Materialistic Insanity

Thank God my husband, currently employed as a seasonal retail worker, was not working this morning.

Granted, the midwest is NOT New York, but still . . .

(Photo courtesy of the New York Times)

Modernity

I've been reading a novel lately, to try and make time pass more quickly during my husband's absence. I think I chose poorly, considering the melancholy nature of my mood (Nordic people are so . . . depressing . . . no offense, Tasik) but the book came highly recommended by trustworthy persons. I can easily see that there are many redeeming qualities to the novel but in my moody preggo state I am overwhelmingly annoyed that my personality is so unlike the heroine's that I can't relate to her at all. -SIGH- Oh well. I've read and enjoyed other novels where that was the case. It seems people just don't write novels about women like me.

However, as I continue through the novel (the storyline is well written, so now it's just going to annoy me if I don't keep going on to what comes next, no matter what effects it may have on my already bad mood - a self-destructive habit, I know, but there's no way out of it), I have had a couple of constantly recurring thoughts, and they're probably worth sharing.

In some ways, modernity pretty much rocks - so many of the stodgy social conventions presented in the novel block the eyes of the characters from common sense. Nowadays, there are plenty of other things to block our common sense, but at least they're not stodgy social conventions. PLEH. :P

Also, in a similar vein, the old days just weren't all that great. People often speak of the past as a golden age long gone, where people didn't sin like they do now. While in some ways this may be true, depending on the age and society referred to, in most ways it's plainly false. People always sinned, and they pretty much always sinned the same way we sin now. Men failed of their commitments and shirked their responsibilities; women, swept away by unchecked passions, married flakey men thinking they could change them later (1-800-D-R-L-A-U-R-A, people); jealousy and lust ran every bit as rampant and children were just as likely to go undisciplined. It was always the same for us human beings - when it comes to sin, modernity doesn't really manage to be all that original. Sins are the only acts human beings can perform of themselves, unassisted by the Hand of Grace - and my, my, my aren't we woefully unimaginative. Not that I'm advocating a new effort to be more creative. It would be entirely futile. I'm simply pointing out the fact that sin is unbelievably boring. We should give up, already.

Oh, and one more thing: I wholeheartedly thank God I was not born into an age where I would be known my entire life as Emily Johnsdatter. Don't get me wrong - I love my daddy, but seriously . . .

Griping

I once saw a cartoon (courtesy of Kakashi, I believe) a very long time ago, that more or less satirized all blogs as public forums for personal (and often very stereotypical) complaints.

I also recall, once, when I was having to write a persuasive speech on a subject I didn't care about, that frustration seemed to be the only surefire way of motivating my muse. If something didn't make me mad, or, moreover, if I thought that the subject was so frustrating it was pointless to talk about it anymore, I couldn't write very well.

Now, my father has held, and continues to hold, that I have a gift for the turning of phrases, and that my highschool journalistic aspirations need not and ought not be tossed aside lightly.

However, the world doesn't need another barking dog.

What I want to know is whether I will ever be virtuous enough to write (and write well) when not griping about something? Reading my old posts, I can dig up a few pithy gems which were written in good humor. However, they were all written during college.

. . .

So, in that case, let me qualify my question: will I ever, apart from a near ideal social setting, be virtuous enough to 1) want to write, and 2) write well, when I'm not complaining?

Now, truth be told, there are lots of happy things I could, theoretically, write about. However, all of my really happy things currently live in the land of potentia, and for that reason it seems to me that they ought to be treated as sacred. They ought not be written about like any other mundane thing. They should be saved up in silence until they reach actuality, right?

. . .

Dietary Dilemmas

My husband and I decided that my health really isn't very good right now, and that changes are most definitely in order. So, I took advice from here and from there(i.e., from my mother and other well-informed sources), and upon some recommendations I obtained this book through the interlibrary loan service.

I read through the book with the intention of being objective. I found the style repetitive, and the author beats around the bush for far, far too long. However, when it comes down to it she seemed to purport a logical, philosophically supportable approach to food, diet and lifestyle. That is, "moderation in everything" - not all carbs, not all proteins, no neverending regimen of rigourous exercise, but a balance of all good things. I handed the book over to the ever-skeptical-of-anything-that-smells-of-nutrition weirdos/chiropractors-and-all-such-hocus-pocus-son-of-an-M.D.-husband, and he likewise thought it sounded promising. We had two misgivings, however.

1) God did not create supplements. Why on earth would it be necessary for me to take 12 different kinds of them every day, and several of them multiple TIMES per day, just to keep my health in good order?
2) We are wary of organic food pushers. For all we can tell, organic food is just an excuse to charge a heckuva lot more money for a "specialized product". I mean, when we ask for a solid account for organic food as a necessary expense, we always end up getting a reply including something about factories and spillage, a depleted ozone layer due to out-of-control 80's hairspray, or something of the like blah blah blah, and the resultant bad soil, bad air {insert hand waving here} - and therefore POOF, the nutrients - ALL GONE. Factory spillage? All over the midwestern breadbasket, eh? Must have missed that for all the purdy sunflowers . . . (Needless to say, we're not convinced. Yeah, I know, I'm such a stubborn little skeptic.)

Nevertheless, we put these misgivings aside and sallied forth to the health food store, thinking we'd give this lady's diet thingy a week-long trial in the "all i's dotted" format, and tweak it from there if we thought things were a little over the top.

Now, we fully expected it to double our weekly grocery bill.

However, we never expected it to triple it. Yes, TRIPLE. The hubby has been having little seizures ever since.

So . . . we're going to go back to eating Cheetos and TV dinners, okay?

Oh for goodness sake of course I'm just kidding. I was raised by a nutritionist, so I could never eat that way in good conscience, let alone feed it to someone I love. All-in-all I'm actually quite good at serving up very healthy, balanced meals - the food just isn't "USDA certified organic" from the local upscale food market.

Now, how precisely my health got to be the way it is right now is probably due to a confusing conglomeration of several factors - things like moving, undergoing major life changes, liking my own cooking a bit too much and a complete lack of social outlets. (It's not because I eat like Bubba Jenkins.)

However, I must admit that I've been disgusted all week with the fact that someone finds it justifiable to charge someone that much money for rather basic food. We're definitely going back to "normal" food - I'll just make the necessary, non-organic substitutions and we can keep ourselves out of the poor house. If there's one thing I hate it's stores that sell things at higher prices than they should simply because they can get some idiot to pay that much. Well, that idiot is not going to be me. Nope. NOT ANYMORE. They're just going to have to find another idiot to pick on.

Another thing that was not made immediately apparent to us in our original read through of the above-mentioned book is that this diet requires us to eat a heckuva lot more food than either of us are accustomed to eating. I mean, just look at this plate (click on photo for mouth-watering, full resolution):



that's a LOT of food.

(Wait, you're thinking. Isn't that STEAK? What do you mean BASIC FOOD? - - Okay, so this was our one splurge item. It was allowed by the diet and BOY did it look yummy - and moreover we only bought one of them, and we split it. Although I have to admit that steak is a LOT more affordable when it's not sold by a "natural foods market". On sale at Publix is the way to go.)

To be honest, though, I'm not sure if I can keep eating this much. Mind you, a ton of it is vegetables. My refridgerator was positively CRAMMED with veggies when we came back, much to my husband's delight. (In fact, he's been very pleased with this change altogether (excepting the $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ part), which is great - I like the fact that he's so supportive he doesn't even have to try. . . . I would sure appreciate it if he'd up and dislike that gol-derned goats' yogurt, though. Talk about naaaaaaaaaaaaaaasty . . . ) However, the fact of the matter is that I'm not accustomed to being full when on a diet. That seems downright weird.

Moreover, one other thing that's bothering me about this diet thing: in the past, I've always had a spiritual, sacrificial approach to my dieting ("offering it up", if you will), along with a philosophical adjustment that involves reassessing food according to its most proper end (i.e., "I eat to live, I don't live to eat"). This diet, however, demands that I spend a huge portion of my not-working life prepping, cooking, eating, and cleaning up afterwards. As I sit here now I should be back in the room properly cleaning up after a fresh, beautiful, and very messy dinner. You see, evidently leftovers more than a day old are a big no-no, and you're supposed to rotate your food so that you never eat any one thing more than once every three days. Now, this presents something of a difficulty with the whole, "I eat to live, I don't live to eat" mantra, as that's hardly what my life looks like right now. I mean, for all I can tell, since starting this diet I live to chop, sautee, simmer, broil, scrub, and drink water - that's about it. :-/

Oh, and another thing I dislike, according to this lady, all alchohol, no matter what quantity, no matter what kind, classifies as a "toxic chemical".

FIE, I say. FIE FIE FIE. I will not tolerate that kind of slander for an instant.

Oh, and also, did I mention that I'm hungrier than usual all of a sudden, between meals? I don't know if the diet/piles of supplements has already succeeded in boosting my metabolism or what, but I'm positively starving these days. Whussup with that?

Maybe I should take that as a sign and go back to the diet that I used to lose 40 some-odd pounds way back 7 or 8 years ago, huh? . . .

Pardon my french . . .

. . . but *%$@ . . . This is the last thing I needed this week.

I thought I'd just now gotten my political opinions sorted out, finding that I largely agreed with this.

I hate American politics - hate and hate and hate and shall never get enough of hating them, I say.

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!

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!!!!

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.