his brother -- aie!), but the comics and jokes? Those were prime.

Our favorites -- at least, my favorites -- were the jokes that fell into the catagory "Books Never Written." I got a few good ones in an email from GCFL this morning, and thought I would share:

"How to Write Large Books" by Warren Peace
"The Lion Attacked" by Claude Yarmoff
"The Art of Archery" by Beau N. Arrow
"Songs for Children" by Barbara Blacksheep
"Irish Heart Surgery" by Angie O'Plasty
"Desert Crossing" by I. Rhoda Camel
"School Truancy" by Marcus Absent
"I Was a Cloakroom Attendant" by Mahatma Coate
"I Lost My Balance" by Eileen Dover and Phil Down
"Mystery in the Barnyard" by Hu Flung Dung
"Positive Reinforcement" by Wade Ago
"Shhh!" by Danielle Soloud
"The Philippine Post Office" by Imelda Letter
"Things to Do at a Party" by Bob Frapples
"Stop Arguing" by Xavier Breath
"Raising Mosquitos" by I. Itch
"Mountain Climbing" by Hugo First

They reminded me of those hours spent pouring over Boy Scout magazines as a kid, sure. But more importantly, they afforded me a moment's chuckle on a slow and depressing morning. So I thought I'd share.

...and gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche.

2005-02-02T18:22:00.000-05:00

Bowdoin College has a beautiful campus: tall pines extend their evergreen tops heavenward, and in the fall the other trees take turns coloring the quad from gold to sienna to deepest maroon; winter brings drifts and deep fields of snow -- ice that, black and blue, hides waiting on the pathways for the unsuspecting student and, to the enjoyment of all so inclined, a skating rink; in spring, when snow has melted, green grass seeds the grounds and ivy crawls the building walls, to mingle green with deep red brick.

Really. It's quite pretty. Most of it.

I love the buildings best, I think. Nature dances her changing pattern around them -- ivy turns brown, falls, snow covers the roofs, and the vines spring anew, but the buildings resist the year's varying moods and stand firm and proud -- or small and humble -- before the weather's variations. And, of course, I have my favorites:

I love old Massachusetts Hall -- Mass Hall for short -- that squats old and small at the north end of the quad, dwarfed by Adams and Memorial, but undaunted in their shadows.

Memorial Hall, that tall-standing grey-stone memory, that recalls the many sons of Bowdoin who served their country -- Union or Confederacy -- during the Civil War.

The old chapel, now free from scaffolding's bondage with spires rebuilt and stronger than ever whose chimes ring out across campus to mark the quarter of every hour, and whose interior is graced with Biblical images and acoustics that lend for its use angels' voices.

And, of course, the great patriarch of the quad, tall, noble, gothic Hubbard Hall that reigns supreme from the south end and whose echoing corridors mix a little bit of grandeur into the humdrum college life.

I'm going to miss this place when I graduate in May. I'm going to miss all my favorite haunts: the memorials on the east flank of tall Hubbard, the walk that ends at Mass Hall, the lawn on the north side of Searles...

...and the steps of Moulton Union, wherein are carved Chaucer's description of the Oxford scholar: "And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche."

As I said, I'm going to miss this place. And as I've spent the last few days fretting about what to do after graduation that this clerk and I have more than a little in common. He spends all his money on books, and hence is poor; I spend all my money...well, I'd be content to live quite modestly if I could have my library.

And as for what I want to do when all is said and done? Well. Gladly would I learn -- except that I don't want to do it in the grad or law school environment next year -- and gladly teach.

I've given a lot of consideration to other jobs -- editing, paralegaling, that sort -- but I just can't get excited about sitting in an office all day every day, and heaven knows but I'll have more than enough time to do that after I finish grad or law school. Better to do something a bit more fun and adventuresome while I'm still young and have time and energy to do things that are fun and adventuresome.

"And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche."

Right. So the plan? Teach abroad. There's a market for teachers of English in lots of bizarre places. I'm looking into certification programs and possible locations: Europe -- perhaps somewhere Slavic -- or Japan being my top two choices.

If anyone out there has ever done it, or has information or advice, I'd appreciate a shout.

And meanwhile? I'll try to enjoy the beauty of the college -- balanced with the weight of this last semester's courseload -- while it's still mine to enjoy.

Be still my heart!

2005-01-31T11:17:00.000-05:00

I think...

I think that it's time for me to move to British Columbia!

There once was a word from a book...

2005-01-30T01:49:00.000-05:00

I don't consider myself a linguist, as such, and no one will ever accuse me of being a philologist on Tolkien's scale (I'm rather fond of the word philology, though...).

But I do like words. I like to learn where they came from and how they morphed and how they came to mean what they mean today. I like to learn the connections between words (for example, between the Irish "ban" of "banshee" fame, the Russian "zhena" -- "wife" -- and the English "queen", which all came from the same Indo-European root). Last semester, I had a grand time perusing lists of "false friends" in various Slavic languages -- that is, words that sound alike or look alike in, say, Russian and Ukrainian or Polish and Slovene, but don't have the same meaning.

For a number of years now, my brother and I have both been receiving emails from A.W.A.D. (which, I confess, I only read occasionally and usually delete on sight, but the words are interesting, right?).

There: I've established my reputation as a word-lover. And with that in mind, perhaps you'll begin to understand how I spent four hours yesterday reading The Omnificent English Dictionary In Limerick Form.

That's right, friends! It's like the Oxford English Dictionary (to which -- thanks to high heaven be! -- Bowdoin provides me a subscription for my infinite amusement), except...in limerick form!

Some of my favorites?

A balloon rubbed against a toupee
And then pushed to the ceiling will stay.
With electrons all veering,
It keeps on adhering
'Til static charge passes away

Antiquarianism's no more
Than a fondness for eras before,
Which expresses itself
Through the books on your shelf
And the knickknacks you sell in your store.

My darling, your hair looks like rust.
It's the shade of bacterial crust,
Or New Mexican dirt,
Or the stain in my shirt.
Call it auburn? All right, if I must.

I, of course, tried to look up philology because that would be such a fun word to turn into a limerick...but alas, they're starting with the letter A and moving forward only at a snail's pace. Perhaps...perhaps I need to help them move faster...!

Patrick O'Brien

2005-01-30T01:48:00.000-05:00

As many of you know, I've been reading Patrick O'Brien's Aubrey/Maturin series for over a year now. I saw Master and Commander in theaters over Thanksgiving last year, picked up Master and Commander (the book) during finals that semester, and haven't looked back since.

And, really, haven't read much else fiction-wise since, except Robin Hobb's Farseer and Tawny Man Trilogies, plus, of course, a fair amount of Russian poetry and everything I read for my poetry and literature courses over the last year.

I'm now about to begin the last book: Blue at the Mizzen. I've spent so much time with Jack and Stephen over the past year that...well, gee, I've been putting off picking up the book because I know I'll be sad when it's over. There's another -- 21 -- which is incomplete and bound to bring tears to my eyes.

The thing is, I get attached to characters. Sometimes, I almost feel I'm more attached to characters from novels (or of my own creation) than to many real people. This could potentially be unhealthy. Hmm. Well, I'll work on that. Meanwhile, allow me to suggest these books to anyone who has a spare bit of time and wants a good read.

They're quirky: although O'Brien was writing in the 20th century, he wrote in the style of the 19th. The funniest parts of the novels are when someone makes a joke (usually Stephen) and everyone (usually Jack) being so oblivious or engaged in something else that it falls unnoticed. This is funny, of course, because then you can laugh and say to yourself, "Wow, he's witty, and poor Jack missed it, but isn't Jack cool!" Ahem.

O'Brien doesn't belabor any point; he never writes heavy-handedly. If you pick up on a point or a joke or a note, you pick up on it; if you don't, you don't, but he doesn't throw it in your face. He writes the naval vocabulary as though he expects you to know it; but he doesn't expect Stephen to know it, so Jack, Bonden, and the mids are always explaining things to him -- and to you.

I could go on and on, but I don't think I could explain it half as well as gst does in a comment about them on a Times and Seasons discussion on books: "They’re like Austen except several Frenchmen get slaughtered every 75 pages or so."

So. If you have the time. Have the need of something to read. They're on the "Highly Recommended By Arwyn" list.

Meditation Course

2005-01-29T13:50:00.000-05:00

I promised a post; I thought about it through the entire course; and finally, I think I have a spare hour and enough presence of mind to be able to write it. Rejoice!

I enjoyed the format of my BYU post so much, that I'm going to use a similar format on this one: questions and answers. I've thought of a number of questions that I would ask, and will provide the answers; if anyone has any questions that I haven't thought of, please, feel free to toss them into the comments section (or shoot me an email) and I'll be happy to answer them.

First, the usual suspects:

What is Vipassana meditation?

It's the form of meditation taught by Gautama the Buddha as the road to liberation from misery and enlightenment, and does so by removing the impurities of the mind. Basically, the Buddha said that life involves suffering. Can anyone deny it? I can't. It's true. There's suffering in life. There's joy, too -- can't deny that, either. But suffering is there. Why do we suffer? The Buddha then said that suffering is caused by craving and aversion: something that we don't want to happen has happened, and we react to it, and become miserable; something that we want to happen hasn't happened, and we react to it, and become miserable. Sure, sometimes what we want to happen happens, and vice-versa -- but life doesn't always go that way. After all, life's not fair, right?

That sounds kinda pessimistic, though, doesn't it? Which is why it's important for there to be a way to come out of suffering by learning how not to react to these sorts of things. And why not react to them? Intellectually, it makes sense to me: these disappointments are impermanent. Sure, something bad happens -- but it will change. Or I can change it. Similarly, if something good happens, I can rejoice in it -- but knowing that it will change eventually, I can be prepared for the change and not be let down when it happens.

The technique of meditation that they teach at these courses is just that -- a tool and a means whereby to come out of suffering.

How do you practice this meditation?

Vipassana comprises three important components: morality, concentration, and wisdom. What, exactly, are morality, concetration, and wisdom?

Morality. At the beginning of the course, every student takes upon themselves five precepts -- five things they won't do for the duration of the course. These precepts are:
1. To abstain from killing any being.
2. To abstain from stealing.
3. To abstain from all sexual activity.
4. To abstain from telling lies.
5. To abstain from all intoxicants.

Concentration. The first three days of the course, you learn a type of meditation, the purpose of which is to develop concentration. Minds wander -- heaven knows, mine does -- and in order to practice Vipassana, the mind needs to be focused. This technique helps to focus the mind by keeping it fixed on a single object -- one that is always there, whether you're aware of it or not: your breath. By focusing on the breath, and by bringing the mind back to it every time it wanders (without getting annoyed at it), you learn to concentrate deeply and to focus on the present moment, on the matter at hand.

Wisdom. This comes through the practice of Vipassana, which is a technique wherein you observe the immediate reality of the moment. Huh? you ask. Well, reality is what's really happening, right? And for something to be real, it has to be happening now, right? The past is the past; it was real and it happened, but it's not happening anymore. The future? Hasn't even happened yet, but will be real when it does. The present moment, then, is the only true reality, and in order to be focused on what is real, you have to be focused on the present.

Okay, so what's the technique? With a foundation of morality established -- so that you're not creating more defilements of the mind while trying to purify it -- and concentration -- so you can focus on the present moment -- the technique teaches you to observe the sensations that arise and pass away. And -- more importantly -- to remain equanimous. And then the wisdom: that everything -- every sensation, whether painful or pleasurable -- is impermanent. With that, with having experienced impermanence, it's not just an intellectual understanding, but a real understanding. And only then can the path out of misery be trod.

Where was this thing?

This particular course was at a Vipassana Meditation Center in Shelburne, Mass. There are centers all over the world, though, where the exact same courses are held -- same timetable, same technique, same code of discipline, same everything.

What does the course entail other than meditation?

Nothing, really. You take a 10-day vow of silence, and during those 10-days you meditate from 4:30 in the morning until 9:00 at night, with breaks for breakfast, lunch, tea-and-fruit at dinnertime, and an hour-long discourse from the teacher (to explain stuff) at 8:00. There's about 11 hours of meditation in there -- and this course, I pretty much meditated through all of them.

How much does it cost?

Ever the important question, especially to us college students! And happy is the answer: absolutely nothing. What? Free? Nothing in life is free! Right. But this is. And here's why: part of the Buddha's teaching has to do with dissolving the ego. And a good way to do that is to live on the charity of others -- and to give charity to others. So for 10 days, you become a monk or a nun and live completely on the donations of other people. The course itself -- the teaching -- is free. Why? Because money can't buy happiness. After the course is over -- and only then -- you can give donations to the center for upkeep and running future courses: that is, so more people can learn. But they don't allow anyone to donate who hasn't taken a course -- which I think is kind of cool, because it means that they function entirely on the charity of people who are grateful for and who appreciate the teaching. And nothing is expected -- they don't solicit donations -- but giving is good for the soul.

Why?

I covered the "What's the purpose" question back in "What" and "How". This one is more along the lines of the "Why" that my friends ask me: "Why take a 10-day vow of silence, do a 10-day retreat, spend 10-days sitting in a hall meditating for 12-hours a day?" "When you could be doing other things...why?"

Well...I can't say it's for fun. Because, to be honest? The course really isn't fun. But let me tell you this: after 50 weeks a year of dealing with people and being inundated with noise and information, 10 days of complete silence is utter bliss. And, of course, there's the meditation itself. I find the concentration helps me in my academic life. I find the equanimity helps me in my personal life. It changes outlooks. An example?

I got back to school from the course and discovered that, during our 5-week break, someone had stolen the seat from my bike, seat post and all. I could, I suppose, get angry; I could get upset and yell and rail. But I find that I have no desire to get upset. What purpose would it serve? Better to channel my energy more usefully: in reporting it to security and the police, to researching bike seats and buying a new one, to remembering in the future to bring my bike inside before I go away for a few weeks.

Or another example: I signed up to take a class in the Russian department that I don't really need to graduate, but that would be very interesting -- Russian folklore. It meets at a time that's somewhat inconvenient for me on Fridays, and since it's such a small class, I was told there was a good chance we could change the meeting time. Dandy! So I brought that up in class, and because it was inconvenient for another girl (she'd have to miss a number of classes over the course of the semester if we didn't change it), I figured it'd be possible. Boy, was I wrong. The boys in the class (boys will, I suppose, be boys) were adamant that their comfort in sleeping in until 1 on Friday afternoons was more important than our ability to attend class, and the majority ruled to keep it as it was. I was, understandably, disappointed. But rather than stewing for the rest of the day, I was able to keep my cool in a situation that, previously, I would have blown up in -- and I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out the best solution to my scheduling problem thoughtfully instead of emotionally.

That's why: it's kind of like having a toothache. I don't necessarily enjoy the operation (though like I said, 10 days of quiet? Bliss!), but I enjoy the happier existence after it.

How do you reconcile Buddhist meditation with your religion?

This is one that I get asked a lot when I tell people that I meditate, and it's a good one. If I didn't have an answer that suited me, I wouldn't meditate. But it's not so difficult as all that.

First of all, this is a meditation technique. It's not a cult. It's not even a religion. There is no worship of anyone or anything involved -- in fact, the teacher emphasizes over and over again that it must not turn into worship, or else you're missing the point. It's really quite non-sectarian in the way that a hammer is non-sectarian: it doesn't matter what your religion is to use a hammer; it doesn't matter what your religion is to learn how to be calm and equanimous through the storms of life.

But what about my religion in particular? What about Christianity? What about Mormonism?

I don't find that very difficult, either. The Thirteenth Article of Faith says that "if there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things." Futhermore, we put a fair amount of stock in Matthew 17:16-20:

16. Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?

17. Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a ccorrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.

18 A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.

19 Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.

20 Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.

And what have I found to be the fruits of this meditation? In short, I have found in it a way to become more charitable. I've developed greater compassion for God's children (and for His creatures, I dare say). I find myself less inclined to react negatively to situations, instead taking a more proactive approach to difficulties. I find, in short, good fruit.

Sure, it doesn't make me perfect. Anyone who knows me can tell you that -- I can be temperamental, I have my moods, my disappointments, my frustrations. But they don't last quite as long, and they aren't quite so bad. Really big, deep changes take time; but they never happen if you never start.

So how do I reconcile Buddhist meditation with my religious beliefs? As simple as this: I believe that Jesus Christ was the son of God, who came to Earth as an example of a perfect life -- and then who suffered for our sins and died and was resurrected that we, too, may someday rise again. And the meditation? I believe that it's a tool to help me become more like Him -- and the fruits of anything that helps me to become more Christlike, I believe, are good.

What about reincarnation?

Right. The Buddha taught about reincarnation: that full liberation means not being born again into future lives. And I'll grant that this technique is taught on an assumption of reincarnation -- because that's what the Buddha taught. And me? I don't know. I believe in reincarnation in one way or another: I believe that we were incarnated here on Earth, that we will die, and be incarnated again when we are resurrected. But further than that? I really, honestly, don't have a clue. I won't condemn it out-of-hand (because I don't think it necessarily has to conflict with Mormon belief about the pre-existence and eternal life), but I also don't really buy it the way it has been introduced to me (being born as a rabbit, for example, seems somewhat ludicrous to me). It's one of those things that I'm going to set aside for the moment -- one of the videos I want to watch in Heaven, as it were, along with how the world was really created (7 days? 7000 years? Millions of years?).

But that doesn't have any bearing on my meditation. Because it doesn't really matter what you believe -- whether you believe in reincarnation or not -- for good to come out of the technique. The actual practice is focused on observing what's happening in the present moment; belief has nothing to do with it.

Any other questions?

Those are the main ones that pop into my mind when I try to think of what someone would ask and want to know about the course, but I'm as fallible as the next person, and certainly not psychic (that's for, you know, when I've reached full enlightenment, right? ;). So, if you have a question, or desire clarification, or want to discuss, leave a comment or shoot me an email!

And for a bit more info and a bit deeper explanation of the meditation, check out:
Vipassana Meditation Website (especially see What is Vipassana? and The Art of Living)

And for some info on Buddhist philosophy in general, check out:
The Four Noble Truths and
The Noble Eightfold Path

Happy Duel Day!

2005-01-27T15:54:00.000-05:00

Today is the 160th anniversary of the duel between Aleksandr Pushkin and a young man named d'Anthes wherein Pushkin sustained the wound that would kill him two days later.

If it was as cold on that day as it is here in Maine today (-4 when I left for class this morning; -13 with windchill), then I'd almost be happy to die of a duel, too: at least it would mean no freezing to death!

In honor of the day, I give you Mikhail Lermontov's "Death of a Poet" (in Russian: "Cмерть поэта"):

The Bard is killed! The honor's striver
Fell, slandered by a gossip's dread,
With lead in breast and vengeful fire,
Drooped with his ever-proud head.
The Poet's soul did not bear
The shameful hurts of low breed,
He fought against the worldly "faire,"
Alone as always, ... and is killed!
He's killed! What for are late orations
Of useless praise; and weeps and moans,
And gibberish of explanations? --
The fate had brought her verdict on!
Had not you first so hard maltreated
His free and brave poetic gift,
And, for your pleasure, fanned and fitted
The fire that in ashes drifts?
You may be happy ... Those tortures
Had broken his strength, at last:
Like light, had failed the genius gorgeous;
The sumptuous wreath had weathered fast.

His murderer, without mercy,
Betook his aim and bloody chance,
His empty heart is calm and healthy,
The pistol did not tremble once.
And what is wonder? ... From a distance,
By road of manifold exiles,
He came to us, by fatal instance,
To catch his fortune, rank and price.
Detested he the alien lands
Traditions, language and discussions;
He couldn't spare The Fame of Russians
And fathom -- till last instant rushes --
What a disaster grips his hand! ...

And he is killed, and leaves from here,
As that young Bard, mysterious but dear,
The prey of vengeance, deaf and bland,
Who sang he of, so lyric and sincere,
Who too was put to death by similar a hand.

And why, from peaceful times and simple-hearted fellows,
He entered this high life, so stiff and so jealous
Of freedom-loving heart and passions full of flame?
Why did he give his hand to slanders, mean and worthless
Why trusted their words and their oaths, godless,
He, who from youth had caught the mankind's frame?

And then his wreath, a crown of sloe,
Woven with bays, they put on Poet's head;
The thorns, that secretly were grown,
Were stinging famous brow, yet.
His life's fast end was poisoned with a gurgle
And faithless whisper of the mocking fops,
And died he with burning thrust for struggle,
With hid vexation for his cheated hopes.
The charming lyre is now silent,
It will be never heard by us:
The bard's abode is grim and tightened,
And seal is placed on his mouth.

And you, oh, vainglory decedents
Of famous fathers, so mean and base,
Who've trod with ushers' feet the remnants
Of clans, offended by the fortune's plays!
In greedy crowd standing by the throne,
The foes of Freedom, Genius, and Repute --
You're hid in shadow of a law-stone,
For you, and truth and justice must be mute! ...

But there is Court of God, you, evil manifold! --
The terrible court: it waits;
It's not reached by a ring of gold,
It knows, in advance, all thoughts' and actions' weights.
Then you, in vain, will try to bring your evil voice on:
It will not help you to be right,
And you will not wash of with all your bloody poison,
The Poet's righteous blood!

Return!

2005-01-25T21:45:00.000-05:00

Just a quick post to let y'all know that I'm back at school. Made it through the nasty storm (I won't tell you how we drove across Western Mass through the blizzard that dumped two or three feet of snow out there and then took one of the last running busses from Boston to Portland and had to call a friend to bail us out and drive us up to Brunswick), and am safe and sound and (dare I say it?) warm at Bowdoin.

I've got a couple posts in mind, and will deliver them -- especially the one I promised -- as soon as I've got classes and everything in order and have a bit of spare time.

Until then!

Hiatus

2005-01-11T22:36:00.000-05:00

I hate to give you such a long and (I hope) thoughtful post and then leave you all alone, but I'm taking off in the morning for an 11-day break from blogging, internet, email, and all other forms of communication: I'm going on a 10-day meditation retreat about which I promise to tell when I get back.

Until the 23rd, however, take care!

BYU observations

2005-01-10T13:57:00.000-05:00

Provo, Utah: Day 4.

I came into my visit here at BYU with some preconceptions and assumptions -- some positive, some negative, some about the school, some about the people, and some about myself. And for the most part, I've found myself proven true. For the most part. My observations about the school and the atmosphere (gee, that makes me sound all scientific, doesn't it?) pretty much fit neatly into those, so I'll proceed to them without further ado.

Preconception 1: The people here are nice, friendly, and really fun.
Proven: True!

I've had a great time hanging out with my brother, his roommates, and his friends -- especially the girls in whose apartment I'm staying. They're bright, they're fun, they're nice, they're welcoming, and they've made my stay a joy -- all of them. I've particularly been amused by one of my brother's roommates who comes off a little rough and gruff at first, but is quite considerate and kind beneath it all. I attended church on Sunday and all the girls in Relief Society were welcoming and cool; the folks the girls have had over the apartment for games and hanging out are all pretty cool. I've had a great time, and am more than happy to see this expectation pan out.

Preconception 2: Personally, I would enjoy the social life here, but not the academic/intellectual life so much.
Proven: True.

As mentioned above, I've enjoyed my stay and enjoyed hanging out with the people I've hung out with. Moreover, I enjoy the manner of hanging out: no drinking, no worrying about spilled beer in the elevators on Sunday mornings, not being the only one getting up early on Sunday morning to attend church, people interested in being creative about what they do of a Saturday night, and so forth.

However...despite what they may say over at Times and Seasons, I'm a big fan of the liberal arts education. Moreover, I've grown accustomed to the lighter, freer exchange of ideas that takes place on a more liberal campus. For all my conservative leanings, a stint down here at the Y has shown me how terribly moderate I really am: my conservatism has more to do with political theory than with practical politics.

The sense I get from being here and talking to the students I've talked to is that courses at BYU (possibly like any other large university; I've never attended one) are designed to teach you a lot of information and then get you out into the workforce (or higher education, perhaps) to be a useful and productive member of society. There's not much room here for sitting around philosophizing; they teach you stuff, not how to think about stuff. And one of the things I love best about Bowdoin is how it challenges my critical thinking on every level, supposing I've chosen the right classes.

This could be a function of large university v. small college; it could be Mormon school v. non-affiliated, irreligious school; it could be any number of things. But despite how much I like the social life down here (what I've seen of it, at least), I think I would miss the Bowdoin academic environment.

Preconception 3: People down here think about marriage all the time.
Proven: Undecided.

It's obvious that marriage is in the air. People think about it. People talk about it. Girls seem to talk a lot about guys as being "on" or "off" the market. How I've overcome a typically Mormon outlook on boys (sizing every one up as a potential mate and learning to become friends with them instead) is a topic for another post, but marriage is definitely something that is on many a mind here. On the other hand, it's not as prevalent as I thought it would be; people joke about the marriage-oriented culture (apparently you can pick up a date just by hanging around the periodicals section of the library long enough), but it's not the A-#1 topic of thought or conversation.

Still, it's definitely more present than at Bowdoin; indeed, I'd love to have a happy medium that lies somewhere between the "I want to get married soon" mentality and the "let's hook up" mentality. But that happy medium is not to be found prevalent, I think, either at Bowdoin or at BYU.

Preconception 4: There are too many Mormons at BYU for my taste.
Proven: True.

This may sound strange coming from me -- a self-confessed Mormon, and one quite content with her religion -- but I can't tell you how many times I've looked up and around on campus and thought, "These people are almost all LDS. Wow." I was alone at Bowdoin my first semester; then there were four of us; then 5; then 8, even! Now, with one graduating in December and two of them married, we have a solid 7, which is a fairly large number for our little school in Maine.

But over 25,000 of them? All in one place? Aie! The thought is not only weird, but in a way, somewhat discomforting. It gives the place a bunch of assumptions from which people work, assumptions with which I'm no longer comfortable after my sojourn in Maine. Such as?

Being openly gay and being Mormon are pretty much mutually exclusive; therefore, it's pretty much safe to assume that there are few to no homosexuals on campus. However, that does not (in my mind) justify the number of gay jokes and comments that I've heard in these four days. "That's so gay!" is prevalent, as a smaller example. "You're so gay!" is another. And perhaps I misunderstood (I rather hope I did), but hearing a comment along the lines of "Until you're married, you can't prove you're not gay" downright irked me. We're supposed to be a respectful people; we're supposed to be tolerant. Right? I don't think there's any call for such disrespect, whether you can safely assume the people you're disrespecting are miles away or not. I'll never be one to condemn lightheartedness, but there's a line that I draw between lightheartedness and disrespect that does not seem to be present here.

Another example that is more irksome to me than it ought to be is the constant joking about drugs and alcohol. They're prohibited by our religion -- drugs and alcohol, that is, not jokes. You hear similar jokes at Bowdoin, where there's no such prohibition. But at least there the people know what they're talking about. Here, it's more of a taboo subject, and if you claim to know something and crack jokes about it, you will be "cool." To someone who lives in an environment where there is puke on the elevator floors after a hard Thursday/Friday/Saturday night, they're just not funny. And they're immature.

It's not my intention to be a wet blanket. I don't mean to condemn -- but it looks like I am. Hmm. Oh well. So much for scientific, eh? For all the good assumptions that have proven true about this place, so also have the poor ones.

Preconception 5: The landscape and architecture.
Proven: True.

I know that "The landscape and architecture" is not a preconception, per se, but I felt this one was too long to put in a short line. Primarily, I love the mountains. Mountains and beaches -- I adore them! And wherever I finally settle, I'd like to be near enough to one (or, preferably, both) to see them on a weekly basis. The mountains here are great -- they're close, they loom out the window, and snowshoeing in them on Saturday morning was as much fun as, I think, skiing in them tonight will be.

The mountains are great. But the desert? I'm struggling with that one. It's brown (or brownish white as the case may be at the moment), and barren, and...and I need lush greenery, or at least pretty leaves in the fall, to be really content with my surroundings. I like the cold winters; the hot summers I could handle. But I've been having some small troubles with my health while I've been here (which may be climate, may be the place I'm staying, may be a lot of things), and hesitate to move somewhere that would exacerbate them.

And the architecture? Aie! So very utilitarian. It does very little for my sense of aesthetics, whether in town or on campus. And I've learned over the past few months (also a subject for another post) that I'm simply not utilitarian enough to live in such a place.

The conclusion? While BYU is a nice place to visit, I'm pretty happy where I am in Maine, and I'm not sure I'd like to spend the three years of law school here in Provo.

Alive and well!

2005-01-07T13:48:00.000-05:00

Just a quick post to let everyone know I got into Utah safe and sound. There's been plenty of snow and lots of ice all over (whee!), and it's nice and cold (just like Maine!), and we're planning to go skiing tonight. Should be fun!

I've got a few BYU observations to share already, but I'm afraid I'm short on time. Will share them before the weekend is through, though!

Rise in blog readership

2005-01-03T22:00:00.000-05:00

According to this Washington Post article, "twenty-seven percent of online adults in the United States said in November that they read blogs, compared with 17 percent in February."

I started blogging back in December of 2002. That's over two years ago. And that was back when blogging was "new" -- when only a very small percentage of "online adults in the United States" even know what a "blog" was, let alone read them.

Thinking back to the younger days of the blogosphere, I have to wonder this: who named them "weblogs"? And who decided to call it a "blog"?

Because, let's be honest: blog is just a strange word. Really. It is. And now that they're becoming popular, and now that people all over the world (especially those "online adults in the United States") are becoming aware of them, they will be called blogs everywhere.

Blogs.

I wish I'd had the chance to name them. I would have called them something more interesting, something that sounded so much better. Almost anything is better than blog.

And think about it: sometime in the distant future, our grandchildren's grandchildren will look back and laugh at our first attempts at online, instant commentating on events of national importants -- or merely pouring out random thoughts. They will look back, and they will say...

"What on earth were they thinking? That's such a lame."

It's terribly interesting how words like this evolve. Someone first called it a "web log", and then it became a "weblog" and then someone decided to shorten it and probably called it a "'blog", and then the apostrophe slipped away into the chasm of punctuation lost and was eternally eliminated from the word, and now we have a whole slew of blogs running around out there.

Huh. Blog. And the word even sounds funny. But it's stuck, and it will remain stuck, because now that it's so prevalent, no one will want to change it.

Well. At least "twenty-seven percent of online adults in the United States" are reading them -- and are hearing that information, reading those opinions, participating in those debates -- no matter what they're called.

Srecno Novo Leto!!

2005-01-03T17:44:00.000-05:00

(That's Slovene for "Happy New Year!!" -- there will be a test on Friday)

Even though the New Year is three days old already (and a bit more, I dare say, in Slovenia), let me throw out a wish that you all have a very happy one.

Meantime, I'm wrapping up my vacation at home. Thursday will see me down in Utah for a little more skiing (aie! I'll definitely let you know how it goes), visiting big brother, and having a look at the J. Reuben Clark Law School at BYU. And while my brother's in classes, I thought I'd try to sneak into one or two (they're big, right, and it's the first week -- the profs would never notice, right?) at BYU, maybe find some cute boys, and then get engaged this weekend.

Er. I mean...

I applied to BYU while applying to colleges, and was admitted, but chose to attend Bowdoin instead -- I was more keen on a more challenging small school and a liberal arts program than a big school, even though BYU's quite a good one. But I'm keeping it in mind for law school -- after all, it's quite reasonably ranked, and more than reasonably priced.

I do have my doubts and concerns about living in Utah, though. Perhaps I oughn't? I've visited often enough as a kid, and spent a week down there with my family last summer. It was awfully warm. And brown. I think I've spent too long in the NorthWest and New England to fully appreciate what beauty there is in the desert.

And then there's the Mormon culture in Utah. I may also have spent too much time in the more liberal realms of academia to fully appreciate it -- but I've never much more than visited, so I'll wait to pass judgment until I've actually visited the school itself. And then...then we'll see.

But I'm going to have a look at the school, and spend some good times down there, I'm sure -- and I'll give a report when I have one to give.

The Arwyn went over the mountain...

2004-12-29T01:49:00.000-05:00

...to see what she could see!

And what did she see?

Snow!

A nearby ski resort opened today for the season -- a happy occasion for those who love to strap sticks to their feet and slide down steep, slippery slopes going very, very fast! In honor of the occasion, my mom, older brother and I rented some skis, packed up the van, and drove out for a day on the slopes.

I've been skiing before. Once. Last February or March sometime, on a small mountain in Maine that had almost nobody there (despite it being a Saturday) and during which time one of my roommates (a former ski instructor) taught us how to go down hills with sticks on our feet and not fall off of them (too often). We went down the bunny hill in the morning, and spent the afternoon on the green circle runs. It was great. I loved it! I wanted to go faster and faster and managed to do pretty well -- and had such a wonderful time!

And today?

Got the skis strapped on, sun bright in my eyes, and joined Mom and Brother in line for the lift. Got carried up to the top of the hill. Got a glimpse of what I would have to ski down.

Got very, very scared.

You may call me a coward. I won't deny it. And I'll even provide four justifications for my cowardice:

1. I am scared of heights.

2. I am scared of falling off of heights.

3. I am scared of hitting the bottom after falling off of heights.

4. I am scared of going SPLAT all over the rocks at the bottom after falling off of heights.

At least the SPLAT is legitimate, I hope? Oh, good.

I've listed my ski credentials above, but allow me to reiterate: one morning on bunny hill; one afternoon on green circles; no ability above the snow plow; poor turning radius; and did I mention being scared of falling off of mountains?

Unfortunately, one of nature's laws runs something along the lines of: "What goes up must come down." Once I was up on that hill, with only blue square runs below me -- steep ones! -- I realized that I would have to get down somehow, fear or no fear. The first little way? Not too bad! I got going really fast...

...and promptly wiped out on my face.

No problem! Get up, keep going! And that I did -- I got up, kept going, got going really fast...

...and promptly wiped out on my face.

Still no problem! Third time's a charm! I could do this, I could tackle this, I could get down off that really steep really high oh-my-goodness-I'm-gonna-die-up-here mountain! So I started oing again...

...and promptly wiped out on my face.

This process got me nearly 1/4 of the way down the hill. With my hat soaked, my mittens a little damp, my face tired of making the snow's acquaintance, and my skis finally back on my feet, I started going down more slowly. Sideways. Perpendicular to the slope. Whenever I fell from then on, to be fair to all bits of me, it was on my side or my bum. I got to know that mountain pretty well -- one might say we came out acquaintances.

Finally, with Mom's help -- extraordinarily patient guidance while she was freezing that only a mother can give -- I eventually made it to the bottom.

An hour after I'd reached the top.

With very sore ankles, cold hands, a wet hat, and a great deal more courage, skill, and experience.

I spent the rest of the day on the green circle, and with the balance and control that I'd learned inching down that big hill, managed to make it down going fast without falling over -- managed to make turns without falling -- managed to get my skis back on and get back up when I did fall -- and managed to regain my confidence in myself and some enjoyment from sliding down icy snowy hills with sticks on my feet. I came out laughing from it all, and really did have a good time in good company on a beautifully cold day.

I'd like to draw for you some larger, moral lesson. I can see one forming, even: something about following the straight and narrow, or hard work, or dedication, or endurance.

But I'll let you draw what lessons you like. For my part? I'm flying down to visit my brother in Utah next week, and I'll be strapping sticks onto my feet again and tackling another mountain.

And hopefully I'll live to tell the tale.

Deadly sins?

2004-12-26T02:40:00.000-05:00

As most of you know, I'm a sucker for the online quiz. Haven't had the luxury of taking one in a while, but chanced on this one and couldn't resist. The results? Well. Predictable, I dare say. But there's something amusing about knowing that my most deadly sin makes me related to a three-toed, tree-dwelling creature.

You scored as Sloth.

Sloth

100%

Pride

75%

Gluttony

56%

Lust

50%

Greed

44%

Envy

31%

Wrath

13%

Seven deadly sins
created with QuizFarm.com

The Dante Club

2004-12-22T03:23:00.000-05:00

A long day of travel dropped me off safe and soundly at home, and I've spent the last two days recuperating from finals. I think I'm just now beginning to reach the "alive" stage after those gruelling post-Thanksgiving weeks.

Usually I take the red-eye flight and get in late at night -- this allows me a chance to sleep through a good portion of the plane ride. On Sunday, I took the "why on earth are there people up at this hour?" flight -- the one that had me awake at 4:00 AM and leaving Boston at 6:00 AM. Aie!

Rather than sleeping through this flight, I read, listened, and wrote.

More specifically, I read The Dante Club, listened to Lord of the Rings BBC Dramatization (of which, I confess, I slept through the 20 minutes where Gandalf convinces Frodo that he'll need to leave the Shire), and wrote a couple blog posts.

I'll tell you about the LotR dramatization later; I'll type up the blog posts soonish; but I'll tell you about Dante Club now.

As I mentioned before, Matthew Pearl came to Bowdoin to talk about his experience as a writer, and about this novel in particular. I didn't get a chance to read the book before he spoke (I blame approaching finals and my own November Novel), but did enjoy his talk and the chance that I got to speak with him for about an hour afterward, in a small group of writing- and Dante-interested students.

The novel takes place in 1865 in Boston, when Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is working on his translation of the Divine Comedy with the help of an informal group of friends and fellow literary types who call themselves the Dante Club.

A string of Dantesque murders begin to terrorize the city: murders that happen to some of the most prominent members of the community, and that are executed in the most gruesome ways.

I've never read Dante's work. I should very much like to someday...but after reading this, let it not be someday soon. I'm still trying to put these images out of my head. Perhaps they don't appear in such detail in The Inferno; perhaps they do. Either way, I'm not quite ready for them, because Pearl makes them very, very vivid -- and they are very, very gruesome.

Which, I think, is a testament to his style. He writes quite well. I read Da Vinci Code (and blogged about it, too), and was engrossed in the story, but had to struggle through what seemed to me like poor quality writing. This one? Maybe not top-notch, but I admired it all the way through. Pearl was able to bring historical characters to life in a very real way -- his Longfellow was touchingly gentle but driving, his Lowell passionate, his Holmes hesitant, his Fields clever. The story moved pretty smoothly from the first murder to the resolution -- pretty smoothly.

My biggest complaint, really, is that I didn't really buy the murderer's characterization or justification. It seemed like Pearl wanted him to be the guy you would expect the least. And sure, he was. Because the character of the murderer as we knew him before we figured out who he was seemed so completely different from the murderer we knew once his identity was revealed. I had a hard time believing they were the same person. And his justification for the murders, stemming as it does from his experiences aiding the Underground Railroad and on the battlefields of the Civil War...I don't know. It didn't seem realistic to me -- in fact, it seemed contrived. Like Pearl was trying too hard to make all the pieces fit together, but kept coming up with too many pieces.

Though the resolution is sweet, and though peace is finally restored to the streets of Boston, I don't feel as though all the loose ends were tied. I don't feel like the author's explanation cleared everything up. I felt as though clues remained that had no real place in the puzzle, and that some dead-ends that ought have provided real stumbling blocks both to the characters and the reader...didn't.

But all the same: if you have the stomach for punishments from Dante's Inferno meted out on the citizens of Boston, and are in the market for a good mystery, I recommend it as one cleverly and well-written.

Plus, I absolutely adore Longfellow. He's a Bowdoin grad, you know!