I miss this movie . . .

Okay, so it's goofy, but bear with me here. It's a really great movie. Albert Finney is one great Scrooge.

Another rant, courtesy of me

Oh, the things I've seen since I left my paradise.

This has got to stop:

In our modern world, colleges and universities routinely submit "course evaluation" forms to their students at the end of each semester. Using these forms, the students are enabled to reverse the roles of academia, grading their professors on the course they taught them. Many universities heavily value the outcome of these evaluations. Now, remembering those boring professors from your academic past, you might think this a good development. This way, professors are given an incentive to develop more dynamic lectures and use more successful teaching techniques, right?

WRONG.

Instead, professors find themselves beholden to grade inflation and the omission of any "uncomfortable" truth, simply to keep their jobs. That's right, many universities will fire their professors if their students think their classes are too demanding. Students (on more than one level, I might add) are treated as customers, and "the customer is always right". When homework is too heavy, they say things like, "I'm paying your salary - you have to make me happy." Then, since colleges and universities are much too liberal for their own freaking good, it's bye bye to decent educators.

Now, how, in the name of Bob, do people get so stupid?

AAAAARRRRG.

GLUG

I was online telling my best friend that one of my favorite things about Christmastime was "the glug". I didn't tell her it was a spiced wine but figured I'd Google it just to make sure she could find out what it was by looking it up that way.

Input "GLUG" - - hit one, two, three - - all good, recipes and product details for spiced wine. But, what is this? Hit five reads:

"GLUG: Gay/Lesbian Underwater Group - - A UK based scuba club for gay men and . . . "

ROTFLOL

I have noticed this phenomenon, and I'm glad someone, somewhere, is taking it more seriously.

One of my husband's classmates, who is otherwise a conservative, very intelligent man, is VERY addicted to "gaming". He's also very inclined to all things Asian. . . I wonder where that psycological connection is? I've long thought that certain races had greater propensities towards given sets of vices - most likely a result of their cultural habituations. The Japanese (and evidently the South Koreans as well) seem incredibly inclined towards overindulgence in virtual phenomena. Come to think of it, even in my Caucasian circles, most of the friends I had who were quiet, withdrawn and fond of computer games also had an affinity towards Asian culture, either in the form of Anime, Pokemon, or in some other way.

Maybe there's something about Asian-ness that seems to resemble or encourage the virtual world better than most other cultural mainstays. Not being one of these quiet, withdrawn gamers - heck if I'd know what that was. But, maybe it's like how the Irish are given to overfondness of beer from a cultural inclination towards homey, noisy pubs and parties therein. Or, perhaps, how the British are inclined towards being stodgy from cultural habituation to large, rich, Edwardian architecture. -?-

I dunno. But, well, at least the South Koreans know they have a problem. More power to them!

Missing Term

The English language should invent particular terms for people to use when referring to their in-laws.

"Mom" and "Dad" are obviously unfit terms for this, since one is accustomed to applying them to the most proper individuals they belong to, i.e., those people who bore you and brought you up. Using these terms to apply to adopted family members from marriage is very awkward.

However, there are only two other alternatives to using these parental terms. One is to call in-laws by their last names with the respectful "Mr." or "Mrs." in front. This is very confusing, since in the case of the lady she is being called the same thing as her mother-in-law and that makes it all very odd. Moreover, it sounds stodgy. Yuck.

The other option is to call in-laws by their first names, or some corruption thereof. This is unfitting, since it isn't customary or proper for first name usage to cross generational gaps, unless the older person is an unusually good friend or of an unusually bubbly temperament. (Neither of which can be said to apply in most cases, and most certainly not in mine - my in-laws are anything but bubbly).

So, I'm now taking suggestions for new words to fill this office. If you can, supply an etymological analysis and show why the terms are a good fit.

And no, I'm not asking you to be serious.

Ankles

So, the idiot who crossed a slip-on/flip-flop design with a high heel should be shot.

*Kicking myself for being stupid and thinking it was a good enough idea to buy TWO pairs of them.*

Okay, so mine aren't six inches tall, but they are two inches tall, and that's enough to hurt yourself. Trust me.

Oh well.

Scientists are crazy.

Where do they get off thinking that they can philosophize? WHERE?!?! Talk about epic FAILURE. Don't we have institutions for people like this?

Sheesh.

In my opinion

. . . there are few things more depressing than bad literature. I haven't felt this unmotivated at work for a long, long time - and never at this particular place of employment. I have here 112 titles to process, plus another 600+ of the same sort upstairs, just waiting for me. YUCK . . .

Why do they let these people write books? WHY?!?! There should be laws against these things, people, LAWS . . .

*sigh* Tasik, tell me a funny story. That'll cheer me up. Maybe something about wandering in Los Angeles for hours in search of a co-operative ATM. . . . ;)

WOW!

This is great news for me, no? ;)

A decision

This is an important message for anyone who was planning, hoping or dreaming of visiting us next semester.

Matthew and I have decided to halve our living costs by staying in the dormitory next semester. We're comfy enough, a baby won't be coming for a while, and $3,000 is a lot of cash to save. For all of you prospective visitors: this means we won't have that spare bedroom we were hoping to have, but if you want to visit there will still be a place for you - it'll just be more like visiting T.A.C., that's all.

I'm not unhappy with this arrangement at all, either. I'm comfy - wasn't looking forward to moving again. :p Yuck.



Here's a video (of very low quality, but it's what we could do) of our tiny little home.

I don't get it . . .

These results confuse me.

Less to offer = trying harder? Hard to see how that assists nature at all - I kinda got the impression that things were geared towards perpetuating the species. Maybe the men they picked were really below par - the type that natural selection wants to leave out. -?- *giggle*

(and sorry, Mom, but I can't figure how I could justify adding a subject-related picture to this post, so give my apologies to Clare. ;)

Junk

This has been a very depressing week for me, professionally. I've sorted and/or catalogued 112 books, many (if not all) of them full of nothing but senseless, amoral drivel. They are the brain children of various modern (many of them "highly-acclaimed") novelists. Many of these works were tossed by WorldCat into a genre entitled "psychological fiction", and, from all appearances, the titles are every bit as bad as that sounds.

I've been trying to sort through them, reading the summaries on the insides of the dustjackets, to try and pull out the ones that are so filthy they ought not be tolerated in our collections. If it were up to me they'd all be feeding a bonfire on the lawn, but Terence, the Aquisitions Librarian, said, "Well, since we have a literature department we really ought to keep the works of well-known authors for the sake of their research." I responded, "But they're so seedy, Terry. They're either as bad or worse than romance novels. Do we really need to keep such junk?" "Well, it may be junk, but it's famous junk, so yes." He was amused at the expression this got him. "Who in the sam heck acclaims these pervs, anyway? . . . " I mumbled, turning back to my computer screen. "Go ahead and go through them, though." said Terence, "If there are any you think are really beyond all boundaries, set them aside and I'll look at them."

Sooo, yeah, it's been a tough week. Playing the "how immoral is this novel?" game all the day long, filling my mind with disgusting images and then filling bookcarts, databases and shelves with perverse stories about people breaking every command of the decalogue, and breaking them with pizazz.

I have the whole weekend off. God be praised!!!!

Connections

There is a fact, fully admitted by me, and well known to my family and friends, that I am primarily the intellectual child of my third obsession. However, I have an undying devotion to another long-since dead Catholic fat guy. Evidently, the two are more closely related than I thought.

I'm amazed at this article - Chesterton argues many of the points I made in my shamelessly Thomistic senior thesis. Given his high praise for Thomas' philosophy and true common sense, I suppose it's no real suprise that my Chesterton obsession led me to such a deep appreciation of, and militant devotion to, the Dumb Ox.



St. Thomas Aquinas, pray for us!

Oh dear . . .

Okay, so, I have this Weird Al song stuck in my head.

It reminded me of my husband - tee hee hee. However, he only got something like a 35% score on the quiz. He does do vector calculus, though, and thinks it's great fun to talk to me about it, too. *eyes glazing over*

Yeah, I know, quite a switch from yesterday's intellectual hyperactivity, isn't it? I promise I'll come up with something profound before the night's out, ok?

The Clash of the Great Gods

That is, the American gods of today, i.e., Information, Technology and Money.

I was given this article by my New Yorker boss - he wanted to know whether I thought it worth sharing with the rest of the library staff. It's a well-written article, and this morning, having been in a rather unusual fit of intellectual agility it sent me into the following thoughts:

Since entering the field known as "library science" (aptly named 'library', being the field related to and concerned with such things, but named 'science' for no good reason - see previous post) I have encountered a very strange attitude. Many people, supposedly in authoritative positions, have decided that the library field is defined and determined by one, modern (and incidentally very wrong) conception of scholarship, learning and "progress". The main way their concept of these things is manifested is not through intellectual works aimed at these thoughts themselves (that would be far too theoretical, after all - much too unscientific), but through militant resistance to any and all forms of "censorship" from anyone, anywhere, at any time. It seems to be widely accepted that all things written, no matter on what subject, for what purpose, or with how much intelligibility, are to be included by the librarian in his or her collection. This is especially the case if the librarian works with the academia; if there is no freedom of expression (i.e., license to commit any form of stupidity) in the academic library, the world is indeed going back to the middle ages (i.e., the modern notion of going to hell) in a handbasket.

The article I linked to above points out the same conception on the grand scale, including it to expand the efforts of corporate monstrosities such as Google, Microsoft, and others. Google, especially, is shown to step forth in glory, championing the great and noble mission of placing all written words at the fingertips of Everyman.

No doubt, scoffing is natural. Nobility generally assumes a lack of self-interest, and Google made its millions through its edgy advertisement schema. Without a doubt, their aim is to make more millions off of those search-appropriate advertisements little Billy will see when he's clicking through their Universal Library for Everyman. The standards of our capitalist economy do not, however, adjudge this ignoble, but savvy - those that complain of the circumstance have no real reason to do so aside from sheer human jealousy. Google has as much rights to the millions as anyone else - if you'd thought of it first, you'd be rich, too. So stop your crying.

My real objection, however, is that people seem to think that putting together a sheer collection of all this wordage is somehow going to bring about "progress". It all comes of modern philosophy, really - Cartesian and Hegelian contortions of the universe and it's nature. If existence only comes about in the perception of the thinking thing, every expression of thinking beings becomes a valuable chunk of the universe. By virtue of this, the most nonsensical blather becomes information of inestimable worth, to be searched, referenced, annotated. Up it goes, loaded into the Google machine of data-collection so that it might, perchance, be converted into statistics and fed into the vacuous mouth of the World Spirit, swelling it towards the next epoch in this Bacchanalian revel. No doubt, everything written by men will bring us that much closer to becoming gods, per the promise given by that long, green snake with the shiny fruit of death.

Those were the more philosophical thoughts that came of this article, however. There were others, dwelling more upon the matters of social justice. No doubt, copyright law is very useful to ensure creative men the ability to make a living off their work. This can be easily seen as a good - nobody likes starving artists. On the flip side, however, it does give both artistic expression and scientific discovery the flavor of a manufactured commodity. This is highlighted by Mr. Kelly's concept that copyright laws of undue duration do not encourage the productivity of the creative artist. This seems like a twisted way of seeing it - copyright law as a way of pressuring artists into becoming "very useful engines" (to use the catch-phrase of the uncomfortably Marxist childrens' program 'Thomas the Tank Engine'). The end result is that even those rare noble discoveries, beautiful paintings, and good music all become vehicles of filthy lucre - nothing more, nothing less. If they're used in a way that doesn't make-a-buck, call out the lawyers 'cause there's gonna be a row.

Now, there is one notable (and even somewhat odd) response of the common man to this situation. Men around the world, most likely grown tired of the subscription-based or pay-per-view industry of enlightenment, have turned to 'open-source'-ing their knowledge and collecting it into free, easily accessed database programs, like Wikipedia or Open Office. Far from returning to the hell of the middle ages, where intelligent men (scarcely kept from starving by the alternate help and persecution of a Church that hated the progress of human knowledge - I'm SO serious, I actually saw this blatantly stated on an academic website's guide to copyright law) wrote on vellum in leaky, badly lit rooms while the peasants rolled in the dirt outside the gate. No, now, in our new, improved modern world, Joe Smith stocks shelves at Wal-Mart on his day-job, and later on he writes articles on Wikipedia by way of recreation - that is, after he watches "Grey's Anatomy"; he would never dream of missing that.

What a strange, strange world we live in. In the meanwhile, the men who worship the god called "money" sue the men who worship the god called "technology" and both utilize arguments against the other from their respective devotions to the gods we know as "rights" and "information" - and the demons devour one another for all eternity in the hole called hell.

I'm trying to think up something profound

. . . after all, I should post - wouldn't want to trash my record, now, would I? ;)

My house is gloriously clean right now - well, okay, it was gloriously clean until I cooked dinner and now it's gloriously clean except for all the dishes I just generated. Can't win for losing, I tell ya' . . .

. . . (flat line) . . .

Well, okay, fine, so I guess I don't have anything profound to say tonight. I need to go hunker down and read - I've decided I'm going to get ready for bed and then read every night at 10 o'clock until my husband decides it's time to go to sleep. This should give me some regular exercise for my brain, whose agility is suffering more than this poor, neglected bod of mine, which I also need to work on . . . *sigh*

Goodnight!

Keep all pets (and small children) INSIDE

So, it seems possible that these lovely, oversized housecats called "jaguarundi" inhabit this area - it's reported that Florida does have a population. My husband and I think we saw one run across the road last week. It was either one of the above-pictured, less fearsome jaguarundi or it was one of these lovely things:



However, we think that less likely since it wasn't nearly that big. It could have been a young panther, though, which are dark and/or spotted (this cat was definitely dark, dark brown or black). As far as we have been able to ascertain through research, there isn't much difference between the Florida panther and the California puma we were all taught to fear with stories of devoured joggers and hikers. According to Wikipedia, the Ave Maria settlement was controversial because of the unusually high concentration of Florida jaguars living in this spot.

Fuuuuuuuuunnnn . . .

Now, between these big, hungry kitties and these lovely beasts:



(a fellow graduate student, just yesterday morning, happened upon one about 10 feet long in the swamp behind our new townhomes - oh JOY) we've decided that we're not getting any munchable, outdoor pets and we're never letting the children play outside unattended.

NEVER.

Sounds familiar . . .

Now that my beloved and I have ventured away from our alma mater, we are forced into more encounters with the dreaded "system". Alas!

Well, at least the cartoon is funny . . .

Ironies

So . . . my husband and I were talking the other night, and he pointed out some inconsistencies which are very interesting.

How is it that my studies, centering mainly around philosophy and theology, gave me a Bachelor of ARTS degree? Heeeeelllllooooooo people - arts, by definition, are ordered to MAKING, and it's not like I spent four years learning how to construct truth or fabricate a God. Sciences are ordered to KNOWING, and that's what philosophy and theology are ordered to - knowing things. Not making them.

And, now, what really gets me: so, if I was to go get a degree in, say, architecture, they'd give me a Bachelor of Sciences degree. Now, there's no way in heck you're going to convince me that architecture isn't ordered to making things.

What idiot is responsible for this, huh?

It's a bunch of B.S. - that's what I say.

(I know, I know, that really hurt. I'm sorry . . . )

WHY??? WHY???????????????????????

Now, when baking powder and baking soda were being named, why, in the name of all that is holy, did they decide to qualify both of their names with the word "baking"?

They could have named them anything - "Larry", "Bob", "Joe Schmoe's Amazing Powdery Stuff You Put In Your Food".

But, why, why, WHY would they decide that both of these items needed names involving the same, one, completely extraneous word?

Perhaps they were named by evil people, foreseeing that this similarity of names was going to make me (and millions of others like me) mess up innumerable recipes in the first several months of marriage.

I can hear them cackling now, the buttheads. Grrrrrr . . .

The Cave

I wrote my senior thesis demonstrating, in part, some major differences between the first principles accepted by Plato and those accepted by St. Thomas. A self-professed Thomist, it must then, of necessity, be concluded that the first principles, and thereby large chunks, of Platonist philosophy are not my cup 'o tea.

However, in Book VII of the Republic, Plato introduces the well-known analogy of "the cave". Now, he's using this to illustrate certain philosophical ideas regarding universals and forms which I in no way adhere to, but there is something to be said about the idea of a place where people are so much in the dark they don't know which way is up.

Now, my Aristotelian Thomism also asserts that anyone who sees those items we all call "things" has enough to work with, philosophically, and as a sensate rational being he must be hitting the wide door of truth somehow, somewhere. After all, he is a man, who "desire[s], by nature, to know".

Buuuuuut, I have to admit, there is at least an intellectual state that resembles Plato's cave. I encounter it all the time. Now, accuse me not of philosophical snobbery, but over and over again I've encountered people in the day-to-day who, by no fault of their own, don't have a clue but GOL-DERN, they sure think they do. Moreover, invariably they try to "help me" by showing me that this philosophy stuff I find soooo important is really 'very minor'. Now, of course my soul responds by screaming: 'Minor?? MINOR??!?! Sure, the science of all truth knowable by human reason is a minor detail in our lives, after all. Are you stupid?! Why are you talking??? GO AWAY.' My social interface, however, is counting down from ten, resisting the urge to either a) rip them to intellectual shreds in a fury of rightous indignance or b) ridicule them. I find myself internally saying, "Be charitable - they don't know. They have no way of knowing - all they get to see are shadows on a wall."

I'm not sure if it's quite kosher for a Thomistic person to use the cave illustration with such shameless liberty, though. The intention of it's author was to illustrate a concept of truth and knowledge which I don't ascribe to. Hmmmm . . . I think that I'm going to have to ponder it a while longer.

New experiences

I must admit I never thought of myself as a city-dweller before. I love quiet places without people, fields and birds and wide open sky. Big cities, though, have one aspect that the quiet country solitude cannot provide: large crowds of people.

Okay, so I admit, I'm a people watcher, and I always have been. I don't have to talk to them, I don't have to drink with them, I don't even have to even be close enough to smell them (after all, occasionally that can be very unpleasant) - I just love to watch them. Now, while some find it very strange, I can honestly say that when I was in college it never bothered me to stay on our little campus for months at a go. I was surrounded by 350 very interesting people - TAC students, all of them oddballs, were incredibly fun to watch. However, I can remember that it was still refreshing to take that occasional excursion. Those trips, partially because they were so rare, made memories - blissful, glorious memories, even if they were all formed in and around overpopulated, smoggy Los Angeles.

However, the truly great experiences I can remember also involve memorable places - places with atmosphere, where the people in them were living art. I have memories of places like that from every city I've lived in and almost every city I've visited. In Kansas City, there is a beautiful cafe in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art called the "Roselle Court". In Los Angeles, people, variously dressed, mill around, their bright attire standing out against the stark, white stone of the Getty. In Huntington Beach people by the thousands stream through the Gardens and ascend the grand staircase in its Californian mansion. In Nashville, there's a bar named the Flying Saucer which specializes in an incredible list of microbrews. Even in this boring geriatrics ward called Naples there's an Irish pub on Fifth avenue with amazingly authentic wooden pub trimmings, live music, and great food.

Well, I have a new memory now.

As this semester wore on to its midpoint I suddenly became aware that I was going crazy on this campus, the day to day conveying me from our dorm room to work and back again, with nothing, whatsoever, to create variety. I might also mention that this campus provides very few interesting people to watch - they're not nearly so off-the-wall as Californians, none of them are classically rustic like good old podunk KC fare, and nobody is brave enough to be so eccentrically nerdy as a TAC student. They all look like your rubberstamped highschooler from some boring, insincere, "named subdivision". I'm telling you - these people bore me to *TEARS*.

So, yeah, it became obvious that I was in desperate need of a change of scene, a new experience, I didn't care what it was, but I NEEDED IT NOW. I expressed this to my love, who couldn't relate. He's a homebody - very, very much a homebody. To him, your home is a safe place where stupid people can't ruin your day. Why leave it if you don't have to?

Although I think he was far from understanding why I would need to go out, after 'a small discussion' he did grasp that it was a real need, and whether he could theoretically grasp it or not, it ought to be seen to, nonetheless. Since I was busy with work, I suggested he think about a place he wanted to go for a date, and we'd go. I didn't care where it was or what we did, just as long as it was an outing formulated with the intent of relaxing and having fun (that is, something other than the weekly grocery shopping trip). Which brings us to . . .



Sushi. My second obsession found out he was fond of it last year, after he was dragged into town and introduced to the cuisine by his loud, ex-Marine, Guamese roomate, Jeff. He'd been wanting to introduce me to the Sushi restaurant they'd frequented, saying it was a great place and would definitely be a new experience. He was downright excited about it. I was so pleased! *contented grin* I really needed to get out, but I didn't want to make my homebody husband miserable in the process - after all, that would be anything but recreational.

Okay, so you're all seeing this next part coming from a mile off. Truth be told, my spirit was very willing - it's not like I didn't give it a fair go. It's just that my flesh was too weak - my stomach said, "You're not seriously putting that in HERE, are you???? Do you honestly think I'm going to stand for that?!"

Ahem . . . so, it was an evening of suppressing my gag reflex and trying not to look like I was. I've always been really, really bad at hiding anything, though, from almost anybody (save perhaps "Dr. Phil", LOL) and I was with my husband, who knows me better than anyone in the world. So, well, I failed miserably. My poor husband - he was really depressed.

I think it was the same differences that made it difficult to explain why I really needed to get out of the house which made it difficult to explain how a date could still be considered a success when the food made me want to puke. To an intensely logical man this simply doesn't add up. I tried to explain that the atmosphere was what sealed the deal - the place was so crowded that the only place to sit without a wait was at the sushi bar, so you got to see them cut and roll everything. I was definitely thrilled with it, even if my stomach wasn't. The rolls pictured above are California rolls, the only ones I could tolerate without a reciting to myself "keep it in your mouth, keep it in your mouth, keep it in your mouth" . . . My love was eventually convinced of my sincerity, and he seems to have decided to trust me, even if he cannot theoretically grasp my verdict.

After dinner I ordered a nice, normal beer and sat back to let my stomach settle, watching all the people at and around the sushi bar. They were entertaining people - much more entertaining than normal Naples fare. Naples is generally full of old, plasticy looking individuals who act like they're 20-something (or who are at least trying to act like they're 20-something, which is a really sad thing to watch), but evidently those people don't go for sushi. The people at the sushi bar were still your normal Americana mix, and since they were Naples locals they were wealthier than was probably healthy for them. However, they were still entertaining, and it was nice to sit back and watch them chatter to one another.

When my beer was done we ordered some nice, normal ice cream, and then my stomach was not only appeased, but happy. After that we went and bought some wine and cheese, rented a movie that my husband wanted me to see, and watched it when we got home (btw, it was exceptionally good).

I've been happy as a lark ever since. :D

This is getting sad . . .

I'm compulsively looking at pictures of baby animals.

This is NOT GOOD

-?-

Okay, so I've been giving into a temptation that may become a naaaaasty habit.

I've been scanning the books that I'm cataloging.

This is very bad. I'm supposed to be cataloging, not reading. But . . . but, . . . they sit there, and they call to me. "Reeeeeaaaad meeeeee . . . "

There was one I picked up today, though, that bit me.

Lillian R. Lieber wrote some of the strangest stuff I've ever seen.

"This is not intended to be
free verse.
Writing each phrase on a separate line
facilitates rapid reading,
and everyone
is in a hurry
nowadays."


Every sentence told me she was the poster-child for the modern mathematicians gone philosophical pikers league we learned about in senior math. I'm sooooo not even kidding. If you ever want to read something really weird, pick up one of her books.



And she looked so conservative and normal on the outside. *shrug*
Go figure.

Random Thoughts . . .

You know, the way some women watch football games gives me a nigh-irrepressible urge to knit a sweater in an attempt to restore balance in the cosmos.




Nota Bene: never, ever buy great loose-leaf tea if you want to enjoy commercial (economically priced) teas ever, ever again.



It's amazing how quickly your mind can atrophy. How come I can't be one of those people who see the deep down things in every thing they perceive? I'm a Thomistic Aristotelian, after all - all I should really need to philosophize are things and senses to see them with, both of which I have right now. What is wrong with me? Instead I brainlessly clean, cook, eat, work, sleep, repeat . . . it's very base. Where's the wonder in those glorious philosophical concepts I strained myself to grasp?

. . . Four chicken breasts, a cup of cheese, two potatoes, two cups of flour . . . I think we need more milk - I should put that on the grocery list . . . Will all these dishes fit into the dishwasher? . . . I wonder if it's better to dry-clean that bedspread, hmm . . .

I'm telling you, the intellectual fatness I feared is becoming a reality. Something has to change.

So, maybe I should ask for input for the meagre number of readers I have on this here blog. What are your recommendations for an intellectual diet?

Amusing things

Indisputably vile

and

Very hilarious (gosh, I wish *I* lived in Russia. Free house as a prize? That's almost worth becoming a pink-o. JK, JK!!!)

It's Weird But It's True

I just figured out the major problem with the university I'm currently working for.

They're too uptight.

No, really, I'm serious. They're much less conservative than the people at the school I graduated from last May, but they're ten times more uptight. I honestly have no idea how they manage it.

I suppose this shows me that it is a fallacy to think that being conservative and being uptight are somehow synonymous. Thinking critically about it, my theory, until now, had been that the more you possessed knowledge from causes, that is, the more rational you became, the less likely you were to be patient with people (many of whom act in an irrational manner).

However, experience now shows me that rational people are much more patient with humanity than the people who don't give a darn about causes, reason, or anything of that ilk. Such sorts of people can randomly decide to be uptight with one another for absolutely no reason at all.

Therefore, this university, even in all it's comparmentalized, technologically advanced, cheerleader-ish, shiny ultra-modern 'We are the Catholics of TODAY, rah rah rah!' glory, is chock full of uptight angst. What's worst about it is that a shocking number of people lack senses of humor.

Yeah, it's weird, but it's true.

They Were Right

There is a direct correlation between the stress in your life and the number of keys on your keychain.

I'm currently toting 9 of the infernal metal thingies, plus one very inconvenient plastic key card.

*sigh*

!!!!

So, my most recent project is researching copyright policies and writing one for the university my library is associated with.

Oh, the depth of confusion. Copyright law seems to be the most complicated thing in the *world* to get a grip on. Pray that I make some headway soon.

I want to clean

I'm so sick of looking at unpacked boxes.
I want to be able to move in someplace, unpack them, and not look at another pile of boxes for . . . at least a few months.

*Sigh*

Only a few more days . . .

UGH!!

Sorry, I've just got to vent . . .

"The freedom to read is essential to our democracy. It is continuously under attack. Private groups and public authorities in various parts of the country are working to remove or limit access to reading materials, to censor content in schools, to label "controversial" views, to distribute lists of "objectionable" books or authors, and to purge libraries. These actions apparently rise from a view that our national tradition of free expression is no longer valid; that censorship and suppression are needed to counter threats to safety or national security, as well as to avoid the subversion of politics and the corruption of morals. We, as individuals devoted to reading and as librarians and publishers responsible for disseminating ideas, wish to assert the public interest in the preservation of the freedom to read.

. . . We trust Americans to recognize propaganda and misinformation, and to make their own decisions about what they read and believe. We do not believe they are prepared to sacrifice their heritage of a free press in order to be "protected" against what others think may be bad for them. We believe they still favor free enterprise in ideas and expression.

. . . suppression is never more dangerous than in such a time of social tension. Freedom has given the United States the elasticity to endure strain. Freedom keeps open the path of novel and creative solutions, and enables change to come by choice. Every silencing of a heresy, every enforcement of an orthodoxy, diminishes the toughness and resilience of our society and leaves it the less able to deal with controversy and difference."

Now, it's been a long time since I've read anything so chock full of b.s., if you will excuse me. Now I understand how librarians get to having that slimy, public-school-teacher feeling to them, if they have to read up, swallow and swim in THIS kind of stuff.

Egads! The stupidity!! The blatant biases! The unmistakable insensitivities to the beliefs of so many!! Strange such a group of liberated, culturally careful people should err in this way. How incredibly . . . fitting . . . it is . . . that they do.

Puh-leeeeese

"The Library Bill of Rights

The American Library Association affirms that all libraries are forums for information and ideas, and that the following basic policies should guide their services.

I. Books and other library resources should be provided for the interest, information, and enlightenment of all people of the community the library serves. Materials should not be excluded because of the origin, background, or views of those contributing to their creation.

II. Libraries should provide materials and information presenting all points of view on current and historical issues. Materials should not be proscribed or removed because of partisan or doctrinal disapproval.

III. Libraries should challenge censorship in the fulfillment of their responsibility to provide information and enlightenment.

IV. Libraries should cooperate with all persons and groups concerned with resisting abridgment of free expression and free access to ideas.

V. A person's right to use a library should not be denied or abridged because of origin, age, background, or views.

VI. Libraries which make exhibit spaces and meeting rooms available to the public they serve should make such facilities available on an equitable basis, regardless of the beliefs or affiliations of individuals or groups requesting their use.

[ALA Library Bill of Rights. Adopted June 18, 1948. Amended February 2, 1961, and January 23, 1980, inclusion of "age" reaffirmed January 23, 1996, by the ALA Council.] "

Who are these people? They ought to be flogged. I mean, there are millions of incredibly stupid people out there writing books like they knew something. Libraries ought to be able to filter out their flotsam. ALA Bill of Rights indeed . . .

I'm having to read this stuff for my new job, btw. Honestly, I think Viltis would be amused at it all.

Settling In . . .

So, this is a picture of my office (before all the books and computers were moved in), which I now share with 3 or 4 other people. My desk is over in the far left corner (afraid you can't see it very well for the shelving) where I can get splashed with sunlight from windows facing both east and south. They've installed shades on those windows now, which is good. The sunlight was giving me a headache every day.

I'm finding the job depressing at best, although I'm feeling extremely ungrateful for it. Let's just say the college I'm now employed with does not treat its students, curriculum, faculty or staff like my alma-mater did and does - AT ALL. I am missing my land of Californian bliss already.

*sigh*

Life in Florida

Sure, it looks nice and comfy.
Don't let it fool you.
If feels like this:


. . . So, yeah, I'm hating the weather. It's like Kansas City in mid-August; only 20 billion times worse. WHY anyone would willfully live here, let alone vacation here, without the pretense of attending the only Thomistic graduate theology program in this country . . . well, that's just beyond me, my friend. Completely unfathomable.


Moreover, I would like to take this moment to say that I now have no reason to doubt that there is no limit to the ineptitude of certain contractors and student life administrators I have had to deal with during the last few days. Don't get me wrong - they're very nice, otherwise likable . . . but pretty much completely unhelpful . . . people. At this moment they're all lucky I haven't eaten them - but my husband tells me this wouldn't be advisable.

Grrrrr.

More later - say a few prayers for us, if you would, k?

Wow

Less than three weeks until 'the big day'.

It's official, I'm starting to get nervous now.

A few days ago, as I was in the course of running around the city arranging wedding details I stopped at a Taco Bell to grab lunch. The girl who rang me up at the cash register peered at my left hand and requested a closer look at my diamond, saying she just loved jewelry.

"You married?" she asked

"No, not yet. But I will be very soon." I replied.

"Aaawww, now, I wouldn't never do that. Not so young! You shouldn't do sumtum so serious!"

Great, the cashier at Taco Bell is trying to talk me out of getting married.

"No, I'm certain of this one - I'm his world, and he's the only one for me." I said.

"Well, so you think, but if he up and leave ya' later than he waren't never so very yours now, was he?"

"He wouldn't do something like that. There are only a few men like him left in the world, I admit, but there are a few and I claim this one."

She didn't believe me. "Well, okay, I guess it's up to you."

I wasn't sure how offended to get.

In less than three weeks I'll be someone's wife.

That is just weird.

Chesteron on Being Fat

"It may be that the thin monks were holy, but I am sure it was the fat monks who were humble. To be fat is to be laughed at, and that is a more wholesome experience for the soul of man."

My musings . . .

. . . will forever be affected by the education I have received.

I stand staring into my closet, looking at a newly ironed shirt I had just hung up.

If Karl Marx is right and human labor really does, in some magical way, transform the objects we handle, does my shirt become more valuable every time I iron it? Heck, how about every time I wash it? If that's so, my old clothes are very valuable right now, and it would be great to have some extra cash for this wedding . . .

. . . and at this point the musing veers off into daydreams about selling off used toothbrushes, holey pairs of jeans and worn out carpets for hundreds of thousands of dollars on ebay. . . .

And I suddenly stop, and think to myself: I am such a nerd!!!

Movie recommended . . .

The Painted Veil
I can't say I exactly loved it, because I'm the kind of person who resents movies that depict tragic things - my sanguine optimism prefers cotton-candy happy endings. If a movie is going to make me cry it dern well better make up for it in the end with sunshine and rainbows - - and, well, this movie does nothing of the kind. Nevertheless, objectively, this movie has a hopeful, realistic message in it and it is one of those movies which fit the Christian/Catholic worldview pretty dern well. Don't see it with kids, and don't see it if you're really sensitive to modesty issues - it covers a lot of stuff about sex, but the way it's treated really emphasizes what it means within a marriage and what it does when it is not kept within it.

A day in the life . . .

. . . "Well, I dunno, I like the name Anne, but I also like the name Fiona."

"Eh, yeah, it's okay. It's still kinda weird."

"You think all the interesting names are weird. I refuse to make another child on this earth suffer with a blah Catholic name that everyone else has. No Pauls, no Johns, no Marks, no Marys or Katies . . . "

. . . *silence indicative of thought on something else* . . .

"What are you thinking, honey?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I was trying to spell 'Fiona' in Greek."

. . . *blink*, *blink* . . .

"You were what?"

"I was trying to figure out how to spell Fiona in Greek."

. . . a few moments of silence . . .

"First of all, I think that might be the nerdiest thing you've done to-date. Second, the name is Gaelic, not Greek."

"Well, you could spell it in Greek. However, I can't figure out which letter to use for the 'o'."

Fortunately, my love's risibility did kick in and he was able to see the ridiculous in this conversation. There was a time when he would have just looked at me blankly and wondered what my problem was.

And later on . . .

My future brother-in-law was wearing a shirt with a picture and signature on the front. The signature, however difficult to read, said "Jimi Hendrix". My mother had an adverse reaction to it, and asked him what on earth that was all about. He was about as animate in his response as he ever is. :) My future mother in law says, "Yeah, please, you tell him. He doesn't listen to me."

Later, when we got home, mother was telling my dad about the tee-shirt. I figured it was a good time to ask a question, since there was nobody outside of my immediate family to ridicule me.

"Who's Jimi Hendrix?"

My dad just looked at me. My mother said, "He wrote horrible, nasty, loud music. I never liked it."

"What were his hits?"

"Oh, he didn't have any." my mother responded. I seriously doubted this to be the case, since I had heard of the name in some vague way before.

My father says, "Don't ask a person for her opinion on Jimi Hendrix if her favorite singers were The Partidge Family, John Denver, and James Taylor. Jimi Hendrix wrote 'Purple Haze'."

"Oooooh, yeah, okay . . . " I said. Mom made a face at Dad.

Oh yes, a day in the life . . .

Going Postal

I have decided that I don't really like the post office anymore.

Not at all.

They hike the prices of stamps all the time (so that you never seem to have the right postage laying around), get packages to you late and/or damaged, and find every nitty-gritty reason on the planet to charge you more.

Now, don't think that this distaste for them is entirely based upon the fact that my square wedding invitations are going to cost an extra 17 cents each to mail (if they were rectangular, that would be different, of course). It's not the only reason, I assure you.

Granted, they're taking a hit from other mail carriers, like UPS and FedEx, and the internet is quickly eating up the need for mailing off bills and payments.

But we all hail the great god of capitolism . . . even the quaint little mailman has gotta make his proportinate-to-the-market buck, whatever way he can.

babysitting siblings on a Friday night. . .

"Hey, hey, sis, hey, Emiwee, I'm still hungwy."

"What? I thought you were the one that didn't eat!"

Skinny little kid blinks at me.

"Well, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I'm hungwy wight now I guess."

"Okay, well, it's Friday, so you can't have meat. Do you want peanut butter and jelly? The tuna salad's all gone and Mom hasn't had time to go shopping since we got back into town."

"Okay."

. . . I'm making the sandwich. . . .

The older boy says, "Hey, you know, Mom doesn't necessarily HOLD to the not-eating-meat on Friday thing."

I look at him blankly.

"You know that you have to make some kind of sacrifice on Fridays, Graham. It's a sacrifice for you to keep from eating meat, otherwise you wouldn't be telling me that."

He pauses for a time.

"What's for dessert?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, . . . if it's something that's not too good I could give that up instead."

"Graham Lowell! You know that the whole point of a sacrifice is to give up something you like."

"Awwww, maaaaan. Okay, fine . . . "

Smaller child gets up from dinner table and plays around, tormenting his sister with the old "I'm not touching you" move, for the umpteenth time.

"Paul, Paul, now, listen kid, when I was little Mom never let us get up at all until we asked to be excused."

Makes some strange boy-like noises involving sticking out of tongue and wild contortions of the face - much like the illustrations in Calvin & Hobbes. As that cartoon strip is a family favourite it's hard to tell whether these expressions are from the nature the Watterson originally intended to imitate or are, rather, adverse effects of his literary influence.

I blink at skinny little brother.

"Paul, do I look amused?"

"Yes."

*&$# - - it didn't work. I thought I'd pulled off a poker face. I really need to get better at this.

"Paul, my patience is wearing thin."

"Is it this thin yet?" he asks, indicating something very small with his fingers.

Don't look amused. Don't look amused. Don't look amused.

Heck, it's no use. I'm amused. He can tell. How on earth am I going to keep order around here?

. . . Fortunately mothering happens one day at a time. . . . Hopefully I can develop these skills, eventually . . .

Great News!!

My future brother-in-law has . . .

FINALLY CUT HIS HAIR!!!

Alleluia! Glory be to God! His kindness endureth forever and ever. Amen.

Free

I've finished all my finals, and I've finished my degree.
Now, after the graduation ceremony is over, I'm free to go
HOME
. . . at least for a time . . .

The Notebook Entries

As I study for finals, I end up reading notes in my little notebook, where I keep a running commentary on the room during class. I thought I'd share some of it with you:


"Philosophy - April 23
On Being and Essence, St. Thomas

. . . Ooops, I'm having listening problems. What was the opening question again? . . .
'Of the two meanings of being we first examined, which one belongs to God? What's the relation of being to the being of God?'
. . . I'm so not here today . . . *sigh* . . .
God is not in a genus because the whatness is not distinguished according to the nature in an individual.
. . . The water pitchers here will be used for Shema's defense this afternoon . . . that defense will be *such* a scream . . . won't be one of those -yawn- I wish I were being productive defenses . . .
Wait, hold on, here, did anyone figure out the answer to the question we had out on the table besides x and y? I kinda doubt it. The question was 'what does this sentence mean?' I'm going to re-introduce the inquiry. Hey, missy, now don't you take that tone with me, or I'll individuate your matter . . . Oooooo, snap . . . "


"Senior Laboratory
Einstein, Relativity

There's a man, and he's in this box . . .
Wait, whoa, *what* did you just say, student c?
. . . I find the people in this room to be remarkably unnatural beings. How on earth can people be so addicted to algebraic abstractions? They're having a hard time speaking of nature *itself* anymore. I asked a question about a whatness and they're cranking out equations. That is just . . . yeah, you people are freaks of nature . . .
Inertial mass - - the mass which makes a thing retain it's state of motion or rest
Gravitational mass - - the mass which makes things incline towards IT? -or- quality of mass as manifested by attractive power . . .
Uh oh. I think student z is using special, external knowledge again. These people are so lucky I'm really preoccupied with getting married. Due to that I don't have the energy to dis them anywhere but in this notebook . . . any other year I would be having such a fit"


"Do not sleep, do not sleep, do not sleep . . . no sleeping . . . "


"Seminar
Lumen Gentium

My experiences of Vatican II 'effects', or, more properly, the liberal interpretations of Vatican II and it's 'spirit' . . .
1) The hierarchical structure of the Church is out-dated, especially the Papacy, and it will pass away.
Sed Contra,
LC section 14: "They are fully incorportated [into the Church of Christ] . . . who . . accept her entire system and . . . are united with her as part of her visible bodily structure and through her with Christ, who rules through the Supreme Pontiff and the bishops."
LC section 18: "And all this teaching about the institution, the perpetuity, the meaning and reason for the sacred primacy of the Roman Pontiff and of his infallible magesterium, this Sacred Council again proposes to be firmly believed by all the faithful."
LC section 22: "The pope's power of primacy over all, both pastors and faithful, remains whole and intact. In virtue of his office, that is as Vicar of Christ and pastor of the whole Church, the Roman Pontiff has full, supreme, and universal power over the Church."
LC section 27: " . . . In virtue of this power, bishops have the sacred right and duty before the Lord to make laws for their subjects, to pass judgment on them and to moderate everything pertaining to the ordering of worship and the apostolate."
2) The priesthood of the laity is to be exalted as just as dignified or equal to the sacramental priesthood.
Sed Contra,
LC section 10: "Though they differ from one another in essence and not only in degree, the common priesthood of the faithful and the ministerial or hierarchical priesthood are nonetheless interrelated . . . "

So, if these ideas were completely and flatly contradicted by the documents of Vatican II, how on earth were they construed as the spirit of it?'

Surely . . .

. . . his conscience was loaded with grave sins against

the spirit of lucidity.*

How on earth did anyone ever pick up a work by Husserl and decide that it would or could be helpful to anyone? That's what I want to know.

Granted, if you've done a deep study of philosophy, especially the first principle addressing universality and being, you can see that he's asking the right question: but heck if he's not totally befuddling things in trying to concoct an answer by the clear-and-distinct-cognitions-inside-your-head approach. You'd think, having seen and recognized the disastrous end met by his predecessors, he'd get a clue.

Maybe seminar will help me to see some sense in what he's saying. Right now it just sounds like he's babbling and hoping something sensible will come of it in the end.

Have a great week, everyone! God bless,

Emily

*this intelligently funny little phrase was taken from "Relativity" by Albert Einstein

The Equality of Sexlessness

In almost all the modern opinions of women it is curious to observe how many lies have to be assumed before a case can be made. A young lady flies from England to Australia; another wins an air race; a Duchess creates a speed record in reaching India; others win motoring trophies; and now the King's prize for marksmanship has gone to a woman. All of which is very interesting and possibly praiseworthy as means of spending one's leisure time; and if it were left to that, even if no more were added than the perfectly plain fact that such feats could not have been achieved by their mothers and grandmothers, we would be content to doff our hats to the ladies with all courtesy and respect which courage, endurance and ability have always rightly demanded.

But it is not left to that; and considerably more is added. It is suggested, for example, that the tasks were beyond the mothers and grandmothers, nor for the very obvious reason that they had no motorcars and airplanes in which to amuse their leisure hours, but because women were then enslaved by the convention of natural inferiority to man. Those days, we are told, "in which women were held incapable of positive social achievements are gone forever." It does not seem to have occurred to this critic that the very fact of being a mother or grandmother indicates a certain positive social achievement; the achievement of which, indeed, probably left little leisure for travelling airily about the hemispheres. The same critic goes on to state, with all the solemn emphasis of profound thought, that "the important thing is not that women are the same as men -- that is a fallacy -- but that they are just as valuable to society as men. Equality of citizenship means that there are twice as many heads to solve present-day problems as there were to solve the problems of the past. And two heads are better than one." And the dreadful proof of the modern collapse of all that was meant by man and wife and the family council, is that this sort of imbecility can be taken seriously.

The London Times, in a studied leading article, points out that the first emancipators of women (whoever they were) had no idea what lay in store for future generations. "Could they have foreseen it they might have disarmed much opposition by pointing to the possibilities, not only of freedom, but of equality and fraternity also."

And we ask, what does it all mean? What in the name of all that is graceful and dignified does fraternity with women mean? What nonsense, or worse, is indicated by the freedom and equality of the sexes?

We mean something quite definite when we speak of a man being a little free with the ladies. What definite freedom is meant when the freedom of women is proposed? If it merely means the right to free opinions, the right to vote independently of fathers and husbands, what possible connection does it have with the freedom to fly to Australia or score bulls-eyes at Bisley? If it means, as we fear it does, freedom from responsibility of managing a home and a family, an equal right with men in business and social careers, at the expense of home and family, then such progress we can only call progressive deterioration.

And for men too, there is, according to a famous authoress, a hope of freedom. Men are beginning to revolt, we are told, against the old tribal custom of desiring fatherhood. The male is casting off the shackles of being a creator and a man. When all are sexless there will be equality. There will be no women and no men. There will be but a fraternity, free and equal.

The only consoling thought is that it will endure but for one generation.

--G.K. Chesterton, GK's Weekly, July 26, 1930--

"My Antonia"

I am incredibly happy right now, having just read this novel. I simply cannot express how much it lies in accord with my soul.

When I was eighteen, I was passionately in love with the countryside. Despite feeling myself irresistably called to the pursuit of universals, I came to college resolute that I would dutifully gather up my universals and go right back home with them. Why? Because home was where people knew how to love the land, in the old-fashioned, American way. At home, they knew that the land was there for their use and not their worship (these Californians can't seem to get that straight), but was, nonetheless, also there for their love and admiration. True, my young ideas were, in part, due to a very romanticized attachment to a particular young farmer. However, I often wonder whether I was as attached to him as much as I was attached to that which he had come to stand for. Oh, how I loved the ideals of the farm life! "They loved children and animals and music, and rough play and digging in the earth. They like to prepare rich, hearty food and see people eat it; to make up soft white beds and to see youngsters asleep in them."

My academic advisor learned of my attachment at home in my freshman year, and he assured me that the rigour of this program would soon make me unsuited to a life on the farm. I didn't believe him at first. They say hindsight is 20/20, and I cannot say that I at all regret the intellectual development in my life; so many of my gifts would never have been used or developed. The intellectual, contemplative, suburban, easily-sunburned man I have been given is so well-suited to my mind and soul I just know God fashioned him especially for me.
However, I cannot help but remember that all my favourite childhood friends were country folk. I loved chasing chickens and climbing haystacks - even in the rain. The smells of the farm never disgusted me; those were wholesome, hearty smells, and I relished them. My best friend lived in the country, and she always said I behaved like I'd been pent up too long when I came to her wide open place to stay the night - I can remember how she'd shake her head at me as I bolted through their field. I hope that, somehow, God grants me the opportunity to live and raise my children in the country.

More importantly than all else, reading this novel did show me the kind of woman I always wanted to be. Remarkably enough, this ideal has not changed for me in the least since I was eighteen years old.

I want to be Antonia.

"She . . still had that something which . . . could stop one's breath for a moment by a look or a gesture that somehow revealed the meaning in common things."

A Doll's House

Last week I read Henrik Ibsen's play, "A Doll's House", for seminar. It took me about 2 hours to finish it. It disturbed me pretty deeply as I was reading it . . . in fact, I still think it's the most depressing thing I've read in seminar all four years. It's even more depressing than Lucretius and his theory that 'happiness is watching other people drown'. I mean, Lucretius was still speaking about speculative philosophy - there is a pretty good chance that he didn't follow his own theories all the time. This play is about a horrible marriage; a frightfully realistic, horrible marriage. That's really, really depressing.
If I am to take the back of the book seriously, it seems that this play is commonly held up as a courageous rebellion against the moral dictates of its time. I can see how it might be seen that way . . . Ibsen wrote it to make certain statements, and he made them.
However, I must say I didn't expect my seminar to be so duped by him.
I'm not sure whether to blame Ibsen nearly as much as the influence of modern culture, but something has really gotten to people, and I cannot help but say that my personal estimation of my classmates just went down by a pretty big percentage. Only two vocal people in the whole seminar were actively defending marriage as a lifelong commitment - - I simply cannot get over how appalling that is. Well, maybe appalling isn't the right word. I was angry, yes, (falsehoods generally tick me off) but more than that I was saddened. It was just too horrible!
To give a bit more background: at the end of the play, the woman leaves her husband. Okay, granted, the marriage was horrible. Granted, he was a total jerkface. Granted, up until that time she had been completely ignorant of a great many things. Separation may have been excusable, in fact - - the relationship was in deep trouble. But, she didn't just leave - - she took off her wedding ring and asked for hers in return. While she did so she expressly stated that she considered herself free from any commitment to him, and he was free from any commitment to her. That, my friends, is where I draw the line.
Universally, unequivocally, that is wrong.
Human beings aren't rodentia -- they mate for life. From the very, very beginning, man was created by God to leave his father and mother and cling to his wife - the two would become one flesh. What was worse is that this was the very reading from Genesis that we heard on the day our seminar was held. Anyone who had gone to daily mass that day would have heard it that recently.
Many people in my seminar were trying to argue that the woman in the play was just taking off her ring to make a show - to impress upon her husband how necessary it was for him to change. I don't buy that for a second . . . you can't expect someone you're married to to bear hearing you tell them you're through with them and not expect a deep, horrible rift as a consequence. The trust in that relationship would have been completely gone after that kind of an action. Even if the ends justified the means (which they don't - renouncing her wedding vows would be wrong no matter what) it's not even possible for her to have accomplished healing or constructive relationship changes through this action. Human relationships just plain don't work that way.
And, what's MORE - - the woman in the play left three children behind her, one of them a baby. How people could possibly be thinking her actions moral is quite beyond me . . . even if she did think her servants to be better caretakers than she, there is nobody who can replace a mother - she would have known that. Every mother knows that . . . heck, any lower animal with the most basic maternal instinct knows that.
Once again I am reminded that morality belongs to practical wisdom, not speculative, and that people here excel in the latter and not necessarily in the former. All I can say is that I hope that the arguments being made late last week were the results of naievete, peer pressure or impulse, and that nobody will have to learn about these things the hard way.

Oh, my sweet Jesus, please preserve them all from such a painful, terrible thing!

I've decided that the Trinity is very confusing. It gives me a headache . . . I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not a good thing that God is so frustrating for me - - I can't help but feel there's something disordered in this reaction of mine. But, you know, human language isn't suited to talking about Him like this, so your words end up not really reflecting things properly at all, and then you have to go making all these qualifications here there an everywhere, and when it's all said and done you still feel like you're coming up sooooo short. It's like trying to build a hovercraft with an erector set - - - *sigh*
Last night, a bunch of my classmates were having some kind of strangely joyous debate over the East vs. West on certain trinitarian distinctions. I'm standing here looking at them like they're aliens from outer space. Why talk about this so much? It's just too painful . . .
My fiance said I have to view this as a contemplation or a prayer, but it's been really, really hard to do that, since it does require so much intellectual rigour not to state or imply a heresy, and I can't help but think that's an impious thing to do. Grrr . . . thank goodness we're almost done with it.

On Cosmetics . . .

I can see a storm coming. The hour is on its way when World War III will begin. I will have on my wedding dress, my hair will be done, the shoes will be on, and someone, whether it's my mother, well, or what's more likely, my sister, or, what's even more likely, some random aunt (either of the adopted or inherited variety. . . very seriously suspecting an attack from the adopted one), will emerge with some paint and try to apply it to my face.

. . . and all heck will break loose . . .

Let's make sure we get one thing straight from the outset; I have not, in my time here at college, formed some wild, prudish, universal condemnation of cosmetics. I don't think such a condemnation would be reasonable in any way whatsoever. Even St. Thomas himself (please note the conspicious omission of St. Augustine . . . he and I have a more dubious relationship on moral matters), however it may be the case that he was writing for a different age with different customs (reading this article, Summa Theologiae, Secunda Secundae, Q 169, does make me think he would be hard pressed to approve of my blue jeans . . . ), argues that scripture condemned as sinful not all adornments but only those which were barbarically ostentatious and unbecoming to human dignity. Moreover, St. Thomas states very clearly that painting of the face, as a particular variety of adornment, may be done by a woman if her end is the pleasure of her husband, or if her way of life is such that it is fittingly directed towards that end in some way (say, if she is using cosmetics for the pleasure of some future husband). He also distinquishes frivolous use from using paint to cover blemishes or hide the effects of illness, which is more akin to covering what ought to be hidden. In short, there are legitimate uses for cosmetics according to St. Thomas, as long as it is always done with moderation, and if it is directed to it's proper end - that is, the pleasure of one's husband.

Now, it hardly seems justifiable for me to wear cosmetics on my wedding day if my betrothed has clearly stated a dislike for such things, as his pleasure would be the only end acceptable for the use of such means. That is enough of an argument for me right there. However, to give him a fair account, he thinks it disgraceful that he or anyone else should require me to in any way alter my features, which he deems beautiful of themselves. He claims that it only hides their elegance to touch them with foreign materials, and that it is me he likes to see. I have come to understand that this inclination of his is not from a prudish condemnation either, but from a deep sensitivity to my soul as the form of my body; he thinks of my beauty as an aspect of of my being, from the inside out. This preference of his, as it is so pure of intention and so very indicative of a rightly-ordered pleasure in my person as it naturally is, makes me extremely anxious to honor his preference.

The arguments which are presented against this are normally something along the line of etiquette - the demands of social custom regarding proper attire on special occasions which require certain practices for the sake of formality blah blah blah . . .

What I want to know is if any of these social demands - these perfunctory rules of 20th/21st century etiquette - should ever be more important to me than the known preferences of my future husband - for whom, on my wedding day, of all days, I ought to please with my appearance? If his preferences required me to wear an African head dress, I might be able to see some reason to at least debate the issue with him, as an African head dress seems . . . unbecoming to my little white dignity, if you will . . . Nevertheless, quite to the contrary, his preferences are aimed at nothing ostentatious, but they're more inclined towards natural beauty - he thinks cosmetic adornments unnecessary and even unsuitable to my face. Why would I place modern social dictum above his (very reasonable) tastes? Hmmmm?

So, ladies, bring on the compacts, and see if you can get them near me . . . I dare you - you just go ahead and try.