Email

So today I was really thinking about doing things and taking action because I believe In God and believe that he's telling me to do such things (which sounds really vague...) One of the things God has been talking to me about lately is serving other people and putting their needs and interests before myself. I get so sick of the realization of how self-absorbed I can be. Sometimes when I'm writing I count up how many sentences start with I and I get really frustrated. But that's not my point! Anyway, as I was at one store I walked to my car and thought, what if I parked as far away from the store as possible, so that the other drivers could have a better choice of parking spots. At first this sounded kind of idiotic to me, but then as I thought about it more, it began to seem like a good way to put other people first. I mean how often do we get excited when we see a parking spot that is super close to the store? Always, especially when it's raining or really hot. So why should I get that parking spot before anyone else. Does that sound really nitpicky and ridiculous? I don't know....it's the little things I guess. It's good to have little things to work on and triumph over. Makes me feel like I'm accomplishing something.

I have a question for you. You said earlier that you have a hard time realizing that Christ is the son of God. Why is that? I was reading a book the other day (Blue Like Jazz-Donald Miller) and he was describing a couple of situations where some people he knew were about to accept Christ but were going through a period of trying to figure out if they really believed that Christ was God's son. When I read about those struggles, about those people truly grappling with the idea that Christ was the son of God I felt a little left out, because I've never thought about it before. I don't know for sure, but I imagine it's because I've heard it all my life: Jesus is God's son, Jesus is God's son, etc. I hear that this is a crazy thing for Jesus to have said, that He was God's son....but it is just all very normal to me, kind of like waking up and being able to walk-you don't think about it, it just is.

Have you ever thought about how stunning it would be to completely give your life over to one belief? :D Obviously that's what we say we do with God. Why is Christian spirituality so difficult? I just looked over at some movies in my room and saw Braveheart which made me think about being totally sold out to just one belief and giving up everything else, safety, security, comfort for the sake of it. I know I'm repeated about a million different people. Every time I think about being totally sold out to God I feel like I'm standing on this huge cliff and I've just been told to fly. Adrenaline rushes in and there's the crazy feeling you get right before you do something that you know isn't really all that rational or smart or that you know might get you hurt. It's just a decision away, flying with God. If you ask me this whole walking with God business is very mundane. It should be motorcycling with God, flying with God, white water rafting with God....something that if you get off track and aren't in the hands of a master you would be in a really really dangerous situation, much more dangerous than if you had stayed with him. I like those metaphor better.

That was a bit of a tangent! Great!

Reading a Book for Pleasure

I have to be careful about reading. During the quarter, especially this quarter, there's been so much to read literature-wise, and it tends to eat up whole days of time, daring you to get behind in the schedule so it can devour your weekend. Anytime I pick up a book that it not on my scholastic reading list I have to be careful not to get too into it or I'll take all my time reading that book and ignoring my scholarly duties.

I started reading Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz maybe two weeks ago and it's taken over my life. Not because I'm reading it all the time, but because I'm thinking about it all the time. I've been thinking about the nature of belief...why I believe the things that I do. I'm not necessarily doubting what I do believe because it seems implausible, I hope I'm done with intellectual faith crises (hopefully...), I just keep wondering if I really do believe it. Because if I did believe it wholeheartedly I'd probably.....do better. I don' t know, I lost my train of thought.

Anyway, I've also been thinking about whether I care about people or if I'm just super duper selfish and don't consider anything other than myself. I'm self-absorbed. I realize it and it's beginning to cause me pain, little pinpricks of pain. The trouble is, whenever I try to do anything to not be self-absorbed, I end up being more self-absorbed than I was before. Or at least just tumbling back into that valley. I can't do it.

Obviously there's hope for me. And we all know the right answers.

Another thing: Miller was talking about grace and how a lot of the time he felt like he was above grace because he wasn't a "charity case." When he said this I balked, because that's how I feel 100% of the time. I'm okay, really, my problems aren't that deep. I haven't murdered anyone yet so I'm doing pretty good. My pride is eating me up. I don't need charity God, I'm doing okay. But I'm not doing okay. Because if God didn't give grace to me I'd be going to hell because I sin and do evil things. I can't accept grace because I don't want to go to hell and then refuse further grace because now I think I'm okay and "good enough."

The next step is weird. I don't know how these concepts can be real. God feels nebulous most of the time. There are moments that I know He's real because I can absolutely see His work and feel His love very clearly. But then there are other moments, moments that feel just as real, when my heart is hard and cold and question whether or not He's there at all. It's weird to me how I can go from absolutely knowing He's there to almost completely denying it. Am I that shifty on other things as well? Or is it only with God?

Just some things I've been thinking about.

Madame Blueberry I Presume?

I'm blue.

Actually, I'm not blue. I'm a kind of pink color that's real fine. This is only an object lesson.

People say that when they're sad or depressed. I'm blue. I'm not sure what that means. It makes me think of Madame Blueberry from VeggieTales. (Which, if I might have the audacity to say, was much better in its early years.) "I'm so Blue-hoo-hoo Blue-hoo-hoo Blue-hoo-hoo-hooooo! I'm so blue I don't know what to do!" That's what she sings. I've certainly had moments of blue in my life. January was one big blue...and so was June-July of last year, all blue. But the nice thing about blue is that it dissipates. And then this happens...I don't know what color you would call it. Orange is the complement to blue so maybe I'm orange. It's the opposite of blue. Contentment, peace, joy: it's all orange. I wish it was green because that's my favorite color. But orange works well. And it's the color of that one fruit. You know...they call them oranges. Which was a real big breakthrough in fruit marketing. Kind of like a pop/country crossover. Fruit/color crossover. I don't know what I'm saying. But it was a hit. Orange. I'm orange.

Wouldn't it be nice to be orange forever? When I think about that question I immediately want to respond, "Oh yes, Orange would be good! Orange for the rest of my life!" But really, and this is basic, without the blue we'd never know how nice of a change orange is. If you're looking at pure orange, let's say you're standing in an orange room with orange furnishings and orange accessories, then you begin to go a little insane. It's too much orange; makes your eyes go crazy. But if there was some blue in there. Maybe a blue pillow or a blue curtain or a blue rug, then the orange gets so much better, deeper, richer.

I'm saying the same thing that other's have said before. And guess what? It's still true. Joy and Sorrow hold hands. Peace and Suffering are best friends. We really can't have one without the other.

Love and Loveliness

Is it possible to love another person for no reason at all? Or do there have to be reasons? I suppose any choice a person makes usually has reasons that support and/or lead up to that choice. They're not always good reasons.

I don't think it's possible to love another person for no reason at all. Even when we claim that we don't have reasons we usually do and are just too afraid to share those reasons.

I don't know why the English language only has one word for love. I think we would benefit if our language were more like Greek, with five (or is it four? I can't remember...) different words for love meaning almost completely different things. We have tons of adjectives that can somewhat describe love, but they don't get even close to being an actual word that embodies the essence of any kind of meaning. That's really annoying and can be very confusing. Why don't we have different words for different loves? Is it because love isn't important enough to us? (I'm thinking of that story [which may or may not be true] about how Eskimos have something like 400 different words for snow because they are constantly surrounded by it)

I can love Person A and Person B but feel distinctly different feelings about them both. Perhaps Person A is my father or sister and Person B is my best friend or a friend that I'm not close with anymore. But the feelings of love I have for those two people are completely different....so are those different kinds of love? Or are they just different facets of one love? Perhaps that is it. At least, that would make sense. Especially since God says "I am love"...all of these other loves would stem off of that, different points of view from the same source. Father, Son, Holy Spirit.

Sometimes I feel like it's wrong to love some people. Well, not necessarily wrong, that's a strong word. Hmmm, more like...sometimes I feel like it's not as acceptable to love some people. I'm not talking about serial killers or evil villains or whatever. I'm thinking more about the people in my life who the world tells me I should be angry with or have nothing to do with. Sometimes I feel like I love those people even more.

And where is the exact point in a romantic relationship where the couple can tell each other "I love you" and it not be a huge mistake? That's the trouble with not having different words for love. I love you like a brother is very different from I want make sweet sweet love to you which is also different from I want to spend the rest of my life with only you. Where does it start? At what place on the line does it start out from? And where does it progress to? Does it keep progressing? Or is there a certain love that takes the cake (humanly speaking) and can never be surpassed? And that's where you could say, "Well, duh Alise, it stops at God. He's the ultimate Love." And I'd go, duh, yeah, I believe you. But as a human I can never give out that kind of love. So, for humans, does it just progress and progress, getting more and more perfect because even though we can never get close to God's Love, at least we can get somewhat within the neighborhood of it? Can romantic love even get anywhere close to the neighborhood of God's Love, or is romantic love naturally flawed because it contains amounts of eroticism that can too easily lead one into idolatry? What would the closest love to God's love be? Parent to child love? That metahpor doesn't always work, obviously, but in the best possible case maybe it could dwell in the neighborhood of God's love.

Is there anyone, on earth and alive, who has never felt love? Is that even possible? Is it possible not to feel love while living in a world that was created by God? Is it possible not to experience love? I mean really, can we ever truly deny love? People love us regardless of whether we want them to or not. Kind of like how people can hate us regardless of how we feel about that. So even if we deny that they love us, it doesn't stop them from loving us...unless we killed them. That'd stop 'em. Jesus loves us...and we can't stop that, even if we deny it.

So there's some questions to think about. :D

Librarians Should Pay Better Attention

Anyone who visits libraries, at some point in their life, will no doubt encounter something weird within those book-containin' walls. In most cases the strangeness will stem from some odd book found among the shelves like a malformed, yet still beautiful, diamond among rocks. But there are moments when the books must be ignored because someone strange has walked in who needs immediate scrutiny.

A while ago, when I was in high school, my mom and I took one of our monthly trips to the library to return old books and procure new ones. We were standing by the stacks that contained new arrivals when a man walked near us muttering to himself. He was wet. By wet I'm not saying that he was merely a little damp from sweat or a bit of rain, etc. No, this man was dripping wet as if he has just taken a refreshing swim in a river or canal before taking a leisurely stroll around the library.

I've also had my fair share of people who hold conversations with either themselves or their imaginary friends (or are those the same?), but those experiences are more or less commonplace in the library.

Today I had another weird experience at the university library. When you walk into the library there is big, closed off reading room filled with comfy chairs immediately to the right. I had some reading to do for my Restoration Literature class later that day so I walked in, found myself a promising chair and settled in for a good two hours or so of sweet literary bliss. As I was immersed in the imaginary world of the 18th century, I was disturbed in the 21st by the sound of someone to my right crumpling a piece of paper. I looked over at the man sitting at the table to my right and watched him crumple up a piece of paper into his hand. After he did this he brought the fistful of paper to his mouth and proceeded to tear off a significant piece of the paper ball with his teeth. What a strange habit, I thought as I watched, thinking that he might spit the paper back out soon. But he didn't spit the paper out, he just sat there and started to chew on the piece of paper that was in his mouth. Chew, chew, chew, he chewed for quite a while. I sat there staring rudely at him in rapt attention wondering if he might actually do what I thought he was going to do. He did. He swallowed the piece of paper and went back for another irresistibly tasty bite. I was in the reading room for quite a while after that trying to get my focus back on 18th century literature, but I was a goner. I might as well have packed up and left because I couldn't stop watching the Paper Eater.

He made my day.

Working Progressively.

Makeup Babies

Makeup babies dressing in purple shoes
And strapping holy hand grenades to their
Swinging, shapeless, awkward, bony, square hips.
Their hearts are being gift wrapped in slick plastic,
Their souls are now bound in magazine pages,
Their eyes are scaled over with TV glasses.
For this year and that year they’ll hold this pose,
Until later when they’ll burst from the sack
And whip their heads frantically left and right.
They will peer at the sun, glance at the world,
And hope, wistfully, that life will slow down.

Three Days

I've missed out on writing for the last three days. Not because I've had anything better to do...well, that's a lie, because I have had better things to do. But the point I'm trying to make is not that I had better things to do and THEREFORE I didn't write a blog, but that I had better things to do and didn't ever get around to doing those important things OR writing a blog. So really, if you think about it and don't draw up a truth table because my argument would probably be very, very unsound, I'm really saying that writing a blog was one of the important things I was thinking of doing and just never got around to doing.

I don't know exactly how I'm still conscious after writing that last paragraph.

Actually, I'm a bit sad that I missed out on writing for the last three days because a lot has happened between now and Thursday. Because it's 1:45 AM and I don't feel like recapping all of my lame adventures, I will simply dole out a very unreliable list of things that happened in no particular chronological order. The challenge will be to try and figure out what happened on what day. Friday, Saturday and Sunday are the choices. Ready? Go!

-Ate some chocolate.
-Stood in the rain waiting for my neighbor to come and give my car a jumpstart.
-Walked to class in rain that was pouring down sideways.
-Got very wet and looked like a soaked Schnauzer.
-Called AAA to come tow Gladys, but they jumped her instead.
-Ate lunch at BJs.
-Ate dinner at Thai House with my friend Cameron.
-Watched Bolt with Cameron.
-Talked to a guy about a fireworks booth. Actually, I listened and was cold and miserable.
-Was cold and miserable and at one point I couldn't feel my toes.
-Installed a new and improved washer and dryer
-Taught 1-3 graders about King David.
-Wanted to shoot all those 1-3 graders.
-Decided for the millioneth time that 1-3 graders are not my choice age group.
-Sang the wrong verse for a song.
-Forgot my special music song at home.
-Realized that I am rather selfish.
-Cleaned my room.

Notice that nowhere on this list did I write "Did my homework" or ""Did something useful." Now granted, installing a washer and drying is very useful, and so is getting to know people over dinner or at church. Maybe I should clarify. By useful I mean scholastically accomplishing something. That didn't happen this weekend. Whenever I start to feel bad I just pop some more chocolate in my mouth.

Works like a charm.

Incoming Message From the Big Giant Head

Yo! Guess what classes I'm taking for Spring quarter?

If you guessed English classes then you are only 1/3 correct!

Critical Approaches to Literature (which apparently is a psycho class with lots of heavy reading and lameness. It's one of those classes that people take and thereafter decided to change their major.)

Ceramics! (Yeah!)

And some random Political Thought Processes class, which I'm not terribly adverse to taking.

So I'm sorry, but I just needed to gush out what I feel was my good fortune at being able to take a wide variety of classes that seem very interesting. :D

On other topics, in the Local section of yesterday's newspaper there was a picture of a paramedic unit helping someone while a guy dressed into a superman costume stood by. This picture is pure photojournalism gold. The superman wannabe is an old man and the costume he's wearing has little feet attached, as if the costume were actually footie pajamas. So delightful! When I asked my mom is she had seen the picture she told me that she had AND that the superman guy was a patient of hers who paints his toenails and wears a superman t-shirt underneath his clothes all the time. So now you know what happened to Clark Kent. He got old, moved to Bakersfield, and every once in a while goes out into the world to help people.

Life is so fun.

The Biscuit Battle: Update

Tonight when I got home from class I stood at the counter in our kitchen gazing at the sad burned biscuits that will probably end up moldy instead of eaten. I was hungry, and dearly wanted a biscuit, but I didn't want THOSE biscuits. Call me snobby when it comes to food, but I just don't like to eat burnt biscuits. Not in my dietary plan for life. So I decided that I was going to retry the biscuits and see if they came out any better.

In accordance with the changes I said I was going to make yesterday, I went to the store and got some buttermilk. I mixed up those sweet lovely things, cut them out (sadly I didn't have another biscuit cutter with no roof, BUT I did pat the dough out thinner than I did last time, which actually seemed to work better...not to mention it gave me more biscuits, which is always a desirable circumstance), put them on a better pan than last time, popped them in the oven and set them for 15 minutes instead of 18. I ended up taking them out at 12 minutes, because they looked lovely then.

And they were lovely. Let me tell you folks, I love these little biscuits. This all may seem ridiculous to you, but biscuits are very important. If you're not eating good biscuits in your life then you may want to refocus and get to know people who will feed you well, because biscuits are like a major food group all by themselves. A good biscuit is almost like a meal in itself.

So, I was successful! And I am very glad for it. But I have yet to win my mom over to the veggie shortening/buttermilk biscuits. She's still partial to the simple self-rising biscuits that we usually make at our house. I don't know about this...I determined tonight that even though I really enjoy these new biscuits, I'm going to have to do a taste comparison.

Tune in soon for the ultimate Biscuit Battle Challenge.

St. Valentine's Hopelessly Romantic Plea

Closure is important to me.

It never used to be. I used to forfeit friendships and relationships and never felt the need to go back and close the doors or bind the wound (if there was a wound). Leaving was key and it was good enough for me.

But leaving really isn't good enough, because if you leave the wound unbound or the bone unset it will heal into a deformed shape that may turn out to be more painful than the original hurt itself.

So I started an experiment that grew like an obnoxious weed out of my conscience and I traveled back to the lands I had given up for loss and the people who I had once felt so superior to. And the most important words I ever said were "I'm sorry." I'm sorry I was a self-righteous punk who wouldn't make amends or say the healing words that our dissolving friendship needed in order to be whole again. Would it really have been so hard to do? My pride and ego at that time said yes, it was quite impossible. But now I understand the how wrong that was.

Strange random notice, for some reason this blog posting thingamajig doesn't recognize contractions are real word. I keep having to add them to the dictionary. BUT, it does recognize thingamajig, so there is still some hope left in the world.

Break's over, time to get back to the issue at hand. Closure. One of the scariest levels of any kind of acquaintance, friendship, or more-than-friendship-relationship is being unsure of where you stand within that relationship. Am I a friend? Am I an enemy? Are you indifferent to me? What? What?! Tell me, tell me, tell me if we're okay. I hope we're okay. I've never been much into delicate conflict, where the two parties dance around an issue with masks on trying not to step on one another's toes. Just get on out there and say it! That's my philosophy. I'll be the first to admit that it's not always the most effective method, but at least we're not hiding anything! :D But that is neither here nor there.

I just like closure is all. That's all I'm really trying to say.

Also, Happy almost Valentine's Day. I wouldn't have remembered that it was this week if I hadn't of gotten a flower today. It smells really nice. I've been connected to two people on Valentine's Day before. The first got me a pot of tulips that I left out too long without planting and the roots rotted away. Kind of a funny juxtaposition to that relationship if you really think about it. I don't remember what happened on the other Valentine's Day on which I was attached. We might have been separated by distance on that day. Ha! Another excellent metaphor. I'm not trying to be ironical...it's just working out that way. Find the humor in it. Without humor life is, well, a drag.

I like Valentine's Day, but I think it would be better if the focus were shifted. Maybe we could all meditate on the value of relationships in our lives...and I do mean the romantic ones. Every single relationship I have been in has taught me something incalculably valuable. And the only one I can thank for that is God. Sometimes I wonder what my eyes would look like if He didn't occasionally wipe them clean of the debris of misunderstanding and stupidity. Yeah. I'd be blind, not doubt about that. And blindness sucks.

To say the least.

I made some biscuits today. I was trying out a new recipe (Bless you for read to the end of this. If you make it send me a comment so I can congratulate you on getting through my rambles) that uses, GASP, vegetable shortening. My mother was very against this; she almost refused to buy the stuff. But she gave in, because she's the coolest. I mixed these good ol' buttermilk biscuits up and put them in the oven and then 18 minutes later out came some okay biscuits that were a little burnt. Not burnt to the point of being totally gross....just a little crispy, which can be good. Anyway, my plan of attack for the next biscuit making battle will be as follows:

1) Use real buttermilk. No substitutes. I was going to ask my mom to get me some buttermilk at the store as well as the shortening, but I thought that might be pushing it a little too far. Next time though, I will show no such mercy.
2) Get a better biscuit cutter that doesn't have a top. Some of the biscuits got smashed a bit because our biscuit cutter has a roof. I'll have to remedy that next time.
3) I wont use the lame jelly roll pan. I don't know why I used that pan. I was disappointed with the pan and with myself.
4) 15 minute cook time instead of 18. Three minutes too many. It's a shame really...

Well. I'm going to bed. Goodnight.

The Creative Juices Flow!

Eh....not really. I now present, for anyone who might be reading this, a very humble, rough little poem of 30 lines. I'm very dissatisfied with my progress so far and I have no idea what else to do with it besides pitch it out the window, sacrifice it to the rain, and start over. Unfortunately it's due tomorrow and I want to go to sleep. If you can bring yourself to read to the end of it, tell me how you really feel. Really. Just follow two guidelines: be constructive and no ad hominen attacks please.

Untitled

That June day began with a tense train ride.
I sat alone in one of two scratchy seats
While stifling pain marched down my chest.
I read a book as I went to meet him.
God was on my side, I was sure of it.
The chitchat going on to my left was
As vulgar as the Pope in a Speedo.
A man hitting on a girl: The beginning
Of what, soon, I was about to end.
Hanford, Corcoran, Fresno. One, two, three
Stops reeking hugely of cigarette smoke and
Unwashed, tear stained children holding hands with
Walking welfare checks who “No hablo ingles.”
My heart was calm as a threatened bruin,
But I was fine. Finer than frog’s hair
After a tumble into a sink of Rogaine.
While men and women held hands down the aisle
Looking for some seat to snuggle in,
I pulled my hood up and could not sleep.
The well-used devotional lay on the tray.
It gazed at me with the time tested eyes
Of my all-seeing, all-strong rest-less God.
I ignored it and would not open my eyes.
My soul would have no such window today.
The lively metropolis of Merced appeared
And then I looked out the window to see
Where my boyfriend was among the crowd,
But I only saw my own scared image,
Begging me with edgy eyes to miss Merced
And find peace in Lodi or San Jose.

Sublimity versus Simplicity

"Sublime objects and scenes in contrast to those which are simply beautiful are ones which are in some way hostile to the human will. They threaten with their immensity or power: black thunderclouds, huge bare crags, a river rushing in torrent—all these can be sublime. The aesthetic experience of the sublime is achieved by consciously detaching yourself from the world, lingering pleasurably over what would otherwise be terrifying.” -Schopenhauer from The World as Will and Idea

"We look for visions from heaven, for earthquakes and thunders of God's power, and we never dream that ll the time God is in the commonplace things and people around us. If we will do the duty that lies nearest, we shall see Him. One of the most amazing revelations of God comes when we learn that it is in the commonplace things that the Deity of Jesus Christ is realized." -Oswald Chambers

"So He said, 'Go forth and stand on the mountain before the Lord.' And behold, the Lord was passing by! And a great and strong wind was rending the mountains and breaking in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of a gentle blowing. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. And behold, a voice came to him and said, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?'" -1 Kings 19:11-13

Quiz time! hahaha!

What's the common theme?

I suppose you'd have to be inside my head to answer...which is just a shame for you, because truly this brain is a lovely field of wildflowers.....erm, yeah. Anyway, it is quite possible for me to get so wrapped up in sublimity that I miss simplicity. I wander around, bored and void of feeling, waiting for something big. Well, shock of all shocks--it didn't come to me in a big slap this time. Realizing what I wasn't understanding before came on more like a slow "Duuuuuuuhhhhhh."

I don't feel too idiotic, because the slow duh is a lot better (and much gentler) than the falling from a cliff crisis that sometimes follows chinks in the ol' faith armor.

By the way, does anyone know how to get boys ages 5 to 8 to stop poking/wrestling/punching each other? I don't get these kids that I teach on Sunday mornings. Our brains don't connect on any educational level whatsoever. This is much more highly entertaining than my complaining makes it out to be. Maybe I could insert subliminal messaging into the teaching times. They can wrestle and I'll chant a Biblical truth for an hour. Then when they think about wrestling, they'll think about truth as well! Am I getting the logistic of subliminal messaging wrong? Probably. It's a good thought at least.

What's Going On?

The bandwagon passed by my house this weekend. I was sitting on the front porch on my swing contemplating the merits of various Gothic heroines when I heard the squeaky wheels of my future and felt compelled to jump, jump, jump on that wagon known as "Blogging Mania!"

I'm just going to jump right in here. I wrote the following on a blog from MySpace, I suppose you could say this was my inspiration and that the preceding sentences are not particularly accurate (Oh no! She's an unreliable narrator! Heaven weeps!).

I've been taking a creative writing class which has been very effective at opening my eyes to all the stupid things I write believing that I'm clever and original. Usually, I'm not. EXCEPT when I make up figurative similes (which is encouraging). The class is a cocktail of disappointment, fear, and takings steps of faith (which is a cliche that I have slapped duly myself for). I don't know if I'm getting any better. Practice would help me improve more than I currently am, but that is a matter of having time to do such things and my time is very limited these days.

I say as I write a non-scholastic blog....

Anyway, to get off my guilty conscience and back on topic I think it would be an interesting experiment to write down how many cliches I use during a given time period. I think this would be most effective if I had someone to help me by following me around all day with a notepad, ready to catch the unoriginal and dull sentences that fall from my mouth. Any volunteers? I'll pay you in cheesecake, and if that doesn't appeal to your delicate tastebuds I can make you some cookies or something. In the name of good writing I entreat you to seriously consider my plea!

I think all of you who read this live miles away. Still.....cookies..... yeah?

I am happy to report that this is the first quarter (kind of equivalent to a semester for those of you who go to school elsewhere) that I've been inundated with reading to the point that I can rarely do anything else without feeling an acute sense of fear that I'm going to get behind in any one of my classes. So far this fear has been pushed back by obsessive reading and my only consolation is that the books and excerpts I do have to read are actually interesting and enjoyable (Gothic fiction and 18th century literature anyone? Just say "Yes, please" to The Monk and The Tatler). I'm really thrilled that I have so much reading because it makes the English major seem worthwhile. Gone are the days of basic composition classes and skim-the-surface survey classes (another cliche...but nice alliteration...), say hello to a novel a week and giant poems written by the always witty Alexander Pope. I love this and I always feel a little disappointed in my peers when they tell me that they didn't do the reading for a given day's class. Why not? Why not further your knowledge of this world and it's intricate past? You make me sad.

10 points and a hug for whoever got that reference. :D

Anyway, while I've been sitting here writing away at my MySpace blog, I've been thinking that I should get a real blog. It will take up its residence among the mountains and valleys of Blogland and maybe will have a group of devoted friends that will come and visit for tea once in a while (once in a while is a cliche too isn't it. Poop.). I think my goal will be to become a better writer in all kinds of different mediums.

I think I'll do it. Stay tuned for more information if you're interested. (Is stay tuned for more a cliche? Hrmmmmm....)

You've stayed tuned, and here we are in Blogland. Take that one exit on the left past the birch grove and come by for tea sometime.