To whomever may read this:
I was posed a question a while ago by a friend of mine who (even though some of you will know who it is) I will refer to as Fwidhipn (please refer to the blog titled "thanks" for explanation of the acronym) because I really don't have a cool pseudo name for her yet. The question came in retort to a question that has become a popular one for me. My question to her was "why is it that girls date jerks?" to which she wittily (and maybe testily) replied "why do guys date brainless girls?"
Touche.
So, in the spirit of wanting to answer both questions I issue a challenge to all readers. I would like to hear a plausible argument for both sides, but I'm particularly interested in the answer of why girls date jerks. I would prefer that if such an argument be written, that it be written from a girl's perspective. I for my part am going to try to answer the question posed me. However, this is just a sampler, because I'm not going to actually discuss it here. I am, however, declaring my intent.
If you decide to actually respond to this challenge/favor/whatever, the options of delivery are:
a) Post a comment on my blog
b) deliver the answer in person to my person (that would be me)
c) e-mail it too me. No, this is not a desperate attempt on my part to get emails, but rather a wish to hear more sides to the argument than what I've heard all ready.
I hope that someone does respond. Otherwise I might not have anything to build up on or answer in my blog. It's becoming awfully one sided here.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Insanity
Anyone who is familiar with this blog will no doubt recognize that many times these blogs come at a time when in order for me to achieve peacefulness with my own soul and passions I must take the time to write them down; to poke fun of them at times, and to cry about them at others. I like to put a happy face to the things that I do. I like to seek out what's best. I try my darndest to not show the slightest sign of unhappiness, and though to my mother there are tale tell signs of my discontent that show through like the sun burns through the morning mist, I find that the majority of people are incapable of seeing the truth, or at least commenting on it. I don't mean to alarm anyone while I say this. The truth is that the majority of the time I'm depressingly cheerful and happy. The problem is, the Lord has been so kind to me and let me be so happy, that the moment that I choose not to follow that particular pattern of thought, I find myself battling for all I'm worth. I'm afraid that I lack many necessary armaments to deal with that type of feeling. So, I normally let it go. It doesn't sit well with my stomach anyway.
But, that is just a slight tie into what I feel must needs to be discussed tonight. Yes, it is way past my normal bedtime, and I will no doubt be paying for this slight infraction upon my sleeping habits tomorrow morning, but I decided that since it's Friday night and I neither have a place to go nor am I dressed up to go there (to nowhere, I mean), I might as well take the time to present some interesting thoughts.
I heard once, thanks to the enigmatic (if that is a word) figure of Dilbert, that insanity is indeed the repetition of one action in particular in the hope that it will some day produce different results. In the light of such a revelation, I hereby declare myself insane. Not only insane, illogical, though in all reality they are synonyms for most people. Honestly, I have the tendency to futilely repeat myself over and over again, with the hope that something different will occur that has not happened before.
For instance, I act the same every single day. I get up, go to school, come home, eat some lunch, go to work, come home, spend time either with my friends, the piano, the gym, or the TV (though the last is rarity) and then go to bed at the unearthly hour of 11:00. And yet, I believe that someday I will get a better job. Does it not sound insane to you all? To go on, never requesting a raise, never using the means at my disposal to actively be seeking a job and yet believe that things will improve seems to me the very definition of insanity. And of course I'm just getting started. Knowing me, I have to throw in something about relationships, so I might as well just get it out of my system and say that the same holds true for my relationships. Even though I know that my actions have not procured the type of reaction that I wish for from someone that I like, I will continue to act the same way toward them. I normally have deep emotional beatings after such encounters with the opposite sex, which can be taxing. My point is that, even though I know that it's not working, I keep doing it anyway. Crazy. If you throw in schooling, friendships, hopes about finding a career path, you have a complete case for my insanity
I can still reason about it, though. Maybe that means I'm not crazy. Edgar Allen Poe would probably back me up on this. About the only hope that I have that I'm not really crazy is that I can still be rational about it. Though, in the case of Poe's tell-tale heart character, he started hearing a heart throb, though there was no sound. I guess my point is that if you see me fighting with my head, I'm just trying to get the wishful thinking out.
But, that is just a slight tie into what I feel must needs to be discussed tonight. Yes, it is way past my normal bedtime, and I will no doubt be paying for this slight infraction upon my sleeping habits tomorrow morning, but I decided that since it's Friday night and I neither have a place to go nor am I dressed up to go there (to nowhere, I mean), I might as well take the time to present some interesting thoughts.
I heard once, thanks to the enigmatic (if that is a word) figure of Dilbert, that insanity is indeed the repetition of one action in particular in the hope that it will some day produce different results. In the light of such a revelation, I hereby declare myself insane. Not only insane, illogical, though in all reality they are synonyms for most people. Honestly, I have the tendency to futilely repeat myself over and over again, with the hope that something different will occur that has not happened before.
For instance, I act the same every single day. I get up, go to school, come home, eat some lunch, go to work, come home, spend time either with my friends, the piano, the gym, or the TV (though the last is rarity) and then go to bed at the unearthly hour of 11:00. And yet, I believe that someday I will get a better job. Does it not sound insane to you all? To go on, never requesting a raise, never using the means at my disposal to actively be seeking a job and yet believe that things will improve seems to me the very definition of insanity. And of course I'm just getting started. Knowing me, I have to throw in something about relationships, so I might as well just get it out of my system and say that the same holds true for my relationships. Even though I know that my actions have not procured the type of reaction that I wish for from someone that I like, I will continue to act the same way toward them. I normally have deep emotional beatings after such encounters with the opposite sex, which can be taxing. My point is that, even though I know that it's not working, I keep doing it anyway. Crazy. If you throw in schooling, friendships, hopes about finding a career path, you have a complete case for my insanity
I can still reason about it, though. Maybe that means I'm not crazy. Edgar Allen Poe would probably back me up on this. About the only hope that I have that I'm not really crazy is that I can still be rational about it. Though, in the case of Poe's tell-tale heart character, he started hearing a heart throb, though there was no sound. I guess my point is that if you see me fighting with my head, I'm just trying to get the wishful thinking out.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thanks
In the Spirit of the season, I have decided that I will dedicate a small moment to declaring a list of what I’m grateful for. Of course, this list cannot be all inclusive, as each day I’m becoming either more or less grateful for a large quantity of things. For instance, today I’m not particularly grateful for busy work, but ten years down the road I might be, because it might be my only source of income. That being said, here it is: a list of Major Bubble’s gratitudes. This is not in order of importance:
Socks
Warm Blankets
Uum
Hot chocolate on cold mornings
Journals
Blogs
Random hugs
Books
Computers
Grandparents
Big band dances
Pianos
Piano music
My voice
2 + 2
Mom
Dad
Basserpercusionist
The Friend For Whom I Don’t Have a Pseudo Name. (FFWIDHPN-Fwidhipn)
M+M
W+E
Tolkien Boy
Pelirojo
WM-Star
Unintentional naps (especially in Art History)
Young Less Attached Adults
My bed
Glasses and Contacts
Chairs
Music in general
Bananas
Pumpkin Pie
Christmas Wish Lists
Musical-G
The Awkward Politic
Bolivia Fanatica
Little people
Divine philosophy
Punching Bags
Crock pots
Washing machines
Refrigerators
Telephones, but not cell phones.
Dates (both the fruit and the non fruit)
The front porch moment at the end of dates
Horses
Cranky cats
Heaters
Hot from the oven homemade roles
Sweaters
Embarrassing moments in movies
Awkward moments in relationships.
Abusive little cousins
Undiscovered love
Strange smelling but good tasting foods
New experiences
Old people
An excuse to gather the entire family to one house to eat a meal.
Go out and thank someone for something. It creates warm fuzzies, and even though the politicians may disagree, this does not increase global warming.
Socks
Warm Blankets
Uum
Hot chocolate on cold mornings
Journals
Blogs
Random hugs
Books
Computers
Grandparents
Big band dances
Pianos
Piano music
My voice
2 + 2
Mom
Dad
Basserpercusionist
The Friend For Whom I Don’t Have a Pseudo Name. (FFWIDHPN-Fwidhipn)
M+M
W+E
Tolkien Boy
Pelirojo
WM-Star
Unintentional naps (especially in Art History)
Young Less Attached Adults
My bed
Glasses and Contacts
Chairs
Music in general
Bananas
Pumpkin Pie
Christmas Wish Lists
Musical-G
The Awkward Politic
Bolivia Fanatica
Little people
Divine philosophy
Punching Bags
Crock pots
Washing machines
Refrigerators
Telephones, but not cell phones.
Dates (both the fruit and the non fruit)
The front porch moment at the end of dates
Horses
Cranky cats
Heaters
Hot from the oven homemade roles
Sweaters
Embarrassing moments in movies
Awkward moments in relationships.
Abusive little cousins
Undiscovered love
Strange smelling but good tasting foods
New experiences
Old people
An excuse to gather the entire family to one house to eat a meal.
Go out and thank someone for something. It creates warm fuzzies, and even though the politicians may disagree, this does not increase global warming.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Uum and I
I was reviewing what I’ve done here, and I came to a startling realization. The blog that had the most comments (whether posted or no) and thereby the greatest impact on people was the blog titled “Major Bubbles needs a date.” It’s disturbing that my best work is done when I’m bemoaning my lack of popularity. Maybe all of those emo people have found out an important entertaining truth. People like to hear about other people’s problems. Perhaps the phrase “Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone.” Is not necessarily true. Perhaps, the truth is that no one wants to weep with you, but they sure do like to hear that you are weeping. Or perhaps that’s an extrapolation of something that’s not really true to begin with. That being that my best work is when I’m bemoaning. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to start out my blog talking about that.
I really like my car. It’s a red Saturn, as I’m sure that many of you who read this are aware, as I take any and all opportunity to tell people about it. After consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason I like it so much is because it’s so much like my personality. So, I’ve come up with “Ten Reasons why Uum is like me.” Oh, Uum is my car’s name. It has reference to the sticker on his butt. I’m not like Uum in this regard. I don’t like people looking at my behind, so I normally don’t wear any declarations there. That’s not the case with Uum. It seems that he like people looking at him from behind, so he proudly got his name practically permanently placed upon his backside. I will now proceed with the list.
10. We both make a very unique noise. WM-Star told me that Uum sounded like a golf cart, and though I don’t agree, I concede that he does have a special sound. The combination of a smaller (sorry Uum!) engine and collapsed mount make for a very unique emanation. I’m not that much different. Pelirojo told me that she enjoyed that I make sounds that only a first tenor can make. While that does seem to be an insult to my manhood, the fact remains that Uum and I both make very peculiar sounds.
9. We like things cool. I do not work well in heat. I find myself literally nodding off. I nodded myself right out of a chair once. It’s really embarrassing in a quiet room to suddenly find yourself on the floor, with people looking at you quizzically. Uum’s the same way. He can’t stand the heat. He hates making things cool for others, and complains especially on the hills.
8. We don’t like to be left alone. I swear that he growled at me when I got into him after about a three day absence. That and he turned the radio up on me, so that I nearly went deaf when I turned the ignition. He hates it when I don’t hang out with him. I’m the same way. I love people, and I don’t like being completely alone. That doesn’t mean that I have to have people always. I think I’d go crazy if that were to happen.
7. First gear kills us. Let’s face the facts, here. I don’t think I’ve ever met a car that I liked that was happy with being in first gear. Uum certainly is the same way. When I shift down to first he always complains. In a squeal he reminds me quite forcibly that he does not like first gear. And I can never seem to stay happy unless I’m running full throttle, doing about a million things a day. Actually, it’s only about four things, but they take up a lot of time!
6. We both like music. He has good taste, I have good taste, it’s a mutually benefiting situation.
5. We both require a lot of work. I have to take a shower every day. He has to have a bath every week or so (and a good vacuuming). I have to work out at least three times a week to be happy. I have to take him in for checkups monthly. Either way, I have to spend a lot of money on both of us, and it’s kind of distressing.
4. We both aren’t risky. I mean this in a sensual sense. I am definitely not risky in a sensual sense. I used to go to great lengths to avoid even touching a girl (definitely a clean from cootey freak) and I think that attitude has unhealthily carried over into my current relationships. Either way, a girl can be most assured of a lack of any sort of risk when she’s with me, and actually may become frustrated by my complete lack of closeness altogether (it’s happened before, it could happen again). Uum is the same way. I had Nina tell me that “only a returned missionary would buy a car without a back seat.” Well, Uum doesn’t like to be risky and I don’t like to be risky. It’s a good match.
3. The vitals are there, even if some of the smoothness isn’t. We both go fast, and we both get to where we want to be in plenty of time. The problem is, shifting gears is pretty rough. I once thought that I might be smooth (but never risky) and, while going from fourth to fifth gear (which would put me extremely close to the knee of the person sitting next to me, which is where most likely her hand would be) smoothly slide off the gear shift and grab a hold of the girl at my side’s hand, and ask, in a cool tone “want to help me shift?” Apart from being a horrible pick up line, I have been told recently that this is not smooth. Uum isn’t much better, though. While shifting gears he chokes, jumps, and sometimes dies. I haven’t died while shifting into smoothness mode yet, but choking and jumping is very probable.
2. Girls like us. Even without smoothness girls still like Uum. The first comment I hear from the female gender when they see him is “Nice Car.” I wish girls would say that about me. “Nice guy” or something like that. “Nice body” might be a little risky, though, so I steer away from that (that’s why I only go to the gym three times a week. Or sometimes only two). Anyway, for some reason girls like Uum, and they seem to like me too. Or at least that’s what it says on the strange notes I find on my doorstep every other morning. . .
1. We show empty a long time before we really are. The truth of the matter is, I could probably go about twenty miles on an empty tank. Or maybe even fifty. I’m pretty sure that Uum considers himself empty any time he drops below about three gallons, or a quarter of a tank. I’m the same way. If there is any hunger pain at all, oh boy, am I empty, and I had better get something in me fast or I am going to be grouchy. Both of us understand the need for nourishment, and are willing to make the actions necessary to achieve satisfaction.
Any way you look at it, Uum and I make a great team. And while there are some differences (for instance, he can keep going and going, but I always seem to need a brake), we get along well. That’s why going down the road of life for the time being it’s going to be Uum and me.
I really like my car. It’s a red Saturn, as I’m sure that many of you who read this are aware, as I take any and all opportunity to tell people about it. After consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason I like it so much is because it’s so much like my personality. So, I’ve come up with “Ten Reasons why Uum is like me.” Oh, Uum is my car’s name. It has reference to the sticker on his butt. I’m not like Uum in this regard. I don’t like people looking at my behind, so I normally don’t wear any declarations there. That’s not the case with Uum. It seems that he like people looking at him from behind, so he proudly got his name practically permanently placed upon his backside. I will now proceed with the list.
10. We both make a very unique noise. WM-Star told me that Uum sounded like a golf cart, and though I don’t agree, I concede that he does have a special sound. The combination of a smaller (sorry Uum!) engine and collapsed mount make for a very unique emanation. I’m not that much different. Pelirojo told me that she enjoyed that I make sounds that only a first tenor can make. While that does seem to be an insult to my manhood, the fact remains that Uum and I both make very peculiar sounds.
9. We like things cool. I do not work well in heat. I find myself literally nodding off. I nodded myself right out of a chair once. It’s really embarrassing in a quiet room to suddenly find yourself on the floor, with people looking at you quizzically. Uum’s the same way. He can’t stand the heat. He hates making things cool for others, and complains especially on the hills.
8. We don’t like to be left alone. I swear that he growled at me when I got into him after about a three day absence. That and he turned the radio up on me, so that I nearly went deaf when I turned the ignition. He hates it when I don’t hang out with him. I’m the same way. I love people, and I don’t like being completely alone. That doesn’t mean that I have to have people always. I think I’d go crazy if that were to happen.
7. First gear kills us. Let’s face the facts, here. I don’t think I’ve ever met a car that I liked that was happy with being in first gear. Uum certainly is the same way. When I shift down to first he always complains. In a squeal he reminds me quite forcibly that he does not like first gear. And I can never seem to stay happy unless I’m running full throttle, doing about a million things a day. Actually, it’s only about four things, but they take up a lot of time!
6. We both like music. He has good taste, I have good taste, it’s a mutually benefiting situation.
5. We both require a lot of work. I have to take a shower every day. He has to have a bath every week or so (and a good vacuuming). I have to work out at least three times a week to be happy. I have to take him in for checkups monthly. Either way, I have to spend a lot of money on both of us, and it’s kind of distressing.
4. We both aren’t risky. I mean this in a sensual sense. I am definitely not risky in a sensual sense. I used to go to great lengths to avoid even touching a girl (definitely a clean from cootey freak) and I think that attitude has unhealthily carried over into my current relationships. Either way, a girl can be most assured of a lack of any sort of risk when she’s with me, and actually may become frustrated by my complete lack of closeness altogether (it’s happened before, it could happen again). Uum is the same way. I had Nina tell me that “only a returned missionary would buy a car without a back seat.” Well, Uum doesn’t like to be risky and I don’t like to be risky. It’s a good match.
3. The vitals are there, even if some of the smoothness isn’t. We both go fast, and we both get to where we want to be in plenty of time. The problem is, shifting gears is pretty rough. I once thought that I might be smooth (but never risky) and, while going from fourth to fifth gear (which would put me extremely close to the knee of the person sitting next to me, which is where most likely her hand would be) smoothly slide off the gear shift and grab a hold of the girl at my side’s hand, and ask, in a cool tone “want to help me shift?” Apart from being a horrible pick up line, I have been told recently that this is not smooth. Uum isn’t much better, though. While shifting gears he chokes, jumps, and sometimes dies. I haven’t died while shifting into smoothness mode yet, but choking and jumping is very probable.
2. Girls like us. Even without smoothness girls still like Uum. The first comment I hear from the female gender when they see him is “Nice Car.” I wish girls would say that about me. “Nice guy” or something like that. “Nice body” might be a little risky, though, so I steer away from that (that’s why I only go to the gym three times a week. Or sometimes only two). Anyway, for some reason girls like Uum, and they seem to like me too. Or at least that’s what it says on the strange notes I find on my doorstep every other morning. . .
1. We show empty a long time before we really are. The truth of the matter is, I could probably go about twenty miles on an empty tank. Or maybe even fifty. I’m pretty sure that Uum considers himself empty any time he drops below about three gallons, or a quarter of a tank. I’m the same way. If there is any hunger pain at all, oh boy, am I empty, and I had better get something in me fast or I am going to be grouchy. Both of us understand the need for nourishment, and are willing to make the actions necessary to achieve satisfaction.
Any way you look at it, Uum and I make a great team. And while there are some differences (for instance, he can keep going and going, but I always seem to need a brake), we get along well. That’s why going down the road of life for the time being it’s going to be Uum and me.
Subliminal Messages
After reading through what I have written here, I would like to apologize to all of you sane people who have not yet read (or have no intention of reading) any or all of the Harry Potter series. I would recommend reading them, if you happen to be a fan of that type of genre, but, that being said, let us on with the show.
Hello friendly visitors. It’s a great day to be writing once again in the overly neglected Yellow Lives. My lives continue to be very yellow, and almost depressingly so, in fact. Is it possible to be yellow and depressed? From what I understand, it’s seen as an outrage if you are a happy person, and are suffering from one of those moments of sadness or serious reflection.
Serious reflection can be a good thing. After having heard the not so recent news of Dumbledore’s sexual preference, I have been seriously contemplating the subtle implications of modern media, books being the most powerful (and often the most subtle), with other showings in movies and plays. The more I analyze, the more I see that there really are many “subconscious” messages played before our eyes in a most furtive manner, and I would like to talk about what set off this particular bout of reflection.
Each of us have a type of entertainment that pleases us most. Some like books, some like movies. Yet others prefer the live entertainment of concerts, of plays, and such things. In each of these types of media, in the things that play before our eyes in a constant barrage of entertainment and enjoyment, there are subtle messages laid out before us, things that only become evident if they are studied and analyzed. Those things are not always pleasing the conscious mind, and as such must be realized if they are to be changed.
I’d like to point out one that is particularly upsetting to me. This would be that of the portrayal of the Christ figure in our entertainment. In every story of good and evil, there is a savior, someone who represents the forces of good. Some authors are very aware of this, and even go to great lengths to establish the connection, or the correlation of their character with the Christ story. This is a very powerful writing and entertaining technique. The grand majority (I believe that it was seventy or so percent at last count) of people in the world believe in a God, and believe in a Savior figure, so this type of entertainment appeals to our innards. Or are minds, if you wish to put it that way. But with the portrayal of the Christ figure, there comes a certain ability to make allegations of the Christ himself. What I mean to say is that, whether it is done consciously and purposefully or no, when you make a savior figure a certain way, and then attach certain flaws to him, then suddenly you make suggestions to the mind of all who view your creation of the character of Christ himself.
I am well aware that many people will believe this to be a rather absurd statement. I mean, who would believe that anyone would take the idea of a sexual preference of a wizard, a mythical creature, and attach it to that of Christ? I hope to show why this (and also the example of superman) is not such an absurd idea at all, but rather a carefully calculated way to insert an idea into the minds of the people.
The correlation between the depiction of the character of Albus Dumbledore and Christ is a very strong one. Take for instance Albus’ ability to do the impossible. In the last book it explains how he beat a wicked wizard who had, quite literally, an unbeatable wand. Albus’ presence is felt everywhere in the books. In the last book his eyes take on an “all seeing” role, in the first book, he claims that he had been watching Harry, and that he did not need an invisibility cloak to become invisible. Always he knew what must be done, and was carefully calculating the steps needed in every instance. He was the leader of a small resistance against evil. Perhaps the strongest evidence that the portrayal of his character is a direct correlation with that of the Savior is the moments leading up to his death in the sixth book. First off, in order to enter the place where the key to defeating evil was found, he had to shed blood. Then, after having crossed the lake he willingly drank a nasty drink, a compelling and disturbing similarity to the words found in the bible, “remove from me this bitter cup.” Add to that that at the moment of Dumbledore’s weakness, he is murdered, betrayed by one of his very own followers (which seems to be influenced by the idea of the “Gospel according to Judas” which was quite a topic of interest in Mexico for awhile, but that is a discussion for another day). All of these are compelling evidences that Dumbledore was meant to portray Christ. What bothers me is that after having made such a connection between the two figures, there is then the declaration of a homosexual preference on the part of Dumbledore. I can not help but think that the mind would make a natural if unconscious connection between the two characters, which would suggest to the mind that both are homosexual. I do not find that a very agreeable suggestion. There are some who disagree, but my beliefs are such that I reject the idea.
I do not wish to say that the savior character of every story ought to be perfect. Far from it, I say. What bothers me is when the savior figure is portrayed as something extraordinary, something inhuman, almost god-like, and then given atrocious flaws. I enjoy the depiction of savior folks as being just that: common people who are trying to help others. Take for instance Pancha from Emperor’s new grove. He’s just a good guy, but in no way is he portrayed as anything other than human, even though in the story he is in the end the savior figure. I enjoy that immensely. But, if you contrast that with the depiction of Superman, whose very name depicts godly attributes and superhuman traits, and whose origin and non-human nature naturally set him apart and put him on a higher plane, and then make that super heroic savior unchaste and, in the end not virtuous, then I have a problem. I think that in no one’s mind there would be any strong connection between the character of Pancha and that of Christ, but between Superman and Him, well, the connection is much simpler.
Recently I’ve been studying about argumentive papers in a composition class. I perhaps have not represented sufficiently the other side of the argument, and perhaps what I point out to be deliberate choices and planting of ideas on the part of the authors is really just them trying to create something interesting and palpable to the general public. Be that as it may, there must be consciousness on the part of the public (that’s us) what we accept in our entertainment. I probably will still enjoy reading Harry Potter, but I hope that Mrs. Rowling will not be offended if I choose to believe that Dumbledore is not gay.
In an effort to be politically or at least legally correct, this blog entry represents only my personal beliefs. It in no way is affiliated with blogspot or other related groups. What was written here is not necessarily what the authors of the mentioned works believe or what they were trying to do; it’s just what I see as the affect of their work.
Hello friendly visitors. It’s a great day to be writing once again in the overly neglected Yellow Lives. My lives continue to be very yellow, and almost depressingly so, in fact. Is it possible to be yellow and depressed? From what I understand, it’s seen as an outrage if you are a happy person, and are suffering from one of those moments of sadness or serious reflection.
Serious reflection can be a good thing. After having heard the not so recent news of Dumbledore’s sexual preference, I have been seriously contemplating the subtle implications of modern media, books being the most powerful (and often the most subtle), with other showings in movies and plays. The more I analyze, the more I see that there really are many “subconscious” messages played before our eyes in a most furtive manner, and I would like to talk about what set off this particular bout of reflection.
Each of us have a type of entertainment that pleases us most. Some like books, some like movies. Yet others prefer the live entertainment of concerts, of plays, and such things. In each of these types of media, in the things that play before our eyes in a constant barrage of entertainment and enjoyment, there are subtle messages laid out before us, things that only become evident if they are studied and analyzed. Those things are not always pleasing the conscious mind, and as such must be realized if they are to be changed.
I’d like to point out one that is particularly upsetting to me. This would be that of the portrayal of the Christ figure in our entertainment. In every story of good and evil, there is a savior, someone who represents the forces of good. Some authors are very aware of this, and even go to great lengths to establish the connection, or the correlation of their character with the Christ story. This is a very powerful writing and entertaining technique. The grand majority (I believe that it was seventy or so percent at last count) of people in the world believe in a God, and believe in a Savior figure, so this type of entertainment appeals to our innards. Or are minds, if you wish to put it that way. But with the portrayal of the Christ figure, there comes a certain ability to make allegations of the Christ himself. What I mean to say is that, whether it is done consciously and purposefully or no, when you make a savior figure a certain way, and then attach certain flaws to him, then suddenly you make suggestions to the mind of all who view your creation of the character of Christ himself.
I am well aware that many people will believe this to be a rather absurd statement. I mean, who would believe that anyone would take the idea of a sexual preference of a wizard, a mythical creature, and attach it to that of Christ? I hope to show why this (and also the example of superman) is not such an absurd idea at all, but rather a carefully calculated way to insert an idea into the minds of the people.
The correlation between the depiction of the character of Albus Dumbledore and Christ is a very strong one. Take for instance Albus’ ability to do the impossible. In the last book it explains how he beat a wicked wizard who had, quite literally, an unbeatable wand. Albus’ presence is felt everywhere in the books. In the last book his eyes take on an “all seeing” role, in the first book, he claims that he had been watching Harry, and that he did not need an invisibility cloak to become invisible. Always he knew what must be done, and was carefully calculating the steps needed in every instance. He was the leader of a small resistance against evil. Perhaps the strongest evidence that the portrayal of his character is a direct correlation with that of the Savior is the moments leading up to his death in the sixth book. First off, in order to enter the place where the key to defeating evil was found, he had to shed blood. Then, after having crossed the lake he willingly drank a nasty drink, a compelling and disturbing similarity to the words found in the bible, “remove from me this bitter cup.” Add to that that at the moment of Dumbledore’s weakness, he is murdered, betrayed by one of his very own followers (which seems to be influenced by the idea of the “Gospel according to Judas” which was quite a topic of interest in Mexico for awhile, but that is a discussion for another day). All of these are compelling evidences that Dumbledore was meant to portray Christ. What bothers me is that after having made such a connection between the two figures, there is then the declaration of a homosexual preference on the part of Dumbledore. I can not help but think that the mind would make a natural if unconscious connection between the two characters, which would suggest to the mind that both are homosexual. I do not find that a very agreeable suggestion. There are some who disagree, but my beliefs are such that I reject the idea.
I do not wish to say that the savior character of every story ought to be perfect. Far from it, I say. What bothers me is when the savior figure is portrayed as something extraordinary, something inhuman, almost god-like, and then given atrocious flaws. I enjoy the depiction of savior folks as being just that: common people who are trying to help others. Take for instance Pancha from Emperor’s new grove. He’s just a good guy, but in no way is he portrayed as anything other than human, even though in the story he is in the end the savior figure. I enjoy that immensely. But, if you contrast that with the depiction of Superman, whose very name depicts godly attributes and superhuman traits, and whose origin and non-human nature naturally set him apart and put him on a higher plane, and then make that super heroic savior unchaste and, in the end not virtuous, then I have a problem. I think that in no one’s mind there would be any strong connection between the character of Pancha and that of Christ, but between Superman and Him, well, the connection is much simpler.
Recently I’ve been studying about argumentive papers in a composition class. I perhaps have not represented sufficiently the other side of the argument, and perhaps what I point out to be deliberate choices and planting of ideas on the part of the authors is really just them trying to create something interesting and palpable to the general public. Be that as it may, there must be consciousness on the part of the public (that’s us) what we accept in our entertainment. I probably will still enjoy reading Harry Potter, but I hope that Mrs. Rowling will not be offended if I choose to believe that Dumbledore is not gay.
In an effort to be politically or at least legally correct, this blog entry represents only my personal beliefs. It in no way is affiliated with blogspot or other related groups. What was written here is not necessarily what the authors of the mentioned works believe or what they were trying to do; it’s just what I see as the affect of their work.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Nutrition
It has been brought to my attention that practically all of my blogs have something to do with dating or such subjects, which might give the wrong impression that I am obsessed with it. I wish to dispel these thoughts with an affirmation that I am not obsessed, just concerned that it's something that I'm supposedly supposed to be doing, and I have no idea how to go about the thing. It is a great nuisance. And seeing as this is the place where people are most likely to listen to me (seeing as they can do it when they have a free moment and not when I do), I gravitate toward talking about the thing that I need to understand, but few people truly want to discuss in person, that being dating. The the poor blog yellow lives seems like it would be better named yellow laments on a dating theme. That's a long name, though, so I think I'll stay with yellow lives. Who knows, it might just be a stage I'm going through.
That being said, I wondered if you could clear up a few of my nutritional doubts. I've never heard of any class of study released by the DDA or the RNA or the BFD concerning my questions, but I believe that they are worth considering, especially in this world rife with junk food and little relinquishes in good judgement in nutrition. That's right, there's something that must be done.
No one knows what's more healthy. M&M's that have peanuts, or plain M&M's. What's a guy to do? I contest that one could show that because of the protein content of the peanut in the larger and crunchier version of the M&M, the peanut variety is of much better value than that of the plain. These things are important. Imagine if a professional body builder approached a vending machine, to spend countless seconds worrying about whether the plain or the peanut will help his all ready rippling muscles ripple a little more? And what of the poor geek who comes to find himself in front of the coin alter, ready to give forth his tinkling little silver circles, the jangling of those coins being inserted to an insatiable machine an ode to the power of the digestive apparatus? What of him, as soon as his coins are set and the die is cast, what is he to do as he debates the future of those bright yellow packages? How is he to know, what will be his guide in finding the right nutritionally deficit experience? There is a definite need to look into these things.
This month would be the perfect opportunity for the emergence of such a study. I thought, as I wandered over to the forbidden but inviting cauldron of Halloween snacks, how can I know which one of these will add the least to an all ready overspilling body? Which can be taken with the least amount of guilt? Though I dread the answer that a truly scientific study is sure to give because the answer will always be the most detestable to the taste, there is something to be said for knowing exactly what badness is the least bad for you. It's like quantifying and classifying a sin. I think it would be very beneficial. Imagine if you could prove that recess peanut butter cups proved to have one percent less saturated fat than any other comparable candy bar, or candy circle. Suddenly one could participate in one percent more of such a good thing without guilt. Because, after all, it's not as bad as things that other people are eating.
It might also make recovery of an addict a little easier. Just like one addicted to smoking can use nicotine gum or those little patches, an addict to chocolate could use recess peanut butter cups to slowly cut back. This would make the meetings of groups like "Smokers anonymous" or "chocolate lovers anonymous" so much better. "Hi, my name is Major Bubbles, and I'm only eating one cup a day." It would be a wonderful change. And, as the end of the meeting, people could eat just the delicious peanut butter middle, to show their amazing ability to deny chocolate.
I think the world needs this study. We have a right to know. Let us rise up and demand this knowledge. We need to know as a people.
That being said, I wondered if you could clear up a few of my nutritional doubts. I've never heard of any class of study released by the DDA or the RNA or the BFD concerning my questions, but I believe that they are worth considering, especially in this world rife with junk food and little relinquishes in good judgement in nutrition. That's right, there's something that must be done.
No one knows what's more healthy. M&M's that have peanuts, or plain M&M's. What's a guy to do? I contest that one could show that because of the protein content of the peanut in the larger and crunchier version of the M&M, the peanut variety is of much better value than that of the plain. These things are important. Imagine if a professional body builder approached a vending machine, to spend countless seconds worrying about whether the plain or the peanut will help his all ready rippling muscles ripple a little more? And what of the poor geek who comes to find himself in front of the coin alter, ready to give forth his tinkling little silver circles, the jangling of those coins being inserted to an insatiable machine an ode to the power of the digestive apparatus? What of him, as soon as his coins are set and the die is cast, what is he to do as he debates the future of those bright yellow packages? How is he to know, what will be his guide in finding the right nutritionally deficit experience? There is a definite need to look into these things.
This month would be the perfect opportunity for the emergence of such a study. I thought, as I wandered over to the forbidden but inviting cauldron of Halloween snacks, how can I know which one of these will add the least to an all ready overspilling body? Which can be taken with the least amount of guilt? Though I dread the answer that a truly scientific study is sure to give because the answer will always be the most detestable to the taste, there is something to be said for knowing exactly what badness is the least bad for you. It's like quantifying and classifying a sin. I think it would be very beneficial. Imagine if you could prove that recess peanut butter cups proved to have one percent less saturated fat than any other comparable candy bar, or candy circle. Suddenly one could participate in one percent more of such a good thing without guilt. Because, after all, it's not as bad as things that other people are eating.
It might also make recovery of an addict a little easier. Just like one addicted to smoking can use nicotine gum or those little patches, an addict to chocolate could use recess peanut butter cups to slowly cut back. This would make the meetings of groups like "Smokers anonymous" or "chocolate lovers anonymous" so much better. "Hi, my name is Major Bubbles, and I'm only eating one cup a day." It would be a wonderful change. And, as the end of the meeting, people could eat just the delicious peanut butter middle, to show their amazing ability to deny chocolate.
I think the world needs this study. We have a right to know. Let us rise up and demand this knowledge. We need to know as a people.
Yellow Love
My dear friends, you need not be alarmed that herein you will find an accounting of one yellow Major falling in love and having all of the natural though sappy comments to make about such thing. In fact, it seems as if I am only looking for a way to explain myself, more for my benefit than for the entertainment of anyone else. I am at the end of it all one who enjoys communication, and the inability to correctly portray what I want said in the power or the raw and powerful spoken word begs me seek escape to the refined and editable (not edible, I know that editable is probably not a real word, but you get the idea.) world of the written. I am glad that we've been given such a medium. Otherwise all my emotions that are truly strong would probably be presented in a bumbling and incoherent manner. As you can tell, this is a more serious blog than others of my writing.
I begin by saying that each type of person seems especially susceptible to different types of love stages. In each of us there is a tendency to cling to something on our way to love, something inside us that begs to be seen, that refuses to be let go, and will cling to our very persona until we satiate the beast, placate it, or overcome it all together. The last is the hardest, when speaking of our innermost tendencies, the philosophies that we believe in on the edge of conscious thought, the type that never comes to light unless we analyze, unless we take time to step away from our emotions (something that I have still not achieved) and look objectively at the world. The problem is, as a yellow, or perhaps as a person, I find this a near impossible feat: an objective look at my emotions. The great poets and writers have accomplished it, detailing their feelings to a point that is uncanny, but I have not that genius. No, my friends, this is just an attempt to describe the raging that any one of us may go through, the type of silent battle that none but ourselves, the Spirit, and perhaps our mothers, truly know about. It's the steps on the way to love.
I know there's different styles to approaching such a thing. There are those who jump forward, without a care of the consequences. There are those who proceed with caution, carefully analyzing if the risk is worth the possible payoff. There are those who plan endlessly, coming up with new and marvelous plans for winning someone, and there are those to whom the mere whim is enough to spring them to action. I suppose there are those. The point I am trying to make is that people approach attraction differently. I cannot begin to describe the wonderful things associated with each type, because I'm not familiar with all of them. In fact, most people would consider me an inappropriate judge of any type of attraction, never having truly kissed anyone, or had a relation that lasted long enough to be of much note to anyone but myself. The fact remains, though, that I am the author of this blog, and if you don't want to read, you don't have to. But I want to write it.
I am, even in my methods of tackling the question of attraction, a yellow personality. I try to feed those I am attracted to with positive feelings, being a happy person around them, in the hope that the person that I am truly attracted to will notice all of my good qualities and make a move. Yellows, or perhaps I mean myself, can be wondrously hopeful, or perhaps foolish, depending on how you look at it. The idea that the other person will be the first to declare that she (in my case) likes you merely because you're a happy person around her is more than just bad policy, it's problematic. In my experience, the only times that has ever happened, it has been more than uncomfortable for me. Considering the labour that declaring my attraction to anyone causes me, though, either way it's going to be uncomfortable. That would seem a cruel irony, to me. That or a crucial conjunction. The conjunction of pain. (I wouldn't say that because it's going to ruin the way I see that moment in Emperor's New Groove, but it's a cool saying.) The point being, a major flaw in my policy is this endless hope that if I put myself in proximity to the person, eventually the idea of attraction will be mutual, and obvious enough to get me past my doubt to actually doing something. It is, perhaps, one of the more silly policies I have, one that for sure needs to be changed. Oh, but it's so hard. . .
I believe that I have proved that my use of affection is not the most desirable, nor the most intelligent. An interesting thing about yellow love, though, is that it's always hopeful. I can stare at stark proof, knowing with all my head that the truth is there is no chance, but my silly heart just won't let it rest. My head is the logical one, my heart the hopeful one. I see the proof, I can analyze what it means, I can tell the far shot any type of relationship might be, and yet my yellow stained heart refuses to relinquish the idea that it's still possible. I remember what the hope of eternal love being forcibly wrenched from my heart felt like. The hope was there, beautiful to behold, and the removal of that hope once made me feel as if I had been bereft of something more than just a little bit of company, something more than just a good friend. I felt as if something had reached inside and put out a little yellow light in my heart. And my friends wondered why I didn't date much for awhile after that.
Yellows (or at least I), have the tendency of falling for someone hard, as Tolkien Boy said to describe one of his friends. I'm afraid that this hopeful streak allows us to place all on the single bet of love. It makes for cruel disillusionment, but the rebound is every time more and more beautiful, each time something graceful, a work of art to behold, and each time the yellow is crushed, it comes back with an infusion brighter and fiercer than before. I can honestly say that because I felt that light snuffed out once, it's brighter today, and on better days I have no ill feelings because of the brief lapse of darkness. I'm human, so I can't say that this is true all days, I wish it were, but on better days it's true. I have a hope, the true redeeming characteristic of a yellow, more bright today than before. And before I start sounding too much like a politician, let me change the subject.
A yellow (in other words me) has this knack for doing whatever the other person wants. I know that the moment I found out the plans of someone I was particularly attracted to, I started making my plans around that (even though she certainly had no idea). She wants to major in what? Well, what can I do to support that? She wants how many kids? Sounds like a good idea to me. She wants to live where? Well, all right then, sounds like a nice place. . . and on and on. You can see that this particular trait could be dangerous. She's from what religion? Well, if you put it that way. . . There's many a good man who fell that way, and I am particularly susceptible. At one point in my life, I'm saddened to remember, the attitude of putting that one girl first, a girl to whom (or from whom) there was little real commitment, nearly ruined my friendship with my most loyal friend of the time. That being said and recognized, I have guarded myself against it, and hope in the future to be more true to faith and not false hope.
I have rambled enough about special feelings, about that which binds men and women. About attraction, and my bumbling manner of approaching it. I have on purpose left out any sort of indication as to whether this is a specific or generalized case. To be concise, and to kill questioning on the part of my concerned friends, this is both generalized and specific. General because he's one up from a major. Bad joke, and I know it. But, rather, general because it is in my estimation a correct if rambling assessment of my manner of dealing with affection, and specific because the actual push to define myself came from confusion about something in particular. I hope that you, whoever might read this (that means you too, mom) might not lose your esteem for me, and will be forgiving if I act strangely. I am, after all, a human, and not the most adept at expressing something so precious.
As a side note, this blog also revealed an alarming habit of spelling tendency as tendancy. Thank goodness for spell check.
I begin by saying that each type of person seems especially susceptible to different types of love stages. In each of us there is a tendency to cling to something on our way to love, something inside us that begs to be seen, that refuses to be let go, and will cling to our very persona until we satiate the beast, placate it, or overcome it all together. The last is the hardest, when speaking of our innermost tendencies, the philosophies that we believe in on the edge of conscious thought, the type that never comes to light unless we analyze, unless we take time to step away from our emotions (something that I have still not achieved) and look objectively at the world. The problem is, as a yellow, or perhaps as a person, I find this a near impossible feat: an objective look at my emotions. The great poets and writers have accomplished it, detailing their feelings to a point that is uncanny, but I have not that genius. No, my friends, this is just an attempt to describe the raging that any one of us may go through, the type of silent battle that none but ourselves, the Spirit, and perhaps our mothers, truly know about. It's the steps on the way to love.
I know there's different styles to approaching such a thing. There are those who jump forward, without a care of the consequences. There are those who proceed with caution, carefully analyzing if the risk is worth the possible payoff. There are those who plan endlessly, coming up with new and marvelous plans for winning someone, and there are those to whom the mere whim is enough to spring them to action. I suppose there are those. The point I am trying to make is that people approach attraction differently. I cannot begin to describe the wonderful things associated with each type, because I'm not familiar with all of them. In fact, most people would consider me an inappropriate judge of any type of attraction, never having truly kissed anyone, or had a relation that lasted long enough to be of much note to anyone but myself. The fact remains, though, that I am the author of this blog, and if you don't want to read, you don't have to. But I want to write it.
I am, even in my methods of tackling the question of attraction, a yellow personality. I try to feed those I am attracted to with positive feelings, being a happy person around them, in the hope that the person that I am truly attracted to will notice all of my good qualities and make a move. Yellows, or perhaps I mean myself, can be wondrously hopeful, or perhaps foolish, depending on how you look at it. The idea that the other person will be the first to declare that she (in my case) likes you merely because you're a happy person around her is more than just bad policy, it's problematic. In my experience, the only times that has ever happened, it has been more than uncomfortable for me. Considering the labour that declaring my attraction to anyone causes me, though, either way it's going to be uncomfortable. That would seem a cruel irony, to me. That or a crucial conjunction. The conjunction of pain. (I wouldn't say that because it's going to ruin the way I see that moment in Emperor's New Groove, but it's a cool saying.) The point being, a major flaw in my policy is this endless hope that if I put myself in proximity to the person, eventually the idea of attraction will be mutual, and obvious enough to get me past my doubt to actually doing something. It is, perhaps, one of the more silly policies I have, one that for sure needs to be changed. Oh, but it's so hard. . .
I believe that I have proved that my use of affection is not the most desirable, nor the most intelligent. An interesting thing about yellow love, though, is that it's always hopeful. I can stare at stark proof, knowing with all my head that the truth is there is no chance, but my silly heart just won't let it rest. My head is the logical one, my heart the hopeful one. I see the proof, I can analyze what it means, I can tell the far shot any type of relationship might be, and yet my yellow stained heart refuses to relinquish the idea that it's still possible. I remember what the hope of eternal love being forcibly wrenched from my heart felt like. The hope was there, beautiful to behold, and the removal of that hope once made me feel as if I had been bereft of something more than just a little bit of company, something more than just a good friend. I felt as if something had reached inside and put out a little yellow light in my heart. And my friends wondered why I didn't date much for awhile after that.
Yellows (or at least I), have the tendency of falling for someone hard, as Tolkien Boy said to describe one of his friends. I'm afraid that this hopeful streak allows us to place all on the single bet of love. It makes for cruel disillusionment, but the rebound is every time more and more beautiful, each time something graceful, a work of art to behold, and each time the yellow is crushed, it comes back with an infusion brighter and fiercer than before. I can honestly say that because I felt that light snuffed out once, it's brighter today, and on better days I have no ill feelings because of the brief lapse of darkness. I'm human, so I can't say that this is true all days, I wish it were, but on better days it's true. I have a hope, the true redeeming characteristic of a yellow, more bright today than before. And before I start sounding too much like a politician, let me change the subject.
A yellow (in other words me) has this knack for doing whatever the other person wants. I know that the moment I found out the plans of someone I was particularly attracted to, I started making my plans around that (even though she certainly had no idea). She wants to major in what? Well, what can I do to support that? She wants how many kids? Sounds like a good idea to me. She wants to live where? Well, all right then, sounds like a nice place. . . and on and on. You can see that this particular trait could be dangerous. She's from what religion? Well, if you put it that way. . . There's many a good man who fell that way, and I am particularly susceptible. At one point in my life, I'm saddened to remember, the attitude of putting that one girl first, a girl to whom (or from whom) there was little real commitment, nearly ruined my friendship with my most loyal friend of the time. That being said and recognized, I have guarded myself against it, and hope in the future to be more true to faith and not false hope.
I have rambled enough about special feelings, about that which binds men and women. About attraction, and my bumbling manner of approaching it. I have on purpose left out any sort of indication as to whether this is a specific or generalized case. To be concise, and to kill questioning on the part of my concerned friends, this is both generalized and specific. General because he's one up from a major. Bad joke, and I know it. But, rather, general because it is in my estimation a correct if rambling assessment of my manner of dealing with affection, and specific because the actual push to define myself came from confusion about something in particular. I hope that you, whoever might read this (that means you too, mom) might not lose your esteem for me, and will be forgiving if I act strangely. I am, after all, a human, and not the most adept at expressing something so precious.
As a side note, this blog also revealed an alarming habit of spelling tendency as tendancy. Thank goodness for spell check.
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