My Dear Reader,
In honor of Madre's fiftieth birthday, we all got together and wrote a memory we have of her. This is mine.
My Madre is not your average woman. There is no way to deny it; the facts are obvious. First of all, she’s given birth to six children, a feat that is becoming rarer even among Latter-day Mormons. Second of all, she actually raised these six children, refusing to use day-cares or the television to do the job, and sacrificed her career on the stage in order to be a Madre one hundred and sixty-eight hours a week. And thirdly, she was able to guide each of her children to obey the commandments of God in a world that sees religiosity as a joke. The fact that her children follow the third of the Ten Commandments, which states that the Lord’s name is not to be taken in vain, especially in a world where the majority of Christians completely disregard the rule, is a testament to my Madre’s everyday obedience to her Creator as well as her determination to love for her children. After all, in this and many other instances, my Madre chose to teach us this principle by way of example.
In twenty-two years, I don’t think that I’ve ever seen my Madre swear once. I’ve seen her get frustrated and angry, and I’ve seen her experience pain, but I’ve never witnessed a single curse word escape from her lips. In fact, she was so consistent in this matter that it wasn’t until I was a teenager that I realized that adults swear all of the time. It wasn’t until I was a little bit older that I started to understand that in American culture, swearing is considered a very adult thing to do, and was so common that the absence of profanities in a movie was noticeable and even made the film unsuitable for adults. And through my experiences, I learned that professing to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints didn’t even stop a lot of people from participating in this “adult” pastime. It was at that point of my life that I began to comprehend how different my Madre was from the general population, and how she belonged to a very elite group of very peculiar people.
I know what you’re thinking, that not swearing might make for a boring life, but anyone who thinks that doesn’t know my Madre. Not only is she one of the most interesting people I have met in the course of my life, but she very strongly believes that the best way to conquer a bad habit is to replace that habit with a good one. And the way that my Madre chose to banish swearing from her life was anything but dull. We tend to be a very honest family, sometimes even brutally so, and when we encounter a situation that would inspire swearing from others, it is unnatural for us to not express our feelings. So instead of using the Lord’s name or a vile word to express her feelings, my Madre found very creative and appropriate alternatives. I remember once being in the car when my Madre had just been cut off and hearing her tell me that the other driver was a J-E-R-K, spelling it out to even keep from uttering that word out loud. I think that was just about as inappropriate as she ever got. In fact, the response that was uniquely hers was this: “Oh, that wasn’t very nice.” And outing people as less than polite was the usual way in which my Madre expressed frustration with others. She didn’t call into question the other person’s circumstances of birth, or refer to them as an animal, or call them a sinner. To my Madre, these were something of a crime, as all people were children of God, and God wasn’t One to offend, as evidenced by the fact that references to Deity were left out of these expressions entirely.
The more that I thought about it, I began to really appreciate it when my Madre said that someone wasn’t very nice, because wasn’t that really what the problem was? My Madre was frustrated not because of someone else’s circumstances of birth or anything else that profanities would indicate as the cause. My Madre was upset because the other person in question was impolite or inconsiderate. He or she might have put her in an uncomfortable of dangerous position, but the truth was that there wasn’t any evidence to make her assume that this wasn’t anything more than what it was, and she called it exactly that. And the more I thought about the way that the world would expect her to respond to this stimuli, I started to think that it wasn’t just the third commandment that she was keeping by her behavior. There was also a little bit of the ninth one involved as well, the one that expressly forbids lying. As I said, we are a very honest family, and through her example, our Madre taught us how to be honest even in our darkest moments.
I suppose that it is hard to say what kind of an influence my Madre behavior really had on the six of us, but I can tell you that we all feel the effects. My Madre’s choice of words was too unique to go unnoticed, and her example made us all seriously consider what we say very carefully. We even do it when she’s not around. And if my Madre could convert six imperfect people to obeying the third (and ninth) commandment just by example alone, my Madre must be an extraordinary woman. All six of us will testify to that.
Regards, best wishes, and I have the best Madre ever,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Song: "Someday, Someone"
My Dear Reader,
I'm posting this piece because it's a little different than what I normally do, not really because I think that it's the best thing that I've ever written. I wrote it when I was feeling slightly melancholy and trying to cheer myself up, and that definitely comes through in the words. Maybe someday I'll come up with a way to make it just a little better. By the way, I call it a song because that's exactly what it is, It even has music to go along with it. It would probably fit in just perfectly with one of those big Broadway hits I'm going to write . . .
Someday someone will love me
Someday someone will care
Someday someone will say to me
“Honey, I’m glad you’re there.”
Someday someone will love me
Who knows who it will be
I hope that he’ll appear to me
I hope that I can see
I don’t expect, I’ve no regrets,
But I have known what heartache is
And I have seen the color green
Escape from me in loneliness
I hate to act that way
So to myself, I say:
Someday someone will love me
Someone that I’ll love too
Someday someone will love me
He’ll be my dream come true
Someday someone will love me
Someday I’ll search no more
Someday our love will carry us
To that far distant shore
To that far distant shore!
-Cecily Jane
I'm posting this piece because it's a little different than what I normally do, not really because I think that it's the best thing that I've ever written. I wrote it when I was feeling slightly melancholy and trying to cheer myself up, and that definitely comes through in the words. Maybe someday I'll come up with a way to make it just a little better. By the way, I call it a song because that's exactly what it is, It even has music to go along with it. It would probably fit in just perfectly with one of those big Broadway hits I'm going to write . . .
Someday, Someone
Someday someone will love me
Someday someone will care
Someday someone will say to me
“Honey, I’m glad you’re there.”
Someday someone will love me
Who knows who it will be
I hope that he’ll appear to me
I hope that I can see
I don’t expect, I’ve no regrets,
But I have known what heartache is
And I have seen the color green
Escape from me in loneliness
I hate to act that way
So to myself, I say:
Someday someone will love me
Someone that I’ll love too
Someday someone will love me
He’ll be my dream come true
Someday someone will love me
Someday I’ll search no more
Someday our love will carry us
To that far distant shore
To that far distant shore!
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The Eggless Adventures
My Dear Reader,
I'm not exactly one of those girls that is into all of those girly Mormon-ey crafty things. You know, like scrapbooking, sewing, cross stitching, cleaning, and the like. Mind you, I admire those who are skilled in these areas, but I have never really cared to be one of them. But there is one thing that I love to do which is equal parts Mormon and feminine, and that is baking. I just love to bake! I bake cakes and cookies, as well as the occasional non-cake-or-cookie item, and I do it all from scratch. Trust me; it's a lot more fun that way.
I think that this love for baking stems from my early childhood when I would pull on my Madre's apron and as her if I could help her in the kitchen. Normally, she would ask me to do one of two things: cut the onions or make the dessert.* Sufficed to say, however, I wasn't entirely enthused about chopping onions, and I was very excited about whatever contained sugar. As a result, I baked a lot as a young girl, and my two sisters did as well. Never in my life did I feel more grown up than when I was baking things, and I imagined myself one day becoming the master chef that my Madre is.
At the same time, I was growing up in a family that sees baked goods as a form of love. Some of my happiest memories as a child was when my two sisters, Madre, and I would spend hours in the kitchen making Rice Krispy Treat bears for the neighbors. We did it mostly at Christmas, but sometimes we would do it without an occasion. It would take all day, and as fun as it was to pour the ingredients, stir the pots, and fill the bear molds, the absolute best part was giving plates upon plates away to the neighbors.** Spending that much time together pooling our talents for the benefit of others taught me a lot about life, love, and service. It also forever burned into my brain the idea that baking could bring people together, that it was essentially a communal activity. It also turned into a foolproof way for me to express affection for others.
Knowing all of this, I bet that you can imagine, Dear Reader, how I felt when I found out that my roommate has a severe allergy to eggs, the prime ingredient in most baking endeavors. It also shows up in he randomest things, like noodles and mayonnaise, meaning that she has to be very careful about everything she puts in her mouth. What a tragedy! Sufficed to say, I knew that something had to be done. So for the past month or so, I've been trying to figure out how to bake things for my roommate that wouldn't make her throw up repeatedly. It was quite the challenge. Luckily for me, I work in a cafeteria that keeps a dietitian on staff who is in charge of feeding people with food allergies. She gave me the key to helping my friend out: Egg Replacer. It's this compound or other that, you guessed it, replaces eggs. My roommate (who, for the sake of clarity, we will refer to as Eggless) was pretty excited when I told her about it. We made a special trip to a health food store in order to purchase it, and directly afterwards we tried to make the one thing that Eggless craved most: waffles. I'm a pretty big fan of waffles myself, so I was eager to see how this mystery substance worked out. We borrowed a waffle maker from a friend and just used the recipe inside the box, making the necessary adjustments. To my great surprise, the waffles turned out really well, and we spent the entire night stuffing our faces with all of the waffles we could cram down our gullets. It was a wonderful experience, the best part being that neither of us threw up. It was like magic!
I was so excited, in fact, that I wanted to see how Egg Replacer worked in other recipes. We decided that our next project would be cream puffs, since they are fairly easy to make, require few ingredients, and impress the socks off of most people. We put everything in the dough except for the eggs, and then divided the dough into two equal parts: one with eggs and one with the mysterious egg-like substance. The results were fairly interesting. The eggful batch turned out marvelously, while the eggless batch didn't turn into cream puffs no matter how hard we tried. Instead of rising into tiny spheres, the balls of dough we put on the baking sheet turned into really, really, hard balls of dough. Eggless nuggets, if you will. The best part was that they were this oddest shade of yellow. I was kind of glad that Eggless suggested that we do a regular batch at that point, because at least we had something to show for our efforts, even if they couldn't be enjoyed by all.
I also tried some recipes that didn't require eggs at all: one for brownies, and one for cake. The former was a butterscotch brownie recipe I got from a cookbook, and though we were ever so excited to try it, we couldn't make it work. We tried twice to make those brownies, and both times we ended up with mush-in-a-pan. It wasn't until the next day that we realized that the first time I'd unwittingly neglected to put in half of the flour mixture into the liquid mixture, and that on the second batch, Eggless had put in baking soda instead of baking powder. Oh well. Our next attempt was a cake, the most challenging of all. Fortunately, however, I found a recipe for vegan cake online. Those clever vegans! I swear, they are the best friends of those who have food allergies. I'm pretty sure that they could figure out how to make a deliciously moist cake out of rocks and Play-Doh. I'd tried to make a vegan cake before for a vegan friend-of-a-sister with limited sucess. The trick is that instead of using the eggs to make the cake rise, you rely on the old fashioned chemical reacion between baking soda and vinegar. And finally, after ten to fifteen years, those elemenatary school science fairs actually came in handy. The cake was a huge hit, and by that I mean I could hardly get people to stop eating it long enough to take a picture of it.
If eggs make you throw up and get hives
Some people make you mayonnaise pies
But I won't! I won't!
If you don't digest like most people do
Some people will not bake for you
But I will! I will!
I'm not exactly one of those girls that is into all of those girly Mormon-ey crafty things. You know, like scrapbooking, sewing, cross stitching, cleaning, and the like. Mind you, I admire those who are skilled in these areas, but I have never really cared to be one of them. But there is one thing that I love to do which is equal parts Mormon and feminine, and that is baking. I just love to bake! I bake cakes and cookies, as well as the occasional non-cake-or-cookie item, and I do it all from scratch. Trust me; it's a lot more fun that way.
I think that this love for baking stems from my early childhood when I would pull on my Madre's apron and as her if I could help her in the kitchen. Normally, she would ask me to do one of two things: cut the onions or make the dessert.* Sufficed to say, however, I wasn't entirely enthused about chopping onions, and I was very excited about whatever contained sugar. As a result, I baked a lot as a young girl, and my two sisters did as well. Never in my life did I feel more grown up than when I was baking things, and I imagined myself one day becoming the master chef that my Madre is.
At the same time, I was growing up in a family that sees baked goods as a form of love. Some of my happiest memories as a child was when my two sisters, Madre, and I would spend hours in the kitchen making Rice Krispy Treat bears for the neighbors. We did it mostly at Christmas, but sometimes we would do it without an occasion. It would take all day, and as fun as it was to pour the ingredients, stir the pots, and fill the bear molds, the absolute best part was giving plates upon plates away to the neighbors.** Spending that much time together pooling our talents for the benefit of others taught me a lot about life, love, and service. It also forever burned into my brain the idea that baking could bring people together, that it was essentially a communal activity. It also turned into a foolproof way for me to express affection for others.
Knowing all of this, I bet that you can imagine, Dear Reader, how I felt when I found out that my roommate has a severe allergy to eggs, the prime ingredient in most baking endeavors. It also shows up in he randomest things, like noodles and mayonnaise, meaning that she has to be very careful about everything she puts in her mouth. What a tragedy! Sufficed to say, I knew that something had to be done. So for the past month or so, I've been trying to figure out how to bake things for my roommate that wouldn't make her throw up repeatedly. It was quite the challenge. Luckily for me, I work in a cafeteria that keeps a dietitian on staff who is in charge of feeding people with food allergies. She gave me the key to helping my friend out: Egg Replacer. It's this compound or other that, you guessed it, replaces eggs. My roommate (who, for the sake of clarity, we will refer to as Eggless) was pretty excited when I told her about it. We made a special trip to a health food store in order to purchase it, and directly afterwards we tried to make the one thing that Eggless craved most: waffles. I'm a pretty big fan of waffles myself, so I was eager to see how this mystery substance worked out. We borrowed a waffle maker from a friend and just used the recipe inside the box, making the necessary adjustments. To my great surprise, the waffles turned out really well, and we spent the entire night stuffing our faces with all of the waffles we could cram down our gullets. It was a wonderful experience, the best part being that neither of us threw up. It was like magic!
I was so excited, in fact, that I wanted to see how Egg Replacer worked in other recipes. We decided that our next project would be cream puffs, since they are fairly easy to make, require few ingredients, and impress the socks off of most people. We put everything in the dough except for the eggs, and then divided the dough into two equal parts: one with eggs and one with the mysterious egg-like substance. The results were fairly interesting. The eggful batch turned out marvelously, while the eggless batch didn't turn into cream puffs no matter how hard we tried. Instead of rising into tiny spheres, the balls of dough we put on the baking sheet turned into really, really, hard balls of dough. Eggless nuggets, if you will. The best part was that they were this oddest shade of yellow. I was kind of glad that Eggless suggested that we do a regular batch at that point, because at least we had something to show for our efforts, even if they couldn't be enjoyed by all.
I also tried some recipes that didn't require eggs at all: one for brownies, and one for cake. The former was a butterscotch brownie recipe I got from a cookbook, and though we were ever so excited to try it, we couldn't make it work. We tried twice to make those brownies, and both times we ended up with mush-in-a-pan. It wasn't until the next day that we realized that the first time I'd unwittingly neglected to put in half of the flour mixture into the liquid mixture, and that on the second batch, Eggless had put in baking soda instead of baking powder. Oh well. Our next attempt was a cake, the most challenging of all. Fortunately, however, I found a recipe for vegan cake online. Those clever vegans! I swear, they are the best friends of those who have food allergies. I'm pretty sure that they could figure out how to make a deliciously moist cake out of rocks and Play-Doh. I'd tried to make a vegan cake before for a vegan friend-of-a-sister with limited sucess. The trick is that instead of using the eggs to make the cake rise, you rely on the old fashioned chemical reacion between baking soda and vinegar. And finally, after ten to fifteen years, those elemenatary school science fairs actually came in handy. The cake was a huge hit, and by that I mean I could hardly get people to stop eating it long enough to take a picture of it.
Doesn't it look normal?
If eggs make you throw up and get hives
Some people make you mayonnaise pies
But I won't! I won't!
If you don't digest like most people do
Some people will not bake for you
But I will! I will!
I'll eat waffles with you
Bake cakes for you,
That's how I'll show my love for you!
After all, that's exacly what my dear Madre taught me to do.
Regards, best wishes, and hivelessness,
-Cecily Jane
* As I grew up, I realized how smart my Madre was for doing this, after all, she could either get the inexperienced helper to either do the most loathsome task (cutting those onions), or to be in charge of the least important menu item (the dessert). That way, it didn't matter if I did the best job possible, because at least one more thing was out of the way. It was genius, really.
* As I grew up, I realized how smart my Madre was for doing this, after all, she could either get the inexperienced helper to either do the most loathsome task (cutting those onions), or to be in charge of the least important menu item (the dessert). That way, it didn't matter if I did the best job possible, because at least one more thing was out of the way. It was genius, really.
**Now, in Utah, they do this all the time. This is because Mormons have to entertain themselves without coffee, tea, tobacco, or alcohol, and therefore have to be very creative. In California, however, this is far from common, which meant that we spent hours of work making these gifts for our neighbors knowing full well that the favor would never be returned. We never really worried about it much, though. We were too busy having the time of our lives.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Scene: FHE Divorce
My Dear Reader,
Here's another scene I intended to use as a Divine Comedy audition. This one is about two Family Home Evening co-chairs who are having difficult times in their fake family. It's kind of strange, but I hope you like it.
Mom: [Name], before we start this FHE planning meeting, I think we need to talk.
Dad: Uh oh.
Mom: What?
Dad: “We need to talk?” How long have we been FHE husband and wife, [name] . . . three months? I think I know you well enough by now to know what you mean by that.
Mom: Well, [name], it’s just that this relationship isn’t working out the way I’d hoped.
Dad: What do you mean?
Mom: Well, I just . . . I just don’t think I can handle this fake marriage anymore! We’re just too different.
Dad: What?
Mom: But I want you to know that it’s not you, it’s me.
Dad: What do you mean?
Mom: Well, it’s not that you’re rude, insensitive, flaky, and obnoxious, but it’s that I can’t handle the fact that you’re rude, insensitive, flaky, and obnoxious. You see? What I really mean to say is that if I was a stronger person, well, I wouldn’t have gotten into this calling in the first place.
Dad: I . . . I can’t believe this is happening! I thought things were going so well!
Mom: Well? WELL? Trust me, there are many words to describe how our relationship has been going. “Nowhere,” maybe, or “out of control,” but definitely not “well.”
Dad: I just don’t understand it! I worked so hard on this relationship! At least I’m not the one who insists that we listen to the Wicked soundtrack during our planning meetings.
Mom: Oh yeah? Well I wasn’t the one who tried to pass off a Halo match as an activity.
Dad: The other guys in the group thought it was a lot of fun.
Mom: This is BYU, [name]. We’ve got three guys and fourteen girls in the group.
Dad: But that doesn’t mean we have to sit and talk what’s happening on The O.C. every week!
Mom: The O.C. is a common interest shared by the majority.
Dad: It’s against the Honor Code.
Mom: And blowing up aliens isn’t?
Dad: It’s quality bonding time. The hours and hours we spend together trying to shoot and kill . . . isn’t it about . . . time?
Mom: I don’t think I’ve seen those kinds of activities on the Church commercials. Maybe we should focus on something a little more . . . in-church-media.
Dad: NO TEA PARTIES!
Mom: Okay, okay. Fine. Just start yelling.
Dad: I’M NOT YELLING. (clears throat) I’m speaking intently.
Mom: See what I mean? As soon as I propose a helpful alternative to your clearly-inappropriate suggestion, you assume the worst and get upset.
Dad: (Skeptically) So you weren’t going to suggest a tea party?
Mom: Of course not.
Dad: Really?
Mom: No!
Dad: Nothing remotely tea party-like?
Mom: No! Well, if you want, we could try out a tea cake party, but that’s completely different.
Dad: [NAME]!
Mom: We did it once for enrichment!
Dad: I am the father and I have repeatedly said that there shall be no tea parties or tea-party-like functions while I am the head of this family!
Mom: And there’s another reason this relationship is failing! We’re co-chairs—equals—and I just can’t stand your tirades any longer!
Dad: But . . .
Mom: I’m serious about this, [name], I’m going to the supervisors right now to ask them to be released.
Dad: But you can’t do that!
Mom: And why not?
Dad: The time we spent together . . . the spiritual thoughts and the refreshments . . . the feelings of group unity . . . are you going to throw all that away?
Mom: Well . . .
Dad: And what about the children? Are you going to make this a single parent family?
Mom: Well, I suppose that we’re only going to be FHE parents for a month or so.
Dad: Yeah?
Mom: And I guess we can hold it together until then, right? For the children?
Dad: (Hugs her) For the children.
-Cecily Jane
Here's another scene I intended to use as a Divine Comedy audition. This one is about two Family Home Evening co-chairs who are having difficult times in their fake family. It's kind of strange, but I hope you like it.
FHE Divorce
Mom: [Name], before we start this FHE planning meeting, I think we need to talk.
Dad: Uh oh.
Mom: What?
Dad: “We need to talk?” How long have we been FHE husband and wife, [name] . . . three months? I think I know you well enough by now to know what you mean by that.
Mom: Well, [name], it’s just that this relationship isn’t working out the way I’d hoped.
Dad: What do you mean?
Mom: Well, I just . . . I just don’t think I can handle this fake marriage anymore! We’re just too different.
Dad: What?
Mom: But I want you to know that it’s not you, it’s me.
Dad: What do you mean?
Mom: Well, it’s not that you’re rude, insensitive, flaky, and obnoxious, but it’s that I can’t handle the fact that you’re rude, insensitive, flaky, and obnoxious. You see? What I really mean to say is that if I was a stronger person, well, I wouldn’t have gotten into this calling in the first place.
Dad: I . . . I can’t believe this is happening! I thought things were going so well!
Mom: Well? WELL? Trust me, there are many words to describe how our relationship has been going. “Nowhere,” maybe, or “out of control,” but definitely not “well.”
Dad: I just don’t understand it! I worked so hard on this relationship! At least I’m not the one who insists that we listen to the Wicked soundtrack during our planning meetings.
Mom: Oh yeah? Well I wasn’t the one who tried to pass off a Halo match as an activity.
Dad: The other guys in the group thought it was a lot of fun.
Mom: This is BYU, [name]. We’ve got three guys and fourteen girls in the group.
Dad: But that doesn’t mean we have to sit and talk what’s happening on The O.C. every week!
Mom: The O.C. is a common interest shared by the majority.
Dad: It’s against the Honor Code.
Mom: And blowing up aliens isn’t?
Dad: It’s quality bonding time. The hours and hours we spend together trying to shoot and kill . . . isn’t it about . . . time?
Mom: I don’t think I’ve seen those kinds of activities on the Church commercials. Maybe we should focus on something a little more . . . in-church-media.
Dad: NO TEA PARTIES!
Mom: Okay, okay. Fine. Just start yelling.
Dad: I’M NOT YELLING. (clears throat) I’m speaking intently.
Mom: See what I mean? As soon as I propose a helpful alternative to your clearly-inappropriate suggestion, you assume the worst and get upset.
Dad: (Skeptically) So you weren’t going to suggest a tea party?
Mom: Of course not.
Dad: Really?
Mom: No!
Dad: Nothing remotely tea party-like?
Mom: No! Well, if you want, we could try out a tea cake party, but that’s completely different.
Dad: [NAME]!
Mom: We did it once for enrichment!
Dad: I am the father and I have repeatedly said that there shall be no tea parties or tea-party-like functions while I am the head of this family!
Mom: And there’s another reason this relationship is failing! We’re co-chairs—equals—and I just can’t stand your tirades any longer!
Dad: But . . .
Mom: I’m serious about this, [name], I’m going to the supervisors right now to ask them to be released.
Dad: But you can’t do that!
Mom: And why not?
Dad: The time we spent together . . . the spiritual thoughts and the refreshments . . . the feelings of group unity . . . are you going to throw all that away?
Mom: Well . . .
Dad: And what about the children? Are you going to make this a single parent family?
Mom: Well, I suppose that we’re only going to be FHE parents for a month or so.
Dad: Yeah?
Mom: And I guess we can hold it together until then, right? For the children?
Dad: (Hugs her) For the children.
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Mr. John Willoughby: Ultimate Bad Boy
My Dear Readers,
After watching the latest BBC version of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility, something occurred to me that I hadn't thought about before: this book breaks just about every cultural stereotype about the bad boy. As Grease and several other works of fiction that have a completely undeserved place in American culture would like to tell you, the bad boy is supposed to be the guy that the girls go for. It's the whole "nice guys finish last" idea, that the sweet and innocent gentleman will get passed over time and time again for the guys who wear leather jackets and have only a vague sense of morality.
This idea, which I find completely repugnant, is a Siamese twin of the "boys will be boys" attitude, which essentially is the foundation of the double standard that has frustrated women since the dawn of time. It means that men, since they possess certain natural instincts, are allowed to indulge their temptations, despite whatever moral standards happen to be widely accepted at the time. And not only does this mean that they end up getting held to no moral standard whatsoever, but it also links immorality with masculinity, meaning that the less moral a guy is, the more that guy is achieving ultimate guyness. In this model, the opposite is true of femininity, which is closely linked to purity.* Thus, in order for men to be men, they must be immoral, while women are only women when they are the supreme example of morality. In my experience, this model is only supported by morally deficient people in the first place, but luckily for the bad boys, there have been enough such people in the world to keep the bad boy image alive and well.
But here's what I don't get, and I think that this is something that have puzzled the nice boys for centuries: why are good girls supposed to go for bad boys? Wouldn't a moral person be attracted to another moral person? Are the bad boys really supposed to win without answering for their sins? And then comes Jane Austen , who solves the riddle by creating a character named John Willoughby, a bad boy in every respect. In fact, he's so bad that he seduces helpless women and abandons them when the arrangement becomes inconvenient. According to the bad boy stereotype, this would make Mr. Willoughby so darn masculine that every good girl in the country would naturally go crazy for him. And one does, by the name of Marianne Dashwood. If Grease is the essence of real human behavior, it would make sense that Marianne would fall so madly for Willoughby that she would find his wild behavior irresistible.
But thankfully, Sense and Sensibility is not Grease, and when Marianne finds out about Willoughby's troubled past, she knows that she must have nothing to do with him. At the same time, when Willoughby's aunt finds out about the girls her nephew has seduced, particularly the one who bears Willoughby's child, this ultimate bad boy is left out on the street, goes into debt, and marries a rich woman he hates in order to survive. The biggest joke here was that to Willoughby, Marianne was a lot more than his most recent conquest. Instead, he felt genuinely in love with her and felt that she was his soul mate. Tragically, Willoughby's previous lifestyle, however masculine, made him unworthy of the woman he loved, and even though he end up being rich, every chance for happiness has been lost forever. And in that tragic moment, Jane Austen struck a boy for good guys everywhere, because no matter what the world may tell you, bad choices lead to unpleasant consequences, and good girls fall for good guys.
Thank you. Miss Austen.
Regards, best wishes, and morality,
-Cecily Jane
*If you don't believe me think about this: why do women traditionally wear the color that symbolizes purity in weddings, while men wear the color that symbolizes sin?
After watching the latest BBC version of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility, something occurred to me that I hadn't thought about before: this book breaks just about every cultural stereotype about the bad boy. As Grease and several other works of fiction that have a completely undeserved place in American culture would like to tell you, the bad boy is supposed to be the guy that the girls go for. It's the whole "nice guys finish last" idea, that the sweet and innocent gentleman will get passed over time and time again for the guys who wear leather jackets and have only a vague sense of morality.
This idea, which I find completely repugnant, is a Siamese twin of the "boys will be boys" attitude, which essentially is the foundation of the double standard that has frustrated women since the dawn of time. It means that men, since they possess certain natural instincts, are allowed to indulge their temptations, despite whatever moral standards happen to be widely accepted at the time. And not only does this mean that they end up getting held to no moral standard whatsoever, but it also links immorality with masculinity, meaning that the less moral a guy is, the more that guy is achieving ultimate guyness. In this model, the opposite is true of femininity, which is closely linked to purity.* Thus, in order for men to be men, they must be immoral, while women are only women when they are the supreme example of morality. In my experience, this model is only supported by morally deficient people in the first place, but luckily for the bad boys, there have been enough such people in the world to keep the bad boy image alive and well.
But here's what I don't get, and I think that this is something that have puzzled the nice boys for centuries: why are good girls supposed to go for bad boys? Wouldn't a moral person be attracted to another moral person? Are the bad boys really supposed to win without answering for their sins? And then comes Jane Austen , who solves the riddle by creating a character named John Willoughby, a bad boy in every respect. In fact, he's so bad that he seduces helpless women and abandons them when the arrangement becomes inconvenient. According to the bad boy stereotype, this would make Mr. Willoughby so darn masculine that every good girl in the country would naturally go crazy for him. And one does, by the name of Marianne Dashwood. If Grease is the essence of real human behavior, it would make sense that Marianne would fall so madly for Willoughby that she would find his wild behavior irresistible.
But thankfully, Sense and Sensibility is not Grease, and when Marianne finds out about Willoughby's troubled past, she knows that she must have nothing to do with him. At the same time, when Willoughby's aunt finds out about the girls her nephew has seduced, particularly the one who bears Willoughby's child, this ultimate bad boy is left out on the street, goes into debt, and marries a rich woman he hates in order to survive. The biggest joke here was that to Willoughby, Marianne was a lot more than his most recent conquest. Instead, he felt genuinely in love with her and felt that she was his soul mate. Tragically, Willoughby's previous lifestyle, however masculine, made him unworthy of the woman he loved, and even though he end up being rich, every chance for happiness has been lost forever. And in that tragic moment, Jane Austen struck a boy for good guys everywhere, because no matter what the world may tell you, bad choices lead to unpleasant consequences, and good girls fall for good guys.
Thank you. Miss Austen.
Regards, best wishes, and morality,
-Cecily Jane
*If you don't believe me think about this: why do women traditionally wear the color that symbolizes purity in weddings, while men wear the color that symbolizes sin?
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Short Story: The Adventures of Logic and Reason
My Dear Reader,
I wrote this story for a class and didn't find out until later that it hadn't been assigned. You might be surprised at how often I do that. I still really enjoyed writing the story, and I think that it gives you a little insight into the way my mind works. Sufficed to say, I too like to banish logic and reason every once in a while. You'll see what I mean.
There is a moment, just before the dreamer opens her eyes after a peaceful night’s rest, that reality and fantasy are blurred. In that moment, there is a gentle bridge between the Dream land and the land of Living, where everything makes sense, and there is no question as to whether horses can fly, or dragons exist, or that the dreamer is far away from her bed on a tropical island.
This world, which the natives call Salim, is visited nearly every night by every human being on Earth, and yet the memory quickly fades, and as it slowly slips from the human mind, Logic and Reason take its place. For this reason, Salim is secret, but unguarded, and hidden, but not lonely.
The inhabitants of Salim, who had lived in this peaceful land for as long as memory existed, loved their land very much. These inhabitants were not few, except for when they were many, and were not male, except for when they were. It was hard to say whether they are real or not, or whether they are concrete and distinct beings, for they could change shape and form to better comfort their visitors. With the absence of Logic and Reason, who had been forever banished from Salim, this was made possible.
No one ever thought that Logic and Reason would be mad at being shut out of Salim. To be honest, no one in Salim thought about anything at all. Logic and Reason, however, thought of everything, and this was their advantage. One day, Logic came up to Reason and demanded Reason to conspire with him.
“If we work together,” Logic said, “the chances of being successful are greater.”
“This sounds reasonable,” Reason reasoned, “but what is the purpose of this effort?”
“If we return to Salim,” Logic droned, “it will be easier to access the Dream World.”
“Oh, the Dream World! I have always wanted to go there!” Reason replied, smiling in spite of herself, “Is it not reasonable to assume that if we are given influence in this new realm, we will have a greater influence on the human mind?” Logic took a deep breath and paused for a bit, and his tired, old face sagged into a sort of frown.
“Yes,” Logic answered, “but it is not logical for me to explain this to you at this time, since you already understand the principle.”
“Obviously,” Reason said.
“Indubitably,” Logic groaned, and fell asleep.
Such was the situation between the land of Living and the land of Salim, although nothing happened for quite some time, as Logic and Reason found anything but thought very restricting. Logic was old and wise, and resolved to sit in his rocking chair and smoke his pipe, until a more logical course of action presented itself. Reason was young and sharp, and carefully searched every possibility before bringing a plan of action to Logic for debate. Since there were an infinite amount of possible ways to conquer the land of Salim to took a very long time for every possibility to be explored.
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the danger that was slowly, but rationally presenting itself, the inhabitants of Salim went on their merry way, fixing what wasn’t broken and discovering what they had already found at least three times before. They played before breakfast and in breakfast and on breakfast. They tasted sounds and listened to smells. They heard what had not been said and ate what didn’t exist. As long as they didn’t think about these things, they were happy, and as long as they were happy, they were content.
Eventually, however, the inevitable happened. Reason had narrowed the infinite possibilities down to the probable possibilities, and brought the probable possibilities to the attention of Logic, who was taking a nap since his services had not been required for quite some time. With her comrade asleep, Reason had to explore another set of infinite possibilities in order to decide how to wake him up.
In the meantime, there was much to be celebrated in the land of Salim. After all, they had kinged the prince and princed the king, who was tired of having absolute power and wanted to be a real boy again. So the people of the land of Salim drank pie and ate confetti to celebrate the blessed occasion. If they had not banished Worry, who waited at the barrier between Salim and Living, the natives might have sensed the coming danger and started to prepare, but they had banned Preparation as well, so her presence might not have made much difference, come to think of it.
Back in Living, Logic woke up on his own, though Reason was rather disappointed that her efforts had been for nothing. Reason wasted no time in telling Logic all of her plans. After she finished, Logic wasted a lot of time rehashing everything she had said, weeding out all of the contingencies that had already been weeded, and then he weeded them again. Reason didn’t mind, though, because she found redundancy excessively entertaining. After all, there was a reason that Logic only had one friend, as there were not many people who could tolerate an old windbag like Logic, besides, the smoke from his pipe smelled like burned cabbage. One might not think that it was logical for a man to have tobacco that smelled like burned cabbage, but since Logic doesn’t like most people, it made sense. And after Logic rehashed the plan, he decided that it wouldn’t be logical to rehash it again, and he spent twenty minutes explaining why. After that, they decided it was time to move. It was lucky for them that the natives of Salim were completely clueless, because in the time that it took Logic and Reason to decide on a plan of action and finally get around to carrying it out, the entire land could have moved out, or built a fortress around their barrier, or written a novel and gotten it published in the time it took them to get to the borders of Salim. They got there all the same, though, and conversed with Worry for quite some time, using her experience as a blueprint for failure. After all, Worry didn’t
exactly have a reputation for actually getting any work done.
Logic and Reason were somewhat confounded when the reached the threshold that separated Living and Salim. It was made out of a single sound, which was shrill and repeated itself over and over.
“That must be the alarm,” Reason reasoned as she clasped her head in her hands.
“If you are referring to the sound of an alarm clock,” Logic said, yelling over the noise, “then I would have to concur.”
This was an unexpected setback for the pair, but Reason should have known that she would have to expect the unexpected. It was Salim that they were trying to get into, after all.
“If there is a sound, it is logical that there is something that makes the sound. That is what we must go after first,” Logic stated, and Reason nodded. But they could not find such a thing, and they did not understand why a sound could act as a gateway between two lands, and it took them hours to figure out what to do next, mostly because Worry kept distracting them with paranoid theories that involved light fixtures.
Finally, Reason proposed a very unique course of action.
“We could just walk through the sound,” she said, causing Logic to raise thick, gray eyebrow at her.
“If it is not logical for a barrier to be made out of a sound in the first place, it is definitely not logical to try to traverse something that cannot exist,” he said.
“Well, is it not logical that the barrier of Salim is completely illogical?” she countered.
“I’m outraged!” Logic huffed, obviously offended, “I believe we’ve already discussed that in order to conquer Salim, we must make it a reasonable place. We cannot start succumbing to their ways.”
“I guess you’re right,” Reason said, lowering her head in humble defeat, “but what do we do now?”
“There’s only one thing we can do,” he said, looking at his wristwatch, “and that is to go home and get some rest. It is rather late and we shouldn’t deprive ourselves of sleep.”
“I suppose,” Reason said, swiftly ending the first (however short) rebellion that she had ever ignited. They walked back home, careful to stay in well-lit areas and watch out for strangers, and never returned to the borders of Salim again, since they were never able to solve the mystery behind the sound of the alarm clock. They were probably better off that way, however, since it was likely that as soon as they entered the land of Salim and saw the absurdity that lived there, they would have either gone crazy themselves or run away as fast as possible.
And then, as if the entire land of Salim had been a dream of some other being, it faded away. Perhaps someday someone will dream it up again, and explore this peaceful land and the happy people who live there. Or perhaps there will come a time when Reason and Logic find their way into Salim. It probably wouldn’t be a pretty sight, though.
-Cecily Jane
I wrote this story for a class and didn't find out until later that it hadn't been assigned. You might be surprised at how often I do that. I still really enjoyed writing the story, and I think that it gives you a little insight into the way my mind works. Sufficed to say, I too like to banish logic and reason every once in a while. You'll see what I mean.
The Adventures of Logic and Reason
There is a moment, just before the dreamer opens her eyes after a peaceful night’s rest, that reality and fantasy are blurred. In that moment, there is a gentle bridge between the Dream land and the land of Living, where everything makes sense, and there is no question as to whether horses can fly, or dragons exist, or that the dreamer is far away from her bed on a tropical island.
This world, which the natives call Salim, is visited nearly every night by every human being on Earth, and yet the memory quickly fades, and as it slowly slips from the human mind, Logic and Reason take its place. For this reason, Salim is secret, but unguarded, and hidden, but not lonely.
The inhabitants of Salim, who had lived in this peaceful land for as long as memory existed, loved their land very much. These inhabitants were not few, except for when they were many, and were not male, except for when they were. It was hard to say whether they are real or not, or whether they are concrete and distinct beings, for they could change shape and form to better comfort their visitors. With the absence of Logic and Reason, who had been forever banished from Salim, this was made possible.
No one ever thought that Logic and Reason would be mad at being shut out of Salim. To be honest, no one in Salim thought about anything at all. Logic and Reason, however, thought of everything, and this was their advantage. One day, Logic came up to Reason and demanded Reason to conspire with him.
“If we work together,” Logic said, “the chances of being successful are greater.”
“This sounds reasonable,” Reason reasoned, “but what is the purpose of this effort?”
“If we return to Salim,” Logic droned, “it will be easier to access the Dream World.”
“Oh, the Dream World! I have always wanted to go there!” Reason replied, smiling in spite of herself, “Is it not reasonable to assume that if we are given influence in this new realm, we will have a greater influence on the human mind?” Logic took a deep breath and paused for a bit, and his tired, old face sagged into a sort of frown.
“Yes,” Logic answered, “but it is not logical for me to explain this to you at this time, since you already understand the principle.”
“Obviously,” Reason said.
“Indubitably,” Logic groaned, and fell asleep.
Such was the situation between the land of Living and the land of Salim, although nothing happened for quite some time, as Logic and Reason found anything but thought very restricting. Logic was old and wise, and resolved to sit in his rocking chair and smoke his pipe, until a more logical course of action presented itself. Reason was young and sharp, and carefully searched every possibility before bringing a plan of action to Logic for debate. Since there were an infinite amount of possible ways to conquer the land of Salim to took a very long time for every possibility to be explored.
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the danger that was slowly, but rationally presenting itself, the inhabitants of Salim went on their merry way, fixing what wasn’t broken and discovering what they had already found at least three times before. They played before breakfast and in breakfast and on breakfast. They tasted sounds and listened to smells. They heard what had not been said and ate what didn’t exist. As long as they didn’t think about these things, they were happy, and as long as they were happy, they were content.
Eventually, however, the inevitable happened. Reason had narrowed the infinite possibilities down to the probable possibilities, and brought the probable possibilities to the attention of Logic, who was taking a nap since his services had not been required for quite some time. With her comrade asleep, Reason had to explore another set of infinite possibilities in order to decide how to wake him up.
In the meantime, there was much to be celebrated in the land of Salim. After all, they had kinged the prince and princed the king, who was tired of having absolute power and wanted to be a real boy again. So the people of the land of Salim drank pie and ate confetti to celebrate the blessed occasion. If they had not banished Worry, who waited at the barrier between Salim and Living, the natives might have sensed the coming danger and started to prepare, but they had banned Preparation as well, so her presence might not have made much difference, come to think of it.
Back in Living, Logic woke up on his own, though Reason was rather disappointed that her efforts had been for nothing. Reason wasted no time in telling Logic all of her plans. After she finished, Logic wasted a lot of time rehashing everything she had said, weeding out all of the contingencies that had already been weeded, and then he weeded them again. Reason didn’t mind, though, because she found redundancy excessively entertaining. After all, there was a reason that Logic only had one friend, as there were not many people who could tolerate an old windbag like Logic, besides, the smoke from his pipe smelled like burned cabbage. One might not think that it was logical for a man to have tobacco that smelled like burned cabbage, but since Logic doesn’t like most people, it made sense. And after Logic rehashed the plan, he decided that it wouldn’t be logical to rehash it again, and he spent twenty minutes explaining why. After that, they decided it was time to move. It was lucky for them that the natives of Salim were completely clueless, because in the time that it took Logic and Reason to decide on a plan of action and finally get around to carrying it out, the entire land could have moved out, or built a fortress around their barrier, or written a novel and gotten it published in the time it took them to get to the borders of Salim. They got there all the same, though, and conversed with Worry for quite some time, using her experience as a blueprint for failure. After all, Worry didn’t
exactly have a reputation for actually getting any work done.
Logic and Reason were somewhat confounded when the reached the threshold that separated Living and Salim. It was made out of a single sound, which was shrill and repeated itself over and over.
“That must be the alarm,” Reason reasoned as she clasped her head in her hands.
“If you are referring to the sound of an alarm clock,” Logic said, yelling over the noise, “then I would have to concur.”
This was an unexpected setback for the pair, but Reason should have known that she would have to expect the unexpected. It was Salim that they were trying to get into, after all.
“If there is a sound, it is logical that there is something that makes the sound. That is what we must go after first,” Logic stated, and Reason nodded. But they could not find such a thing, and they did not understand why a sound could act as a gateway between two lands, and it took them hours to figure out what to do next, mostly because Worry kept distracting them with paranoid theories that involved light fixtures.
Finally, Reason proposed a very unique course of action.
“We could just walk through the sound,” she said, causing Logic to raise thick, gray eyebrow at her.
“If it is not logical for a barrier to be made out of a sound in the first place, it is definitely not logical to try to traverse something that cannot exist,” he said.
“Well, is it not logical that the barrier of Salim is completely illogical?” she countered.
“I’m outraged!” Logic huffed, obviously offended, “I believe we’ve already discussed that in order to conquer Salim, we must make it a reasonable place. We cannot start succumbing to their ways.”
“I guess you’re right,” Reason said, lowering her head in humble defeat, “but what do we do now?”
“There’s only one thing we can do,” he said, looking at his wristwatch, “and that is to go home and get some rest. It is rather late and we shouldn’t deprive ourselves of sleep.”
“I suppose,” Reason said, swiftly ending the first (however short) rebellion that she had ever ignited. They walked back home, careful to stay in well-lit areas and watch out for strangers, and never returned to the borders of Salim again, since they were never able to solve the mystery behind the sound of the alarm clock. They were probably better off that way, however, since it was likely that as soon as they entered the land of Salim and saw the absurdity that lived there, they would have either gone crazy themselves or run away as fast as possible.
And then, as if the entire land of Salim had been a dream of some other being, it faded away. Perhaps someday someone will dream it up again, and explore this peaceful land and the happy people who live there. Or perhaps there will come a time when Reason and Logic find their way into Salim. It probably wouldn’t be a pretty sight, though.
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
America, Parades, and Missionaries: My Fourth of July
My Dear Reader,
I like Independence Day. It's the only day of the year when people don't hassle me about wearing my collection of Old Navy flag tees, which I have bought every year since 1999 and wear as often as I can. If you know me, you know that this is not a joke. I wear them because I love America, and also because I am simultaneously celebrating my independence from the fashion advice of others. This year, however, my Independence Day started on the third of July, not because I went somewhere exciting or because of my apparel, but because that's when people started pitching tents outside of my apartment. There was a parade the next day, and every year I live here I'm surprised at how big of a deal it is. Since the parade route was thirty feet away from where I lived, it was very strange to suddenly have a shantytown of parade enthusiasts join the neighborhood. I tried to imagine them all with lots of scraggly facial hair (yes; all) and a simmering hatred for Herbert Hoover, and they became instantly entertaining. It's pretty amazing what a little imagined facial hair will do.
The next day happened to be a Friday, when I'm scheduled to be at work from 6:15 A.M. to about 7:30 P.M. That means I have to catch the bus at 5:50, and as I greeted the young day with its pink clouds and purple sky, the squatters were still there. Watching me. And of course, you know what they were all thinking: that I was going to steal their primo spots. Well, I wasn't about to let them intimidate me. Does it look like I have a blanket? I didn't think so. And I kind of live here. It's hard enough to get used to waking up that early, but there's another element entirely when you have an audience. They eventually got back to doing whatever squatters do at six in the morning, which turned out to be playing Call to Duty 4 with an HD TV on the lawn of a stranger. I also noticed two trucks perched on the street, one selling pizza, the other selling slushies. And even this early, there was still a line for the Port-O-Potties.
The sad thing was that because of my work schedule, I wasn't going to be able to watch this beloved parade at all. Instead, I would spend the day indoors making sure that thousands of missionaries had food to eat and that their dishes got washed. But it turned out that the parade floats were all sitting in a parking lot that I cut through on my way to the bus stop, so I guess it was kind of like I got to see the parade after all, and I was thinking that it all worked out quite nicely. It wasn't until I got to the bus sop, though, that I realized the buses don't run on holidays, and I started to think that I was not working so nicely after all. And then I started my own personal parade.
I live a little ore than two miles from where I work, which is just great if you happen to have a car. Or a driver's license. Or a bus. I've had to take this parade route many times, in fact I had one it earlier that week while it happened to be a hundred degrees outside. It's times like those when I am particularly grateful that I'm from California, and therefore immune to some extent. Still, when you start your working day pouring with sweat, it's not exactly a good omen. I just don't know how those pioneers did it, because I believe that they walked about thirty miles a day, six days a week for three months. Considering that those were the days before deodorant, polygamy wasn't just controversial; it was a miracle.
My thoughts on the Mormon pioneers were incredibly fitting, I thought. I don't know if you've been watching the latest PBS specials, Gentle Reader, but apparently Mormons equal America. I should have my own national holiday. In all seriousness, though, I think that the pioneers embodied the kinds of things that we celebrate every July fourth: the fight for freedom. That is why they went to Utah, after all, in the hopes that people would stop killing their fathers and husbands in the middle of the night. I know for a fact that the Californian educational system would have you think that they just did it for fun and giggles, but it was quite the contrary. And at six in the morning, it occurred to me that the missionaries I was going to be feeding were our modern-day pioneers. After all, they do sacrifice a lot in order to help people learn how to free themselves from sin through the atonement of Jesus Christ. They're kind of spiritual Minutemen. And suddenly, spending up to fourteen hours that day feeding these guys seemed a very appropriate way to spend my holiday.
I got off in plenty of time to watch fireworks, in case you were wondering. One of the biggest Independence Day thingies in Utah takes place right in my proverbial backyard, which I don't actually have, seeing as I live in an apartment. The entire state was in an uproar because Miley Cyrus (a.k.a Hannah Montana) was going to be performing at the thingie, and she just so happens to be the biggest thing these days. I didn't notice; I've had to read Heart of Darkness every semester for the past three years. Luckily for me, though, it meant that there was more room to watch the firework show on nearby fields. Which was where I watched the fireworks show. I was at first worried that I wouldn't have anyone to spend the holiday with, since Petite Souer, my only relative this side of Salt Lake City, informed me that she and her boyfriend would be spending the evening on a picnic under that stars. It was pretty sad, too, considering how much I am America, especially in my flag tee. She felt sorry for me and invited me to come, but I was way too smart to fall for that trap. Instead, my Nigerian and Bulgarian co-workers invited some of us Americans to share the fireworks with them.* And then, they ended up not being able to find us, so we Americans had to settle for each other. It was fun, and the fireworks weren't bad, either.
We tried to leave right as the show was over so we could beat the traffic, but we grossly misjudged when it would end, and we were in the car right as the finale began. It was pretty cool, though, because we were actually getting closer to the fireworks, and they filled up the entire car window. It was quite a breathtaking experience. And as we drove past the MTC, we saw the missionaries, each standing outside intently watching the fireworks, and all with their hands over their hearts.
They are so America.
Regards, best wishes, and independence,
-Cecily Jane
*They were at first mistaken about the fourth of July, thinking that we were celebrating the end of the Civil War. I soon put them to rights. We could never have a holiday for the Civil War because too many people are still upset about that.
I like Independence Day. It's the only day of the year when people don't hassle me about wearing my collection of Old Navy flag tees, which I have bought every year since 1999 and wear as often as I can. If you know me, you know that this is not a joke. I wear them because I love America, and also because I am simultaneously celebrating my independence from the fashion advice of others. This year, however, my Independence Day started on the third of July, not because I went somewhere exciting or because of my apparel, but because that's when people started pitching tents outside of my apartment. There was a parade the next day, and every year I live here I'm surprised at how big of a deal it is. Since the parade route was thirty feet away from where I lived, it was very strange to suddenly have a shantytown of parade enthusiasts join the neighborhood. I tried to imagine them all with lots of scraggly facial hair (yes; all) and a simmering hatred for Herbert Hoover, and they became instantly entertaining. It's pretty amazing what a little imagined facial hair will do.
The next day happened to be a Friday, when I'm scheduled to be at work from 6:15 A.M. to about 7:30 P.M. That means I have to catch the bus at 5:50, and as I greeted the young day with its pink clouds and purple sky, the squatters were still there. Watching me. And of course, you know what they were all thinking: that I was going to steal their primo spots. Well, I wasn't about to let them intimidate me. Does it look like I have a blanket? I didn't think so. And I kind of live here. It's hard enough to get used to waking up that early, but there's another element entirely when you have an audience. They eventually got back to doing whatever squatters do at six in the morning, which turned out to be playing Call to Duty 4 with an HD TV on the lawn of a stranger. I also noticed two trucks perched on the street, one selling pizza, the other selling slushies. And even this early, there was still a line for the Port-O-Potties.
The sad thing was that because of my work schedule, I wasn't going to be able to watch this beloved parade at all. Instead, I would spend the day indoors making sure that thousands of missionaries had food to eat and that their dishes got washed. But it turned out that the parade floats were all sitting in a parking lot that I cut through on my way to the bus stop, so I guess it was kind of like I got to see the parade after all, and I was thinking that it all worked out quite nicely. It wasn't until I got to the bus sop, though, that I realized the buses don't run on holidays, and I started to think that I was not working so nicely after all. And then I started my own personal parade.
I live a little ore than two miles from where I work, which is just great if you happen to have a car. Or a driver's license. Or a bus. I've had to take this parade route many times, in fact I had one it earlier that week while it happened to be a hundred degrees outside. It's times like those when I am particularly grateful that I'm from California, and therefore immune to some extent. Still, when you start your working day pouring with sweat, it's not exactly a good omen. I just don't know how those pioneers did it, because I believe that they walked about thirty miles a day, six days a week for three months. Considering that those were the days before deodorant, polygamy wasn't just controversial; it was a miracle.
My thoughts on the Mormon pioneers were incredibly fitting, I thought. I don't know if you've been watching the latest PBS specials, Gentle Reader, but apparently Mormons equal America. I should have my own national holiday. In all seriousness, though, I think that the pioneers embodied the kinds of things that we celebrate every July fourth: the fight for freedom. That is why they went to Utah, after all, in the hopes that people would stop killing their fathers and husbands in the middle of the night. I know for a fact that the Californian educational system would have you think that they just did it for fun and giggles, but it was quite the contrary. And at six in the morning, it occurred to me that the missionaries I was going to be feeding were our modern-day pioneers. After all, they do sacrifice a lot in order to help people learn how to free themselves from sin through the atonement of Jesus Christ. They're kind of spiritual Minutemen. And suddenly, spending up to fourteen hours that day feeding these guys seemed a very appropriate way to spend my holiday.
I got off in plenty of time to watch fireworks, in case you were wondering. One of the biggest Independence Day thingies in Utah takes place right in my proverbial backyard, which I don't actually have, seeing as I live in an apartment. The entire state was in an uproar because Miley Cyrus (a.k.a Hannah Montana) was going to be performing at the thingie, and she just so happens to be the biggest thing these days. I didn't notice; I've had to read Heart of Darkness every semester for the past three years. Luckily for me, though, it meant that there was more room to watch the firework show on nearby fields. Which was where I watched the fireworks show. I was at first worried that I wouldn't have anyone to spend the holiday with, since Petite Souer, my only relative this side of Salt Lake City, informed me that she and her boyfriend would be spending the evening on a picnic under that stars. It was pretty sad, too, considering how much I am America, especially in my flag tee. She felt sorry for me and invited me to come, but I was way too smart to fall for that trap. Instead, my Nigerian and Bulgarian co-workers invited some of us Americans to share the fireworks with them.* And then, they ended up not being able to find us, so we Americans had to settle for each other. It was fun, and the fireworks weren't bad, either.
We tried to leave right as the show was over so we could beat the traffic, but we grossly misjudged when it would end, and we were in the car right as the finale began. It was pretty cool, though, because we were actually getting closer to the fireworks, and they filled up the entire car window. It was quite a breathtaking experience. And as we drove past the MTC, we saw the missionaries, each standing outside intently watching the fireworks, and all with their hands over their hearts.
They are so America.
Regards, best wishes, and independence,
-Cecily Jane
*They were at first mistaken about the fourth of July, thinking that we were celebrating the end of the Civil War. I soon put them to rights. We could never have a holiday for the Civil War because too many people are still upset about that.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Scene: Cecily 4 Chancellor
My Dear Reader,
This piece is a sort of faux-infomercial that I intended to use as an audition piece for Divine Comedy. I never got the guts to actually audition (plus I figured that I would like watching their shows better than being a part of it), but now it is hidden from the world no longer! And it's just in time for Independence Day!
Cecily: Hello! My name is Cecily, and I want to be your fascist dictator.
Are you tired of those wannabe dictators who continue to offer the same basic services for the same basic price of eternal loyalty, obedience, and servitude? Today, I am willing to offer you more for your surrender of freedom. In addition to solving the standard problems that other tyrants offer to solve, such as solutions to hunger, poverty, global warming, terrorism, and etc., I am willing to tackle more problems than those other guys, such as:
Bad sitcoms
Crowded elevators
Expensive Bread
Impressionism
Know-it-alls
Long lines
Smelly people
Smokers
Spam
Spitters
Sticks-in-the-mud
Telemarketers
People with bad grammar
People with bad teeth
People who use phrases like “I’m not perfect” “It’s my birthday” or “I’m in love” as lame excuses for bad behavior
People who spit gum on the sidewalk
People who misspell/mispronounce your name
TV/VCR Repair
And people who hate you for no apparent reason
But wait, there’s MORE!
Call within the next sixty seconds, and I promise to add these beneficial programs designed to improve your everyday life, such as:
Free cable
Nightly sing-a-longs
Kids for Clarinets
Second Children Anonymous
Mr. Ed Reruns
Free T-Shirt Tuesdays
Free Pizza Fridays
I Love Cecily Week
To join today, all you need to do is call 1-800-555-Cecily4Chancellor or visit my website: cecily4chancellor.com. That number again is 1-800, Cecily, the number four, chancellor.
So vote Cecily for Chancellor, and convert your freedom into free pizza.
(Oppressive taxes not included. Once power is given, Cecily reserves the right to change her mind at will.)
-Cecily Jane
This piece is a sort of faux-infomercial that I intended to use as an audition piece for Divine Comedy. I never got the guts to actually audition (plus I figured that I would like watching their shows better than being a part of it), but now it is hidden from the world no longer! And it's just in time for Independence Day!
Cecily 4 Chancellor
Cecily: Hello! My name is Cecily, and I want to be your fascist dictator.
Are you tired of those wannabe dictators who continue to offer the same basic services for the same basic price of eternal loyalty, obedience, and servitude? Today, I am willing to offer you more for your surrender of freedom. In addition to solving the standard problems that other tyrants offer to solve, such as solutions to hunger, poverty, global warming, terrorism, and etc., I am willing to tackle more problems than those other guys, such as:
Bad sitcoms
Crowded elevators
Expensive Bread
Impressionism
Know-it-alls
Long lines
Smelly people
Smokers
Spam
Spitters
Sticks-in-the-mud
Telemarketers
People with bad grammar
People with bad teeth
People who use phrases like “I’m not perfect” “It’s my birthday” or “I’m in love” as lame excuses for bad behavior
People who spit gum on the sidewalk
People who misspell/mispronounce your name
TV/VCR Repair
And people who hate you for no apparent reason
But wait, there’s MORE!
Call within the next sixty seconds, and I promise to add these beneficial programs designed to improve your everyday life, such as:
Free cable
Nightly sing-a-longs
Kids for Clarinets
Second Children Anonymous
Mr. Ed Reruns
Free T-Shirt Tuesdays
Free Pizza Fridays
I Love Cecily Week
To join today, all you need to do is call 1-800-555-Cecily4Chancellor or visit my website: cecily4chancellor.com. That number again is 1-800, Cecily, the number four, chancellor.
So vote Cecily for Chancellor, and convert your freedom into free pizza.
(Oppressive taxes not included. Once power is given, Cecily reserves the right to change her mind at will.)
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Human Beings: Works in Progress
My Dear Reader,
There is one age-old anti-Christian (or, more appropriately, anti-God) argument that just won't stop coming up, and it's this: how can God exist when there is pain and suffering in the world? In my class on religious philosophy, we spent a lot of time trying to figure this one out. After all, since God is all-powerful, couldn't He have created a perfect world? And if He does exist and did not create a perfect world, is God really infinitely good? It's definitely something to think about, after all, how many times do we find ourselves trying to make sense of adversity? Buddha saw this, and his way of getting around it was by saying that life was made of pain and suffering, and that the best way to get around it was to stop all desire. Now, I think that there's a lot of value in that argument, but it doesn't really explain why evil exists, and out of all of the philosophers that I have studied last semester, I think that the guy that got it head-on was a man by the name of John Hick.
Instead of thinking of this world as a final destination, Hick saw it as an in-between stage. Instead of seeing people as created beings, Hick viewed mankind as beings still in the process of being created. In this view, pain is an integral part of the creation process, and rather than being evil or something to avoid, becomes "soul-making." It's an interesting thought. If the creation period didn't just last seven days, but is still ongoing,* and if the perfect world that anti-Godists demand is still in the works, that pain that we each suffer might make a little more sense. After all, nature has testified to us on multiple occasions that creation requires a little pain, which is why I'm pretty glad that I don't remember being born. In addition, the life that Christians are taught to expect after death is supposed to be a paradise, or a perfect world. Thus, life changes from being the awful place that Westly claims it is and instead becomes the process of human creation. That just blows my socks off.
Of course, those who are aware of Mormon theology can understand why I'm so drawn to this conclusion. Essentially, Joseph Smith made this same argument many times. It actually leads us to that one doctrine we have that everybody condemns us for: we believe that we are God's children in a very literal sense. We believe that He made us in His image, meaning that we are formed the way He is formed, if only on a superficial level for now. And since we are His children, we believe that we have the ability to grow and become like our Father. The doctrine might have made Romney lose the race, but it offers something that no other argument for suffering can: it tells us that our suffering has a divine propose, and that God understands suffering perfectly. After all, He knows how to use it as a tool to create the most divine creation imaginable.
I know that a lot of Christians have a big problem with this doctrine, but I don't think that the Bible does. After all, one only has to read Romans 8:16-18, which says:
Regards, best wishes, and questions,
-Cecily Jane
*Just to clarify, I'm not negating the Biblical claim that the Earth was created in seven days (or, as the original Hebrew says, seven periods). I'm one hundred percent pro-Bible. I'm just proposing that perhaps the creation process for human beings was separate and a bit longer.
There is one age-old anti-Christian (or, more appropriately, anti-God) argument that just won't stop coming up, and it's this: how can God exist when there is pain and suffering in the world? In my class on religious philosophy, we spent a lot of time trying to figure this one out. After all, since God is all-powerful, couldn't He have created a perfect world? And if He does exist and did not create a perfect world, is God really infinitely good? It's definitely something to think about, after all, how many times do we find ourselves trying to make sense of adversity? Buddha saw this, and his way of getting around it was by saying that life was made of pain and suffering, and that the best way to get around it was to stop all desire. Now, I think that there's a lot of value in that argument, but it doesn't really explain why evil exists, and out of all of the philosophers that I have studied last semester, I think that the guy that got it head-on was a man by the name of John Hick.
Instead of thinking of this world as a final destination, Hick saw it as an in-between stage. Instead of seeing people as created beings, Hick viewed mankind as beings still in the process of being created. In this view, pain is an integral part of the creation process, and rather than being evil or something to avoid, becomes "soul-making." It's an interesting thought. If the creation period didn't just last seven days, but is still ongoing,* and if the perfect world that anti-Godists demand is still in the works, that pain that we each suffer might make a little more sense. After all, nature has testified to us on multiple occasions that creation requires a little pain, which is why I'm pretty glad that I don't remember being born. In addition, the life that Christians are taught to expect after death is supposed to be a paradise, or a perfect world. Thus, life changes from being the awful place that Westly claims it is and instead becomes the process of human creation. That just blows my socks off.
Of course, those who are aware of Mormon theology can understand why I'm so drawn to this conclusion. Essentially, Joseph Smith made this same argument many times. It actually leads us to that one doctrine we have that everybody condemns us for: we believe that we are God's children in a very literal sense. We believe that He made us in His image, meaning that we are formed the way He is formed, if only on a superficial level for now. And since we are His children, we believe that we have the ability to grow and become like our Father. The doctrine might have made Romney lose the race, but it offers something that no other argument for suffering can: it tells us that our suffering has a divine propose, and that God understands suffering perfectly. After all, He knows how to use it as a tool to create the most divine creation imaginable.
I know that a lot of Christians have a big problem with this doctrine, but I don't think that the Bible does. After all, one only has to read Romans 8:16-18, which says:
The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together. For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.The term "heir" implies that we will inherit what God currently has. The term "joint-heirs" specifically defines the future relationship that we will have with Christ as an equal one. That's a lot to think about, and perhaps a subject for a later time. But these verses also speak of suffering as a way of being glorified, as if Paul (and, as Paul says, the Holy Spirit) agrees that suffering is necessary before we can get this inheritance. Most importantly, these verses claim that pain we suffer in this life is nothing compared to the glory we have awaiting us. And if all of this is true, then the question now is not why suffering happens our lives. The question, instead, is how we can each take the suffering that is given us and use it to become the beings that God is in the process of making.
Regards, best wishes, and questions,
-Cecily Jane
*Just to clarify, I'm not negating the Biblical claim that the Earth was created in seven days (or, as the original Hebrew says, seven periods). I'm one hundred percent pro-Bible. I'm just proposing that perhaps the creation process for human beings was separate and a bit longer.
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