The Holidays

While I was at work the other day, staring blankly at my computer screen and only half-heartedly willing myself to return to some mind-numbing task, I started to ponder the meaning of Christmas. This was triggered by my internet radio station. I mostly listen to my Slacker account at work (I love Pandora, but for some reason, it doesn't play nicely with some of the other tasks that I use my computer for). Anyway, Slacker has genre stations. I listened to the Halloween genre station for most of October, which was interesting. There were quite a few songs that came up that I'd heard before but never had the chance to research. Also, I rediscovered "Boris the Spider" by The Who, which I think is probably the world's only classic rock song dealing with an isolated instance of arachnophobia (great song!).

Now that December has started, I've started to listen to the Holiday Party genre station, which is also interesting. There are more than a few good Christmas songs out there, but for some reason this station chooses to play the ones that annoy me. For example: I hate the song "Frosty the Snowman." I didn't like the cartoon (all of the children looked like extremely unfortunate mutations of humans and chipmunks), and call me crazy, but there's something really unnerving to me about the idea of an lifeless facsimile of a human becoming animate. I have the same problem with scarecrows.

I also hate the songs that originated from some multi-celebrity benefits, like "Feed the World" or "Do They Know it's Christmas?" I have to stop whatever I'm doing when these songs come on and violently click the "Ban" button, but there are plenty more annoying Christmas songs to take their place. I found myself wishing that I had the time to create my own station that played only the Christmas songs that I liked, which I suppose I could do on Playlist, if I could find the songs. I would listen to Playlist a lot more if they had a "Shuffle" option. Then I wouldn't have to re-order the songs myself, which I hate doing.

Back to the subject at hand: I was hitting the "Ban" button more often than I was actually listening to the station, which led me to wonder why I was even listening to it, if I disliked so many of the songs. I also started thinking about what I dislike so much about Christmastime (and by extension, Thanksgiving and New Year's). I am not the kind of person who has a large base of friends and family. I have relatively few people that I'm really close to, and am comfortable spending time with. This is why I'm not a party person. I would rather do nothing with a few close friends than many things with lots of people I don't feel comfortable with. Anyway, many people (including my family) labor under the notion that holidays are for spending time with family, even extremely extended and distant relatives that one only sees once every ten years, if at all. For example, just last month at Thanksgiving (at my step-dad's mother's house), I was seated at the same table with people with mysterious names like "Cousin Kyle" and "Aunt Lisa." Apparently, I had met both of these people before at large-scale family reunions that I had been too young to get out of, but was still expected to remember. Many of these people try to "Friend" me through Facebook, but my rule is if I don't know you, I don't "Friend" you. They'll try to explain the way in which they are related to me, but it sounds a lot like the Kevin Bacon game: "I'm the daughter of the niece of your great-aunt's cousin." Please don't misunderstand me. I love spending time with family during the holidays (at least, a reasonable amount of time), but if someone isn't already in my circle of comfort, they're not likely to be able to break into it.

Another thing that I don't like about Thanksgiving is the irony. I appreciate it, but I don't like it. It's ironic that a day devoted (in name, at least) to being grateful for the things we have is immediately followed by a day dedicated to feeding the monster Avarice. I am honestly surprised that the death toll of Black Friday isn't higher.

Despite all of this, however, I always come to the realization that I do love these holidays. Any holiday that celebrates a day of overeating is okay in my book! And I love planning gifts for people. I love the challenge of the perfect gift. I love the feelings of generosity that Christmas inspires in people. As depressing as it is that this seems like the only time of year when it's okay to give a shit about other people, at least it happens once on an annual basis. I love that Christmas can be meaningful without all of the fancy gifts. The Christmas that I remember most clearly from my childhood was one where my parents were still together (though it was towards the end of their relationship), and having financial problems. My brothers and I only received one present (collectively) that year, but it was one of the most special gifts I remember receiving. On Christmas morning, my father snuck outside and rang the doorbell, and my brothers and I opened to door to find a box on the porch. This box was mewing, and there was a note on it. The note said something like, "Hi! My name is St. Nicholas, and I've come to live with you!" Inside the box, as you've probably guessed, was the most adorable gray tabby kitten. We called him "Nick" for short, but he was always "St. Nicholas" in the back of our minds. Best Christmas present ever.

Whenever I come close to despairing during Christmas, all I have to do is pop in my Nat King Cole Christmas album and listen to his rendition of "Merry Christmas To You," also known as "The Christmas Song." In my mind, his is the only real version of this song. He sings it as though he means it, as if he's wishing you a Merry Christmas from beyond. I also love his "Mona Lisa," but that's beside the point.

Anyway, regardless of any religious meaning you choose to take from Christmas, or whatever holiday you celebrate during these winter months, the true meaning of this season manifests itself in the small things: an exchange of "Merry Christmas" between strangers, a handful of change dropped in a small red bucket, a can of soup given in a food drive, a card to someone who needs it, twinkling lights at night, hot chocolate and mittens. May your days be merry and bright, my friends.

Nature is Truth. Truth is Beauty. Nature is Beautiful.

One of the things that I love about life in general is the dichotomy of the modern and the ancient worlds. Something I've always envied about places like Europe is that the people there are living in the same geographical location as generation upon generation before them. They can wake up in their flat, walk down the road built by Romans, past the castle that was built in the Middle Ages, and around the corner from a grand Gothic cathedral that was one of the earliest examples of its kind. They don't even think about it! It's just part of their environment. I've never been across the Atlantic, but I wonder how the people there don't just stop and marvel at the vast history that surrounds them. I wonder if it's anything like what I feel when I experience our American version.

I'm not necessarily talking about the American history that we all learn in high school (hopefully) and later in college. The history that I try to experience (at least every other weekend) is our fantastic natural history. One of the advantages of living in the western United States is that civilization is so spread out, there's room for the monuments of our natural history. I'm lucky enough to live an hour outside one of the greatest National Parks in Utah (and I would say the whole country!). No matter how I'm feeling when I go into the park, I end up feeling relaxed and happy by the time I have to leave. I know that it might seem corny to use the phrase "commune with nature," but it's an accurate description of my experience. I feel more religious in such a beautiful setting than I ever have in a religious structure of any denomination.

There is more truth present in nature than I have ever found in society. It never lies. It doesn't try to hide its harsher side. It can be cruel. It can be wonderful. It can be heart-breaking. It can heal. It does not pretend. I sit in the presence of massive, timeless formations that took eons to become what they are. They were here before we wormed our way out of the oceans and walked on two feet. They (hopefully) will be here long after we blow ourselves into oblivion. If you ever want to understand the meaning of patience, try contemplating a mountain. If that doesn't almost make your mind explode, you're not doing it right (I get the same feeling when I try to comprehend the vastness of space).

Nature makes no demands upon anybody unless they choose to test themselves against it. Anyone can take away any meaning they wish from experiencing nature. One could come away with a greater understanding and appreciation of God, or whichever supreme being one chooses to believe in. One could come away with a deep impression of the weight of time and the natural process of evolution. To me, either perspective is extremely comforting. Either way, there is something greater, more ancient and enduring than myself. Whether or not it is indifferent to me is irrelevant. Nature is the sharpening stone that gives us our edge. To be in nature, to really appreciate it and make an effort to understand it, is to know yourself - your true self, beneath everything that you might show to society, even friends and family. There is no need to pretend with nature because it doesn't judge.

I'm sorry that this is more of a collection of random thoughts than a coherent blog, but in order for me to come to an understanding of something, I need to explore it in as many ways as possible. I feel that I am the better for my efforts.

Books are my drug of choice

In recent months I have been thinking a lot about things like education, intellectualism, and reading. I remember reading an article online that raised some controversy among the readers who commented on it. The article was about an author of books for young readers who created an interactive website set in the world of the series he'd created. Somewhat tangentially, this sparked a discussion on the definition of reading itself. Some commentors expressed their opinion that the only true reading is done in books and newspapers. Others rejected such a rigid definition, believing that reading is done in many media, such as blogs, magazines, and even video games, to name a few. What struck me about this debate was that no one was disagreeing on the basics of reading. What they were really arguing about was the apparent quality of the reading material. That lead me to the realization that reading is merely the act of transferring knowledge (of whatever caliber) to the mind. Let's leave that thought for a moment.

As far as education goes, I'm in favor of it. I don't think that every person benefits from the exact same type of learning. That's why God invented majors. I accept that some people are better suited to, and indeed seek after traditional education (i.e. colleges, universities, etc.). Some people are drawn to more practical knowledge, like technical programs. I encourage everyone to seek after whatever knowledge they think will help them to improve their lives. What I can't accept is when people choose to be ignorant. I realize that different people have different limitations and different interests. For a person who truly wishes to learn, however, I believe that those are surmountable obstacles, especially in this country. There are many ways to learn. I take issue with people who willfully deny their minds the opportunity to improve, especially when they hold strong opinions on things they know nothing about. I believe in knowing enough to know when you don't know everything. That might seem a little convoluted, but the principle is sound.

This brings me back to reading. I don't believe that one can only benefit from reading if the reading is intellectual (in the sense of pursuing facts). Reading for pleasure is also beneficial. As Tom Stoppard said, "It is better of course to know useless things than to know nothing." The act of reading, as discussed above, exposes the mind to knowledge. Knowledge comes in all kinds of forms. Even subconscious knowledge can be gleaned from reading. Ideas are found everywhere in all types of books. There is a wealth of knowledge and ideas all around us all the time, insubstantial, but there just the same! Choosing not to tap into that wealth...I don't understand. I don't accept that some people do not possess curiosity. I believe that they simply deny it. They deny it because they are afraid. The old adage "ignorance is bliss" is not without truth. There are many things that I am sadder for knowing, but I do not regret the knowledge. While my work, my surroundings, my environment may change, there is one thing that always remains constant. My hunger for the knowledge that I have yet to obtain is never erased. In short, readers, I know that your soul seeks that which can be obtained only through the written word. And that's why books are my drug of choice.

Room-mates

I've had some bad room-mate situations in my time, but nothing really compares to the experiences I've had in the last few months. I have a certain room-mate named Sara, but to protect her identity I'll refer to her as "Psychotica."

I didn't know Psychotica before she moved in. My first experience connected with her was when she moved in. I was the only one home, and I'd heard from my other room-mates that our landlord had told us that "someone" was going to move "sometime" into the last available room in our apartment. Our landlord has a nasty habit of not communicating anything with us, so needless to say we were left with only the vaguest understanding that we would soon get a new room-mate. Our landlord also typically sends people to look at the apartments without telling us, so we're constantly surprised by people ringing our backwards doorbell and saying, "Tim said that you would show me the apartment."

Well, one Sunday (my laundry day) this lady rings the doorbell (DONG-ding) and says that her daughter is coming to live in the last room. I knew that the room had been taken, but thanks to the lack of communication from our landlord, I had no idea who had taken it. I said, "Um, someone's going to be moving in there soon..." Without giving me a chance to finish what I was saying or clarify with her that I was indeed talking about her daughter, she freaks out and goes away, presumably to tell my landlord that someone had told her her daughter's room had already been taken by someone else. No one bothered to talk to me about this. I didn't see any more of anybody until they came to move in, all the while giving me dirty looks for causing all of this trouble.

I didn't really get to know Psychotica very well during the time that we lived together, but I was able to gather that she came from a small town (and therefore had a small-town mentality) and thought that everything that I did, watched, listened to, ate, said, or liked was, and I quote: "Stupid."

I know that as different people, we all have different interests. But while I might not be as excited about something as someone else might be, I at least try to respect their opinions. Psychotica made no effort to do so, nor did she make any effort NOT to voice her opinion of me and the things I did.

I'm a passive person. I'm willing to take a certain amount of lumps (up to a point) if it means keeping the peace. Even I have to admit, though, that it was getting on my nerves. Psychotica flung the "That's stupid" response at me constantly. Although that was annoying, I never thought that she was actually crazy (I mean CRAZY crazy, not "She doesn't like 'The Lord of the Rings'?! She's crazy!" crazy.).

It all started over a Phase 10 game. We'd played it once as an apartment with little to no incidents. The next time we played, however, somehow everyone went away being angry with each other--angry to the point of door slamming and the Silent Treatment.

The next day, Psychotica made cookies. I came home and saw them sitting in a pile on a plate on the kitchen counter. I didn't have any, because there were all kinds of "baking chips" in them: chocolate, mint, butterscotch, etc. I didn't think this eclectic cookie would taste very good, so I didn't have any. I found out later, though, that one of my room-mates (coincidentally the room-mate that Psychotica was most angry with) had eaten one, and had been up all night, not sick, but buzzed. THEN I found out that Psychotica was addicted to prescription medication, and that she had probably crushed up some of her pills and put them in the cookies.

That scared the HELL out of me. I wouldn't have minded if she'd put salt in the cookies, or that stuff that makes you pee blue, or even marijuana. But prescription pharmaceuticals crosses a major line. If someone had had a reaction to the medication, for example, we could have been dealing with a homicide!

Needless to say, I no longer eat ANYTHING that Psychotica has made or bought, even if it's something like wrapped candy. I need to live in a place where people don't think it's acceptable to poison each other! In fact, I need my own place.