There's so much I feel like I have to post. I haven't posted in a while, but I have been thinking a lot.
I also have a thesis to work on, and I will get to it this afternoon, I will.
1) I checked my email today and there was Camryn. The dynasty just keeps on getting bigger.
2) Doubters (read: my brother) said it couldn't be done. (What he said was, actually, "So much for the pink mohawk.") Well, scoffers (read: my brother), read 'em and weep. Hugh is here and he is various shades of pink.
Side note: In the process (ha! hair color pun!) of turning my hair into strings of cotton candy, I was bleaching my hair, yada yada... and you know what? With yellow-white hair, I look like Draco Malfoy. I think this is an interesting tidbit of information to keep in my back pocket for special occasions.
3) It's so interesting how humans have such weird things in common (even beyond the things I discovered in the epic conversation I had last night). My suitemate and I are huge cookie-dough fans, and we've just discovered that both of us have dreams of ready-made chocolate chip cookie dough... wait for it... without the chocolate chips. Chocolate chips are fine in baked cookies but they mess up the texture of dough.
4) I'm going to point out that sometimes, it's hard not to be a process theologian. I do not consider myself a process theologian. But, for one thing, I think the trinity can be construed as a a protoprocess thought. So I, very cerebrally, want to see how that works within a Christian context and within my own framework as an adult.
But then again--how much is one supposed to think about the trinity anyway? So much of what I think Christianity is hinges on the idea that to follow Jesus, you need to be getting out and doing things like feeding people or building houses or bandaging wounds.
But sometimes you just feel like you have to think about theology for a bit. I've been in a very active mode for a while, and I don't want to lose the action of the faith... but I'm tired of not approaching religion cerebrally.
5) Politics. Voting makes you feel so responsible, doesn't it? I keep reminding myself about the flawed system to make me feel like my vote counts less. But really.
No, I don't argue the cause of either candidate. In these messy times, advertisers, in a variety of guises and using lots of mediums, try to guilt us into putting our trust into total strangers. But really, all I can do, personally, is trust in God instead, search my heart, vote my conscience. For the country I still belong to. It's full of family who are dear to my heart and strangers who I have a duty as a citizen to protect and as a follower of Jesus to love.
And you know, this election is going to affect a lot of things for me on a personal level, too. It's real now. I'm an adult.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
True Story. I call it "Tokio Hotel."
I have good news and I have bad news.
The bad news is that, unfortunately, my eyeballs hurt, my legs weigh two-hundred-six pounds each, and I kind of want to... what's a good euphemism for vomit? The only one that comes to mind is "upchuck," and I was always told that wasn't nice. I'm going to wait it out and drink Dr. Pepper. Some people seem to scoff at this remedy, but it is how my wonderful mom took care of me when I was a kid. I swear, Dr. Pepper works and it's more accessible than ginger snaps, which also take care of nausea and if Mom were here, she would get them for me.
So that's the bad news. The good news is that last night something happened that I thought was really funny, and that was this.
I call it "The Sheltered Homeschooler Doesn't Really Know What to Do with Boy Bands."
Oh, a little less than a year ago, I guess, I was starting to really try to acclimate myself to a variety of languages. So I decided to listen to pop music, and somehow I stumbled across Ich Bin Nich' Ich, right? It's a song that's a few years old, from a band called Tokio Hotel. The lead singer had this great, raspy, plucky belt. Full of character and rock and zip. I wanted to sing just like her.
I listened in blissful ignorance for a while. Like months. And then I decided to, you know, listen to a little more Tokio Hotel. Come to find out.... Tokio Hotel--and you probably know this because they're crossing over into the States after scandalizing France* AND you're probably not a sheltered homeschooler--is pretty much the German Jonas Brothers. Like, they're really big, really obnoxious. I know. If I was a normal person I would know all of this.
(*Honestly, France is really just jealous that their boy band scene is sadly lacking.)
Not only was I envious (for months) of a prepubescent boy's voice, the boy in question looked like the spawn of Gavroche from Les Miserables, Michael Jackson, Pete Wentz... and just generally like he belonged in a Stephen King novel. I don't say this to be mean; he was really a cute little kid, in kind of a Lost Boy meets The Omen sort of way.
See?
Of course, that picture is a couple of years old, and now Bill Kaulitz looks like a really beautiful scene porcupine.
(It's not fair. He really does have nice ears and a nice face shape and nice eyebrows and a nice nose. They're just nice. Nice, delicate features are wasted on boys, but they do help them become rock stars, I suppose. Just look at Kurt Cobain and Toby Mac.)
And I've realized that I do not like Tokio Hotel's current music. It is lame; it is scene; Bill's hair looks porcupine quills; Tom Kaulitz dresses like he's trying too hard to be Eminem, who is so passe anyway.
Tokio Hotel is the most American German band I've ever seen.
That said, I also cannot stop listening to the original Schrei. The debut album. The one Ich Bin Nich' Ich is from. Because I can't help still kind of wanting to sound like pre-voice change Bill Kaulitz. Because now that I look back on it, yeah, the vocals do kind of remind me of Taylor Hanson's in mmmBop (Taylor was better, of course) and I really should have known it was a boy. Because you know what? Sometimes I like cheesy boy bands even, yes, sometimes if they're scene and kind of horrid and try way, way, way too hard. True confession. Because Durch den Monsun does get in your head, like emo boy band songs should. True confession.
The bad news is that, unfortunately, my eyeballs hurt, my legs weigh two-hundred-six pounds each, and I kind of want to... what's a good euphemism for vomit? The only one that comes to mind is "upchuck," and I was always told that wasn't nice. I'm going to wait it out and drink Dr. Pepper. Some people seem to scoff at this remedy, but it is how my wonderful mom took care of me when I was a kid. I swear, Dr. Pepper works and it's more accessible than ginger snaps, which also take care of nausea and if Mom were here, she would get them for me.
So that's the bad news. The good news is that last night something happened that I thought was really funny, and that was this.
I call it "The Sheltered Homeschooler Doesn't Really Know What to Do with Boy Bands."
Oh, a little less than a year ago, I guess, I was starting to really try to acclimate myself to a variety of languages. So I decided to listen to pop music, and somehow I stumbled across Ich Bin Nich' Ich, right? It's a song that's a few years old, from a band called Tokio Hotel. The lead singer had this great, raspy, plucky belt. Full of character and rock and zip. I wanted to sing just like her.
I listened in blissful ignorance for a while. Like months. And then I decided to, you know, listen to a little more Tokio Hotel. Come to find out.... Tokio Hotel--and you probably know this because they're crossing over into the States after scandalizing France* AND you're probably not a sheltered homeschooler--is pretty much the German Jonas Brothers. Like, they're really big, really obnoxious. I know. If I was a normal person I would know all of this.
(*Honestly, France is really just jealous that their boy band scene is sadly lacking.)
Not only was I envious (for months) of a prepubescent boy's voice, the boy in question looked like the spawn of Gavroche from Les Miserables, Michael Jackson, Pete Wentz... and just generally like he belonged in a Stephen King novel. I don't say this to be mean; he was really a cute little kid, in kind of a Lost Boy meets The Omen sort of way.
See?Of course, that picture is a couple of years old, and now Bill Kaulitz looks like a really beautiful scene porcupine.
(It's not fair. He really does have nice ears and a nice face shape and nice eyebrows and a nice nose. They're just nice. Nice, delicate features are wasted on boys, but they do help them become rock stars, I suppose. Just look at Kurt Cobain and Toby Mac.)
And I've realized that I do not like Tokio Hotel's current music. It is lame; it is scene; Bill's hair looks porcupine quills; Tom Kaulitz dresses like he's trying too hard to be Eminem, who is so passe anyway.
Tokio Hotel is the most American German band I've ever seen.
That said, I also cannot stop listening to the original Schrei. The debut album. The one Ich Bin Nich' Ich is from. Because I can't help still kind of wanting to sound like pre-voice change Bill Kaulitz. Because now that I look back on it, yeah, the vocals do kind of remind me of Taylor Hanson's in mmmBop (Taylor was better, of course) and I really should have known it was a boy. Because you know what? Sometimes I like cheesy boy bands even, yes, sometimes if they're scene and kind of horrid and try way, way, way too hard. True confession. Because Durch den Monsun does get in your head, like emo boy band songs should. True confession.
Monday, October 20, 2008
list! ka-boom!
a) I stayed up way too late last night. Necessary? Yes, yes, AND yes.
b) The main reason for this entry is to recommend a book I read for fun over the weekend. The book is Our Man in Havana by Graham Greene. I had not read Greene before. I think I'd seen somewhere that someone smart liked him--and once on a crossword puzzle for THE NEW YORK TIMES the answer for one of the across phrases was The Quiet American. Now, I sort of have a crush on the New York Times, so I decided to read Graham Greene.
Our Man in Havana is political; it's satirical; it's complex yet short; it's funny. It's my brand of humor--a little too soon, a little dry, a little absurd.
Vacuum cleaners are automatically funny, and this is a story about a vacuum cleaner salesman in Cuba who gets involved in espionage so he has enough money to buy his daughter a horse. He turns in designs of vacuum cleaner parts to the U.K., saying that they're Cuban missiles.
I liked this book so much. So, that's my Reading Rainbow segment for the day.
c) Other thing about the show I'm in? I'm learning Russian dance moves! Sweet!
d) I can't help but think that my life is exciting and it's going to get even better.
e) I've been really getting into quotes attributed to St. Frances of Assisi lately. Mostly because I don't want to be showy or pharisaical. I just want to be a person who can walk around loving people.
f) Oh! And coffee? Chocolate flavored coffee from Folger's gourmet line is possibly one of the best seven dollar purchases one can make. It is caffeinated heaven.
b) The main reason for this entry is to recommend a book I read for fun over the weekend. The book is Our Man in Havana by Graham Greene. I had not read Greene before. I think I'd seen somewhere that someone smart liked him--and once on a crossword puzzle for THE NEW YORK TIMES the answer for one of the across phrases was The Quiet American. Now, I sort of have a crush on the New York Times, so I decided to read Graham Greene.
Our Man in Havana is political; it's satirical; it's complex yet short; it's funny. It's my brand of humor--a little too soon, a little dry, a little absurd.
Vacuum cleaners are automatically funny, and this is a story about a vacuum cleaner salesman in Cuba who gets involved in espionage so he has enough money to buy his daughter a horse. He turns in designs of vacuum cleaner parts to the U.K., saying that they're Cuban missiles.
I liked this book so much. So, that's my Reading Rainbow segment for the day.
c) Other thing about the show I'm in? I'm learning Russian dance moves! Sweet!
d) I can't help but think that my life is exciting and it's going to get even better.
e) I've been really getting into quotes attributed to St. Frances of Assisi lately. Mostly because I don't want to be showy or pharisaical. I just want to be a person who can walk around loving people.
f) Oh! And coffee? Chocolate flavored coffee from Folger's gourmet line is possibly one of the best seven dollar purchases one can make. It is caffeinated heaven.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Any Perks of Being a Wallflower...
...are totally eliminated by adopting a countercultural haircut.
You may quote me.
I have had a mohawk (not a fauxhawk) for two days.
I named it Hugh.
If there is one thing that has assured me that I am not a punk, it is having a punk haircut and feeling stupid.
A lot of people have said that it looks really good. This, I think, is sometimes code for "You have an unusual haircut and I feel I need to comment on it--but I don't like it at all," or, sometimes, "I appreciate that you have the guts to do what I would never do... but it looks stupid." And there are a few people who actually mean it when they say they like it. Anyway, it's too much hair attention for my liking--but what do you expect? I'm a girl with a mohawk. I'm used to it and I am secure in who I am--I am a child of God; I am a peacemaker; I am a dreamer--and right now, I am a child of God, a peacemaker, and a dreamer with a mohawk.
Mohawks are not like dreads; dreads are a way of life. (I love dreadlocks. I love dreaded people. I kind of wish my baby sister was a little less Hollister, a little more hippie so she could have awesome long blond dreads). Mohawks are a lot less time-consuming and you don't have to have a mohawk soul to have a mohawk.
Am I glad I currently have a mohawk? In a way, yes (although I will be completely ok once I can return to a less alarming haircut.)
I honestly think it will contribute scads of authenticity to my characterization in this musical. (Y'all, my hair will look SO good in this play and I am justifiably excited.) (It's also a perverted theatrical status symbol to look weird for a show. I always looked longingly after the muttonchops and curlers of the period-show actors. Is it misguided? Yes. But still.)
I will also one day be able to say, "Children, when I was a senior in college, I had a mohawk. This means I am countercultural; you may obey me now."
And I now have the authority to dispel myths about mohawks. For one thing, it is not essential to shave the sides of your head to have a mohawk. If the hair on the sides of your head is very significantly shorter than the hawk part, it is not a fauxhawk. For another, mohawks can be worn down. The lady who cut my hair spiked it. Hugh hates being spiked. Mohawks do not have to be fanned in order to be legitimate. I looked this up online to make sure. Also, mohawks have minds of their own.
You may quote me.
I have had a mohawk (not a fauxhawk) for two days.
I named it Hugh.
If there is one thing that has assured me that I am not a punk, it is having a punk haircut and feeling stupid.
A lot of people have said that it looks really good. This, I think, is sometimes code for "You have an unusual haircut and I feel I need to comment on it--but I don't like it at all," or, sometimes, "I appreciate that you have the guts to do what I would never do... but it looks stupid." And there are a few people who actually mean it when they say they like it. Anyway, it's too much hair attention for my liking--but what do you expect? I'm a girl with a mohawk. I'm used to it and I am secure in who I am--I am a child of God; I am a peacemaker; I am a dreamer--and right now, I am a child of God, a peacemaker, and a dreamer with a mohawk.
Mohawks are not like dreads; dreads are a way of life. (I love dreadlocks. I love dreaded people. I kind of wish my baby sister was a little less Hollister, a little more hippie so she could have awesome long blond dreads). Mohawks are a lot less time-consuming and you don't have to have a mohawk soul to have a mohawk.
Am I glad I currently have a mohawk? In a way, yes (although I will be completely ok once I can return to a less alarming haircut.)
I honestly think it will contribute scads of authenticity to my characterization in this musical. (Y'all, my hair will look SO good in this play and I am justifiably excited.) (It's also a perverted theatrical status symbol to look weird for a show. I always looked longingly after the muttonchops and curlers of the period-show actors. Is it misguided? Yes. But still.)
I will also one day be able to say, "Children, when I was a senior in college, I had a mohawk. This means I am countercultural; you may obey me now."
And I now have the authority to dispel myths about mohawks. For one thing, it is not essential to shave the sides of your head to have a mohawk. If the hair on the sides of your head is very significantly shorter than the hawk part, it is not a fauxhawk. For another, mohawks can be worn down. The lady who cut my hair spiked it. Hugh hates being spiked. Mohawks do not have to be fanned in order to be legitimate. I looked this up online to make sure. Also, mohawks have minds of their own.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
echoes of jesse
Who you are is what you do, not who you want to be. As Michael said, faith isn't for the future. Hope is for the future. Faith is for the now.
Faith means you do what you hope to be.
So all of a sudden I'm thinking about my friend Jesse--the skinny, weird one with curly hair--and the stuff we do and fail to do, because all of it applies to where we hope to be.
So, here I am. I'm getting out and doing what I hope. I am looking for a school--not as hard as I should be, I admit... but I am thinking about a few schools in the Midwest and, oddly enough, in Germany; I am voting--because the next time there will be a presidential election, I will be directly affected by the international policies of the upcoming administration; I am learning languages--"les paupieres" are "the eyelids" in French, German's going pretty well, and I just recently considered that I should be attempting to learn Arabic (if Richard Engel can do it, so can I); I am writing plays and doing a thesis, because one day I could be a documentary filmmaker or a playwright who travels the world doing research. I know I will be a traveling artist, because I am an artist now. I have a passport now.
So, if where you are isn't where you hope to be--why are you where you are? What are you doing to be who you want to be in five years? If you have a dream, and it's just lying stagnant... why? What's the point of that?
Faith means you do what you hope to be.
So all of a sudden I'm thinking about my friend Jesse--the skinny, weird one with curly hair--and the stuff we do and fail to do, because all of it applies to where we hope to be.
So, here I am. I'm getting out and doing what I hope. I am looking for a school--not as hard as I should be, I admit... but I am thinking about a few schools in the Midwest and, oddly enough, in Germany; I am voting--because the next time there will be a presidential election, I will be directly affected by the international policies of the upcoming administration; I am learning languages--"les paupieres" are "the eyelids" in French, German's going pretty well, and I just recently considered that I should be attempting to learn Arabic (if Richard Engel can do it, so can I); I am writing plays and doing a thesis, because one day I could be a documentary filmmaker or a playwright who travels the world doing research. I know I will be a traveling artist, because I am an artist now. I have a passport now.
So, if where you are isn't where you hope to be--why are you where you are? What are you doing to be who you want to be in five years? If you have a dream, and it's just lying stagnant... why? What's the point of that?
Friday, October 10, 2008
updates...
What I am Reading:
Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein
One thing that I just recently learned is that Robert Heinlein popularized the acronym TANSTAAFL. Thank you, Robert Heinlein. Starship Troopers is a moral/philosophical novel cloaked in the guise of science fiction. Which means that I love the moral/philosophical parts and I am trying to like the sci-fi, "powered armor" parts. (Apparently, "power suits" mean different things to sci-fi than they do to the eighties).
What I am Listening To:
Urinetown. Duh. Is it hard to be in a show that is nominally about bodily functions?
Yes, sometimes it is. Mostly because I don't want my family to hate it and I feel like they will.
Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein
One thing that I just recently learned is that Robert Heinlein popularized the acronym TANSTAAFL. Thank you, Robert Heinlein. Starship Troopers is a moral/philosophical novel cloaked in the guise of science fiction. Which means that I love the moral/philosophical parts and I am trying to like the sci-fi, "powered armor" parts. (Apparently, "power suits" mean different things to sci-fi than they do to the eighties).
What I am Listening To:
Urinetown. Duh. Is it hard to be in a show that is nominally about bodily functions?
Yes, sometimes it is. Mostly because I don't want my family to hate it and I feel like they will.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
12:02
There is one distinct time when I wish-I wish-I wish that I had life figured out; that I was (sorry to Caitlin and anyone else who might miss me come May) a graduate; that I was, you know, not in school, but off serving, doing wildly creative things to bless people, preferably in a country where they don't always speak English; preferably with some pretty awesome husband of a guy who accepts me, even with my short hair and propensity to say dumb things; maybe, you know, a tribe.
And that time is shortly after midnight when I am "working" on an essay that's due tomorrow, listening to Songs of Water and/or French music.
My question:
Who are we but the time we spend?
Who are we besides what we do with the time we spend?
I know--
I have to spend my time doing what I'm supposed to be doing. It's not about me, and my time has to reflect that.
But first, before the husband and the missions and the orphanages and the languages and the tribe, even before my next haircut, I have to finish this dingdangpaper.
And that time is shortly after midnight when I am "working" on an essay that's due tomorrow, listening to Songs of Water and/or French music.
My question:
Who are we but the time we spend?
Who are we besides what we do with the time we spend?
I know--
I have to spend my time doing what I'm supposed to be doing. It's not about me, and my time has to reflect that.
But first, before the husband and the missions and the orphanages and the languages and the tribe, even before my next haircut, I have to finish this dingdangpaper.
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