My dearest imaginary readers,
Now, at the end of May, is the best time for reflection. You alone have been here every step of the way with me. I value your unerring opinion above all else. Even now as I sit in this windowless box, I am thinking of you, dear reader, and your preferences for writing. It has been this that has driven me throughout the year to excel through this blog, to post my thoughts for all the imaginary world to see.
In all reality, this blog has driven me insane this year. I began with a study of feminism combined with religion, something that bored me to tears. I have fallen through topic after topic, leaving each one as I become less and less committed to actually thinking about the words I post. Vegetarianism, dog breeds, animal rights, hardcore feminism, and so much more have made appearances on this blog. And I always, without fail, ended up hating every last topic. It was as if my self was beening sliced in two, writing in two different arenas. On one hand, I enjoyed thinking critically about the literature I read and analyzing rhetorical strategies, but here I was, writing as if I were some other person. I enjoyed drawing in the beginning, those fun little expressions of creativity. But soon even those grew tiresome and impossible in the schedule of high school.
I tried to find a cause, a purpose for which to write. Though this was first and foremost a class assignment, I wanted to make it count. With all of you reading, I knew if I could just find the right words to say, my writing would catapult to a new level. March rolled around and I couldn't go on anymore. I had to stop crusading for innane topics. And so, after much discussion, I decided to release my hold on the blog and write about whatever came to mind. Which is, by the way, much harder than it sounds.
I settled into a real style, one that fit my personality, and writing became not easier but more enjoyable. My favorite post this entire year was Flying, a true expression of the way I think. This, I believe, is the only triumph I have experienced this year, although it is a big one. Self-discovery is a quite amazing thing.
I'll be honest; I'm not going to continue writing on this blog. Maybe when I'm older, wiser... but then again, I never want to go through this torture again. I do believe this has made me a better writer in many respects, teaching me about my limits and strengths when I write. I look forward to developing a more concrete style and a palpable tone, something with the help of this blog, I have just begun to realize.
Sincerely, happily,
Mildred
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Dante's Inferno: Canto V
Last year, my teacher mentioned Dante's Inferno casually in class and referred to it as an epic poem written to condemn sinners to hell. Well, it sounded interesting. So a few weeks ago, I found a lovely copy of it at my local book consignment shop and bought it, wondering if I would be able to understand Dante in his prose. I need not have worried, because I could understand it (with the help of "notes" at the end of each canto. So far, the fifth canto has been my very favorite. This part describes the special circle of hell reserved for sins "of the flesh," if you know what I mean.
After the impersonal description of a few greedy, disgusting sinners, Dante moves to discuss one couple, Francesca and Paolo, who committed adultery because they were in love. Francesca, even as a spirit, is a lovely person to talk to and tells Dante the pilgrim her sad story.
Francesca and Paolo had been reading of the love affair of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guenevere when they apparently realized that they really loved one another. As I remember the story of Lancelot and Guenevere, it went nothing like Francesca said. First, King Arthur married Guenevere even though he knew she was in love with Sir Lancelot. Second, after Arthur and Guenevere's son died, they grew apart. Third, Guenevere sought Lancelot out and persuaded him to become her lover. Finally, this love affair destroyed Camelot. So I really don't understand how this story is in any way romantic. After finishing the canto and feeling kind of sorry of Francesca and Paolo, I read the notes where the translator pointed out that their punishment was to remain together forever. Francesca refers to Paolo as "this one," which is no way to call your dearly beloved. And it's hell, so it must have been agony. After I finished reading the notes, I felt a little taken in by Dante, as though I was supposed to realize this all on my own, but I didn't. Even in English and with notes, I managed to completely miss his point.
After the impersonal description of a few greedy, disgusting sinners, Dante moves to discuss one couple, Francesca and Paolo, who committed adultery because they were in love. Francesca, even as a spirit, is a lovely person to talk to and tells Dante the pilgrim her sad story.
Francesca and Paolo had been reading of the love affair of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guenevere when they apparently realized that they really loved one another. As I remember the story of Lancelot and Guenevere, it went nothing like Francesca said. First, King Arthur married Guenevere even though he knew she was in love with Sir Lancelot. Second, after Arthur and Guenevere's son died, they grew apart. Third, Guenevere sought Lancelot out and persuaded him to become her lover. Finally, this love affair destroyed Camelot. So I really don't understand how this story is in any way romantic. After finishing the canto and feeling kind of sorry of Francesca and Paolo, I read the notes where the translator pointed out that their punishment was to remain together forever. Francesca refers to Paolo as "this one," which is no way to call your dearly beloved. And it's hell, so it must have been agony. After I finished reading the notes, I felt a little taken in by Dante, as though I was supposed to realize this all on my own, but I didn't. Even in English and with notes, I managed to completely miss his point.
City v. Country
Sometimes we forget who we actually are. Music pounds out from our cars, television blurs our sight, and schedules become the raison d'etre. Instincts that were programmed into us are now ignored, until an unguarded moment.
Spring in Iowa is actually one of the best and worst times of the year. Storms are strong, the temperature varies from freezing cold to over eighty degrees, and the lure of the outside is the strongest. This morning, the sky was purely blue and wonderfully unblemished, but the air under that sky was heavy. There was a new kind of thickness that circled around me uncomfortably. I, not wanting to care about anything but getting in the car and starting my day, slammed the door behind me and turned up the radio.
Lunch time. I had forgotten Advil in my car and I could tell I would need it within another thirty minutes. There was ten minutes until the start of the next class, so I hurried along. I pulled the heavy door open and stepped out into the muggy blue-ness. A few puffy thin clouds hung on high, but I worried only about how I had walked for two minutes and was already sweating. Back inside.
Rushing, rushing, rushing. Late to my flute lesson. I flew down the road and parked -- remarkably well for my current mindset -- and ran inside. There were more clouds in sky, but it was hard to notice them from indoors. When I stepped outside once more, the sky in the west had begun to darken. Now almost completely clouded over, the sky was the most beautiful it had been all day. The stillness of the clouds cut the leaves and greenery into sharp edges. The birds sang louder than ever before, conducting some unknown ritual. Rain. I felt it deep inside, that the sky would open and we would have a spring shower. Somehow I knew there would be no thunder, no lightning -- just a soft patter of raindrops.
I can only imagine how difficult it must be to live in a city. The rhythym and cadences of nature must be completely lost on those people who look up and see only a square of blue. Furthermore, the appreciation of our world must be lost in that high pace of life, always doing, seeing, or going. Although I would recommend living in the country or close to it, I know that it's not for everybody. Some people love to shop or hate the smell of cows. Some people prefer areas like California and its coastline to the rolling hills of Iowa. This always confused me personally as well. Why take pride in the fact that you're from a certain area of the nation (i.e. California Gurlz) if all that's there is a bunch of people and no water? I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings but the country (or what I know of it from Iowa) has an entirely different pace of life that brings a person back to themself. Try it, it's good for the soul.
Spring in Iowa is actually one of the best and worst times of the year. Storms are strong, the temperature varies from freezing cold to over eighty degrees, and the lure of the outside is the strongest. This morning, the sky was purely blue and wonderfully unblemished, but the air under that sky was heavy. There was a new kind of thickness that circled around me uncomfortably. I, not wanting to care about anything but getting in the car and starting my day, slammed the door behind me and turned up the radio.
Lunch time. I had forgotten Advil in my car and I could tell I would need it within another thirty minutes. There was ten minutes until the start of the next class, so I hurried along. I pulled the heavy door open and stepped out into the muggy blue-ness. A few puffy thin clouds hung on high, but I worried only about how I had walked for two minutes and was already sweating. Back inside.
Rushing, rushing, rushing. Late to my flute lesson. I flew down the road and parked -- remarkably well for my current mindset -- and ran inside. There were more clouds in sky, but it was hard to notice them from indoors. When I stepped outside once more, the sky in the west had begun to darken. Now almost completely clouded over, the sky was the most beautiful it had been all day. The stillness of the clouds cut the leaves and greenery into sharp edges. The birds sang louder than ever before, conducting some unknown ritual. Rain. I felt it deep inside, that the sky would open and we would have a spring shower. Somehow I knew there would be no thunder, no lightning -- just a soft patter of raindrops.
I can only imagine how difficult it must be to live in a city. The rhythym and cadences of nature must be completely lost on those people who look up and see only a square of blue. Furthermore, the appreciation of our world must be lost in that high pace of life, always doing, seeing, or going. Although I would recommend living in the country or close to it, I know that it's not for everybody. Some people love to shop or hate the smell of cows. Some people prefer areas like California and its coastline to the rolling hills of Iowa. This always confused me personally as well. Why take pride in the fact that you're from a certain area of the nation (i.e. California Gurlz) if all that's there is a bunch of people and no water? I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings but the country (or what I know of it from Iowa) has an entirely different pace of life that brings a person back to themself. Try it, it's good for the soul.
Farmer's Markets
Many people do not live in California where farmer's markets have the essentials of life, but I had no idea that the farmer's market in my hometown is as organized as it is. When looking at the sparse website, I clicked on the blog thinking, "Why not? Maybe there I can find something to blog about." Farmer's markets have been labelled as something of a saving grace to our supermarket-itis. In an enormous store, it's truly difficult to find the things you really want while the items you don't need are circled around you.
Farmer's markets are good and bad. First, they allow you to choose your own food, to see the person that grows it and harvests it. In the movie Food, Inc. they show a farmer who does butcher animals but keeps them (when they're alive) in such a way that it's more natural for them and does not in any way resemble the cruelty that can be present in factories. This world was given to us for the care and keeping, not for exploitation. If we do not realize that our world is not ours for the killing, than kill it we will. Farmer's markets attempt to combat this by encouraging us to think about what we put in our mouths, something we don't do a lot of in America. Our dietary and health trends demand a change, even more so than the environmental challenges, and becoming involved in our food again is part of the answer.
Unfortunately, farmer's markets can be a place for extremely high prices for no actual difference in product. The nutritional value of the food doesn't increase because it came from around that area, but it does cost more. The governmental policies favor large companies in agriculture and smaller farmers are being run into the ground. For someone who is competeing against a factory farm next door, the only option is to raise prices. But by doing so, farmer's markets cut the lower class out of the bracket for customers, and these are the people who need access and knowlege about fruits and vegetables the most. In America, we have a problem that reaches beyond farmer's markets and the locavore movement. The idea that is important isn't that we should only eat what's around us. If that was truly plausible, Iowans would be eating a whole lot of cort and not a whole lot of citrus. The true goal of the different food movements is to get people to understand that what they put into their mouth matters and affects their lives and those of their children.
Farmer's markets are good and bad. First, they allow you to choose your own food, to see the person that grows it and harvests it. In the movie Food, Inc. they show a farmer who does butcher animals but keeps them (when they're alive) in such a way that it's more natural for them and does not in any way resemble the cruelty that can be present in factories. This world was given to us for the care and keeping, not for exploitation. If we do not realize that our world is not ours for the killing, than kill it we will. Farmer's markets attempt to combat this by encouraging us to think about what we put in our mouths, something we don't do a lot of in America. Our dietary and health trends demand a change, even more so than the environmental challenges, and becoming involved in our food again is part of the answer.
Unfortunately, farmer's markets can be a place for extremely high prices for no actual difference in product. The nutritional value of the food doesn't increase because it came from around that area, but it does cost more. The governmental policies favor large companies in agriculture and smaller farmers are being run into the ground. For someone who is competeing against a factory farm next door, the only option is to raise prices. But by doing so, farmer's markets cut the lower class out of the bracket for customers, and these are the people who need access and knowlege about fruits and vegetables the most. In America, we have a problem that reaches beyond farmer's markets and the locavore movement. The idea that is important isn't that we should only eat what's around us. If that was truly plausible, Iowans would be eating a whole lot of cort and not a whole lot of citrus. The true goal of the different food movements is to get people to understand that what they put into their mouth matters and affects their lives and those of their children.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Chapstick
Behold the Chapstick Conundruum.
I bought a little tube of strawberry Chapstick a few weeks ago and I am most unhappy. It smells so good, it makes my lips feel good, but there's something awry. About 30 minutes after the application, I cannot feel as though I have been properly moisterized. My lips are dry and my Chapstick tube becomes an addiction.
It feels as though the Chapstick company has designed to be only semi-effective, a horribly deceptive idea. What kind of sick person does this? Now I have two choices. First, I could continue to feed the consumer cycle of comfort and apply more strawberry Chapstick. Or I could throw the pink tube in the trash can and endure a few days of uncomfort. Obviously, I'm going to choose option one; I'm American.
This problem makes me wonder, how many other products have been designed like this? In the junior's section of department stores, most shirts are see-through. Most girls do not walk around with see-through shirts, and so they are made to buy undershirts, which are conveniently located next to the see-throughs. In our materialistic society, this race against morality is an awful reminder of who we are. Instead of sucuumbing to this American push, use your free will to choose things that don't support this deception.
Moral: Don't buy Chapstick unless you want to make a lifelong investment.
I bought a little tube of strawberry Chapstick a few weeks ago and I am most unhappy. It smells so good, it makes my lips feel good, but there's something awry. About 30 minutes after the application, I cannot feel as though I have been properly moisterized. My lips are dry and my Chapstick tube becomes an addiction.
It feels as though the Chapstick company has designed to be only semi-effective, a horribly deceptive idea. What kind of sick person does this? Now I have two choices. First, I could continue to feed the consumer cycle of comfort and apply more strawberry Chapstick. Or I could throw the pink tube in the trash can and endure a few days of uncomfort. Obviously, I'm going to choose option one; I'm American.
This problem makes me wonder, how many other products have been designed like this? In the junior's section of department stores, most shirts are see-through. Most girls do not walk around with see-through shirts, and so they are made to buy undershirts, which are conveniently located next to the see-throughs. In our materialistic society, this race against morality is an awful reminder of who we are. Instead of sucuumbing to this American push, use your free will to choose things that don't support this deception.
Moral: Don't buy Chapstick unless you want to make a lifelong investment.
The Knack
Everybody's a writer nowadays, anybody can publish anything, even half-rate love stories that go "he said, she said" all over the place. What's even more repulsive than the quality of the work being published is the people writing it. They're horrible to be around, these half-writers. For instance, a half-writer I know believes that she truly has the ability to write for a living. She forces everyone in her writing class to give her their own work so that she may make suggestions and feel as though she is better than them. Somehow, it seems to me that writing second-rate fantasy stories does not mean you have the Knack.
The Knack is elusive and is impossible to describe, and yet anyone who compares Twilight with Austen novels can see the difference due to the presence of the Knack. Many people believe they have a talent when it comes to writing, but they are sadly mistaken. As with most things, when a person begins to believe that they are talented in some area of their life -- truly believe that they have within them a flame of art or passion -- it is then that they become unbearable in company and through their work. Usually their work will consist of meaningless words on a page, unimaginative plots, or outright imitation. And also, these people are only under the impression that they're any good. A blind man with a stick could tell them otherwise.
The Knack-deception is a horrible cycle, full of lost friends and headaches... for everyone else. The would-be writer remains completely oblivious and scorned by all. Whenever she is confronted with her inadequacy, she finds it impossible to believe that there is really a problem with her writing. The only way to improve in an art -- or anything for that matter -- is to be able to see where you fail. This doesn't mean that you should be able to proofread your paper as though you've never read it before, but you should be able to admit that you're wrong. When this happens, the would-be becomes humble and begins to search to make themselves better, just for the sake of learning. This situation is more ideal and is conducive to the Knack. It is in the depths of despair that the true writer emerges, when the art is unleashed and inspiration runs rampant. Here, the writer is able to truly think and discard ideas without feeling as though every errant thought is a perfect piece of philosohpy.
The Knack-deception cycle does not just apply to writing, but as this is for a writing class, I doubt that my failure in French is anywhere near applicable. Sometimes it's dangerous to be at the top, to always be able to perform better than everyone else. At this point, it is healthy to attend a French contest where you can see your glaring pronunciation problems or lack of conversational ability. After this experience, it is typical to return home feeling somewhat relieved that there's work to be done and modes of improvement. This was not a case of thinking that I had a Knack, but simply being thrown to the top, asked all the questions and being able to answer them. I know that I haven't fallen into the Knack-deception cycle because the thought of putting hours of extra work into my problem areas is exciting and new, to be able to expand and learn in AP French next year.
Please, if you know anyone who is a victim of the Knack-deception cycle, call this number (000) 000-0000 or hit them upside the head with a book and hope they never speak to you again.
The Knack is elusive and is impossible to describe, and yet anyone who compares Twilight with Austen novels can see the difference due to the presence of the Knack. Many people believe they have a talent when it comes to writing, but they are sadly mistaken. As with most things, when a person begins to believe that they are talented in some area of their life -- truly believe that they have within them a flame of art or passion -- it is then that they become unbearable in company and through their work. Usually their work will consist of meaningless words on a page, unimaginative plots, or outright imitation. And also, these people are only under the impression that they're any good. A blind man with a stick could tell them otherwise.
The Knack-deception is a horrible cycle, full of lost friends and headaches... for everyone else. The would-be writer remains completely oblivious and scorned by all. Whenever she is confronted with her inadequacy, she finds it impossible to believe that there is really a problem with her writing. The only way to improve in an art -- or anything for that matter -- is to be able to see where you fail. This doesn't mean that you should be able to proofread your paper as though you've never read it before, but you should be able to admit that you're wrong. When this happens, the would-be becomes humble and begins to search to make themselves better, just for the sake of learning. This situation is more ideal and is conducive to the Knack. It is in the depths of despair that the true writer emerges, when the art is unleashed and inspiration runs rampant. Here, the writer is able to truly think and discard ideas without feeling as though every errant thought is a perfect piece of philosohpy.
The Knack-deception cycle does not just apply to writing, but as this is for a writing class, I doubt that my failure in French is anywhere near applicable. Sometimes it's dangerous to be at the top, to always be able to perform better than everyone else. At this point, it is healthy to attend a French contest where you can see your glaring pronunciation problems or lack of conversational ability. After this experience, it is typical to return home feeling somewhat relieved that there's work to be done and modes of improvement. This was not a case of thinking that I had a Knack, but simply being thrown to the top, asked all the questions and being able to answer them. I know that I haven't fallen into the Knack-deception cycle because the thought of putting hours of extra work into my problem areas is exciting and new, to be able to expand and learn in AP French next year.
Please, if you know anyone who is a victim of the Knack-deception cycle, call this number (000) 000-0000 or hit them upside the head with a book and hope they never speak to you again.
Hate
Sitting across from me at this very second is a girl which, to my dismay, I cannot stand. Her very presence in the room annoys me and leaves me in sort of an odd fear that she might come talk to me. Unfortunately, we share some of the same environments and can't avoid seeing one another. This is not a relationship where we openly hate each other -- rather, we have to pretend to be nice. Well, at least I'm pretending.
As humans, and the only creatures to possess compassion, our capacity to hate is astounding. The largest global problems are founded on hate. But there is a difference between the kind of hate that makes a person refuse to be served by a woman wearing a hijab and the petty kind of hate that stops us from fully enjoying life. Ever since September 11, 2001, hate has been the dominant theme of relations between the United States and the Middle East. The people of that region hate Americans, believeing that we want to eradicate their belief system and replace it with our own governmental and societal ideals. This has been the battle cry for Islamic extremists for a decade now, and to some extent it is true. If the Islamic belief system truly supports oppression and dictatorship, then yes, America wants to eradicate the threat this brings for American global security. But I do not believe that most Muslims would support a dictatorship or genocide. Never having read the Koran, I cannot say for certain that it endorses the killing of infidels, this being the accusation of many Christians. But the people, that's a different story. Radicalism and fundamentalism is dangerous today, and if it in any way threatens the United States, our government has the responsibility to respond to that threat to protect the people. How far that goes in the world is uncertain and up for debate. But even with all the hate and the suicide bombings being thrown in our face, we have no right to hate our own citizens or even other people of the world. Without the retaliatory hate of the Americans, terrorists would lose some of their momentum.
So I'll smile and be nice. I'll make small talk if it kills me. Even though I can't stand her, and she does deserve to some degree my disdain, I cannot give it to her. I cannot believe with our world in the state it is that two wrongs will ever, ever make anything right.
As humans, and the only creatures to possess compassion, our capacity to hate is astounding. The largest global problems are founded on hate. But there is a difference between the kind of hate that makes a person refuse to be served by a woman wearing a hijab and the petty kind of hate that stops us from fully enjoying life. Ever since September 11, 2001, hate has been the dominant theme of relations between the United States and the Middle East. The people of that region hate Americans, believeing that we want to eradicate their belief system and replace it with our own governmental and societal ideals. This has been the battle cry for Islamic extremists for a decade now, and to some extent it is true. If the Islamic belief system truly supports oppression and dictatorship, then yes, America wants to eradicate the threat this brings for American global security. But I do not believe that most Muslims would support a dictatorship or genocide. Never having read the Koran, I cannot say for certain that it endorses the killing of infidels, this being the accusation of many Christians. But the people, that's a different story. Radicalism and fundamentalism is dangerous today, and if it in any way threatens the United States, our government has the responsibility to respond to that threat to protect the people. How far that goes in the world is uncertain and up for debate. But even with all the hate and the suicide bombings being thrown in our face, we have no right to hate our own citizens or even other people of the world. Without the retaliatory hate of the Americans, terrorists would lose some of their momentum.
So I'll smile and be nice. I'll make small talk if it kills me. Even though I can't stand her, and she does deserve to some degree my disdain, I cannot give it to her. I cannot believe with our world in the state it is that two wrongs will ever, ever make anything right.
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