Literature, pt 1

I wanted to name this blog something more creative, something to capture my meaning. Yet I think the current title will express it all...

My life in books* began as a young child, with my parents buying me the mainstays of childhood literature: Dr. Seuss, the Golden books (those golden spines, coupled with the convoy of characters bordering the covers, used to intrigue me), and the like. I could not officially read until I was in first grade. Thankfully, once I was taught, I quickly understood the role of phonics, vowels, consonants and spelling. I didn't start reading chapter books -- a rite of passage for young readers -- until I was in the second or third grade. Specifically, it was a selection from RL Stine's Goosebumps series, something about a phantom piano man. When I was nine and ten, I became obsessed with Star Wars and began reading (or tried to read) the novels that take place where the movies end. Although reading books was fun, I hadn't yet experienced the properties of genuine literature.

Before I go into my tale of "enlightenment" through the literary novel, I need to explain what I believe constitutes a genuine piece of literature vs. a good, but superficially-entertaining story. To me, I think a novel's literary merit can be reduced to authorial intent. You know the author's intent when you see the reoccurrence of themes, added with the presence of symbolism and patterns in the sentence or plot structure (these are just a few of the signs of literature!). Because of these literary devices, I am able to distinguish the intent of John Steinbeck (he uses these tools for the purpose of social commentary, religious exploration, or the like) from the messages found in John Grisham (he has good themes, but his prose lacks these elements that would classify his works as literature). This is not to put down any prolific novel writer, or their readers (I like to read some books for their entertainment value), for that matter, but I want to clarify what I believe distinguishes literature from ordinary novels. What I'm realizing is that almost anyone can come up with a good story, but it takes a true genius to craft literature.

I will soon return to my personal quest through literature.

* By the way, call me a nerd, but I love to read. So if you want to make fun of me, you will enjoy reading this blog. Although if you make it through all this, you might as well read an actual book.

Classes

I'm almost done with this semester, but I've already registered for next semester.

• Social Work Practicum II - 5 credits
• Social Work Practice III - 3 credits
• Field Seminar - 1 credit
• Personal Finance - 3 credits
• Psychology of Religion - 3 credits

So that's ... 15 credits. I really only need the first three classes, but I want to learn the most I can while I still have time. I'm looking forward to it.

My Black Friday Adventure

Black Friday has always seemed like something cool, but I've always envied others for doing it. I know it doesn't make sense why I've never participated in these said events if I think it'd be so cool, but it's true: I've always wanted to go to stores early in the morning to buy things ridiculously cheap. So naturally I was very excited when "J Birdie" (not his real name) and Cristy asked me to join them.

• Our adventure started with us arriving at BestBuy at 2:30 (in the morning) in order to secure a good spot in line for the store's 5am opening. Our goal was to be able to secure a laptop of which the store had limited quantities.However, a few hundred crafty (and very intense) people beat us to the punch. Even though we were almost three hours early, we apparently weren't early enough. J Birdie befriended a gentleman who resembled T-Pain, except we couldn't understand him because of the gold plates on the front of his teeth.
• We left after J Birdie got a voucher for a computer and got something to eat at Whataburger (lobby open 24hrs). By the time we got back to BestBuy, the 5am gates of paradise -- I mean doors -- opened. We (well, J Birdie) spent from 5:15-7:00 waiting in line to actually purchase the computer. As an aside, the deals at BB were only good if you were buying something huge like a TV or computer, not for the majority of DVDs and CDs. I was done with the place by 5:15, but of course J Birdie was in line.
• By 7:15, we were out of the store. I'd already taken Cristy to work, so it was J Birdie and I to take on the world -- well, if you count Walmart, Target, Circuit City and the mall as the world.
• After the BestBuy fracas, we headed to a more tamed Target, where the real deals were supposed to be. I grabbed the second season of Monk (at BestBuy for $43.99) for a measly $13.88. Trust me, I was very tempted to get the third season, but I put the temptation on hold, thinking the mall would hold some great deals for me.
• After Target, we crossed the street to the mall. I was told earlier in the week by an Old Navy employee that the sales today would be "crazy good". And yet I was disappointed. I wanted that blazer more than anything but it was one of the only items not on sale. Go figure.
• Got energy drink, which is always a good time for me when i have caffeine.
• I headed to trusty Aeropostale and was pleased. I got a pair of jeans "half-off" for $25 and a T-shirt. Who would normally buy $50 jeans?? Certainly not me. Aeropostale wasn't a steal, but it was a deal nonetheless.
• I grabbed J Birdie and we took a detour through Books a Million on our way to the parking lot. Don't get me wrong, BaM is my favorite hangout and store, but I was mad about their lack of sales. Maybe it was for my own interest that there weren't any books on sale; I wouldn't want to overdraw my checking account.
• Went to Circuit City and left after two minutes. No wonder they're having problems, they don't have anything.
• Went to another Target. I caved in and got the third season of Monk against my better judgment. Luckily, my partner in crime convinced me that I was making a smart investment in purchasing the season now while it's on sale.
• Went to Walmart 1 and we were again disappointed with the lack of great sales (pertaining to our wants).
• After this, I was plum-tickered out but we headed to Walmart 2. Nothing. I was done. We were done.

All in all, it was an event-filled morning. I had a good time hanging out with two of my best friends, but most of all, I got some cool stuff. All for under $50.

A little reminder

I want to remind myself and others who read this about one thing:

God can see the whole picture of our lives. We only see a small part. We are two dimensional in thought -- we see the past and the present. God can see in 3D -- the past, present, and future. When you feel like you keep on fighting the same thing, keep in mind that it all makes sense to Him. I don't know why He chooses to do things this way, but I am trusting Him nonetheless (do I really have a choice otherwise??). As Paul would say, "Be encouraged, brethren."

The Last Lecture

The Last Lecture, Randy Pausch

This book may change the way you view life. The author, a popular professor at Carnegie Mellon University, was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. He was asked to deliver a "last lecture," a speech where professors are asked to deliver their most important wisdom. They're to give the speech as if they were dying. In Pausch's case, he actually was dying.

Throughout the book, he is surprisingly upbeat, yet realistic, about his diagnosis. The most important subject of his lecture was following childhood dreams. Pausch describes a list he wrote as a third grader in which he includes: flying in zero gravity, working for Disney as an Imagineer, and playing for the NFL. Through a NASA experiment and serious persistence, he was able to accomplish the first two, while realizing early that he could not be apart of the NFL for his strength, stature, and athletic prowess (or lack thereof). Through these anecdotes, he exhorts his audience to go after their dreams instead of wasting time being unhappy. At least, that's what I got out of it.

Since one can't help but analyze one's self when reading such a book, I realized that my life is too short to be occupied with small details. As a task-oriented person, often my sense of satisfaction comes only when my to-do list is all crossed out. After reading this book, I think I can take more time to appreciate the process of completing my to-do list. I can take the time to get to know people I work with, rather than just bustling around the office in my own fury. I can enjoy interruptions when I work on something challenging.

I wouldn't want to create a list of things to do before I die, a veritable "bucket list." Instead of accomplishing assigned goals, my goal is to just be pleased with life as it comes. That doesn't mean I won't plan for the future, but that I will not be so dissatisfied when things don't go my way.

The curse, I mean, gift, of loneliness?!

I always hear people talking about how Southeastern is a "bridal college" instead of a "Bible college". Apparently, people feel pressured to get married once they're here. It's true that Christian couples tend to marriage quicker. This added social pressure can make the single folk on campus feel slighted. We may think, "Did you miss giving me my blessing, God??"

Admittedly, my gift of singleness has turned into a curse of loneliness in past months. I had lost sight of what is most important in my life -- God and his will for me -- and focused on what I lacked and most wanted. I struggled through the "dark night of the soul" and was so frustrated for my inability to find a date (let alone find a spouse!). It's been a long process, but I've finally gotten to the point where God is the center of my life and my so-called needs are on the back burner. I trust fully (well, for the most part... I'm working on it though) his will, whether that means I will find someone or not. I'm not in a rush anymore; my sole purpose on this earth is not to be a husband or father, but an exemplar of Christ. I must work on that task first and count what I do have, rather than what I lack.

My biggest concern now is the underlying theme of loneliness that is found quite often in singles. To me, loneliness has seemed like my red-headed stepchild or cockroaches: always around, but not really welcomed. Yet I know that loneliness -- truly being alone, as in having no friends, no family, no self-love -- does not exist in Christians. They have a friend that truly cares for them, even when family or romantic relationships fail. At the risk of sounding cliche, I honestly believe in his neverending presence -- whether I'm single, engaged, married, widowed, divorced, or all of the above. He has asked me, "Did I not say I would never leave nor forsake you?"

One of the reasons why I believe I've been given this propensity for being lonely is because God trusts me to be a messenger of his peace for others who may have a far worse case. I can better empathize with people who are alone, giving me an opportunity to more passionately share his love. He's allowing me to go through these personal deserts in order to better communicate to others about the rest and hydration found in oases. This is an honorable responsibility that I honestly believe I can handle. I mean, I've made it this far.

So in my realization, I know I must go be a friend to the friendless. I can be an instrument of His peace, as Francis of Assisi once said. I know that he is redeeming my past hurts in order to make my life a masterpiece for his glory. He has got my best interests at heart, regardless of how connected I feel to others. What matters is that I'm connected to him.

My Tolkien Tantrum

There is no doubt that J.R.R. Tolkien’s works are elaborate and genius in nature. His books have garnered throngs of admirers and people who are not normally attracted to literature find his books exciting. The movies based on his Lord of the Rings trilogy have engrossed millions of dollars and bring to depiction the intense world of Middle-earth. His eloquent command of languages reveal him as a wordsmith and inspired the development of his fictitious Elvish tongue. In spite of these impressive accolades, Tolkien’s works are not appealing to me, although I am in awe over his talents.
My first reason for dislike is the genre in which he exclusively writes. Stories written as fantasies (or as Tolkien would assert, fairy-stories) seem too unrealistic for me to truly enjoy and “lose myself in the story”. To me, tales are best relatable when they occur in the realm of reality, with humans as main characters, not mythical creatures. Moreover, all of his works take place in the same dwarf-ridden, hobbit-inhabited Middle-earth (I am not even certain where this place is: truly in the middle of earth or in another dimension?). Perhaps I have a dull imagination, but my attention gets lost if I have to constantly remind myself to stay interested.
Even in spite of my distaste for fantasy, I can tolerate it if it is interestingly presented since fairy stories are new to me. For example, C.S. Lewis invents his magical Narnia stories, but they are not complex and inaccessible. The Narnia stories are straightforward and do not involve knowing complicated histories like in those found in Tolkien’s The Book of Lost Tales. The plotlines found in The Hobbit and Rings stories appear to be too complicated (as well as too long) for one who is not used to the fantastic genre. Since I am a novice at fairy-stories, the manner in which Tolkien presents the Middle-earth sagas are too intimidating and boring when compared to the relative ease in which Lewis presents the Narnia chronicles.
My final complaint regarding Tolkien is in his excessive wordiness. The main evidence for his loquacity is found in “On Fairy Stories” with The Tolkien Reader. He utilizes grand verbosity and the audience’s precious time in order to define something as trivial as the delineation of what is truly a fairy story. Chesterton, writing about the many complexities of human suffering – a very important and worthwhile subject -- was much more concise than Tolkien’s lecture on necessitating a dichotomy (non-fairy stories vs. fairy stories) within a genre. Tolkien asserts that the endpoint for fairy stories should be a representation of the Gospel. However noble this appears, it is far-fetched for a spiritual seeker to come to the understanding of God’s grace through stories that do not mention him. Nonetheless, the fact that many people enjoy his books is proof that he is a talented storyteller, albeit a wordy one.
For clarity’s sake, I acknowledge that Tolkien is a talented, ingenious writer. Yet the genre in which he writes, the complexities of his stories, and his extreme affinity for verbosity, are all off-putting to me. Perhaps my literary tastes are immature or unimaginative, but my personality disposition prefers realistic, concise tales.

Redemptive suffering.

Working with hospice and experiencing things in my own life this semester, I've often wondered the favorite life-question: Why does God allow bad things to happen to his followers? I've read books on suffering and they all came to the same conclusion: He allows us to undergo struggles to shape our character and faith with him. I think, "That's nice and good, but I'd much rather God tell me what to do and how to act rather than let me stumble and be humiliated." I have fought with God, almost telling him I didn't want to follow him anymore (yeah, it was that bad, but it shows my lack of faith).

From a casual perspective, people probably couldn't tell anything was wrong with me. Yet there was, and those closest to me knew I wasn't my normal self.

After making it through my valley, I sought help to prevent me from re-entering that place. And then I finally began to trust God again. I would've preferred him to work supernaturally and take away my problem, but he allowed me to humble myself in order to seek help from others. Since that time of initial healing, I've realized that I'm a stronger person for enduring the pain. In this manner, God has redeemed my suffering. I like who, what, where I am. I wouldn't trade it anymore. Where I was before the valley -- when everything was just OK -- is completely different to where I am now -- appreciative of everything about ordinary life.

I was blinded by my own negative thoughts -- I would consider them more like strongholds -- and could not fully love all the blessings around me. For example, I get to go to a school where a core value is to encourage students to be lights unto the world, which is a big personal value. I am studying to be what I believe is my life's greatest purpose. I'm in an amazing internship, where I get to directly influence people's lives. I have a bright future ahead of me in my profession. I have a great family. Great friends. Food to eat. Clothes. Intelligence. Education. And the list goes on.

Through all this, I've also learned what I can do to really prove my faith to God: Not to worry about unfulfilled promises. Faith is believing on things that have not yet come to pass. Or believing in things unseen. When you're in the storm, the valley, the wilderness, whatever, it's hard to imagine redemption. It feels like a dark night of the soul, but our pain isn't lost to Him. He will turn around our pain and turn it into joy and spiritual wealth. He has shown me that the most meaningful things in life are the most worthy of my patience. And I believe it. And I will hold out for those promises.

Nursing facilities

Yesterday at my internship, we were able to go for a tour around a very large skilled nursing facility (SNF). Walking around, we were able to see people of all different cognitive levels and physical capabilities, simply existing in their rooms. Even though the facility is maintained well, it's still sad to think that this is the place where many of the residents will die. Some have probably lived their entire lives being productive citizens, parents, and spouses, yet at the end of their lives, they just exist, incurring medical bills for their loved ones. To my eyes, the facility gives them dignified care, but the fact of them being institutionalized is sad. Many of them have no other choice but to be there, they have no family members or have medical conditions that require around-the-clock medical attention. Their situation is worsened by no one else except time. Nonetheless, I asked God to please take me if I ever get to the point of needing to live in a SNF.
Despite the sadness, I like visiting these "nursing homes" because I encounter such cool people, staff and residents. I don't think I'd want to work in one full-time, but I don't mind visiting hospice patients who live in them. SNFs are great places, but I would never want to be in need of such care.

Sales tax at work

I rode the bus on the way to my internship yesterday. I admit, I was pretty nervous about riding it. All this talk about bus numbers and transfers and stops. It didn't make sense to me until I actually rode it. I was supposed to be at the stop at 8:55, but once it turned 8:56, I was about to leave when it pulled up. I rode it and was amazed at the concept of public transportation. I looked at all these people, and imagined all my folks in California riding the BART, the New Yorkers riding subways. Without public transportation, all these people's lives would be more inconvenient, if not impossible.
As a student, it's only a $1 to ride. One dollar! I'd be saving so much money by not driving. I'm gonna ride the bus everyday from hereon out.

the unfortunate truth

As it turns out, you can't always trust people you thought you could. that sucks.

The Reggae Concert and the unseen behaviors of the upper-middle class

Last night, a good friend and I found out about a concert that was held downtown. It was supposed to be "the most popular reggae group of Central Florida". I know what you're thinking, Why didn't you immediately jump at that opportunity? I have no idea, but we decided we'd go there as a last resort. After eating dinner, we decided that there wasn't anything else exciting happening, so we'd head out to the concert. Expecting a few dozen Jamaican-loving people, we were surprised to see multitudes of folks sitting on the lawn, clapping and jiving to impressive covers of "Hotel California" and "Killing me Softly". Moreover, these were not just young people, they were certified AARP, upper-middle class white folk. And they liked it. They got into it. It was kind of awkward to see a middle-aged grandmother, obviously under the influence of some substance, gyrate off-rhythm with a young Jamaican, Bob Marley-look-a-like. Based off hearing inappropriate innuendos, we were pretty sure we sat next to a group of fifysomethings who constituted a swingers' group. The music was actually good, I became a more well-rounded person because of the experience. But the excitable audience was somewhat off-putting.

Faith: The Great Pain

I've heard it said that faith is the confident assurance of things not seen, but I say faith is a huge pain. It's great when it gives you hope to carry on and such, but as I am seeing lately, faith is a large hurdle. For years I have been telling myself the same pie-in-the-sky answers: God will turn my sorrow, my pain, into a reward; it will all be worth it all. I'm not saying that I don't trust God, because I do (I am compelled to do so). What I'm saying is that there comes a point when faith isn't just comfort during hard times, it can turn into a hard time all on its own. But I stubbornly hold onto the confident assurance that one day, I will be redeemed for my spiritual pain. Faith will eventually turn into a bonafide symbol of painful growth, but growth nonetheless. It sounds almost oxymoronic -- faith is supposed to edify and be good and fun. Yet the faith that God most desires (see Hebrews 11) is the kind that is filled with this paradoxical trust in him, categorized by wrestling with angels and trusting prostitutes to provide shelter. It doesn't always turn out the way you want, which is ultimately the best for mankind.

One of the few times that I am certain that God has given me a vision occurred my freshman year in college. I had one hell of a year -- I literally mean that the year will always be characterized by its hellishness. Believe me when I say that it was not a good place to be. But one Friday night I was praying as my roomate slept. I began to see a dream-like thing -- a vision. I was standing on one section of grass atop a large cliff, when suddenly I was made aware of the beautiful valley below. I saw the whole picture, despite the fact that I was still on this one piece of earth. All I had to do to see the entire valley was to look up, to change my perspective. I knew then exactly what that meant.

As time goes on and each day passes, I forget about this revelation when I'm irritated with the Lord. I can only see the present and it makes no sense. However, I must adopt the viewpoint that looks at my current situation as merely a puzzle piece of a large, elaborate work of art. Many of the guys listed in Hebrews 11 did not live to see their faith promises come to fruition, but God still counted them righteous for their faith. These people weren't just happy-go-lucky believers, they fought and struggled with God's promises and even tried to make his will come true through their own ideas and actions (with disastrous results, of course). This can give me strength to know that I am not forgotten. What God has said would come true will come true, I must endure, even if it means not ever getting to see the fruits of my labor. That is the nature of the kind of faith that God most desires. Just look at Abraham and Sarah, the once-childless elders who were told would be the ancestors of many nations. It came to pass, but was not filled with easy trust along the way.

Faith's not easy, but it's God's only way.

Random thoughts

Here are some things that have been rolling through my mind lately. I want to see if other people think the same thing. Mostly they are rants.

• I don't like Windows Vista. The school recently got a new contract with Dell, so we all have new computers this year with Vista installed. I still have XP, which has been a good operating system since I first got familiar with it in 2002. I'm no computer genius, but I think I own enough common sense to operate a computer. Yet Vista seems to go against all logical thought (well, at least its Office program does). Instead of having a clear "File" option to save and print, it has a stupid (!) little round circle with a Windows logo. How are we supposed to know that the circle means "File"?! I can't tell you how many people in the library have asked me how to print or save. The programs still freeze up. And of course, here's the big one: since everything is all jazzed up in a new file format, you can't open documents on older operating systems that were first saved in Vista. Did the Microsoft people not test this stuff out? It's not too inconvenient because I have access to Vista and a printer in the library, but if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to open attached documents.



• The gym is a very unique place. Everyone just goes there to plainly focus on themselves, their bodies. Yeah, you have spotters, but the main point of the gym is to work on yourself, even if you are occassionally helping someone else lift. It's funny because you have people of all shapes and sizes joined together with the common goal of becoming more fit. Now, what "fit" means to one person may mean something completely different to someone else. You've got the bodybuilder fellas who all crowd together around a bench and sip their protein shakes while discussing BMI. There's the young lady who is furiously running on a treadmill, like a little hamster on its wheel -- going nowhere fast. You've always got someone who is at the machine you want, taking an infinite break before the next set. Occasionally you will see a woman pumping iron, putting many guys to shame. Then there are those who seem to work out all the time, yet you never see a difference on them, which is unfortunate. But these next people really get under my skin: When I used to go to the YMCA, the trainers or attendants (I tend to think they were the latter because they never did much of anything) would stand around chatting it up with the regulars. They were always just so friendly and full of kinesthetic energy. They would never chat it up with me because I was closed off, listening to my iPod, focusing on hitting my high intensity point (whatever weight that would be just enough to make my muscles shake from strain). Maybe I was jealous because I was not social with these people, but these attendants really irritated me. They would hog up the gym space, particularly near the areas I would want to work out on. They just needed to go away and measure someone's body fat percentage or wipe down the machines. Anyway, it was and still is very interesting to study the ecclectic people who go to the gym:the cliques and the loners, the beginners and experts, the lifters and cardio-folks.



• I've been reading two very odd books, both for children and teens. The first, The Light Princess is for a lit class and it's by George MacDonald, a very famous Christian author from the 1800s. The story is a "fantasy" fairy tale, about some princess who is cursed with the inability to be held down by gravity and is eventually freed from the spell by the act of a "selfless" young prince who is enamored by her beauty (now that's surprising for a fairy tale, isn't it?). Without going into details, I saw the Christian symbolism, but I was just wondering, "How the heck did he come up with this crazy idea?!" A friend let me borrow The Perks of Being a Wallflower, about the woes and wiles of being a teenager. The main character is indirectly affected by the following issues that are faced by his friends and family: death, homosexuality, teenage pregnancy, suicide, both homo- and heterosexual sex acts, abuse by family and abuse by boyfriends, some spirituality, and of course, love. Did I mention that all of this happens within one school year?! I'm having a hard time relating to the narrator. I guess I really sheltered myself when I was a teenager, because I hardly heard about any of these things happening, let alone experience them (I obviously knew these things existed). I guess that's just the life of a "real" teen. I'm interested in it because it raises a lot of social issues, but it's still weird for me. I guess I can see it as expanding my worldview.

Why I have the best internship...

I realized today why I have the best internship: We employ a licensed massage therapist who gives massages to the staff bi-weekly (her main job is to massage patients). After doing some home/school visits, I was able to get a free massage for fifteen minutes. I know that I'm the only one in my social work cohort to be placed in that kind of site. Other than that, I'm learning a whole lot about counseling and working in a medical health care setting. I enjoy the staff -- they've really treated me well as an intern. It's going well. And that is why I have the best internship.

The storm

I'm caught in the rain again, even though the sun was shining just a moment ago. Without an umbrella, most of my being is covered -- no, saturated -- in an unexpected shower. This deluge is not warm and suitable for running and recreation like it usually is in the Florida summer. No, the water is cold and unpleasant, worthy of hailing pneumonia. I can't see in front of me, my surroundings appear like another dimension where the rainfall is my only sky and water is my only oxygen.

In the desolation of this downpour, I'm frustrated, lost, disoriented, and shamefully afraid. This shouldn't be happening to me, I usually prepare for storms! My socks symbolize my dignity, for they are the only part of my clothes that are not sopping. But that soon changes as I blindly step into an ankle-deep puddle, splashing away any iota of dryness. I'm left with nothing, not even a hope that I'll find shelter. Hopeless and wet -- hopelessly wet -- I begin to cry, figuring no one will notice my tears among the infinite droplets of this incessant rain.

Minutes that seem like days go by as I aimlessly search for warmth or shelter. In my pridefulness (the only sense of character that I had left), I tell myself to stop this pointless crying: I'm a grown man, in the prime of my youth! My misty eyes cloud my vision more, until I reach out my hands to feel my surroundings. At long last, I feel the rough stucco siding of an unfamiliar house. I feel around until I reach a covered porch, which feels more like the beautiful sanctuary of a European cathedral -- warm, intact, and timeless.

I dare not knock on the door, for fear that the home's inhabitants will kick me asunder. As I settle under the strength of the awning, I notice that the downpour lessens in intensity. Minutes that now seem like seconds go by, and now the last drop has fallen. The dark clouds separate like theater curtains that reveal a majestic actor, the Sun. He reflects himself in the shallow puddles that are now the only afterthought of the monsoon. With the newfound light, I soon realize that this unfamiliar home is none other than my own house, the house of my childhood. I had felt lost and worthless of redemption while in the midst of the epic storm, yet I was only in my own front yard the entire time.

Realizing that I had no need to knock, I entered my own front door, greeted with the warmth and familiarity that welcomes every person when they reach their own home. I am shivering from head to toe, stricken with water, mud, and lack of humor. Yet in the aftermath of my struggle, I am exuberant -- never have I been so happy to be home and indoors! My house, which had always felt too familiar, too mundane, had become a sanctuary once I had endured a seemingly endless damp night of the soul.

Never was I more thankful for what I already had than after that fateful storm, where I thought I had lost every sensibility. I again left my house without checking the weather, I was to remain vigilant, lest another tempest overtake me.

Stoning the Giants

There's nothing I like more than finding out about people who face their fears and do uncomfortable things in order to benefit their personality. Let me explain. In the third season of The Office, Pam the receptionist, after walking barefooted across some coals, tells the rest of the office about how she is tired of being treated poorly. Even though this is a fictional character, I really felt happy for her for standing up for herself. David's defeat of Goliath is a prime example of stepping out of comfort in order to gain victory. Even though these moments are awkward and may not turn out favorably, do them anyway (what if David could not kill Goliath -- would he be any less of a hero?).

Stand up to that boss who speaks condescendingly to you. Tell her you are a human being just like her, worthy of respect. You may get fired, but you stood up for yourself. Or tell that girl your true feelings. You may get rejected, but at least you know not to waste your time pining anymore. More so, tell the bully to back off. You may get punched or ridiculed. But it's OK, your dignity depended on your action. That's life, as the old song goes.

No matter what the outcome of your bravery, you will hopefully feel on top of the world. You did what you feared. You conquered. When I posted that blog about my disorder, I had no regrets. People may judge me, but I don't care. I stood up to my own doubts for my own benefit and, hopefully, the benefit of others. That BDD hides grows itself in isolation, but tell others about my struggle shatters its control over me. What are fears that they can stop you from reaching your potential? Nothing; mere speed bumps in an empty parking lot. They're there, but go around them. Drive fast.

Text Response PSA

You know what makes me melancholic? When people don't text message me back in a timely manner. I understand that people sometimes get busy with their day and forget about that little envelope icon in the corner of their phones. Sure, it's all good. The sad thought is that my recipients might not even really like me. Nonetheless, when I'm sitting, bored in class or meetings, I want to strike up a conversation with someone funny. Most of my friends and I have inside jokes and such, of which I want to remind them. Or, I have a seemingly urgent (not urgent enough to actually call the person, mind you) message that I'd like a speedy response. This is not to point fingers at anyone (may your conscience be your guide if this is you), but please respond to text messages ASAP, for your sender's sanity and psychological health.

David in Real Life

Today was a hurricane day and our school was "closed". I decided to check out Steve Carell's movie Dan in Real Life. I really got a kick out of the movie; it was one of those protagonist-is-pathetic-that-it's-funny movies (look at the poor guy laying in pancakes). That and Steve Carell is my favorite actor (mostly for his work on The Office.)

It's the story of a man named Dan, a widower and newspaper columnist raising his three daughters. He hasn't dated since his wife died four years ago. So when he visits his family for a week, they're eager for him to date. He goes out one day to buy a newspaper at a book and tackle shop (imagine that!) and cleverly flirts with a woman. One thing leads to another and they end up getting coffee. They sit for hours, with him doing most of the talking. He basically falls in love with her right then, only for her to reveal that she's dating someone. He returns dejectedly back to the house, only to be introduced to this same woman -- as his brother's new girlfriend. Talk about awkward (turkey). His brother falls madly for this woman, while Dan silently stews in sadness for his brother's girlfriend. The woman and Dan have many more awkward moments. She leaves her boyfriend, but then calls Dan. They meet at a bowling alley, kiss, and then are discovered by his family. He gets punched by Dane Cook, then his driver's license is suspended, and he botches an interview that will determine if he gets syndicated. She leaves again, but Dan's daughters convince him to pursue her, they meet again, and then credits roll.

It sounds corny, but again, I liked it because I could identify with Carell's character. First, he's a newspaper columnist who gives out family/relationship advice. That would be an almost perfect job -- only having to deal with people via mail and answering their questions in a newspaper for all to read. He gets to utilize writing AND counseling skills -- my two areas of study. The biggest thing I liked was the coincidence of meeting/loving this woman that his brother is dating. What are the odds that the SAME woman Dan met was ALSO his brother's new girlfriend?! I've had situations where I've talked/spent time with a girl, only for me to recognize that she's either taken/married/dating a friend, etc after sharing my witticisms and sarcasm in order to woe her. I've had some random guy date two girls I started talking to on two separate occasions! Again, what are the odds?! It's funny, yet pathetic. But mostly funny. Yep, that's my dating life in a nutshell.

This unbelievable luck that Dan has is what makes the movie the most funny. It's not a typical blatantly comedic Carell movie, but it's hilarious at certain points (the pig-nosed Ruthie song, shower advice scene, the stretches after salsa aerobics class, salsa aerobics class, etc). Go see it.

Appetite (or lack thereof)

I don't know what it is, but I can't usually eat when I come back to school. Do not be alarmed, I DO eat but my appetite is not usually strong. Part of it has to do with the school cafeteria food. Last night, the only remotely appetizing things I had was pea and rice soup (!), celery, and chocolate pudding. Today's lunch was a little more hearty -- I had a sandwich, fettuccine, and celery. Nonetheless, I still couldn't finish all of it. This is why I usually eat healthy, and end up losing weight, while at school. It's just a fact of life.

The past twenty-four hours

Phew. I write this at 3:20 AM, psychologically exhausted, but not destroyed. I think the past day has been important and eventful. Let me try to explain.

• I finally finished my macroeconomics course. I learned a lot... but I will never use most of it. It taught me perseverance (like all miserable experiences that don't kill you) and the fact that I should never take a course on-line that is foreign to my field of study (like economics). I'm not sure what my final grade will be, but I think it will be what I've expected.


• I've receive a lot of good feedback from folks about my previous blog. I posted in on Facebook, since I know a lot of people don't read blogger. I'm proud of myself that I've kept it and don't feel ashamed about it. Some people might think being vulnerable like that is a weakness. But I know a Guy who says we must be weak in order to be made strong. I know that other people are getting blessed by it (or if nothing else, some really good gossip).


• My car continues to have problems, thus delaying my exodus back to school yet another day. My dad and I changed the transmission fluid last night, but there was a huge leak in it today.


• The big event was that I took my mom to the ER, after she fell extremely sick. She was in a lot of pain, but they gave her medication. I was in the ER from 6pm until 2am. I'm not going to say anything about hospital efficiency. They kept her overnight to watch her, but she might need surgery. I am praying for the best.


• While I was waiting for the nurses to get my mom situated in her room, I was told to sit in a waiting room by the elevator. After watching the news and reruns of the Olympics, I turn around as the elevator doors open and see Ms. Wanda, the wife of one of my pastors! She is a nurse, and I'd forgotten she worked there. I had actually lost contact between her and her husband, but here she was, doing her job on the same floor that my mom was on. By the time I saw her, I was drained. I didn't know what was going to happen to my mom, nor when I would be able to return to school, nor what would happen with my car. This is not to mention the fact that I'm still in a financial crunch. Nonetheless, God sent me one of those Moments of divine appointment with another Christian.


• Every so often, I will have "chance" meetings with people that serve asconfirmations of God's presence and existence. One day I will write about some of those experiences, but this is what they feel like: Imagine being lost or just uncertain. You're struggling along, feeling forsaken or at most, forgotten. Then, at that very moment, someone who means a lot to you (mentor, teacher, old friend) will just "randomly" appear. They don't solve or make things better, yet their mere appearance just serves as a reminder -- a God-wink, if you will -- of his presence. I left the hospital with a peace that it's all in his hands.

Even though I'm pretty tired right now, I'm not worried about it. I'm not worried about when I'll get to school, nor if my car will be better. I'm concerned about my mom, but I'm not afraid. It will be alright, no matter what happens. I still have my humor and good name, so those are reasons to be glad. I'm sure by this time next week I will have more stressors weighing upon me, except this time it will be nice, easily-controlled school stressors that come from looming assignments and time management conflicts ... at least I hope that's what will happen.

My Struggle

I'm going to share something that I've wanted/not wanted/meant to do: share my personal struggles. I am a firm believer in being honest with oneself and others in hopes of drawing others to their own personal honesty and, ultimately, to bring glory to Jesus. So with that said, here it goes.

For about eight years, I have lived with a mental disorder known as Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD). BDD-sufferers notice one or many perceived or small flaws on themselves, causing them to feel hideous. This feeling of hideousness causes social isolation and dysfunction for the sufferer because they think that others will also be disgusted by their looks. The sufferer will also spend a significant amount of time in the mirror and/or thinking about the problem. Ruminating on the flaws will cause considerable amount of distress. People will ask for reassurance, yet they don't believe when their loved ones say they look fine. Men and women are both equally afflicted with this disorder, although men are often too embarrassed to admit it or brush off their concern as "vanity".

Speaking of vanity, please know that people with BDD are not narcissistic or self-centered. They genuinely believe they have a problem. It's like being imprisoned inside your own body, which you hate. No matter what you do to physically improve your appearance -- get a haircut, new clothes, etc -- they still feel disgusted or notice something new to analyze about themselves. Their distress is real, even if others don't think they have a problem. BDD is about mental distortions, not truth.

As much as I'd like to tell you what my "flaws" are, I don't want others who may also have BDD to feel like I can't understand if we don't have the same kind of issues. Also, I'm not looking for reassurance or compliments, so please don't feel obliged to tell me I look alright. But do know that I can understand any sort of BDD flaw, because all the feelings of hopelessness and self-loathing are all the same, no matter what you think your flaw is.

I have always had extremely low self-esteem because I felt so ugly. I spent my adolescent years depressed because I couldn't "measure up" to others. I remember looking at other kids in junior high school, thinking how normal they looked. When I'd come home and look in the mirror, I would see myself and wished that I could just look like the other kids -- normal! These same feelings continued throughout high school and grew larger in college. I never knew that I had a mental disorder until I took Abnormal Psychology in my sophomore year of college. I know you're not supposed to self-diagnose, but as I read about this condition, I couldn't help but see myself. It was relieving to know that I wasn't alone! When I came back home for the summer, I saw a counselor who did diagnose me with BDD (always see a professional if you suspect you have something -- don't just self-diagnose).

To make a long story short, I stopped seeing the counselor once I returned to school in the fall, but felt myself go worse than before by the spring. Finally, this past March, I started to see a counselor at my school, who got me into cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). Since BDD is mostly a disorder of mental distortion, the patient needs to restructure his thoughts to more positive and/or realistic thoughts. I improved by leaps and bounds, but I am still currently not 100% perfect.

As a friend helped me realize, I'm fighting an uphill battle. I do well for a while, then relapse. It's devastating, but I continue on -- I have no other choice. I've had these negative thoughts ingrained for eight years, I know that it will take more than a few weeks to completely rethink that way.

I've also come to terms with how my Christian faith is affected by this. Obviously, I've prayed for God to remove this "thorn", yet he has not (2 Corinthians 12). Others might see this as proof of his non-existence or lack of power. I see it as an exercise of perseverance (even though I do get frustrated with him). This perseverance is going to allow me to help others with this similar problem (which I hope I can do right now by writing this) and it is going to develop character in me that pleases him. My ultimate goal/dream/wish is to open a counseling center for people who suffer with BDD, muscle dysmorphia, or eating disorders (all of which deal with appearance distortions) and infuse the counseling with Christian/biblical principles. God HAS created us wonderfully. Our bodies ARE temples of the Holy Spirit. Yet our minds have been deceived into believing we are hideously ugly freaks.

I would love to be the best-looking man on the planet. But that's the fleshly side of me who wants glory all for himself. Yet, I need to renew my mind (Romans 12) to realize that my life will not influence anyone if I continually -- and fruitlessly -- try to make myself look better. The part of me that wants to please God says that I want my struggles to be used as a platform to inspire others who have similar issues. This mindset is what is going to give God the most glory.

No matter how long I've gone through these thoughts of worthlessness and misery, I still continue to experience his grace. I imagine him saying, "Continue, my child, the race I've set before you. The prize is the opportunity to lead others away from their problems into my grace, like I've done for you." So I have no other choice but to run the race with endurance(Hebrews 12). I hope by sharing this, I will have had an opportunity to crucify my problems and selfishness (Galatians 2.22) and inspire hope for others. Isn't this what it means to be a Christ-follower?

Where was Chuck Norris?

I've meaning to blog about this since it happened, so here goes. Two weeks ago, our house got struck by lightning. Don't worry, it's not as bad as it sounds. It struck the left corner of our garage and blasted away one single shingle. The damages we suffered were not bad at all (it could've been a whole lot worse), but it was annoying nevertheless: the fuses in our electronic garage door were fried, our cable boxes were damaged, our printer broke, and five or six electrical outlets were fried as well. Thankfully, the computers and wireless connections were fine and no fire started.

I spent a good part of Saturday manually replacing the damaged outlets with new ones. These replacements are pretty cheap and now we can plug in things! Our other printer was still under warranty, so it wasn't difficult to get a new one. Now the only thing that needs to be fixed is our garage door, which will cost around $153. We can still open the garage, but we have to do it manually. I don't think our front door has been used so often.

They say the odds of getting struck by lightning is pretty high, so we should feel "lucky". However, these odds were not favorable. If only our "luck" was used for something like a $10,000 scholarship drawing or something good, not something inconvenient like getting struck by lightning. But still, I'm glad nothing serious happened.

My question is, where was Chuck Norris in all this? He is the only human who can strike lightning, not the other way around. If only he'd seen it coming toward our house, he could've hit it before it hit us. Oh well.

In faith

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." - Hebrews 12:1

I'm posting this in faith. This verse empowers me to continue forward even when I feel like I just want to forfeit the race of faith, where the ultimate goal is becoming more like Jesus (a lofty goal but not altogether unattainable).

A night to remember

Last night, I was unexpectedly invited to my friend Heather's house for an impromptu game/movie night. Upon arrival at her house (which we've affectionately deemed as located in the Middle of Nowhere), the first thing I noticed was a rare, vintage Kermit the Frog sitting on Heather's family's cabinet (upon further inspection, I found out that the toy actually sang too -- as if simply having Kermit was not enough!).

Before I continue, let me tell you about my affinity for Kermit the Frog. I grew up watching Kermit and his crazy friends' antics in the various Muppet movies, as well as being an avid Muppet Babies viewer. Then when I was in ninth grade, I started taking voice lessons. My teacher told me not to sing a certain way or else I would sound like Kermit the Frog. Did I heed such sage advice? Yeah eventually, but I couldn't wait to practice the Kermit voice. Besides, who wants to hear Pavarotti when they can hear Kermit?! Since then, I've been able to do Kermit's voice, as well as his unlikely admirer, Miss Piggy (a fact of which I'm not sure I should be proud...). Once I got involved with children's ministry, I used my Kermit voice to manipulate the puppets, even if the puppets were not frogs (the kids did not seem to notice since most of them aren't familiar with such high-quality cultural icons as the Muppets -- they're too young).

So that's how I developed my Kermit inclinations. So while we were playing Scrabble, I kept eyeing Heather's cabinet. Would they notice if I just "borrowed" Kermit for an undetermined length of time? Deciding that stealing him would probably not be right or favorable for my image, I tried to put his presence out of my mind. After a while, Heather's mom came home. Chatting with her, I discovered she has been involved with kids' ministry for over twenty years. As a result, she accumulated dozens of puppets. With ears wide open and mouth agape, I listened as this kids' ministry master told of her many creations involving puppets and marionettes. She brought out a few of the collection, including one very big green dragon. Then she said words that I wasn't quite sure I heard correctly: "Yeah, you're welcomed to take it, I need to get some of them off my hands." What?! A free puppet? Good-sized puppets usually run close to $100 and now this master is offering me a life-sized one?! God was surely smiling down on me. After talking with her some more, she again offered to give me more puppets if I wanted. (Was this my birthday?) I knew I had to make my move: "Uh, actually, I've noticed your Kermit over there. Would you be willing to let me have him?"

She hesitated a bit, but soon acquiesced, "Sure, I only got him for one dollar at a garage sale anyway." My jaw must have dropped to the floor. I was very thankful. I made sure she knew that Kermit would be in safe hands. I couldn't believe it though. I have searched eBay and Google and even the official Muppets website and none of them seem to be selling Kermit paraphernalia. Yet here I am, unassumingly at a friend's house to play board games, and lo and behold, there's a Kermit right in front of me! It was a very good.

But wait, there's more! I can't forget to mention that my good friends also got me a Kermit shirt that night, too! The shirt says, "It's easy being green!" with Kermit smiling. Who could believe it -- a Kermit shirt (another item I've searched for) and a Kermit toy and a giant dragon puppet? I still can't believe it, yet as I type this, Kermit is sitting on top of my desk, waiting to go to school with me.

An addiction

I've been really getting a kick out of blogging. I've been trying to figure out why because to a casual naysayer, blogging is pretty futile. My blog probably won't be read by many. Sure, I may increase my personal narrative style of writing, yet I don't see the need for that in my life.

Nonetheless, I say "poo!" to any naysayers. I like blogging, even if I won't reach the multitudes. With that said, let me explain why I think I'm becoming addicted to blogging.

First, I get a thought -- usually something strange, sardonic or cynical that I think others may agree -- and then my heart starts beating fast from excitement. It's gotten to the point (and mind you, I've only been blogging for less than two weeks) where friends and family will say, even before I say it, "I bet you're going to blog about that." Case in point, a few days ago, I was irritated with my mom about something irrelevant and she commented that I was going to blog about my ire. Which, of course, made me more agitated. Obviously, I did not blog about that incident (except to include it just now), but I got her point: I blog whenever I'm in a state of thought. In hindsight, I find her comment funny because I do blog when I'm happy, agitated, or feeling sarcastic (which are my three primary emotions, the last two usually coincide).

Ruminations on Philip Yancey and Human Suffering

He tackles the hardest questions about God and spirituality. He's the editor-at-large of Christianity Today. He's written numerous award-winning books. He's none other than Philip Yancey!

I've been a fan of his for about two years now, ever since reading The Jesus I Never Knew, a work about understanding the historical and biblical contexts of Jesus' day. This summer, though, I've had the privilege of reading two of his most hard-hitting books on God's relation to human suffering: Where is God when it Hurts? and Disappointment with God.

I picked up these books under the auspice of researching explanations for my upcoming internship with a local hospice organization. I know that I will encounter spiritual questions as a psychosocial counselor, even if I can't initiate God-speak. However, I know that I was subconsciously reading them for myself.

In the whole seven years since my conversion to Christianity (September 22, 2001), I've never had occasion to blame or talk to God about human suffering. That's not to say that I haven't had difficulties with my faith, it's just that the big "Why-does-God-allow-suffering" question has never struck a chord within me. But this summer, I've been up and down in my faith, often wanting to sit in the race God has set before me, not run. A lot of it has to do with a particular issue that I thought was better, but kept, and still keeps, bothering me. But reading Yancey's books have put it into perspective.

Where's God is directed toward people who physically suffer. The main point I really got out of this book came from a story about John Donne, my favorite metaphysical poet, who lived in the sixteenth century. He contracted the plague and was assumed to die. Living near a church, Donne would hear the bell strike daily, in observance of a funeral, reminding him of his suffering and probable mortality (it was also during this time when he coined the term, "For whom the bell tolls," which became a famous Hemingway novel). In one of his sonnets, he asked God to "redeem his suffering." This phrase stuck out to me, since I know that God will one day redeem my own problems for his glory (even though they are not physical) -- whether that means helping others in this lifetime or showing me his glory in the next lifetime. Rather than finding
"answers" to such difficulties, Yancey provides numerous stories on believers who are still in the midst of their struggles and disabilities, regardless of their hope or lack of hope in God. I think his approach in this book is appropriate since it seeks to empaththize with, not cure, these deep spiritual questions. Often dry, theological answers have almost no bearing on our suffering soul, even though they may be truthful. It isn't until his next book that he attempts to reconcile suffering and theology in a sensitive, genuine manner.

Disappointment is more applicable to me, since it addresses three questions that "no one dares to ask out loud" (as the subtitle describes). These questions are none other than, Is God unfair? Is God silent? Is God hidden? Anyone who's felt any sort of spiritual disappoint can agree that they sometimes ask these same questions. I know I have. This book is meticulously woven with scriptural examples of believers who suffered a lot of disappointment with God, as well as twentieth-century contemporaries who feel rejected by God's lack of appearance that he showed biblical characters. I can't explain the whole structure of the book, but Yancey takes great pains to address many viewpoints. For me, I really connected with the idea of faith in Moses' day vs. faith in the Church era (33 AD - present). Yancey explains that the Israelites were "spoiled" by the fact that God showed many physical signs of his presence: rescuing them from Egypt, leading them through the wilderness by appearing as a cloud of smoke, providing manna as food, giving them a direct Law that left no gray area between right and wrong, etc. As a result, they did not feel isolated from his power or question his existence. Sounds like they had it made, right? Yes, but it didn't help their relationship with God. It made it worse.

They had no need for faith, they were unable to choose Him. As a result, they rebeled and often followed other gods, often incurring the wrath of the true God they had abandoned. Nowadays, we have the luxury of experiencing God by our own belief, even though people often call faith blind. Yes, our lack of physical proof of Him may falter -- quite often, actually -- but we are able to enter into a relationship with him out of love and faith, which are two of God's favorite characteristics. He doesn't require us to sacrifice lambs or call us unclean if we get sick, unlike the precepts of the original Law. The Law was fulfilled through Jesus, so all we have to do is come as we are.

Now obviously, this explanation is not a cure-all to spiritual problems, but it helped me gain some perspective on my questions. I am thankful for this mystery of Christian faith, even though it can be frustrating (and quite often, at that). However, I'd rather run to God in the beautiful uncertainty of faith, knowing that he accepts me, as opposed to being scared that I've broken his Law.

This has been a long blog, and I'm not confident that I've made myself clear (which happens a lot). Just know that these two books have helped me tremendously, both as a counselor-in-training and as a thinking Christian. May He help you on your journey through the valley and the mountaintop.

Carey-ing around the neighborhood

Yesterday, I decided to work on my fitness and walk the neighborhood. I'd previously decided to take one of my dogs, who all lead sedentary lifestyles. The most robust (wild, crazy, hyper, etc..) of the pack is our youngest, Carey, a 90 lb+ black lab/German shepherd mix. As we left, my dad, an avid Dog Whisperer viewer, advised me to make sure Carey did not lead me but walked alongside me. Complying, I headed out.

Before I go further, let's explore our last neighborhood excursion, which was about a year ago. First, we came across a snake and she was oblivious as she almost stepped on it. Also, Carey was about ten pounds lighter and more of a puppy. I'd forgotten that extra poundage would make the trip a little more exhausting for her. Even still, I've never been a big fan of jogging/walking the neighborhood because of the risk of seeing unwanted former schoolmates and meeting bestial dogs that were interested in smelling the rumps of my dogs, among other things. Moreover, I enjoy a little thing called the sidewalk. I despise walking in the streets because people have parked their car where the driveway and sidewalk intersect. You paid for a sidewalk, yet you're blocking it?! I feel highly awkward when I'm walking by a house with an inhabitant hacking out a lung while puffing away on a cigarette in their open garage. At least they smoke outside. Finally, I'm not sure the proper pedestrian ettiquette, but how do you respond with someone walking toward you? Who is the first to step out of the way for the other person to cross? There's obviously not enough room for the both of you. But since I'm determined, stubborn, and usually have a large dog ambling along with me, I wait for the other person to sidestep. With all that said, I was looking forward to spending some quality time with Carey.

So we set out, Carey sniffing wildly at her surroundings. She was all over the place; I felt bad for yanking her choke chain too vigorously to make her follow my demands (I quickly got over that feeling, though). We em-barked on our journey and she knew who was boss (me). I wanted us to actually exert ourselves, so I made sure we were going at a vigorous pace.

The entire walk is approximately 3mi. By mile 0.25, her heavy panting indicated she was running on empty. I knew she was gone when I was the one leading -- no, I was pulling her. I talked with her. I told her that I'm the human, and she's the wild dog who is to stereotypically lead me faster than I can walk. She responded by panting out doggy saliva. By mile 2.75, I kept urging her along like a coach, "Come on, Carey, we're almost there!" I employed my handy positive regard counseling skills (at least I'm learning something useful for all that money) which empowered her to cross the finish line-- our front door.

In hindsight, I'm sorry to say that I was wrong about Carey. She can't go the entire distance. She is poorly out of shape for a dog who is less than two years old. When I go for my excursion today, I'm going to let her rest but I think I'll take Mariah, who is no less out of shape, but still pretty agile. And I also think I'm going to go on a walking trail, rather than a neighborhood. It's less awkward that way, and the sidewalk is large enough for two people to pass by each without conflict. And it's probably illegal to park a car across the path!

Stewie Griffin

I was watching Family Guy last night and wanted to blog about how cool Stewie Griffin is. For those of you who don't know, Stewie is a baby with a football-shaped head who is set on world domination and harming his mother Lois (ouch, that doesn't look as funny in print as it does on the show...). He's well-read: he read Grapes of Wrath which is one of my favorite books and he's interested in reading his dog's novel. He's got a British accent (it sounds like it to me) but he was born in Rhode Island. How'd that happen? He's got a whole weapon armory behind his toybox. He makes a lot of cultural allusions that I don't even get half the time. Why can't all babies be that well-rounded?

Reading Lolita in America

My good friend bought me the classic Lolita by Vladamir Nabokov for my birthday (thanks, J-Birdie). I heard about the controversial book a few years back, and being a person who likes to investigate controversy (as well as being an English lit buff), decided I wanted to read it. Now, before I go further, let me explain what Lolita is not. It's not a pornographic book at all, although it does cover an older man's psychotic obsession with a teenage girl. It also isn't really vulgar since the narrator wants to maintain an air of romanticism toward his young love object. Finally, and most importantly for my own reputation, I definitely did not read it because it was about pedophilia. With all that established, let me discuss it.

Here's the synopsis for those who haven't heard about this. It's narrated by Humbert Humbert as his personal journal/deposition regarding his highly illegal and mainly psychotic obsession with 12-yr old Dolores (a.k.a., "Lo", or "Lolita"). This story, taking place in post-war America and published in 1955, could obviously cause some friction. Good ol' Hum, who continuously mentions the attractiveness of his physical looks, tells how Lolita's mother immediately falls in love with him. Being attracted to her daughter, he decides that it'd be advantageous to marry her so that way innocent Lo will become his daughter. When the girl's off to an all-female summer camp, Hamburg (who periodically gives himself nicknames like this) arranges to kill his new wife. Just as he was planning, she discovers Hum's passionate journal, which describes in detail of his feelings for Lolita. By a strange twist of fate (which is an important motif in the novel), he never has to carry out his death plans because she is accidentally ran over just minutes after reading the journal (imagine that!). Shortly after the funeral (about which Lolita knows nothing), H.H. essentially kidnaps Lolita and takes her across the continental United States until she runs away with another adult three years later. Throughout the novel, readers (who are supposed to members of a judicial panel that's reviewing Hum's case) find out that Lolita is not as innocent as they would be inclined to think: she allows Humbert to physically take advantage of her in order to get things she wantsand she personally engages in multiple dalliances with others. I won't spoil the ending, but this is the basic plot of the story.

Now on for the good stuff: Literary discussion!

Readers need to remember at all times that Humbert is mentally ill (he mentions multiple times about being institutionalized multiple times) so his narration cannot be full trusted (if at all). Throughout his hospitalizations, he managed to deceive his various psychiatrists. Since he is a master of charm, readers must wary when analyzing the themes of the novel. Nonetheless, here are some points I got out of reading:

• There are many instances where Hum mentions charming people into manipulation. However, he doesn't do it in a way to blatantly tell his readers (who are supposed to be people who determine a prison sentence, remember) that he is deceitful. It's a theme that must be implied. Indeed, it almost seems as if Hum is not a criminal after all; he's just another guy who falls in love with someone (albeit, a girl who's one-third his age!)


• Many references all have a mythical theme (hotels named after enchantment, magical forests, etc) that all hint at the type of force that Lolita has over him. Also, Hum calls girls like Lolita "nymphets" which are mythical female creatures who have powers of seduction.


• Irony: Hum is in love with Lolita because she looks so innocent, pure, and naive. Yet we find out that Lolita is truly conniving and deceitful herself.


• The cause for Humbert's pedophilia is very Freudian in nature. His adulthood sexual frustrations began in an unfulfilled sexual desire in his early adolescent years.


• Lolita's full name is Dolores Haze. In Spanish, dolores means "pain", while haze often symbolizes confusion or hidden nature.


• A very complex style of syntax (sentence/punctuation structure) and dication (wording) furthers Hum's deceitful nature. A good portion of the time, I couldn't quite make out what he was saying!


• One of Lolita's pasttimes is reading movie magazines and performing in school theaters. I think Nabokov uses this hobby to mirror Hum and Lo's relationship. On the outside, it seems as if Hum is a widower raising his step-daughter. Yet we're aware of what happens "backstage" in their private lives. Their exterior lifestyle is all an act.
  

I really appreciated the literary aspects in this novel. Yes, the topic was disturbing, but it cleverly showed the inner workings of a deranged man and the extreme measures he would commit to fulfill his personal infatuations. I highly recommend this book for anyone who's looking for a psychological work of fiction. At this point, I can't determine the main theme, or message, that this book is supposed to tell of humanity. If I do, I'll get back to you.

Macroeconomics

I hate macroeconomics. I'm on my second round of taking this class (the first time I dropped it because I didn't like the teacher --and so did half my original class), and I still don't like it nor has it gotten easier for me. Imagine that. Hm. I'm not a business/economic person, but because social workers should apparently know about the economy impacting the lives of clients, I'm required to take it. I don't mind knowing about inflation rates or how the Federal Reserve works. But it's the word problems that really get to me. The book isn't clearly written, so it's not easy to understand each step. And I still want to know why paper money must be backed by bullion or how the value of the dollar increases or how the stock market works. Yet, I will never know this from this class because it's all about useless word problems and relentless information about the Keynes cross. I don't care about any of it!! Call me lazy, ignorant, whatever, but I'm allowed to rant about things I don't like. And I definitely don't like macroeconomics (and I'm not going to call it by its cute little nickname that other people use: Macro. I will use its full name because I despise it so!)

Godparenthood

In Hispanic/Catholic culture (in which I was somewhat brought up), allowing a person to be your child's godparent is a great honor. What exactly are the godparent's duties? I'm not sure the ecclesiological (church history) roots of having godparents, but the obvious job is to be present at the godchild's baptism. Next, an ideal nino or nina (godfather or -mother) is to be a guiding force in the child's life; maybe give them a little spiritual guidance here and there(although being a person of faith is not usually a prerequisite of godparenthood). Legally, the godparent promises to raise the child if something major happens to the biological parents. A godparent can be of any or no relation at all. My godparents are older cousins and I am my nephew's godfather. Often, parents will choose a good friend to be a nino/nina.

Since I wasn't baptized Catholic until I was 14, I had the opportunity to help pick out my godparents. Mine were chosen by their helpful advice they gave me at various points in my pre-Catholic life. Recently, I was bestowed the gift of godparenthood by my sister and her husband for their baby Colin. Colin is a special little guy because he was adopted from Guatemala. They got him right before the country stopped allowing international people to adopt. Since he was "conceived" out of such different circumstances, I love him much more. Moreover, since he is my own godchild, I love him even much more.

Even though I'm not Catholic anymore, I think that if I have children, I will give them godparents so that they can have a similar special relationship with people other than my wife and I. Also, if you are having a baby and want me to be a godparent, I'm accepting applications.

Futility

I admit it. I hate doing things that require so much work, only to have to do it over again. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind hard work; I'd even say I welcome it. However, lifting heavy things or doing strenuous work for little purpose really irritates me.

Let me give you an example. I just came in from edging and mowing my front yard. A month ago, I spent two days pulling the weeds in said front yard in the dead of the Floridian summer. Coming back from my trip a week ago, I was chagrined to find ALL the weeds regrown. My seemingly endless toil was for nothing! So today, I decided to use the weed whacker to rid the weeds that had overtaken my yard. I won't get into how hard and loud it is to operate the ridiculous gadget. And because the spool-head is broken, I foolishly wasted ten minutes trying to pry it off to change the line. After employing my dad's assistance, it took him a good ten minutes to change it (he had previously devised a way to change the broken spool involving wrenches and screwdrivers). After two hours of yanking cords and holding triggers, I completed the mammoth weed-ridding task. Another fifteen minutes was spent cleaning up the mass array of clippings. After such work, I know that these weeds will all return in the near future. So I say all of this to say that futile labor really bugs me.

I invented the iPod.

Just kidding. I thought of the concept one day, long before it became really popular. I'm not really saying I came up with it; that would be sacrilegious to Apple. However, in about 2001, I thought, "Wouldn't it be cool to have something like a CD Player [portable] so I can store all my CDs AND watch music videos?" And that, my friends, is how I think I came up with the iPod idea.

In all seriousness though (although this isn't really that serious), my opinion is that the iPod is the best invention of the 2000s. I can have hundreds, even thousands, of songs in one little sleek computer. Even still, I can watch movies, play games, AND store pictures!

I've been a proud iPod owner since Christmas '05, when I got a slim, black, 2GB nano. Let me tell you, a gig goes a long way. At my high point, I had about 473 songs. I took it everywhere: in the car, to the gym, jogging around the lake, work, with me studying. It revolutionized my life. Working out was easier without the bulk of a Walkman. I didn't have to worry about changing CDs. Life was just plain ol' easier.

But that's not all to my iPod love story.

Last month, I got a new, 8GB video nano. I can't say how much I love it. Giving my old iPod to my mom, I broadened my horizon for maximizing technological potential. I started crazily downloading music, videos, music videos, TV episodes, rental movies, and audiobooks from iTunes (thanks to a giftcard I got for my birthday). I was in heaven; I'd never be bored again. My search for accessories might border on obsessive. I searched every (well, almost every) Target and Wal-Mart in the Bay Area for the right case. I purchased a very sporty jogging strap (which I won't use until I get to school). My latest accessory wish is for a docking station/stereo speaker set. Anyway, I'm drooling now.

In case you couldn't infer from all this, I think iPod is the greatest thing in the world. Thanks, Apple.

Multimedia message

Mariah is playing doctor.

Prologue

I've been wanting to start up one of these things for a while now, but never have. I'm the kind of person who likes to write blogs, but often doesn't publish them once they're written. As a result, pages of unread material lay unread in my hard drive. So I'm hoping now that I've opened a blogger account, I can publish things more often. I was "inspired" by my cousin's musings (thanks, Magoop!), figuring someone's bound to read about my thoughts.

Here's what to expect from this blog.

I appreciate the simpler things in life, so expect to read about things that might not matter very much. For example, I really like reward campaigns that promise customers free things, "You buy ten _______, you get one free." That makes me very happy; as if my individual purchases matter in the long run. I purposely patronize businesses that offers these programs, so I can get free things (even if it means buying ten burritos in order to get an eleventh one free!). It's my right as a customer.

Usually, when I'm in a blogging mood, I always write dryly or even (albeit, not often) humorously.
I don't plan on revealing a lot of personal information, because my line of thinking is that if you're reading this, you must know me. I kind of thought about using pseudonyms when referring to others, so we'll see if I do. I even thought of using the names of characters from literature, just to spice things up. So if a name sounds outrageous, it's probably fictitious.

I'm looking forward to blogging my life away. Here goes...