Thanksgiving is a Holiday Too.

One of my sad pet peeves is the fact that, insofar as marketing goes, Thanksgiving is no longer a holiday. The stores are decorated with about 4 holidays. Starting in September it's Halloween, around the middle of October it becomes Christmas, halfway through January it's Valentines Day, and sometime mid-June it becomes The Fourth of July. Then the stores are decorated with a multitude of other things--back to school, 'hooray it's summer' and the like.

What's wrong with Thanksgiving?

I know, I know. It's a holiday to celebrate food and pilgrims and corn and the like...But it's also fundamentally about being grateful--can't we celebrate gratitude...Even just a little?

You know what else bugs me? Those creepy carolers in the display window of the BYU bookstore. Scary...That's what they are. No one's mouth should ever naturally go into the shape of a over-streched rubber-band and then remain in that position as their head rotates mechanically from left to right...right to left...On a timed metronomic schedule. Also, those giant Santa Claus figures that sing carols and dance around--those things creep me out. I can handle my dad's huge blow-up Frosty doll that sits about 8 feet tall on our front lawn...But moving carolers and Santa Claus' don't do it for me.

Hopefully Not The Case...

A seven-year-old boy was at the center of a Provo courtroom drama yesterday when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of him. The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge initially awarded custody to his aunt, in keeping with child custody law and regulations requiring that family unity be maintained to the degree possible. The boy surprised the court when he proclaimed that his aunt beat him more than his parents and he adamantly refused to live with her. When the judge then suggested that he live with his grandparents, the boy cried out that they also beat him. After considering the remainder of the immediate family and learning that domestic violence was apparently a way of life among them, the judge took the unprecedented step of allowing the boy to propose who should have custody of him. After two recesses to check legal references and confer with child welfare officials, the judge granted temporary custody to the BYU Cougars whom the judge firmly believes are not capable of beating anyone.

The Hills Are Alive

So, today I've got my hair looking something like a German Schoolgirl of sorts--all twisted around the sides and bottom, and I'm finding it highly amusing. With all the sunshine out right now, I feel as though I should be rnning through the mountains singing about how alive the hills are. I'll restrain myself for now, and just go about laughing at my own hair, and thinking how much more authentic I'd look if I managed to also get some ribbons, an aorpon, and a long skirt.

Ooh...it'd be even better if I got a ticket to Austria at the same time. That'd make it good and authentic.

(Disclaimer: I don't actually look anything like this lady...or her parrot.)

All-American Hero

Alright class, today we're going to learn about one of my favorite stories from WWI--especially since today is the 87th anniversary of it.

Once there was this rabble rouser who lived in the hills of Tennessee. Most people never thought that he'd amount to much, especially since most of what he caused was trouble, and most of what he did was non-productive. People shook their heads and sighed at the mess that this poor troubled youth was. This poor troubled youth named Alvin C. York.

This is the point where, if you knew who Alvin C. York was, you'd gasp and get really excited, because you knew what was coming next, and it was one of your favorite stories too...bet you a bag of marbles not one of you got excited. What? You're still not excited? *sigh*

Alvin changed his life around a bit, after the death of a friend, and joined a Christian denomination (the fundamentalist Church of Christ in Christian Union to be precise). He was their song leader and Sunday School Teacher. Yessir, things were finally looking to be right for our friend Alvin.

But then (dun DUN DUN!) came the outbreak of WWI. Alvin got his draft card in the mail shortly after the war broke out. He petitioned for "contientious objector" status, as his newfound faith was pacifist, but was denied his petition based on the fact that his church wasn't a recognized Christian denomination. He was offered non-combatant service, but refused and went into the army after being convinced that America had just cause to be fighting.

"On October 8, 1918, York and 15 other soldiers under the command of Sergeant Bernard Early were dispatched to seize a German-held rail point during the Allies' Meuse-Argonne Offensive. The Americans lost their way and soon found themselves behind enemy lines. A brief firefight ensued with a superior German force, and in the confusion a group of Germans surrendered. However, German machine-gunners on a hill overlooking the scene soon noticed the small size of Early's patrol. Yelling in German for their comrades to take cover, the machine gunners opened fire on the Americans, cutting down half the detachment, including Sergeant Early.York immediately returned fire and with his marksman eye began picking off the German gunners. He then fearlessly charged the machine-gun nest. Several of the other surviving Americans followed his lead and probably contributed to the final total of 25 enemies killed. With his automatic pistol, York shot down six German soldiers sent out of the trench to intercept him. The German commander, thinking he had underestimated the size of the American force, surrendered as York reached the machine-gun nest. York and the other seven survivors took custody of some 90 Germans and on the way back to the Allied lines encountered 40 or so other enemy troops, who were coerced to surrender by the German major that the Americans had in their custody. The final tally was 132 prisoners.

York was promoted to the rank of sergeant and hailed as the greatest civilian soldier of the war by several Allied leaders. He was given a hero's welcome upon his return to the United States in 1919 and was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, the nation's highest military decoration. In the 1920s, he used his fame to raise funds for the York Industrial Institute (now Alvin C. York Institute), a school for underprivileged children in rural Tennessee. He later opened a Bible school.

Sergeant York, the 1941 film starring Gary Cooper, was based on his life. York died in 1964."

That last part is from Historychannel.com--I don't know that I could have told it any clearer. I absolutely love the story. This guy that no one thought anything of, who wasn't exactly in a place where he felt comfortable and at ease, totally excelled because he put some effort into it.

Moral(s) of the day:

Make the best of your situation, and one person can make a difference.
AND
Learn to shoot guns when you're little in case you need to take out enemy soldiers with machine guns.

Canuk, eh?

Apparently, my keyboard is compatable with Canada, it says so on the back. It was also made in Thailand--who knew that Canada and Thailand were on good terms?

Bah To All Papers

You know what? Papers make me feel nostolgic and day-dreamy. I can't yet decide if this is a coping mechanism, another way to procrastinate, or just some sort of rare phenomenon. I start thinking of lots of other places I'd rather be at that moment--right now my particular fancy has been with the ocean--either the rocky shores of New England, where I've never honestly been, or to the foggy beaches of northern California. I don't feel like seeing the sunny warm beaches of Florida and Southern California. Sure, those things are really pretty...but for the past few months I've had a sort of quietly desperate desire to go to a beach that makes it seem like you'd be able to be secluded--all alone with you, the ocean, and maybe a someone. Not a people-infested beach that's crawling with half clad women. There was this one beach that my family always used to go to in California when we lived there. It's called Zmudowski, and it's huge and long, and usually windy. The perfect kind of beach for wearing a sweater to and just wading. Or, you can body surf...if you feel so inclined to do so. I loved it, and right now, I really want to go back there.

Maybe all this dreaming comes from the fact that many of my papers are written when I ought to be sleeping....

Guess it's time to go to laundry now...maybe THAT will get my paper done.

Coming to Peace With My Inner Hermit

I've come to terms with the fact that I have an inner hermit lately. There's a part of me, and probably most other people, that has no desire to communicate with other human beings on occasion. Generally, the very social aspect of me wins out, but it doesn't change the fact that there exists a small aspect of me that tends towards being anti-social.

(bad joke break: Why did McCarthy become a hermit? Because he was anti-socialist!)

Now, my inner hermit doesn't like the idea of total and complete isolation. I've come to the theory that there are about 4 different types of hermits.

First, there is the Hermit's hermit. This is the guy who lives on the 12 foot diameter sandbar in the middle of a lake in the middle of an island in the middle of an ocean. He (or she) likes his privacy, and ain't no one gonna take that away.

Second , There's the guy who buys the small farm out in the middle of the prairie. This hermit doesn't mind if there's the occasional passer-by, they just don't want any kind of close personal contact, and the regular contact they do have is not to be on a consistant basis.

Thirdly, there's the hermit who lives in the run-down house in the corner of a small house in a small town. Everyone knows who they are, but they talk to no one. The prefer the fame of being enigmatic to the company of others.

Lastly, there's the neighbor who loves to live in the middle of a huge city with tons of people around. There's a new sort of anonymity in crowds. Instead of the anonymity of desolation, you get the anonymity of population. There are so many people, that you're just a bit. This hermit doesn't know their neighbors, doesn't talk to people, but he still enjoys the company of large groups of people, just not any kind of intimate relationship.

Alright, that's all basically pointless, really, just some thoughts on hermits. I think my hermit would probably fall into the last category. The only time that I ever run into my inner hermit though, is when I'm suddenly thrown into a situation where I meet someone who was previously just an acquaintance and I have the option of just leaving them to their life, or trying to make friends with them. My social self says, "ooh! More friends!" My inner hermit says, "awww, come on...don't you have too much to do already? Can you handle more friends?"

At this point, I always beat down my inner hermit and make the friend, or at least try to be social. In talking to other people, I'm finding out that I'm not the only one with an inner hermit though--maybe everyone's inner hermits could get together sometime, if that wasn't such a contradiction of ideas.

My Dog Ate It...

These were some excuses for being late to work/missing work that were listed on an MSN article...Maybe I should try one of these the next time one of my papers is late. I especially think the "spit on by a venomous snake" is pretty hilarious.

I was sprayed by a skunk.

I tripped over my dog and was knocked unconscious.

My bus broke down and was held up by robbers.

I was arrested as a result of mistaken identity.

I forgot to come back to work after lunch.

I couldn't find my shoes.

I hurt myself bowling.

I was spit on by a venomous snake.

I totaled my wife's jeep in a collision with a cow.

A hitman was looking for me.

My curlers burned my hair and I had to go to the hairdresser.

I eloped.

My brain went to sleep and I couldn't wake it up.

My cat unplugged my alarm clock.

I had to be there for my husband's grand jury trial.

I had to ship my grandmother's bones to India.

I forgot what day of the week it was.

Someone slipped drugs in my drink last night.

A tree fell on my car.

My monkey died.

Bad Day...or Maybe Not

Alright, so Daniel Powter's song "Bad Day" has become one of my absolute favorites. These are the lyrics:

Where is the moment we needed the most
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost
They tell me your blue skies fade to grey
They tell me your passion's gone away
And I don't need no carryin' on

You stand in the line just to hit a new low
You're faking a smile with the coffee to go
You tell me your life's been way off line
You're falling to pieces everytime
And I don't need no carryin' on

Cause you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
The camera don't lie
You're coming back down and you really don't mind
You had a bad day
You had a bad day

Well you need a blue sky holiday
The point is they laugh at what you say
And I don't need no carryin' on

You had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
The camera don't lie
You're coming back down and you really don't mind
You had a bad day

(Oh.. Holiday..)

Sometimes the system goes on the blink
And the whole thing turns out wrong
You might not make it back and you know
That you could be well oh that strong
And I'm not wrong

So where is the passion when you need it the most
Oh you and I
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost

Cause you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
You've seen what you like
And how does it feel for one more time
You had a bad day
You had a bad day

Had a bad day
Had a bad day
Had a bad day
Had a bad day
Had a bad day 

And you can listen to/see it here: Bad Day

I listen to this song about once a day. When I get home from an honestly bad day at school, or wherever, this song makes me feel more optimistic--like, "sure, you had a bad daytoday but it's just that a bad day. Life's gonna get better." When I've had a good day at school, I think I like this song just because of it's music video. Sort of a "You may have had a bad day, but today is not that day!"

Basically, I just really like it.

Possible Hilarity

What would happen if the Medieval Club moved to the Ghetto?

Sample conversation:

"Yo Artemis--what's up in the Kizzingdom?"
"Nothin' much Mercury, just slaying the Drizzagon."
"Huzzazle!"
"Yea Verily."

To the Rescue!

Your Superhero Profile

Your Superhero Name is The Scarlet Crystal Your Superpower is Invisibility Your Weakness is Toilet Paper Your Weapon is Your Particle Pistol Your Mode of Transportation is Boat

What's your Superhero Name?

Lack of Entitlements

Recently I've been trying to reshape my attitude about a few things. Most of these things involve the mistaken idea that I have that I'm somehow entitled to them, just by sake of being a good person.

See, I think that Fridays/the Weekends are my most common area of this sort of thing. The only other area that I can think of that I really do this is with naps. I seem to be under the false idea that because I live in America, and because I work pretty hard all week doing homework and the like, that I'm entitled to make Friday afternoons/evenings, and eventually the whole weekend, all mine. I think I get part of the idea because of the society that I've grown up in...but I've recently come to realize that I don't actually have any real entitlement to a weekend that I own all for myself--I don't work nearly hard enough that I really need that. I have classes during the week, but I don't actually DO anything that would be considered hard enough that I should feel irritation when asked to attend some church auxiliary programs--like choir. I shouldn't feel put out because I have to get up early on a Saturday morning because I'm going to a Relief Society Visiting Teaching activity--and I certainly shouldn't feel remotely pouty because I have to work on a Friday night. The truth is I should probably work harder on the days when no one is asking me to. I should be cleaner when no one is coming to visit, and I should be most productive when I have the time, and not when I've wasted it all in procrastinating.

I'm slow at this process...but I'm trying. I doubt that I'll ever perfect it--I might get better at lacking in procrastination, but I'll still probably feel slightly irritated when I have to do something on a Saturday, or when I have to work on a weekend. I'm working on it though--because I definitely don't feel like I've earned the right to feel entitled to those kinds of things yet.

Fascinated by the Fascinating

You know, I'm really interested in what exactly it is that people find fascinating or captivating. In fact, I'm fascinated by it. I'm probably one of the few people who studies history who finds the history of history (historiography for someone who'd like a few more cents in their word) almost as engaging as history itself. Why do people write about what they do? Why do we record some things, and decide that others are entirely irrelevant, and what is it about our memories that makes certain facts more important depending on the time? Why do certain things fascinate people, while other things seem almost universally unappealing? Why don't we have more histories of things like the footnote, or the effect of medieval earthworms on the surfdoms of Eastern Russia? What makes things like Hitler and WWII so widely studied and written about while other subjects lie virtually untouched? What exactly makes some people interesting, and others boring?

This brings me to an interesting question we've talked about in my history class--is there any way to really record and report on the "truth" since all history is based on someone's memory, and human memory is riddled with imperfections? I don't think that it will ever be possible to write the complete and truthful history of the world in this life--I'm hoping to be on that committee once I reach the other side. I'm not totally skeptical either though. I think it's kind of like Newton's Physics V. The Einstein Model. Sure, Einstein is closer, and more correct--but Newton is simpler, and he's correct enough for things to work out. I think that's the way that history works--sure we can't be totally right about every event that happened in attempting to reconstruct the past, but we can get close enough. I'm just hoping that as I write papers and reports and the like, that I won't run into someone in Heaven and find out that I interpreted their life completely wrong. Sometimes when studying poetry or short stories and the like, I often wonder if the people who wrote it and are now dead just sit there and laugh at the students who are analyzing their every word. I think it goes something like this:

Edgar Allen Poe: "What? They think that silly bird has some kind of meaning? HA! I just used a raven because it sounded better than 'quoth the cockatoo!' Kids these centuries!"

Robert Frost: "Yeah, that little 'miles to go before I sleep' bit was just me, whining about being tired. The misses used to hate it when I complained to her out loud, so I just had to write it down.

Shakespeare: "What about Hamlet? 'To be or not to be' was just the edited version of the script before that, where Hamlet tries to decide his future career. The original bit went 'To be a scruples-free, free-loading, usury collecting, freedom killing beast, or not to be?' The first guy cast as Hamlet couldn't remember his whole line."

Anyway, I think my point was that there is truth, and we shouldn't give up on it--keep getting as close as we can to it, but just realize the limitations. Again, as my history teacher said, "We've all got this Whale to eat, how are we going to do it? By taking one bite at a time--just realize that you're only taking one bite."

Unfortunate Realities

• If you make yourself a delicious tuna fish sandwhich with sharp cheddar cheese and do not remove the bowl in which you mixed the tuna, your room will smell like cat food about 30 minutes later.
• A half gallon of BYU Creamery Orange juice is taller than a regular glass of orange juice. This means that if you are trying to be slightly more civilized about drinking directly from the carton and you use a bendy straw, it can still fall into the drink.
• If the straw is bent, it will float on the top of the orange juice, tauntingly
• Even the best bagels can mold.
• No amount of procrastination will make you want to do your studying more--it just makes you want to find more things to do to procrastinate...like make silly lists about procrastinating.

Fine...Time to memorize Europe and Russia...

Falling Awake

I'm a really, really odd sleeper.

Recently, I've been reflecting on odd things I do when I sleep...or right before I sleep. I've come up with the following list of odd traits.

First, I make a funny sort of sighing noise when I'm right on between sleep and awake. This seems to be a recent development in my sleeping habits, as it now wakes me up on occasion, or it becomes the last thing I hear before sleeping. The unfortunate thing is that it doesn't just apply to falling asleep cozy in my bed at night...I also do it if I happen to be in a class and falling asleep. Thankfully, it's usually enough to wake me up. I was in a religion class a couple of semesters ago in which I started to fall asleep. Fight as I might, it didn't matter, I fell asleep...and did so right when the teacher finished a sentence. The situation went something like this:

Teacher: "The New Testament is a true book"
Me: "huuuh..." (this came out sounding skeptical)
The teacher then looked around to see who was disagreeing with his statement, and I sort of shrunk into my seat feeling blasphemous.

The second thing I do that's funny about sleeping is that I seem to stay in whatever position I fall asleep in throughout the night. Once, I fell asleep on my back with my hands clasped in front of me...sorta like "dead" Snow White, and I stayed basically that way. Yesterday, I flopped down on my bed in a manner that looked much like the typical body outline (see image at left) . Stayed that way all night...

I've also got an amazing imagination. I have really hilariously vivid dreams that I remember, about situations that would make really funny student films. My most recent odd dream that made me laugh a lot when I woke up involved a young man of whom I am very, very fond and his homecoming. He started dating another girl without telling me that we were no longer dating. I asked him about it, and he apologized very kindly. I asked him why it was that he wanted to date her instead of me, and he, apparently thinking I was too thin, replied, "She has more rolls than you." This may only be really hilarious to you if you know me in person, because while I am no whale, I'm certainly not on the verge of anorexia...I'm laughing about this right now as I write about it.

I do a bunch of other things in my sleep too sometimes--I talk, and sometimes with great vigor of hand motion...much like I talk whilst I'm awake. I occasionally grind my teeth...usually when I'm stressed out about something, or in an unfamiliar place. I also seem to be in the habit of trying to convince people how awake I am when I first get up by talking up a storm--I just keep going on and on in an attempt to wake myself up and show how intelligently coherent I am. Unfortunately, these conversations are never brilliant...much as I would like them to be. I generally try to talk to people about how rude it is for RM's to reach across people to get rollerblades, or about something that happened in a movie that I fell asleep in that I vaguely remembered and then incorporated into my dream. The things that come out of my mouth are very rarely rational, and very usually amusing.

Speaking of sleeping, it's now time for me to head back to class. It seems today that I can't really keep my eyes open, and so I've gone and done the logical thing...I've blogged about sleeping instead of taking a nap.

A Major By Any Other Name...

I've realized that looking through a lot of the classes that I've taken at school might make it look like I'm attempting to graduate with a degree in something really useful--like World Domination, instead of History Teaching with a physics Teaching Minor. For example. I have taken (or am currently taking) all of the following classes:

Totalitarianism (Political Science 458)
Russian (Russian 101)
Physics 121
European Fascisms (History 314)
Tsarist Russia (History 330)
Argentina (History 355)
Physics 123

Then you throw in those other silly classes that I've taken--Utah, Scandinavian Choir, American Heritage and the like...All just ways to round out culture right?

If BYU gets a "Build Your Own Major" program like they've got at some of the more liberal colleges...I know exactly what to go and talk to my counselor about....

My Little Brother is Awesome...

My brother is 13, and we were talking on the phone today. He asked how old the girls on my floor were and I told him that they were mostly 18. He interrupted me by trying to tell me what my mom had said about them by saying, "Mom says that they're all giggling Frenchmen...I mean freshmen."

My favorite mental image of the afternoon...a whole floor full of giggling frenchmen...

There's the Trouble...

So, yesterday I did something that most guys I've ever talked to about girls say that they want girls to do as soon as possible blah blah blah and it made me feel pretty terrible.

A guy from work called and asked me to go on a date. We went bowling and then had dinner...it was fun, but nothing spectacular....no sparks on my side at all. My favorite part of the date was when we were joined by Debbie and Jeff...the couple in their 40's who took a motorcycle ride down to Provo from American Fork for ice cream at the creamery. They were great. Anyway. This guy asked if he could call me again...I felt bad and said "sure" with a shrug.

I knew I should have qualified that....

Anyway, he called me later and asked if he could take me to Tucanos. He had a mission Buddy visiting from Brazil and they wanted some Brazilian food. This story needs some explanation too. Here goes: One of my other friends who was out here at school (I'll just call him J) the year before I came told me that I needed to find a guy who I could seduce and take me to Tucanos, because it was expensive, but really, really good. I told this story to some guys at work...This Guy being one of them...and we'd laughed at it. He asks me by saying, "I've never been there, and I know you've never been there..."

Thankfully, I had duty as an RA when he was going, so I didn't have to tell him that I didn't want to do anything with him anymore as a date. I know...it's cowardly, but I hate hurting people's feelings.

Well, I kept thinking about it, and feeling bad that I hadn't just told him. So I finally decided just to get over it and just call the guy.

So I did it. I actually told This Guy that I didn't like him at all, and that if we were going to do anything together, then I would pay for anything I participated in because it wasn't fair to make him pay for me when we weren't in any kind of relationship because we were just friends.

Now, that's not the part that I felt terrible with. I was honest, I meant it all, and I felt good that I wasn't just stringing the guy along when I knew there was no chance at all that we'd become anything more than just friends...maybe nothing more than pure acquaintances now...*sigh*.

The guy was really nice about it all, and kept saying that he totally understood and threw in a lot of "oh, yeah, uh huh." We decided that rather than going to see a movie in his apartment lounge it'd be better to go to the LRC and watch something there, just as friends.

Today he called to cancel that part too--he said, "I feel like you're just doing it to be nice to me."

Well...yeah...but it's not like I can say that to him. He picked up on it well enough though and the conversation ended with a "see you around campus."

Bah. I'm glad the situation is resolved, and I didn't make him pay too much for it...but yikes, I sure do hate messing with people's emotions. And although it'll be better for him not to waste his time on me...I still felt like a jerk.

Yeah...that's the end. I'm hoping this is a story I can look back on in a week or so and see that it was a real "good for Novel" moment.

Time Wasting 107

This is a little more advanced than just 101...

Anyway. I thought I'd blog a list of some of my favorite internet time-wasting sites...Why not? For your own time-wasting pleasure, Novel presents (in no partiular order):

How to waste your time on the internet:

• Crosswords
• Homestarrunner
• The Board
• The Sunny Side
• Only in Kenya...
• Badgers....
• Star Wars Gangster Rap
• Music Videos
• Making Fiends
  

More to come...

"Neighbors, You are Tedious!"

I'm currentaly watching Much Ado About Nothing with Wafflewitz and Phoenix. That's a line from the movie.

Education week individuals are currently staying on my floor. They're pretty nice people, much more pleasant to deal with than Women's Conference, though I'm ready for someone besides them to come and live on the floor. I'm ready for the girls who are all excited for freshman year to come, and for the older couples to go home and send their freshmen to college. This morning, I walked out onto my floor to the smell of Old Spice, and the sound of Men's Voices. I'm tired of seeing young punks on the floor who come and go as they please without any kind of asking. While visiting hours can be inconvinient, it makes things easier to keep track of...and it also makes sure that there are actual foods in the vending machines. Silly kids with signature cards.

Also, women can be so irrational. Beatrice just told Benedick that if he loved her he should kill his best friend. That's pretty much the stupidest idea ever. There's no reason that men should have to do some great act to prove that they love someone. It's the small acts and kindnesses that prove that--not some singular action. Oh Beatrice...how much you make Benedick suffer...and for what?

"Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent."
Friedrich Nietzsche