My Dear Reader,
I usually never, never, never respond when people tag me in their blogs. Especially here. That's because blog-tagging is the new chain text, which is the new force-pointless-Facebook-applications-on-your-friends, which is the new chain e-mail, which is the new chain letter. It is perhaps the greatest travesty of our times that only one of the devilish practices mentioned above is illegal. All of them are, of course, the collective arch-enemy of leave-me-alone-and-let-me-post/text/arrange my Facebook page/e-mail/write-as-I-please.
However, I decided to cave in not only because I have been tagged by several millions of people within the past week (and I am afraid that the Internet at large might explode if I don't appease the masses), but also because the tag in question actually might be in line with the purposes of this blog: to prove to you that white people and/or Mormons (read: me, the antithesis of Whitedom and Mormondom) aren't boring. I'm going to say sixteen random facts about myself, like the tag says, but I will not be tagging other people. As an American, I honestly don't want to tell you what to post. So here we go:
Sixteen Random Facts that Will Convince You that Cecily Jane and All White and/or Mormon People are Definitely Interesting
1. Whenever, and I mean whenever I go out in public, I pretend that I'm a B-list celebrity who's going incognito. I'm very good at not getting recognized.
2. Because I consider myself the creative type, I try to avoid ever saying, "I never even imagined that this could happen to me/I never even dreamed that this was possible." I do this by systematically imagining every contingency in the universe. And yes, I'm pretty sure that I would know what to expect if I fell into a cosmic whole that spit me out into a parallel universe where I was an out-of-work ninja.
3. If I could get away with it without being improper, I would wear colorful pajama pants every second of every day.
4. Whenever I see roadkill, I compulsively pray for the poor thing. I'm not sure what I expect God to do about it, though. This comes in part from the fact that I generally appose zombie-animals.
5. I can't stand wearing flip flops. At all. Whenever I see a guy wearing flip flops, I resign myself to the fact that we can just be friends.
6. When I was growing up, my parents had a total of somewhere around five CDs, including the South Pacific soundtrack, "The Singles 1969-1973" by The Carpenters, the soundtrack to Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?, and "Greatest Hits" by Cat Stevens. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have probably listened to these CDs hundreds of times each.
7. I never pierced my ears because I just don't see the appeal in putting artificial holes in my flesh and dangling metal through them as a form of social ritual. To be fair, I also feel the same way about neck stretching.
8. I suspect that people who wear Santa hats in public are of questionable character.
9. I don't go for guys who don't keep the hair on the back of their necks neat and straight. And I can't help it.
10. I haven't had television in my home for almost five years. That means that I sometimes stay on my computer until three or four 0'clock Friday mornings because I'm waiting for the latest episode of The Office to come online.
11. I'm kind of embarrassed of being a Lost fan because I don't consider it deep enough. And yes, that does mean that I think The Office is deeper than Lost.
12. I have imagined every contingency in which I have magically become a character in every television show I have ever liked.
13. I once tried eating sea urchin, and I will never, never do that again.
14. Whenever I'm bored in class, I try to guess what my teacher/professor is like at parties. I've figured out which ones sit in the corner reading Dickens, and which ones end up with the lamp shade on their heads. It makes class one heck of a lot more fun.
15. My favorite word in the English language is "yarmulke."
16. I'm pretty sure that my penchant for confessing my own secrets, resulting in this post and perhaps this entire blog, has something to do with my thousands of years of Catholic ancestry.
Regards, best wishes, and yes, this is all true,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Short Story: "Rachael and Sarah"
My Dear Reader,
I wrote this a couple of years ago, so it may not be as great as stuff I've written recently, but I decided to post it anyway because I think that it captures a part of humanity that isn't documented often. Or something.
Rachael was cutting celery in the kitchen when she heard the familiar jingling of keys outside of her door. She placed her knife down gently, rinsed her hands, and quickly walked to the door. Turning the knob, she found Sarah standing in the welcome mat, shuffling through her backpack in the search for keys. Hearing the door open, Sarah looked up, saw Rachael, and frowned.
“You don’t have to keep the door locked all the time, you know,” she said.
“I know,” Rachael replied, sighing to herself a bit, “but I was home alone and, well, you can never be too careful.” Rachael stepped back into the apartment, closing the door and making sure the door was locked.
“So, how was your day?” Rachael asked as she went back to her celery. Sarah waited until Rachael was too far away to see her unlocking the door, and then flung herself on the couch.“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, taking a deep breath and resting her tired eyes for a second.
“You don’t sound very convincing,” Rachael replied with a smile, “did you have a rough day?” Sarah rolled her eyes and scowled.
“I said it was fine. Just an average day. Nothing out of the usual,” she insisted.
“Well, if it was just and average day why are you . . .”
“I said it was fine!” Sarah interrupted as she angrily got up and stormed to her room. Rachael sighed again as she watched Sarah leave. There was obviously something wrong, but why wouldn’t she talk about it? Why was she always so cold and unresponsive? They were already two months into the semester, and yet Rachael felt they were practically strangers. How would she and her other roommates be able to gel as an apartment when Sarah was always either gone or in a bad mood? Would they just have to tolerate each other for nine months, or would they become actual friends?
Lying on her bed, Sarah closed her eyes, took deep breaths, and tried to calm herself down. She hated Rachael’s constant questioning and goodie-goodie attitude. Her other roommates didn’t demand to know what she was doing at every single minute, so what was Rachael’s problem? Sarah was an adult, after all, and she answered to no one. So who cared if she had just broken up with her boyfriend or not? And why did she have to report it to anyone? Rachael is nice and all, Sarah thought, but sometimes she can be just . . . intolerable.
-Cecily Jane
I wrote this a couple of years ago, so it may not be as great as stuff I've written recently, but I decided to post it anyway because I think that it captures a part of humanity that isn't documented often. Or something.
"Rachael and Sarah"
Rachael was cutting celery in the kitchen when she heard the familiar jingling of keys outside of her door. She placed her knife down gently, rinsed her hands, and quickly walked to the door. Turning the knob, she found Sarah standing in the welcome mat, shuffling through her backpack in the search for keys. Hearing the door open, Sarah looked up, saw Rachael, and frowned.
“You don’t have to keep the door locked all the time, you know,” she said.
“I know,” Rachael replied, sighing to herself a bit, “but I was home alone and, well, you can never be too careful.” Rachael stepped back into the apartment, closing the door and making sure the door was locked.
“So, how was your day?” Rachael asked as she went back to her celery. Sarah waited until Rachael was too far away to see her unlocking the door, and then flung herself on the couch.“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, taking a deep breath and resting her tired eyes for a second.
“You don’t sound very convincing,” Rachael replied with a smile, “did you have a rough day?” Sarah rolled her eyes and scowled.
“I said it was fine. Just an average day. Nothing out of the usual,” she insisted.
“Well, if it was just and average day why are you . . .”
“I said it was fine!” Sarah interrupted as she angrily got up and stormed to her room. Rachael sighed again as she watched Sarah leave. There was obviously something wrong, but why wouldn’t she talk about it? Why was she always so cold and unresponsive? They were already two months into the semester, and yet Rachael felt they were practically strangers. How would she and her other roommates be able to gel as an apartment when Sarah was always either gone or in a bad mood? Would they just have to tolerate each other for nine months, or would they become actual friends?
Lying on her bed, Sarah closed her eyes, took deep breaths, and tried to calm herself down. She hated Rachael’s constant questioning and goodie-goodie attitude. Her other roommates didn’t demand to know what she was doing at every single minute, so what was Rachael’s problem? Sarah was an adult, after all, and she answered to no one. So who cared if she had just broken up with her boyfriend or not? And why did she have to report it to anyone? Rachael is nice and all, Sarah thought, but sometimes she can be just . . . intolerable.
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Preview: Apocalypse
My Dear Reader,
The worst thing that could have ever happened to Salem, OR, happened this Sunday.
It snowed.
Oh, yes. A whole two inches. Sufficed to say, the city was in chaos. You see, it's illegal in Salem to use the best weapon we have against icy roads: salt. Salt is great for getting rid of snow, but it's not so great for the roads themselves, and I guess that Salem lawmakers decided that it wasn't worth it. So when we got a crazy, out-of-nowhere snow storm on Sunday, we were all in for a big heap of trouble. The roads were so slick and icy that, according to HermanaMayor, "If you aren't driving like a grandma, you're going too fast." And the roads were like that for all of Sunday. And Monday. And guess what, it's like that today, too. My guess is that the one snowplow in town just hasn't made it to our street yet, which is too bad because we're on a hill so steep the we literally had to park a block away and walk home.
After living in Utah for the past few years, this whole thing just looks ridiculous. If this happened in Provo, the streets would have been clear within an hour, and life would have gone on as usual. Instead, we're essentially waiting for the sun to give us a bailout. Stores are closed, not to mention the schools, and there are literally abandoned cars parked along the streets. You know what I think about when I see abandoned cars along the road? Apocalypse movies. You know, like the one with the alien, and the one with the meteor, and the one with the polar ice caps? All of those had similar conditions to what I've witnessed over the past few days, though on a smaller scale, and all of them made a particular mention to abandoned cars.
And that got me to thinking: what if the real apocalypse (you know, the one that John the Revelator told us about) was kind of like this? What if the major catastrophes that are going to befall us are actually avoidable if we are just prepared? What if the epic events come, and we have all of the tools to fix the issue, but we are stopped by artificial rules that we have placed upon ourselves, like the law against putting salt on the roads?
It's just a thought. After all, we were told to be prepared multiple times by multiple sources, and HermanaMayor is also famous for saying that the Lord doesn't waste our time. What if people who take the time to prepare themselves spiritually and physically for the real apocalypse end up to be what Salem would have been with a better contingency plan?
Either way, I've got this strange mental picture of all of these angels watching us from the Heavens during the end of days and saying to each other. "Oh golly! Why didn't they just get those extra snowplows like John told them to?" Try it, Gentle Reader, and if you always picture angels like the Family Circus guy draws them, then picturing them will help you giggle your way through whatever life throws at you.
Regards, best wishes, and Boy Scout mottos,
-Cecily Jane
The worst thing that could have ever happened to Salem, OR, happened this Sunday.
It snowed.
Oh, yes. A whole two inches. Sufficed to say, the city was in chaos. You see, it's illegal in Salem to use the best weapon we have against icy roads: salt. Salt is great for getting rid of snow, but it's not so great for the roads themselves, and I guess that Salem lawmakers decided that it wasn't worth it. So when we got a crazy, out-of-nowhere snow storm on Sunday, we were all in for a big heap of trouble. The roads were so slick and icy that, according to HermanaMayor, "If you aren't driving like a grandma, you're going too fast." And the roads were like that for all of Sunday. And Monday. And guess what, it's like that today, too. My guess is that the one snowplow in town just hasn't made it to our street yet, which is too bad because we're on a hill so steep the we literally had to park a block away and walk home.
After living in Utah for the past few years, this whole thing just looks ridiculous. If this happened in Provo, the streets would have been clear within an hour, and life would have gone on as usual. Instead, we're essentially waiting for the sun to give us a bailout. Stores are closed, not to mention the schools, and there are literally abandoned cars parked along the streets. You know what I think about when I see abandoned cars along the road? Apocalypse movies. You know, like the one with the alien, and the one with the meteor, and the one with the polar ice caps? All of those had similar conditions to what I've witnessed over the past few days, though on a smaller scale, and all of them made a particular mention to abandoned cars.
And that got me to thinking: what if the real apocalypse (you know, the one that John the Revelator told us about) was kind of like this? What if the major catastrophes that are going to befall us are actually avoidable if we are just prepared? What if the epic events come, and we have all of the tools to fix the issue, but we are stopped by artificial rules that we have placed upon ourselves, like the law against putting salt on the roads?
It's just a thought. After all, we were told to be prepared multiple times by multiple sources, and HermanaMayor is also famous for saying that the Lord doesn't waste our time. What if people who take the time to prepare themselves spiritually and physically for the real apocalypse end up to be what Salem would have been with a better contingency plan?
Either way, I've got this strange mental picture of all of these angels watching us from the Heavens during the end of days and saying to each other. "Oh golly! Why didn't they just get those extra snowplows like John told them to?" Try it, Gentle Reader, and if you always picture angels like the Family Circus guy draws them, then picturing them will help you giggle your way through whatever life throws at you.
Regards, best wishes, and Boy Scout mottos,
-Cecily Jane
Friday, December 12, 2008
Short Story: "Oscar Night"
My Dear Reader,
Here's that short story that I promised back in October. Enjoy!
The red carpet was so crowded with stars and paparazzi that some reporters had to put their hands over their eyes to shield themselves from the constant flashing of cameras. Two or three photographers buzzed around each couple as the actors were interviewed, testing the composure and professionalism of all involved. When another limo pulled up to the carpet, the flashes started even before the passengers came out from behind the tinted windows.
When the limo door opened, and the flashing got worse, Roland Burns had to squint as he waved. When he turned back to help Mina Needham get out, he held his hat out so it could cast a shadow over her eyes. Mina smiled graciously and called back to Brendon Everill, who closed his eyes completely as he stepped out into the swarm of reporters and photographers. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
Mina’s cream, tea-length gown would no doubt be splattered all over celebrity magazines in the next few days, with commentary on its elegant simplicity and what it meant about her career and character. Her cream shoes, pearled handbag, and dark curls would get a similar treatment. The same would probably not be so for Roland and Brendan’s black tuxes and bow ties, but that didn’t seem to calm Brendan’s nerves as the trio was inundated with questions.
“Roland! Are you and Mina a couple?”
Roland had to put on a smile as he shook his head, and the three of them walked a little ways down the carpet arm-in-arm. They separated as they were interviewed about their upcoming movies, though Mina cast a few concerned glances in Brendan’s direction.
“I think that this role was very important to me, because it let me flex a few muscles, as it were,” she let out a small laugh and apologized for the pun. “It was great to take a break from my usual characters—you know, the girls-next-door and such—” She stopped as Roland put his hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear, then excused herself. It was too noisy to hear what they were saying, but the cameras followed them as they made their way back to the beginning of the red carpet, Roland looking more and more worried. When they stopped on the curb, one of the sound technicians was able to put his boom mic close enough to pick up some of their words.
“What do you think is wrong, then?” Mina asked. Her tone was strangely genuine.
“I don’t know; it’s just a weird feeling. Like something bad’s about to happen. . . oh, no.”
A camera was able to follow Roland’s gaze fast enough to catch the flash of a knife going into black leather, only a few feet away. As one man sunk to his knees, the other took his weapon and fled.
Without a word, the stars sprinted off in two directions, and while Roland managed to catch the man before he hit the ground, Mina kicked off her high heels and chased the stabber barefoot across the busy street. She was going at top speed, with her dress and her hair flowing behind her, dodging cars left and right. When she caught him, she pulled his leather coat with her left hand and clenched the arm that held the knife with her right. He went down like a roped bull, and Mina was able to get the knife out of his hand quickly. It took a few seconds before the police caught up to them, and she wiped her forehead as she walked away, an army of policemen handcuffing and reading rights behind her.
“Mina! What just happened?”
Mina rubbed her temples as she tried to guarantee everyone that things were under control and that she was definitely not a hero. As she explained the martial arts she had taken in preparation for her latest role, she heard a familiar voice call her name, and saw Brendan put his hand on his upper arm and point to hers. It was only when she looked at her own arm that she realized that the knife had grazed her, and that she was bleeding pretty badly. She excused herself and went towards Brendan, who was undoing his bowtie.
“I talked to Roland; the guy will be fine,” he assured her, taking his tie and wrapping it around her wound. “He was able to stop the blood, and the ambulance is on the way. It’s a good thing that you were there.” He winced as the cameras started flashing in his face, and Mina suggested that they should tend to the large number of actors who were probably feeling very neglected.
When they left and it seemed that there were no eyes on them, he was able to finish stopping her blood. She reached out her hand and touched his arm as a gesture of gratitude, and suddenly, after a full year of playing opposite her, Brendan finally found the courage to plant an unscripted kiss on her lips. She returned the kiss with even more appreciation.
From the window of a nearby hotel suite, two children watched them in amazement.
“It’s just like a movie,” Katie squealed, watching the chaos unfolding down below.
“Well, it’s the best movie I’ve ever seen!” Mikey said.
Here's that short story that I promised back in October. Enjoy!
Oscar Night
The red carpet was so crowded with stars and paparazzi that some reporters had to put their hands over their eyes to shield themselves from the constant flashing of cameras. Two or three photographers buzzed around each couple as the actors were interviewed, testing the composure and professionalism of all involved. When another limo pulled up to the carpet, the flashes started even before the passengers came out from behind the tinted windows.
When the limo door opened, and the flashing got worse, Roland Burns had to squint as he waved. When he turned back to help Mina Needham get out, he held his hat out so it could cast a shadow over her eyes. Mina smiled graciously and called back to Brendon Everill, who closed his eyes completely as he stepped out into the swarm of reporters and photographers. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
Mina’s cream, tea-length gown would no doubt be splattered all over celebrity magazines in the next few days, with commentary on its elegant simplicity and what it meant about her career and character. Her cream shoes, pearled handbag, and dark curls would get a similar treatment. The same would probably not be so for Roland and Brendan’s black tuxes and bow ties, but that didn’t seem to calm Brendan’s nerves as the trio was inundated with questions.
“Roland! Are you and Mina a couple?”
Roland had to put on a smile as he shook his head, and the three of them walked a little ways down the carpet arm-in-arm. They separated as they were interviewed about their upcoming movies, though Mina cast a few concerned glances in Brendan’s direction.
“I think that this role was very important to me, because it let me flex a few muscles, as it were,” she let out a small laugh and apologized for the pun. “It was great to take a break from my usual characters—you know, the girls-next-door and such—” She stopped as Roland put his hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear, then excused herself. It was too noisy to hear what they were saying, but the cameras followed them as they made their way back to the beginning of the red carpet, Roland looking more and more worried. When they stopped on the curb, one of the sound technicians was able to put his boom mic close enough to pick up some of their words.
“What do you think is wrong, then?” Mina asked. Her tone was strangely genuine.
“I don’t know; it’s just a weird feeling. Like something bad’s about to happen. . . oh, no.”
A camera was able to follow Roland’s gaze fast enough to catch the flash of a knife going into black leather, only a few feet away. As one man sunk to his knees, the other took his weapon and fled.
Without a word, the stars sprinted off in two directions, and while Roland managed to catch the man before he hit the ground, Mina kicked off her high heels and chased the stabber barefoot across the busy street. She was going at top speed, with her dress and her hair flowing behind her, dodging cars left and right. When she caught him, she pulled his leather coat with her left hand and clenched the arm that held the knife with her right. He went down like a roped bull, and Mina was able to get the knife out of his hand quickly. It took a few seconds before the police caught up to them, and she wiped her forehead as she walked away, an army of policemen handcuffing and reading rights behind her.
“Mina! What just happened?”
Mina rubbed her temples as she tried to guarantee everyone that things were under control and that she was definitely not a hero. As she explained the martial arts she had taken in preparation for her latest role, she heard a familiar voice call her name, and saw Brendan put his hand on his upper arm and point to hers. It was only when she looked at her own arm that she realized that the knife had grazed her, and that she was bleeding pretty badly. She excused herself and went towards Brendan, who was undoing his bowtie.
“I talked to Roland; the guy will be fine,” he assured her, taking his tie and wrapping it around her wound. “He was able to stop the blood, and the ambulance is on the way. It’s a good thing that you were there.” He winced as the cameras started flashing in his face, and Mina suggested that they should tend to the large number of actors who were probably feeling very neglected.
When they left and it seemed that there were no eyes on them, he was able to finish stopping her blood. She reached out her hand and touched his arm as a gesture of gratitude, and suddenly, after a full year of playing opposite her, Brendan finally found the courage to plant an unscripted kiss on her lips. She returned the kiss with even more appreciation.
From the window of a nearby hotel suite, two children watched them in amazement.
“It’s just like a movie,” Katie squealed, watching the chaos unfolding down below.
“Well, it’s the best movie I’ve ever seen!” Mikey said.
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Christ Parallels in Superman and Batman
My Dear Reader,
Okay, I think that the new Batman movie has been out long enough for me to talk about it, right? I've been postponing this post for a long time in order to ensure that the timing would be appropriate, since I talk about some things that would probably spoil the plot for you if you are still waiting to see the movie. I also talk about the last Superman movie, but I'm not going to be nearly as spoiler-y. Essentially, what I'm trying to say is that you should read the rest of this post at your own risk.
Well, I saw The Dark Knight in theaters, which means a lot coming from me. I went with a bunch of friends during the day because evening prices are exorbitant. And let me just say that I was glad that bright daylight greeted me as I left the movie theater, because the movie was just about as much dark as I could handle at the moment. They definitely titled that movie with care! And while there was a lot in the film that I didn't like, the things that Batman said at the very end really made me think. If you recall, Batman is put in a terrible position--his friend, Harvey Dent, the hero of the city, essentially goes insane and does a lot of really, really bad stuff. Like kill people. And it turns out that if people find out that the incorruptible Harvey Dent did it, that it would severely damage the morale of the people who once believed in him. So Batman decides to take the blame. All of it. Even though he is guiltless, he is taking the sins of another upon himself for the good of many. And that made me think a little bit about someone else who took upon Himself the sins of all mankind, at a very great cost.
But I'm sure, Gentle Reader, that if you were looking for a superhero that was very much like the Savior of the world, you would probably think about Superman before you think about Batman. The reason is fairly obvious, especially if you saw Superman Returns. It's almost like they're trying to force-feed the parallel to Christ to you, what with Jor-El saying, "Live as one of them, Kal-El, to discover where your strength and your power are needed. Always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage. They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you . . . my only son." I mean, come on! And he's coming back for a second time. And he has abilities to do things that regular human can't do. And he's so darn pure, supposedly.* They should have just titled the movie Superman Equals Jesus.
But Superman never did what Batman did. Superman always had a great public image, and he always managed to find a way to do the dirty work and keep his hands clean, which is great, don't get me wrong. If Christ had lived his life the same way, He still would have been as perfect as He was. He still would have used His abilities to perform just as many miracles, and He still would have been a remarkable historic figure and a great example. In fact, I would say that if Christ lived as Superman did, He definitely would have deserved the secular Christmas that many celebrate. Batman, on the other hand, chose to suffer unjustly in order to make things work. He went beyond the mark, sacrificing himself for his friends. We are profoundly blessed that Jesus Christ did the same for us, and more. Not only did He bleed at every pore, and not only did He choose to die to atone for the sins of everyone who lived, is living, or will live, but He conquered death, rose again, and offered the gift of ressurrection to all of God's children. So, I guess saying that Christ exemplified the best of Batman and Superman seems a little trite. There really is no comparison. After all, what Christ did was real, while the other two were only fiction. Christ was the kind of real that makes Him more than worthy of our devotion and worship. It makes the true Christmas, the religious holiday, a wonderful and precious thing.
Most of all, it proves that Christ is, quite literally, the best superhero ever.
Regards, best wishes, and a true Christmas season,
-Cecily Jane
*That's what I hated about the movie--that he had a secret love-child with Lois? Are you kidding me? This is Superman, and first of all, he wouldn't do that, and second of all, are we absolutely sure that an alien and a human can even reproduce? I mean, seriously. I thought this guy was supposed to be a role model.
Okay, I think that the new Batman movie has been out long enough for me to talk about it, right? I've been postponing this post for a long time in order to ensure that the timing would be appropriate, since I talk about some things that would probably spoil the plot for you if you are still waiting to see the movie. I also talk about the last Superman movie, but I'm not going to be nearly as spoiler-y. Essentially, what I'm trying to say is that you should read the rest of this post at your own risk.
Well, I saw The Dark Knight in theaters, which means a lot coming from me. I went with a bunch of friends during the day because evening prices are exorbitant. And let me just say that I was glad that bright daylight greeted me as I left the movie theater, because the movie was just about as much dark as I could handle at the moment. They definitely titled that movie with care! And while there was a lot in the film that I didn't like, the things that Batman said at the very end really made me think. If you recall, Batman is put in a terrible position--his friend, Harvey Dent, the hero of the city, essentially goes insane and does a lot of really, really bad stuff. Like kill people. And it turns out that if people find out that the incorruptible Harvey Dent did it, that it would severely damage the morale of the people who once believed in him. So Batman decides to take the blame. All of it. Even though he is guiltless, he is taking the sins of another upon himself for the good of many. And that made me think a little bit about someone else who took upon Himself the sins of all mankind, at a very great cost.
But I'm sure, Gentle Reader, that if you were looking for a superhero that was very much like the Savior of the world, you would probably think about Superman before you think about Batman. The reason is fairly obvious, especially if you saw Superman Returns. It's almost like they're trying to force-feed the parallel to Christ to you, what with Jor-El saying, "Live as one of them, Kal-El, to discover where your strength and your power are needed. Always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage. They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you . . . my only son." I mean, come on! And he's coming back for a second time. And he has abilities to do things that regular human can't do. And he's so darn pure, supposedly.* They should have just titled the movie Superman Equals Jesus.
But Superman never did what Batman did. Superman always had a great public image, and he always managed to find a way to do the dirty work and keep his hands clean, which is great, don't get me wrong. If Christ had lived his life the same way, He still would have been as perfect as He was. He still would have used His abilities to perform just as many miracles, and He still would have been a remarkable historic figure and a great example. In fact, I would say that if Christ lived as Superman did, He definitely would have deserved the secular Christmas that many celebrate. Batman, on the other hand, chose to suffer unjustly in order to make things work. He went beyond the mark, sacrificing himself for his friends. We are profoundly blessed that Jesus Christ did the same for us, and more. Not only did He bleed at every pore, and not only did He choose to die to atone for the sins of everyone who lived, is living, or will live, but He conquered death, rose again, and offered the gift of ressurrection to all of God's children. So, I guess saying that Christ exemplified the best of Batman and Superman seems a little trite. There really is no comparison. After all, what Christ did was real, while the other two were only fiction. Christ was the kind of real that makes Him more than worthy of our devotion and worship. It makes the true Christmas, the religious holiday, a wonderful and precious thing.
Most of all, it proves that Christ is, quite literally, the best superhero ever.
Regards, best wishes, and a true Christmas season,
-Cecily Jane
*That's what I hated about the movie--that he had a secret love-child with Lois? Are you kidding me? This is Superman, and first of all, he wouldn't do that, and second of all, are we absolutely sure that an alien and a human can even reproduce? I mean, seriously. I thought this guy was supposed to be a role model.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Poem: "Anger and I"
My Dear Reader,
Fiction Fridays are back! The return to Fiction Fridays will be kicked off with this Emily Dickinson-inspired puzzle-poem. True to puzzle-poem form, you have to figure out what the subject of the poem is based on clues in the text. (A great Dickinsonian example can be found here.) This particular poem is structured that way because I think it adds to the feeling of the poem, not because it's hard to figure out. In fact, it should be pretty obvious.
Anger and I, we work as a team
He turns them red, and I turn them green
I whisper that something they love has been lost,
He keeps them worried, and shaken, and tossed
I make them fear that their love's on a hinge,
He makes their hearts burst and cry for revenge
I lie to them about what they deserve
He lies of audacity, gall, and of nerve
We work well together, dear Anger and I
So no lover can love, despite how they try.
-Cecily Jane
Fiction Fridays are back! The return to Fiction Fridays will be kicked off with this Emily Dickinson-inspired puzzle-poem. True to puzzle-poem form, you have to figure out what the subject of the poem is based on clues in the text. (A great Dickinsonian example can be found here.) This particular poem is structured that way because I think it adds to the feeling of the poem, not because it's hard to figure out. In fact, it should be pretty obvious.
Anger and I
Anger and I, we work as a team
He turns them red, and I turn them green
I whisper that something they love has been lost,
He keeps them worried, and shaken, and tossed
I make them fear that their love's on a hinge,
He makes their hearts burst and cry for revenge
I lie to them about what they deserve
He lies of audacity, gall, and of nerve
We work well together, dear Anger and I
So no lover can love, despite how they try.
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Why I Lost NaNoWriMo
My Dear Reader,
I didn't make it to 50,000 words this time. I didn't even make it to 40,000. Or 25,000. Or 15,000. This year, after being so psyched about writing my second 30-day novel, I finished at a mere 12,000 words. Pathetic, I know.
Of course, I did write about 10,000 of those words in three days, which I find pretty awesome. I guess that that means I can write a novel in fifteen days, which you must agree, is impressive. And on one of those days, I was driving down to California and sharing a single source of computer juice with my three brothers*.
You see, there is this little thing we have in America called Thanksgiving. I celebrate Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is about being with my family and remembering my personal American heritage by, among other things, consuming various New World foods and proclaiming thankfulness for the sacrifice of others. It's hard to write 40,000 words while doing that.
It's especially hard when you have a family like mine.
Madre's side of the family, the most of which live in the Sacramento, are just about as Mormon as you can get without putting egg whites in your hair. There are somewhere around fifty of us, if you don't include the second cousins and great aunts that are normally there on the fourth Thursday of November. And there are more children than you can shake a stick at, though we generally choose not to try. And yes, we are all Mormons and we love just how Mormon we are.
If you do not have the experience of a large family, picture this: a smallish three-bedroom home that was bought so long ago that it's actually paid off. Now, imagine people filling every nook and cranny of the aforementioned house, and that each of these people seem to have an odd-but-keen desire to separate into groups by age and talk to each other. Five to ten percent of the time, one of the adults or teens will break into song. About sixty percent of the time, all parties are erupting with laughter. The rest of the time is divided between eating a sample of fifteen different dishes served from fifteen mismatching pots and going bananas over whoever happens to be the newest baby. Meanwhile, a pack of children that resembles so many wolves roams through the house, though they mostly go unnoticed until one of the wolf-children starts crying.
This is what I have taken part in at least once a month for the majority of my life. I started out as the newest baby, and worked my way from a wolf-child into a teen, and this year I rose to the rank of potato peeler/English expert, which is actually pretty high on the family ladder. Some day I expect to be promoted to adult, though it seems that my bachelor's degree and twenty-three years of experience at living have failed to qualify me for the position. But of course, HermanaMayor has two more years of experience, served a mission, is applying for law school, and still isn't considered an adult, so maybe I'm counting my chickens a little too early.
I actually brought my laptop, a cantankerous lady that I refer to by the name of Eris, and fooled myself into believing that I could actually make myself finish my novel while all of this family was going on around me. And then I decided to take Thanksgiving off from writing, if only to catch up with my relatives that were older than twelve and make sure that my relatives younger than twelve know what my name is (going to college tends to make this a challenge). And then I realized that children under the age of twelve were going to be involved, including as few high-profile babies (the terms "high-profile" and "baby" being synonymous).
And just so you know, when babies are put into the mix, the Cecily does not get any writing done at all. So, I didn't really get my novel done, but I don't mind. I'll try another novel next year and I'm hoping that: a) Thanksgiving is earlier in the month and b) I'm not such a slacker between November 1st and November 23rd.
Regards, best wishes, and a pack of wolf-children,
-Cecily Jane
*And as several of my aunts will tell you, my brothers have an ever-increasing dependence on computer juice. Sometimes it's kind of like my brothers have turned into a large, three-headed Mr. Hyde, and computer juice is the only antidote.
I didn't make it to 50,000 words this time. I didn't even make it to 40,000. Or 25,000. Or 15,000. This year, after being so psyched about writing my second 30-day novel, I finished at a mere 12,000 words. Pathetic, I know.
Of course, I did write about 10,000 of those words in three days, which I find pretty awesome. I guess that that means I can write a novel in fifteen days, which you must agree, is impressive. And on one of those days, I was driving down to California and sharing a single source of computer juice with my three brothers*.
You see, there is this little thing we have in America called Thanksgiving. I celebrate Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is about being with my family and remembering my personal American heritage by, among other things, consuming various New World foods and proclaiming thankfulness for the sacrifice of others. It's hard to write 40,000 words while doing that.
It's especially hard when you have a family like mine.
Madre's side of the family, the most of which live in the Sacramento, are just about as Mormon as you can get without putting egg whites in your hair. There are somewhere around fifty of us, if you don't include the second cousins and great aunts that are normally there on the fourth Thursday of November. And there are more children than you can shake a stick at, though we generally choose not to try. And yes, we are all Mormons and we love just how Mormon we are.
If you do not have the experience of a large family, picture this: a smallish three-bedroom home that was bought so long ago that it's actually paid off. Now, imagine people filling every nook and cranny of the aforementioned house, and that each of these people seem to have an odd-but-keen desire to separate into groups by age and talk to each other. Five to ten percent of the time, one of the adults or teens will break into song. About sixty percent of the time, all parties are erupting with laughter. The rest of the time is divided between eating a sample of fifteen different dishes served from fifteen mismatching pots and going bananas over whoever happens to be the newest baby. Meanwhile, a pack of children that resembles so many wolves roams through the house, though they mostly go unnoticed until one of the wolf-children starts crying.
This is what I have taken part in at least once a month for the majority of my life. I started out as the newest baby, and worked my way from a wolf-child into a teen, and this year I rose to the rank of potato peeler/English expert, which is actually pretty high on the family ladder. Some day I expect to be promoted to adult, though it seems that my bachelor's degree and twenty-three years of experience at living have failed to qualify me for the position. But of course, HermanaMayor has two more years of experience, served a mission, is applying for law school, and still isn't considered an adult, so maybe I'm counting my chickens a little too early.
I actually brought my laptop, a cantankerous lady that I refer to by the name of Eris, and fooled myself into believing that I could actually make myself finish my novel while all of this family was going on around me. And then I decided to take Thanksgiving off from writing, if only to catch up with my relatives that were older than twelve and make sure that my relatives younger than twelve know what my name is (going to college tends to make this a challenge). And then I realized that children under the age of twelve were going to be involved, including as few high-profile babies (the terms "high-profile" and "baby" being synonymous).
And just so you know, when babies are put into the mix, the Cecily does not get any writing done at all. So, I didn't really get my novel done, but I don't mind. I'll try another novel next year and I'm hoping that: a) Thanksgiving is earlier in the month and b) I'm not such a slacker between November 1st and November 23rd.
Regards, best wishes, and a pack of wolf-children,
-Cecily Jane
*And as several of my aunts will tell you, my brothers have an ever-increasing dependence on computer juice. Sometimes it's kind of like my brothers have turned into a large, three-headed Mr. Hyde, and computer juice is the only antidote.
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