Rant Fever 2.0

The Best Day of My Life

Janeheiress — 2010-08-30 22:49:32

Several weeks ago a friend of mine, one of those people who just radiates awesome, started saying that it was the best day of her life--every day. Every time someone would ask her how her day was, she responded that it was the best day of her life. That got me thinking.

Recently I've had a total change of attitude about my life. It's not that I know anything I didn't know before, but things just came together. Sources of emotional turmoil removed themselves one by one, and all of a sudden there were lily fields in West Texas instead of the endless desert I had been trodding on for the past few years--flat lily fields, but lily fields nonetheless. To see the place I live in that light is essential for my happiness, since I am very much a frolicker, and you just can't do that in the desert. West Texas is finally my home, and the work I am doing is a privilege and not a duty. Even if there isn't one person here who completely understands me, there are plenty who appreciate me, and I love them dearly.

It's easier to smile (not that I didn't before, it just took effort), it's easier to sleep, I can be loud or dorky without worrying too much that I'm making a bad impression. And I finally understand what it's like to be tried by faith, and after a time see the rewards of persevering. I can't say I've gone through anything extreme, just a collection of "one thing after another" trials that continually threw me off balance, but it is a marvelous feeling to see that principle at work in my life. Life still has it's share of challenges, but for the first time since I moved out here I can say that I am unequivocally happy.

And I've been thinking about this "best day of my life" business. I understand there will always be those days when terrible things happen, or we make terrible mistakes. I understand that some of us must face uniquely difficult challenges in life. But aside from those (or perhaps even in spite of those), shouldn't every day be the best day of our lives? For the past couple of weeks I've been telling myself every day that it is the best day of my life. And it's true. I am a day wiser than I was every 24 hours previously. Even if something super awesome happened a week ago, I still have it in my memories. Even if I wasn't in the best mood, or had a stressful day at work, I can sigh with relief in the evening, acknowledge that I did at least one worthwhile thing, and think about how I am still moving in the right direction, how much better tomorrow will be.

So folks, I was tired all day, had bad hair, and felt fat, but today was the best day of my life!

This Idiot

Giullieta — 2010-08-29 18:55:07

I've said before that Europeans are laid back, they let people be people, that you can be a neurotic mess or make a complete idiot of yourself, and that they are very forgiving and just gloss over it. During my 28 years in America, I never felt that before, and truthfully my own insecurities made it so. Perhaps the positive changes that have happened in me over these past two years were indeed brought about by my experience in Europe, but I know it doesn't mean that it couldn't have happened elsewhere. I guess it sometimes takes a drastic change to jolt yourself into constructive self-awareness.

Sitting here, trying not to think about how sad I am because I'm leaving a place I love, I had an important realization. Even though I'm going home, back to a place where I'm afraid of insecurity washing over me like a tidal wave, there is indeed one place where there are people forgiving of me and my tendency to write before I think. That's right here. I've said things I wish I hadn't, I haven't said things I wish I had, and more than half of what I say I wish I put differently.

So thanks guys, for letting me be an idiot without ever feeling like one. At times like this, when every tiny thing makes my heart ache, it helps to know that there are places where I'm allowed to be an emotional wreck, without having to worry about what people think. And yes, I am completely drunk with sentimentality right now, but y'all are the best.

Much love,

~Giullieta

Overheard

Dubya — 2010-08-22 00:04:57

Overheard in Starbucks:

{a young couple approach the counter}

GUY: How much is a small?

BARISTA: A small what?

GUY: {looks at girlfriend}

GIRL: How about a large?

BARISTA: A large what?

GIRL: Well we have a gift card with ten dollars, so we need to know how much it is for two larges.

BARISTA: Two. Large. What?

If Only

Giullieta — 2010-08-02 13:38:02

I’ve got a problem. Well, an addiction really. Here I am, ready to start my life of emotional independence . . . and I can’t stop falling in love. I’m beginning to wonder if the two things are connected. If they are, it is indeed a strange and frustrating connection. But I can’t help it, it just keeps happening, and after my most recent episode, I am kicking myself harder than I ever have before.

I will ask you to indulge me as I go on in detail.

Disclaimer: If you’re not up to reading a rant that is very long (and I do mean loooooong), very exhaustive, very, very sappy, and girly to the extreme, do not expand this rant. Consider yourself warned.

First, as you may remember, there was my Slovak. With him, I am still in love. And after a few weeks of hating his girlfriend for being so sweet in person, I came to terms with the fact that they are as well. The fact that she has taken to me in the same way as him lets me know that he’s in good hands, and for this I’m happy. Yesterday he came to me with the news that they would be married next summer. It’s hard to believe, but I was actually so excited about it, that I had to hug him twice. I’m happy he’s happy, which means I’ve discovered a new and healthy kind of love.

Next, we have the Edinburgh Englishman, a man young enough to bring the term “cougar” to mind. But thanks to him, turning 30 wasn’t quite as miserable. And while helping me to perfect my fake British accent, he was able to pinpoint the dialect and region it’s from. He was a nice little ego boost, but there was no future to be had.

Now, as you may recall, comes the stupidity with the ex, but we’re just going to pretend that didn’t happen.

And here is the point where I make my resolution, which precludes a heart-wrenching mess.

We have the Renaissance man, who literally does everything. I’ll be honest, my feelings for him are lukewarm, as I believe his to be, although, his behavior seems to suggest otherwise. I have since learned that Czech men are particularly shy so they are loath to make a move. I’ve made several, but his hesitation remains. Although I admit, the man has some serious potential, and I have found myself fantasizing about a future with him.

Then there is my Paris love. Oh, how I was swept up in the romanticism of the entire experience. The pouty way he’d say my name, how he would tell me to smile, lift my chin, look into my eyes, and call me his princess. But I wouldn’t go back, as the briefness and perfection of the memory is what makes it feel like love.

This is where it gets rough, both for the reader and myself.

One month away from my return to the states, and along comes Mr. Perfect. I mean that in such a literal sense, it makes my heart ache while writing it. My Slovak was nothing; this is the be all and end all of love (okay, so perhaps the melodrama will wear off post 4-day lovesick).

I first saw him two years ago in Brno. Upon sighting the 6’7”, goateed, green eyed, long, dark-haired Moravian (look, we all have our tastes), my immediate thoughts were “Holy crap, that’s my dream guy!” But I was undergoing culture shock, and approaching him at the time was unthinkable.

One year later, I meet him formally at the Czech YSA conference. I’m introduced, and he kisses my hand (a gesture I realize is incredibly nerdy in the states, but adorable when done by European men). He doesn’t say much, which leads me to believe that he may not be very confident in his English. I ask him to dance a few times, which were his only moments not standing on the sidelines, and his smile was unmistakable, he was definitely enjoying himself.

Oh, if only I hadn’t wasted so much time on my Slovak!!!!

This brings us up to one week ago, the first day of the YSA conference in Poland. I made the mistake of thinking that Poland was using the Euro, when in fact they are still using the Zlotych. A senior Elder offered to drive me down to the post office for an exchange along with the only other person to make the same mistake . . . The Moravian.

On the way, I discover that his English is much better than I had originally thought, and I’m able to find out more about him. 5 years my senior, 3 years converted, so on and so forth. The friendship is formed, and a closer proximity throughout the conference is maintained.

Next comes the dancing. Four consecutive nights of dancing, and by the third night, we dance with no one else. For him, it was owing to the fact that the night was dedicated entirely to Latin music, and he found my partnership advantageous. For me, it was because I wanted to spend every possible moment in his arms. Once he perfected a proper dip (the kind where both arms are wrapped around my torso as he drops me two feet from the floor), I’m in sheer heaven.

The following day was utter agony. “When will I see him again?”, “How does he feel about me?”, “Why doesn’t he come over to talk to me?”, “Is he looking at me right now?”, “Has he said anything about me?”, “Is he going to come sit next to me?”, “I wonder if he’ll hold my hand”, “Why do I have a throbbing headache!?”

Every moment he is or isn’t there is analyzed, and I just keep praying that my heart will stop racing at a million beats per second. I go back and forth between “He’s so perfect”, and “He’s such an idiot”, about once every 10 minutes. My neck and eyes are strained from looking for the tall man with the ponytail every 5 seconds, until the night of the final dance. For the first hour, he’s nowhere in sight. I feel stood up, I decide once and for all that I’m the idiot, and I convince myself that I’m completely over him. Finally I find him in the corner talking to a friend. I sit next to him, he asks me to dance, and I’m right back to the infatuation of the night before.

The bus and train ride home is spent chatting with him, and we naturally spend the time sitting, standing, and waiting together throughout the long trip. My interest in knowing every detail about him borders on obsession, and one part of my brain is fighting this as the other part is noticing how adorable the wrinkles in his face are when he’s straining to find the right word in English.

I found him to be faithful without judgment, humble and introverted, definitively laid back yet at the same time passionate. I ask him if he’d ever want to come to America, and he tells me of his dream to see Temple Square. I tell him every wonderful opportunity awaiting him in the US, where I would take him should he come to visit, and what sort of work he could do if he would ever by some miraculous circumstance decide to live there. He tells me that if he could have any job in the world, he would be a teacher, most likely for young children. Can we say kismet?

Then comes the kicker.

He tells me how it wasn’t easy for him to join the church. How his parents haven’t accepted his faith as they are both devout Catholics, and how they were so disappointed in him because until he had joined the church . . . he was studying to become a priest.

If there was any time in my life where I was likely to swoon, that would have been it.

But that’s the moment when I realized, this guy is so incredible, a relationship with him is probably the longest shot of my life. The Slovak naturally made me a better person. The Moravian makes me want to go far beyond what I know I‘m capable of. I haven’t a chance.

It brings to mind a portion of Shakespeare’s “All’s Well That Ends Well”:

“'Twere all one

That I should love a bright particular star

And think to wed it, he is so above me:

In his bright radiance and collateral light

Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.

The ambition in my love thus plagues itself [. . .]

But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy

Must sanctify his reliques.”

Ugh, I hate myself.

Thankfully, he is a two-hour bus ride away, so I have time to decompress before I see him again in two weeks. Though I have learned that you can be completely neurotic in front of European men, wear your heart on your sleeve, and just plain make a fool of yourself, and they don’t freak out or run away. They just don’t make men like this in America (sorry guys). It’s a fact of life that girls are more prone to love’s obsessions than guys are, and this rant is indeed part of that insanity.

But one thing I do know. As insecure as I am about my looks, and despite my crippling camera phobia, never have I felt as beautiful as I do when looking at a picture of him and me.

If only I wasn’t leaving. If only I spoke to him a year ago, two years ago. If only I was more confident, more active, more spiritual . . .

If only . . .

Good Points

el Seco — 2010-07-26 01:18:59

A few things:

1. Everyone should read Mansfield Park by Jane Austen right now. (That includes you, Green!)

2. Inception was a good movie, and even though Janeheiress didn't like it, you should see it immediately. (That's right, I said it.)

3. The only way to travel is with a good friend. (Like Atrayu.)

How to publish a book for teens:

Green — 2010-07-06 16:27:54

It's actually really simple and doesn't take much thought. And I'm sure you don't even need much of a grasp of the mechanics of written English--that's what copyeditors are for, right?

Step 1: Pretend you're really sassy. Getting a sassy haircut and some edgy pictures of yourself always helps. Then put them up on your blog (and your facebook page) and be sure to mention them every hour or so on your twitter account.

Step 2: Immerse yourself in pop culture. The best way to do this is watch a lot of t.v. But make sure you dream about it. Dreams make the best premises for books, because they always seem really brilliant while we're sleeping or groggy.

Step 3: Now it's time to plan your hero. The hero has to have breath-taking good looks and mysterious manners. It's also prerequisite that he has to be or be involved with something supernatural. Don't worry--you can take whatever cliche you want for the supernatural part. Vampires, Werewolves, Fallen Angels, Incubus', Fairies, Alchemists ... they're all up for grabs, and you don't even have to be original. If you want to push the edge just a little bit, reverse the role a little bit and make the hero the "boy next door" while the girl has supernatural powers. But if you do this, make sure that all the characters somehow recognize something special about him that never gets explained. See, if it's apparent to your readers that your lead characters actually are special or different or courageous or strong, they'll find them too intimidating to read about.

Step 4: On to the heroine. First of all, it is absolutely imperative that the heroine has to act really stupid while claiming to be smart. The dumber the better. If you're struggling to find dumb things for her to do, just put her in a bunch of dangerous situations and have her act helpless and/or co-dependent. She might say she's read a bunch of classic literature and has always been ahead in school, but if she actually acts like she has a brain, it proves that she doesn't. Those are the only qualifying characteristics. And you must be absolutely certain you don't give her any personality. It ruins the story. Oh yeah, give her lots of stupid questions to ask, that way the hero can be as evasive as he wants. This will increase her fascination with him, especially if he acts like a jerk about it.

Step 4: Okay, let's talk about conflict. It can't be a real problem; it has to be trumped up, because in the end you're just going to resolve it by pretending it didn't exist in the first place.

Step 5: The plot's not too important either, because as long as you give intimate descriptions of the main characters having multiple DTRs, nothing really needs to happen. People only like to read about sexual tension, so if you've done your hero right and he's the mysterious bad boy he should be, the heroine is going to have enough internal dialogue just drooling over him and his expressions and the way he moves his body and the way he tries so hard to protect her from her own stupidity. There's no room for a plot if you set it up properly. If you don't trust me and are really worried about this, just add in some random make-out scenes; setting them in the rain or by the ocean after a swim is a nice touch.

Step 6: Minor characters aren't all that hard. There has to be a girl who is insanely jealous of the heroine, for whatever reason. Plus, there has to be another guy who has the hots for the lead girl, because no-one would believe, given how stupid she's behaving, that the guy isn't stupid for liking her unless there was another guy who felt the same way. Two guys falling for one stupid girl proves that everyone in this situation is really smart. Plus, with another guy on the scene, it makes it easier and more plausible to have all those DTRs that replace the plot. Make sure that if you mention any parents, well, it might be a good idea to conveniently do away with the parents by having them go out of town or by killing them off in the very beginning. If you can't do that in good conscience, just make them as stupid and clueless as the heroine--that makes sense, because the apple never falls far from the tree. If the hero has parents, which I would advise against, they have to be either mentally ill or sycophants. Siblings? Blood siblings will kill the story completely, so if you want siblings in the story, they have to be adopted. Friends must be the stupidest characters. They have to be unbelievably naive, and they have to get mad at the lead all the time, but they can't ever stay mad, because otherwise they wouldn't want to be involved in all the drama.

Step 7: Finally, it is extremely important to get the right cover art. Flowers, silky fabric, or fruit always works well, but don't go with any background color other than black, and make sure there's lots of red.

There you go. Publishers will love you. Bookstores will love you. And teenage girls will love you ... well, until someone makes a big-budget film of your book. Then they'll move on to something else. Don't take it personally. The new fad won't be any better than yours.

I posted this on my blog a while back, but today I felt like sharing. I'm a little disappointed with the publishing industry right now, and I feel stupid because in a moment of weakness, I caved and went with a friend to see Eclipse. Ouch.

Foot in the Mouth

Janeheiress — 2010-07-01 22:50:23

I recently visited a friend in another state and had a blast hiking, enjoying nature, and just hanging out. There is one incident however, that has risen to the forefront of my memory, to my mortification. My friend's mom likes to have friends over for dinner, and on Sunday evening their neighbors came over to eat with us. They were a nice family, and we had a nice dinner. I noticed that something about the way one of their sons (probably in his mid-twenties) talked was a little off, but I didn't pay much attention to it.

Somehow, the topic of workplace communication came up, a topic I am passionate about, having to navigate the beaurocracy of a state institution. I particularly get frustrated with people who don't know how to word their emails in a way that don't sound stark and rude (especially mass emails to all the faculty)--frustrated at the situation they are putting themselves in by the lack of care; I don't generally let myself be offended by that sort of thing. So I got on my soapbox about how easy it is to offend through email because your words aren't accompanied by the tone of your voice, and how it's good practice to pad emails in courtesy language, and phrase suggestions as "Might it be better to...?" questions so colleagues don't feel like they are being ordered around, or their ideas are being slammed. Perhaps I put too much thought into it, but keeping the peace is important to me.

Anyway, I don't think I came off particularly strong in this conversation, but the young man I was talking to seemed to agree that it's easy to get into trouble through email, and told me that I was lucky to have the talent for communicating that way. I didn't think anything of it until after they had left, and my friend mentioned that the young man in question has Asberger's.

Oh.

All I can think about now, is what his parents must think of me! Here I was going on all superior-like to this poor boy who may have been in some very similar situations to the ones I described. Sometimes I wish I had an extra foot to shove in my mouth.

Post-Parisian Observations

Giullieta — 2010-06-28 21:08:38

I know in the past, certain ranters have expressed their opinions regarding France, and the French. After spending an amazing week among the French, I'm happy to put to rest a few common generalizations that many Americans may have regarding France, and Paris especially.

Stereotype #1 - The French are rude.

Perhaps many other people have had this unfortunate experience, but I was definitely not one of them. In fact, I found most people to be happy and even accommodating, both in the center of Paris, and in the outskirts where I stayed with friends.

I've been in Europe for two years now, and I've noticed that there is an extreme cultural difference between our two continents in that, as Americans, we always expect service with a smile, in every circumstance, regardless of whether or not that smile hides a certain amount of contempt. Europe in general (not just France) does not practice this. It's not out of rudeness, it's just people being people, even if it be genuine to a fault.

In many ways, I actually appreciate it. In the states, no restaurant would let you sit at the best table in the place for hours on end, chatting and laughing with your friends. Many people may think of this as though they are being ignored, like their needs are not being considered, or as if they're being scorned. (Mind you, tourist traps are somewhat different . . . which is why you shouldn't fall for them). If you look at it from the point of view that someone is allowing you to enjoy your meal, at your pace, you'll see that nobody is really going out of their way to be rude. Bearing this in mind, I found that service in France is no different than any other place I've been in Europe, and that the people I've met along the way were kind, happy, and eager to chat.

Incidentally, I've found that I can easily send my European friends into fits of laughter by flashing that American customer service smile, saying an enthusiastic hello, and asking if I can help them with their order.

Stereotype #2 - The French hate Americans

If anything, the reverse is true. I think this generalization has been pounded in our heads in so many different ways, that we have unfortunately convinced ourselves of imaginary enemies. I actually asked the friends I made in Paris about this stereotype, and each time they were surprised and bewildered.

In actuality, I was asked many times where I'm from, and upon learning that I'm American, people would smile and perk up (which was surprising even to me, considering how many Americans are in Paris this time of year). Although, this may be owing to simple differences in approach. For instance, I try to be respectful enough to at the very least learn how to say hello, and ask if someone speaks English in their native language. So many people will simply walk up to someone, jabbering on in English, thinking that they will automatically understand and hang on their every word. By doing this, that person is instantly placing themselves in a class above the other. Simply asking if they speak gives them a choice as to whether or not they can help you. Usually, they'll appreciate that choice, and your effort, and be far more willing to help.

Also, I've learned that rather than say you're American, It's better to tell someone the state or city that you're from. Usually, once someone asks you in English, they can usually (but not always) tell whether or not you're from the US. When I say I'm from Colorado, people get excited if they know what Colorado is like, what it's known for, or even roughly what region it's in. It's a far better conversation starter, and truthfully, considering how big our country is, being from one part of America is not nearly the same as being from another (You're all Texans, therefore you understand this better than anyone).

Stereotype #3 - Paris smells like . . . you know

Nope. Not even close. Actually, in many areas, it's sweet and fragrant (then again, I'm a sucker for flowers). Perhaps those that think it smells have been there at the wrong time of year, or are referring to certain areas. All I know is, I've been up and down those Paris streets, and found no citywide offensive odor.

Now the metro, does smell bad. The metro in Prague smells bad, as does the metro in Frankfurt, and New York city (but not Vienna, because everything is shiny as new). If this is the smell that people are associating with the entire city, it's an unfortunate mistake.

Stereotype #4 - Paris is the city of lights and of love.

Well, I'm happy to say, this one is true. Even if that love is merely shared among new, but amazing friends, it is a romantic city in it's most true and classical sense.

Perhaps it's the lifelong dream of a little girl talking in this rant, but France has turned out to be everything I was hoping for and then some. I realize this may not change the opinions some have of the country in general due to it's political views, but politics aside, the French are beautiful people.

~Au Revoir!

On the Origin of Fallacy

Dubya — 2010-06-21 01:13:19

I recently began reading Darwin's "On the Origin of Species" in conjunction with a book titled "What Darwin Got Wrong" by Jerry Fodor and Massimo Piattelli-Palmarini, as well as "The Lie: Evolution," by Ken Ham. It is important to note that the book "What Darwin Got Wrong" is a book in support of evolution, just not exactly the evolution by natural selection that Darwin proposed.

I read the introduction to "What Darwin Got Wrong" first (I'm reading all three books simultaneously, but not in any organized way so far), and was struck by a few things:

First, the introduction is titled "Terms of Engagement." I'll let that stand for itself.

Second, the authors write "[i]t is our assumption that evolution is a mechanical process through and through. We take that to rule out not just divine causes but final causes[...]." (page xii) I find their willingness to use the word "assumption" intriguing. Even in the limited sense here, referencing the mechanics of evolution and not evolution itself, it is important to understand that evolutionary theory is just an interpretation of data that exists in the present and not a set of facts that has been observed at any time.

Third, the authors write "[i]n fact, we don't know very well how evolution works. [...] 'Further research is required,' as the saying goes. It may well be that centuries of further research is required." Centuries, they say. In other words, give us some more time and hopefully we'll dig up another fossil or maybe get a chance to observe evolution actually occur. They don't know how evolution works and yet they think it is a better explanation than divine creation. That's mighty strong faith.

Fourth, they state that there can be no general theory of evolution. They can't fit all the pieces of their puzzle together so they're apologizing for it looking so messy.

Fifth, the authors refer to "[...] the Forces of Darkness, whose goal it is to bring Science into disrepute." The "Forces of Darkness" bit was used in a somewhat tongue-in-cheek manner, but they used it twice so there's some reflection to their way of thinking in it. I find it ironic because that kind of high language and dramatic moralizing is exactly what gets us Bible thumping fundamentalist reactionaries ridiculed on a regular basis.

Meanwhile, in "On the Origin of Species," Darwin quotes W. Whewell as saying the following:
"But with regard to the material world, we can at least go so far as this-- we can perceive that events are brought about not by insulated interpositions of Divine power, exerted in each particular case, but by the establishment of general laws." This begs the question: who is establishing the laws? Furthermore, the Apostle Paul writes in his letter to the Romans that "[...] since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made[...]". (Romans 1:20)

Miscellany

Dubya — 2010-06-19 01:36:36

I'm officially labelling Band of Horses as awesome, based on their latest album, "Infinite Arms." I'm also labelling Zac Brown Band as awesome as well.

I had a friend over for dinner and MST3k last night. MST3k, if you don't already know, stands for Mystery Science Theater 3000. It's a show where people watch old sci-fi movies and crack jokes and it is quite hilarious.

Of course, the best part was the friend that came over.

Training people at work is actually quite fun. I have a great time teaching processes and routines, and trying to convey concepts. I never thought I'd enjoy assessing people and their progress, or adapting what I do to their learning style, but I really do. The one thing I can't stand, though, is trying to teach or tell someone why they should care enough to learn in the first place. I don't like trying to "teach" basic work ethic.

Life isn't always easy, but it sure can be a lot of fun if you'll just be quiet and enjoy it.

Drums are amazing; a bad drummer can destroy a great song, and a good drummer can make a mediocre song sound incredible.

I don't think anything is more attractive than laughter.