Needing to stop reading people's livejournals, Part II

(Part I was last year with the girl from acting class who was always so sad.)

So okay, the disturbing thing about finding elementary school people on Facebook is that they have LJ links (or a lot do) and then you find out how much they've changed. Two of my close friends from back then basically drink themselves stupid now every chance they get, and one had a link to this boy I knew from my own high school...who was the sweetest, kindest kid, saw him in Leo Club doing community service, and now is basically a drunk who sleeps with people.

Like, I'm such a wide-eyed little kid; I'm still horrified at the idea of a fake ID. 'Course, look at who I hang out with: basically next year's Bartlett crew, plus Chris, and the only one of the crew who's had a drink is Mike, and that's because he turned 21 (not that this did anything for the other 21s of our group). And, yes, I do like it that way, and I do say proudly, for all everyone else probably thinks I'm a prude (which is blatantly true in any case), that I don't drink, never have, likely never will. (I mean, when you're two years old and your dad lets you have one sip his beer because he thinks it's funny and he wants to take a stupid picture, that doesn't count, right? Heh, my brother and I both fell for that one. Young and impressionable.)

What made me think that people don't change like that, that my friends wouldn't change like that? If it was only that I haven't seen some of these people since the third grade, then I'd be less surprised about the boy from Leo Club.

And, dude, SUNY Fredonia absolutely does have a lot of drinking; Ananda was right. Heaven knows what Ken is up to by now.

-Laurel

Obsessing about grades, most of which are A anyway, while I should be doing Spanish

Am currently working on the last wretched Spanish reseña I should ever have to write. Since what I actually learned about the plot could fit in a thimble, I'm analyzing it in terms of its structure, which is allowed. (It's not fair: Conrado bought the English version [must have been shopping online] by mistake--he's a native-speaker, so to him this really is a mistake--and swapped with Ben, my favorite Spanish 309 Anglo [this is true, but I should point out that the other two are gone now]...and Ben still didn't read the book! Would that Conrado liked me as much; I could actually have enjoyed one of the novels for once. Or, considering the subject matter, maybe not.)

Speaking of: Got my Great Big Spanish Project back. Now there's an A I actually earned, for once in that class's life. Texts were in English, of course, but the analysis was mostly original, and it wasn't, if I may say so, half bad. 'Course, the "rural tragedies" of Federico García Lorca are pretty darn straightforward, so hey.

Ariana, however, decided to make us all go over MLA format for a whole class because we did so badly with it. ...I think I got closer to correct than most of the class (not hard, since there're only seven of us, and one wasn't brought up in the United States, I don't think), which satisfied me in terms of Spanish, but for English, I'm a dead'un.

Like, I really am; the analysis was bad enough, let alone the scattered MLA mistakes. McDonough has essentially told me that I'm not cut out for creative writing; what will I do if I'm told I can't be critical on an intellectual level, either? Those're kind of the two major divisions. Everything else is teaching and editing.

Psych progresses as usual. A on test. Probably another B on the Personal Learnings sheet. So I can retain the information, but not apply it? Ha, if he could only see my textbook, which I have essentially turned into a manual on How to Run an Efficient APO Service Program, Have a Boyfriend, and Not Go Crazy With it All, what with the underlinings and stars and everything. Yes, I do realize that psychology can't solve everything. But at least cut me a modicum of slack; this isn't Freudian crap, but scientifically-based evidence. The people who design the experiments are some of the most creative people I've ever come across, holy cow.

Anthro goes quite well, now that we've gotten into language-and-culture; it runs just like basic linguistics did. I'm surprised at how much I remember. ...Dude, Albert, is this how you already knew everything last year? ::laughs::

Also, I did really well on the kinship-chart project.

Honors had its last class on Wednesday. Went well. Ate things with maple syrup in them. More on that another time? Nah, I know I'll never follow through. See how much I wrote about London, ha.

So while I'm not getting straight As or even straight A-minuses this semester (unless McDonough ties Dr. Zen to a chair with jump ropes and chooses the grades at random, which he's kind of always wanted to do, I think), I think it was a semester's pretty-good work after all.

So now that I've wasted like forty-five minutes on Blogger...

-Laurel

The essay takes what is at least mental shape

Two observations I made this morning about showering at 8:30 AM on a Sunday:

1) There is a lot of hot water.

2) And it feels really good.


I've decided that, in the same way that Jeffrey Steingarten and Alton Brown are really just two social-classes' poster boys for one specific type of culinary enthusiast, so there needs to be a middle-class version of Adam Gopnik. He does better than Steingarten does in terms of sticking to the ground, but now that I've read enough of his amazingly beautiful prose not to be so enchanted by it, he's starting to come off, to me, as really kind of a snot sometimes. I considered Scott Russell Sanders for the position of equivalent, but rejected him; you get the feeling, at least from his essays, that Sanders wouldn't be caught dead being compared to someone who named his children Luke Auden Gopnik and Olivia Esmé Claire Gopnik. JS and AB, on the other hand, both talk about dogs in their work instead of kids, and in similar ways, though I doubt Alton would do gourmet cooking for his.

I need to stop this right now, and get some sleep or go to church, depending on whether Mike's up.

-Laurel

"Still, I think they say/The wait will make the heart grow stronger, or fonder/I can't quite remember, anyway..."

It took an inordinate amount of signup, downloading, and other crap, considering that I already own iTunes...

...but I now own, legally, and for free, the Jars of Clay song "Sunny Days" that I've gone to such lengths (two failed attempts at owning the CD, since that's the one the eBay guy cheated me out of, plus aforementioned registration/downloading) to get. I won it off my Mountain Dew bottle.

Justice at last, however belated. (Please don't ask why this song means so much to me. It just does.)

And now back to my project, which doesn't progress much at all. I am so doomed.

But now I am doomed melodically, heh.

-Laurel

"Qwerty, do you have a verse for us?"

I think I must have gotten 11 hours of sleep last night, which means that, while I'm still not caught up, I've at least taken care of last night and part of the night before.

Started thinking, actually, about Romans 12:14 this morning when I was praying for Tim's presentation (which he was delivering right about at the time) to go well, and realized that, when you get down to it, the primary reason I want him to do well is because I love him. Which in itself is not a horrible reason, but my reasoning got me thinking.

I mean, saying that I want him to do well because I love him involves a lot of things that that phrase alone doesn't express. It also means, for example, that I believe he worked hard over the summer on the material he's presenting, and that's a thing about him that I admire. I also can relate to working hard on things and would like him to succeed because I can think about how it would feel not to.

But it also involves the idea that I want to see him succeed because I love him, and is involved with why I would automatically, if it was competitive, hope that he would be one of the best people there. I don't know anything, to speak of, about engineering. I can't judge his work on its merit, only on the time I'm told that he put into it (since I wasn't in Milwaukee with him, either, to see him do it), and the idea that he put in the time. Those are qualities that I approve of, such that in a sense, what I really like is that his actions coincide with qualities I admire--hard work and knowledge and persistence.

So, just to underscore, if there's a problem here, it's not my wishing him well, nor my loving him, but it's my idea that he should succeed this morning based on my feelings about him and what he does. I do it a lot, and with a lot of people. I don't wish them success because I would automatically think to wish success on everybody (though I hope I wouldn't wish the opposite on anyone), but because I know these people, admire whatever qualities I do in these people, and either feel that those qualities should be rewarded, or worry about my grief and what it would make me into if, for example, Zinni got hit by a bus.

To come to the point, Romans 12:14 says that we should bless those who persecute us. Now, the translation you have will sometimes specify, sometimes not, whether this means persecute us for being Christian. It will also specify, or not, that this means pray that God will bless them, which I would think is different than just saying "bless you." I have what's called a New Living Translation, which specifies both: If people persecute you because you are a Christian, don't curse them; pray that God will bless them. The New King James Version says only: Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse.

Either way, it means that people whose efforts run counter to our faith should still be blessed. Blessed in what way isn't mentioned; we're to leave that up to God, as far as I can tell. And this goes along with the love your enemies that comes up in the gospels, and commands like if your enemy is thirsty, give him a drink.

I don't consider myself a particularly resentful, warlike, grudge-holding person, but I was surprised at my reactions when I applied this not only to people I dislike, but to the groups of people that I think are the most wrong on the planet. It turns out that my negative associations are much stronger with them.

Compare bless Tim to bless the Klansmen, for example. (I don't know if the KKK goes after all Christians, or just the ones who don't happen to be white, but their ideals go against the tenants of my faith in a major way. While they may not be persecuting me, personally, for being Christian, they are doing things that persecute my faith.) The one of them is so easy to say, and the other makes me go back to look at the verse to make sure I really am supposed to be saying that. But there has to be something in the idea that we're supposed to say them both.

What makes both of them worthy to be blessed? (Never mind that we have no idea what form the blessing will take; go back to the idea that they're worthy.) My only guess so far is that it's because they're God-made, that they're human. As such, they possess some characteristics, however bad we may see them as a whole, that we approve of. But it's probably not limited to bless them because, while they're using them the wrong way, they do have good qualities. That is a good thought, but seems a little too close, for me, to bless them because this coincides with what I approve of. Maybe we should forget about because for a while.

I do want to point out the difference that I see between bless the Klansmen and bless the Klan. It depends, with the second, on what you mean, because hatred and bigotry themselves, a thing and a more specific division of that thing, cannot get any better or worse, but are describing what's going on. The people are the created and changing and valuable parts of this, and it's for them that I think the blessing concept is all about. Not bless hatred, but bless those who practice it.


So...that's what I was thinking about this morning.

-Laurel

Oh, hey.

Took, just for kicks, the "what age do you act?" quiz that was on someone's LJ...and I got 19. Which, at least for the next ten days, I am. I'm not sure whether to be amused or disappointed.

Today was okay. I missed Tim both times he got online, but I did get to talk to both Albert and Kristin this morning. And the Adopt-a-Highway project got postponed due to rain, so that meant I didn't have to try running a service thingy on two-point-five hours of sleep, yay!

This weekend, though, I have to do my entire English project, now that most of us in the class have been undeceived about its due date (Monday. The portfolio is due on the 2nd), so I'm going to read my book for that until I fall asleep, which should be fairly soon.

I miss being around people, instead of being in front of a computer or in a bed. But tomorrow is the Dancers' Union concert, and then the Noteables concert, so if I've been a good girl, I can go. ...I'm going to define "good" as "having worked on my paper for at least a little while."

And, because I'm not getting any myself, a mail call:

Dear French postal service: What the heck?! Stop holding Albert's envelope for ransom, or whatever you're doing. Three weeks is long enough.

Dear United States Postal Service: And would it kill you to bring the t-shirt a little faster than 1-2 weeks from the shipping date? Come on, it's only Ohio.

Dear FedEx: See above. I realize it's California. But if my money order buying the DDR pads crossed from one coast to the other in two days, I feel that the pads themselves should be able to do it in four.

Dear Alpha Phi Omega National Office: Thank you for sending the APO-LEADS stickers. Unfortunately, as I indicated in my e-mail, what I am lacking is not the stickers, but the certificate on which to stick them. The same goes for Kim and Yakov.


< /rant >

-Laurel

::bounce bounce bounce::

See icon [if it's been changed by the time you read this, it says "caffeinated," and features a smiley face turned upside down]. Bethie would be both proud and startled. (No, Bethie, it's not quite as bad as your New Year's party. Do you know, between the three cans I downed, I must have consumed thirty-six ounces of Mountain Dew that night? That's nearly double what I've had tonight.)

This is the fault of my eight-page Spanish paper being due on a Friday (thank goodness it wasn't any other day, or it'd have been worse, considering this is how long it took me to research, compose, and write the remaining three pages of Spanish on a day when the only class I had was choir). I can say with a great amount of relief that it is most likely the last of its kind that I will ever have to do, and I can also say that I didn't make too bad a job of it. I'm impressed, anyway, that I managed to carry one semi-complex idea on for three whole pages. Of course, the textual references (about 3/4 of a page in themselves) helped quite a bit.

So, before I crash like the airplanes in the Audio Adrenaline song "DC-10," I'm'a go draw out that anthropology kinship chart. And then catch what sleep I can.

-Laurel

Laus Deo

Perfect this, and maybe my mom's side of the family can breathe easier.

Speaking of family, here's my assignment for cultural anthropology, due Friday: I'm to make a personal kinship chart. This means that first I'm making as complete a family tree as I can from memory (I am not allowed to get help from family), and then I have to indicate the following: who is dead, who is married, who is divorced, who is adopted, who has children even though they're not married, which child is from which marriage, and what titles (if any) that I have for everybody: Uncle Dennis, Grandma Edie, etc.

Here is why this is going to be insane: My mother's mother had two husbands because the first one died, and there are eight children, many of which got divorced and remarried somewhere along the line, and several of which are dead, and one of which has six more kids who had kids, and one of those had kids, too.

My father and his fraternal twin were adopted out of his family of, what, seven children?--into a family with about two biological children and about three other adopted children, all from different fathers. Somewhere in distant relationship, the adoptive mother and biological mother are linked. But my dad doesn't know who his biological father really is, and my biological grandmother, who has Alzheimer's, isn't in much of a condition to tell us, and neither is New York State because of the adoption laws.

(Incidentally, because we know practically nothing of the man's history [he died not too long ago], I have genetic history I know nothing about. There could be some cancer--there could be heart trouble--there could be some cool immunity. All we can do is watch my dad and Uncle Rich, who've made it past fifty okay.)

So I'm'a start that tonight, since it's going to take some time. And a lot of paper. And because it's way more interesting than my Spanish homework.

Tim is gone from tonight to Sunday at a research conference 'cause of the stuff he did this summer. Sometimes I worry, during these things, that some terrible thing will befall him, and he does the same whenever I'm gone for more than two days together. ...I'm told having a kid is like that, only much stronger. Gracious, no wonder my parents were so protective. Having a boyfriend carries enough with it.

-Laurel

A Monday morning update

About my trying to get more sleep: ha. At least next semester my classes don't start until 1 pm. How did I manage that, you ask? Talent. Sheer, unmitigated talent.

::shrugs:: Seriously, I have no idea.

APO: back to driving me nuts. But must perservere a la VeggieTales (read: stop freaking Tim out).

And I joined Facebook last night, after saying for the past two weeks that I wasn't going to do it. What changed my mind? Well, the clincher was seeing Amanda, Sara, Sharri, and Scott from the third grade, since I know what high school they graduated from (you're allowed to search people by high school and, if you want, graduating class). Never mind that they may not even remember me. That nostalgia alone was worth it. ...'sides, it is kinda fun.

This weekend was HDD. Metamorphoses was amazing. But I really need to start looking up these comedians before I just go. Apparently everyone but (maybe Tom and) me knew the rule that, if it starts at 10 pm, it's going to be exceptionally horrible. By all accounts, it was; the difference is whether you mind that or not.

Spent about ten and a half hours' worth of yesterday sleeping, maybe more. Didn't really help anything right away, so I'm hoping to do it again sometime soon.

Okay, shower time.

-Laurel

"Perserverance, scallion, perserverance..."

Here is the good thing about the choir trip to Pennsylvania tomorrow:

I won't have to go to LoLA or honors, and the homework due tomorrow for my classes is pretty minor. Except maybe Spanish, but we'll deal with that one eventually.

Now that I told Ariana I don't get the text (I couldn't hide it anymore; my essay looked a little like a Spanish dictionary sneezed over a page and a half, and had about that much coherency to it), she's all concerned. I didn't have the heart to tell her, in front of Sandra (who was evaluating today), that that's been the case for the better part of the semester. But today was better than many. Marli, one of the native-speakers who sits next to me, was really nice about pointing out words for me. The other one is Carolina, who isn't as markedly better than I as the other nativos are, but who has just been elected president of Poder Latino.

I can, if I want to, pick the Spanish minor back up. But I have a feeling it wouldn't help me any. Which is a pity. Despite the political overload that is Ariana's classes, she has been very kind, not to mention entertaining.

So I'm signed up, schedule-wise, just as mentioned in the past entry, whenever it was. Housing signups tomorrow; we'll see how that goes, especially since I can't be there. Lily Jo will probably proxy for me.

-Laurel

A summary

Last Wednesday: Walked into anthro and discovered that the test, which I'd been planning to study for on Thursday, was Wednesday, not Friday.

Sunday: Got unexpected parking ticket, which may end up being appealed because it's weird. I seriously hope so. Details to follow.

Monday: Was supposed to take an hour's nap before spending the bulk of the night/morning working to finish my Spanish essay and my LoLA context problem; slept through the night and woke at ten minutes to seven. Two hours: not enough. LoLA got done. Spanish didn't. Heck, Spanish wasn't so much as attended.


So, in review, I need to pay attention, and then I need to get to bed.

But watched Sumo of the Opera tonight, which is VeggieTales, with just Terri and Amy and a bowl of popcorn and mugs of water. 'Cause the others were off doing other things. It felt good. (Note to Albert: Terri says that Gabe's staying in the hotel block already. So just Nathanael, I guess?)

Now it is my intention to sleep until nine o'clock AM.

-Laurel

On homework, extracurriculars, and the general sucking that is my sorry excuse for behaviorAnd on my compulsion to whine about it to everybody

make it stop make it stop make it stop

-Laurel

Stuff/nonsense

As usual, John, who sent me this, is on crack. On the other hand, it's perfectly clean. (The link, that is. I don't know about the crack.)

Kristin is here and things are happy. Went on the honors field trip last night. Was good. How I will get all my homework done this weekend, I have no idea on earth.

-Laurel

Now that I've deleted the extra one of the last entry

Tonight's tip: before opening and heating the canned spaghetti-and-meatballs that you bought at the dollar store for seventy-five cents, read the label to make sure that you aren't consuming 104% of your Daily Value of sodium (no, they weren't that blatant: they divided the whole can into two small "servings"). I've developed a headache and everything. :-P Yes, I've been attempting to rehydrate.

Meanwhile, tonight has been one of those nights where, busy and sleep-deprived as we are, we all put everything on hold for something bigger that stops us all short to talk and think and comfort--no, guys, not anything so big as life or death. And it's nothing directly involving me. But the school friends, all of you, will know soon enough, when you're told.

So, semi-connectedly, and as a last series of thoughts before I get to bed much later than planned, here's something that came up in a conversation I had tonight.


"If," Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!


-Laurel