Blame Game

Sometimes your younger siblings are so insolent, they send you messages like this:

Little Sister: I blame you for the fact that I spent the last half an hour reading about Bonnie and Clyde on Wikipedia.

Little Sister: I blame you for the fact I was extra tired today.

Little Sister: I blame you for the fact my calfs are really aching.

Little Sister: I blame you for the worldwide poverty, disease, and misery.

Little Sister: I blame you for the lack of Cheetos in this household.

Little Sister: And I blame you for my insanity.

Little Sister: Hope you feel good about that.

I'm Learning a Lot at College

Quoth the textbook:

As we said back on page 71, an argumentative essay generally has four components:

1. A statement of the issue
2. A statement of one's position on that issue
3. Arguments that support one's position
4. Rebuttals of arguments that support contrary positions

After reading this chunk of text, I have two questions: Did they actually say that on page 71? and Can I write an essay that contains all four argumentative components?

Answer to the former question: Yes, they do say that on page 71, right above the section on vagueness. I want this to be ironic, but it isn't.

Answer to the latter: Let's find out.

Component One: A statement of the issue.
Who took the cookies from the cookie jar?

Component Two: A statement of one's position on that issue.
Little Brother took the cookies from the cookie jar.

Component Three: Arguments that support one's position.
Little Brother is currently in the throes of a growth spurt. He eats a lot. Like, really, a lot.

Little Brother is especially fond of junk food. Cookies are junk food.

Little Brother lives in the house in which the cookie jar resides, which means that he had access to the cookie jar.

Component Four: Rebuttals of arguments that support contrary positions
If Little Brother is in the throes of a growth spurt, you may point out, why would he stop at eating the cookies alone? If he's that hungry, why didn't he eat the jar, too?

It's quite simple, really. As I pointed out, Little Brother is especially fond of junk food. Cookies jars can be classified as junk. Some may even think they are food. You could even say they are junk food (which the internet says is "food that has low nutritional value, typically produced in the form of packaged snacks needing little or no preparation"), but the fact remains that while I have seen Little Brother consume dozens--nay, hundreds--of cookies over his lifetime, I have never, no not even once, seen him eat a cookie jar.

Clearly Little Brother is entirely capable of eating cookies without eating a cookie jar.

You may also point out that Little Brother is not the only person who lives in the house with the cookie jar. Seven other people live in this house, including me. What about one of them, you ask? What about you, Awkward Mormon Girl? Couldn't you have eaten the cookies in the cookie jar?

Who, me? Couldn't be!
End of Essay
Oh yeah. I've got this in the bag.

A Normal Conversation

I messaged Little Sister on our iPods.

Me: What if we actually had a normal conversation?

Little Sister: Hahahahhahahaha

Little Sister: Please.

Little Sister: As if

Little Sister on my account: You're right Little Sister, we all know I'm not capable of that. 

Me: Very funny.

Me: I bet we have normal conversations in some alternate universe somewhere.

Little Sister: How does a normal conversation go

Little Sister: ?

Me: I say, "Hello. How are you?"

Me: And you say, "Very well. And yourself?"

Me: "Splendid, thank you."

Me: "Jolly good."

Me: And then we have mint tea  and cucumber sandwiches.

Me: Whilst our pinkies stick out.

Little Sister: No. 

Little Sister: I think it goes more like "Yo, my diggity dog. How you doin'?"

Little Sister: And you say "what's crackin' home skillet? I'm fly."

Little Sister: "That's swaggin bro."

Little Sister: All while driven our ghetto cars to heavy metal rap. 

Little Sister: *driving

Little Sister: And flashing gang signs. 

Me: ...

Me: ...You win.

Opposition

You wouldn't know what happiness was if you'd never felt sad.

Without terrible, there would be no wonderful. Without dark, there would be no light.

And sometimes, life has to get awfully complicated before it can become simple.

Down the Rabbit-Hole

You know that thing where you're like, "I'm all ready for bed and I still have fifteen minutes before sleepy time?"

And you're lying in bed, Facebooking on your mobile device, when you see that one of your classmates wrote a post about Bonnie and Clyde?

And you realize that you know next-to-nothing about Bonnie and Clyde, so you Google them?

And you learn lots of fascinating stuff like that Bonnie was four foot ten and married to some other guy?

And before you know it, it's twenty minutes past your bedtime but you're like, "I was going to bed early anyways. It's okay if I read for a little longer?"

And soon you find yourself reading about Belle Starr?

And the Hatfields and the McCoys?

And all this history makes you remember that historical science fiction series where all of the characters are kids from history who disappeared and the protagonist's historical identity has yet to be revealed?

And you're like, "I'll go to bed after I read some theories about what kid from history he is?"

And then pretty soon you're reading articles about not only the Beaumont kids, Etan Patz, and Joe Pichler, but also about every single suspect in their disappearances and all the other awful crimes those suspects have been implicated in?

And you're like, "Wow, it's late. How did two hours just pass without my noticing?"

But you're too creeped out to sleep, so you decide to read about Everett Ruess  for a while, to make you happy?

Except in retrospect, that is a terrible idea, because reading about Everett Ruess to make you happy is like reading Romeo and Juliet to gain an optimistic perspective of teen romance?

And so you don't get happy, but very much the opposite, and somewhere down the rabbit-hole of Everett Ruess information, more kidnapper-murderers turn up and any hopes you had of not feeling freaked out are dashed?

And so you go to bed in the wee hours of the morning with unease creeping up and down your spine and imaginary or not-so-imaginary kidnapper-murderers creeping up and down your halls?

You know it? You know that thing?

I hate that thing.

College Quotes

Here are some funny and/or insightful things I heard in my various college classes freshman year, as lifted from the margins of my notes:

"That's why I don't live in the real world. It's boring."

"Go to the second floor... no, the next one up..."
"The third floor?"
"The third floor."

"I hope you didn't do any homework."

"Victorian popular culture's a riot."

"I wonder if it would help if I banged on the wall." *bangs on wall*

"If you wanna rule the universe, be a good writer. If you don't wanna rule the universe, be a good writer so you can get out of it."

"It's your class. I mean, I'm your mentor and I'm God, but it's your class."

"I celebrate Columbus Day by going to other people's houses and telling them I live there now."

*lying across the desk* "No! Go away! Go away! You're disrespecting your professor!"

"It's so embarrassing, though. The box is full of... shame."

"Sometimes it's good not to meet all the people you admire. My strategy is to avoid all of them so I can still admire them."

"I call them nonsonnet sonnets, which irritates some..."

"You know, I have a brother who is now a retired Marine corps... and... well... he can't... never mind."

"There are poets that are couples, but they don't last very long."

Of Harry Potter: "If you think about it, this last movie is the end of our generation."

"The problem is what?"
"The problem is that you're a socialist."

"If you're gonna be so audacious, at least use Spellcheck."

"How does wireless network work? 'Cause it kinda freaks me out."
"How familiar are you with Oompa-Loompas?"

"She stole your tangle."

"He lets his wife die for him, and then he just can't get over it."

"He's coming to take away somebody's life. Generally that's not funny."

"I'm thinking of superheroes."

"Socrates, Hamlet-style, and then Plato wakes up in the end."

"Why is there lightning? Why did it hit my house? Why am I on fire?"

"It's not just, 'I need to get some Fritos. I'll die if I don't have Fritos today,' which I've had that thought actually..."

"I don't know how many of you think you have an immortal soul."
"I do."
"What is it?"
"I have a picture of it in my diary. I can bring it in if you really want me to."

"Sounds like an Indiana Jones movie: Oedipus Rex and the Search for the Truth."

1: "She's the queen, Oedipus's wife. And his mother, I guess."
2: "You guess?"
1: "Well, the text proves it, but it's weird to think about."
2: "What's weird about it?"
1: " Well."
3: "What's not weird about it?"

"Ow, I stabbed my eyes out."

"It's not a tragedy."
"Well, two kids do get killed..."

Of Medea: "She has this whole Gollum thing going on..."

"I'm not being flip."

"[Student] will fall, so that the rest of us can live."

"I wouldn't want to be thought of as a sheep... They're stupid... just follow people around..."
"They're also warm and fluffy."

"If I was a sheep, I'd feel pretty safe."
"What happens when the shepherd is gone?"
"Well, he comes back after three days."

"I'm confused now what you're asking me."
"Yeah, me too."

Of "The Wanderer": "epic poem without the epic part."

"I think the difference between having the questions and not having them for me was when I lost all hope."

"I don't know what it's like to have my head cut off."
"It hurts."

"God wanted to go shopping one day because he was lonely."
"So he went to Soul Depot?"

"First of all, dish soap is bad for your trumpet. Secondly, I would very much like to take a shower right now."

"Truth with a capital Tree... T."

"Oh... that sounds like God."

"Other duties may require your arm, or being alive."

"It was very French. I liked it."

"Next thing you know he's at the chimney throwing rocks at it, and... yeah."
"What a story."

"Really intense... my mother."

"I'm not saying that Communists are divine."

"Oh, they're killing each other. Sacrifice something."

"'Cause it's Shakespeare and you can't do that."

"I'm gonna die soon, so... I'm crazy now. Just for fun."

"Does anyone else have a hovering problem?"

"It didn't bother me til my brother got taller than me."

"You don't want to write your paper as a drama with a surprise at the end."

"Wrap it up differently? How? By singing?"

"He starts insulting him: 'I'll put you in a tree!'"

"So this is like a magical hangover?"

"I really had no idea that he was that ignorant."

"He decided to conquer vast portions of Asia in his spare time."

"And that scared everyone, obviously."

"No bashing on heads with rocks, not even when honey is involved."

"Oh my gosh, is he a pre-Hobbesian?"

"Your idea is thrown on the trash heap of history."

"You've all shown that this is being more complicated than I thought."

"She's big in the history of history."

"The relationship between slaughter houses and... ah, execution. I thought it was education."

"I think it will help the snowboarding nation to have better snowboards with better graphical designs."

"Apparently we only had to read 302."

"He waited like three seconds and then he said, 'Family! I'm creating an institution called family! You can use it as a model for your kingdoms!'"

"Put that in normal language."
"To become king you have to be a backstabbing, scumsucking jerk."

"He's generally melancholy and despairing, so he's not a chipper person."

"We've got a crazy guy telling a crazy guy a story. This should be interesting."

Renaming Frankenstein: "How I Became a Fiend."

"Mulling is excellent. I recommend it highly."

"It's just reciprocal nonpain causing..."

"Just ignore everything I said."

"Who do you get who has a silver trump and calls people?"
"Well, I was thinking of great jazz musicians..."

"Let's say you have ten rocks of dignity..."
"So pity comes when you have no rocks in your bowl?"

"Notice that that's not a question."
"It was a question."
"All right, sorry, I dequestioned it."

"Dad, I used to drive this car."
"Oh yeah? Did it have floor mats?"
"No."
"Well, neither does this one."

"America's favorite entertainment: Other people getting hurt."

"There's forty of you, theoretically against a continent."

"Boy, is she white."

"I wonder what the country's view of pioneers was. Did they think they were courageous... or retarded?"

"This is a great era of people, just, you know, claiming things."

"You know what's funny about that? Well, nothing's funny about that."

"'Cause if you wrap a 6'4" guy in a shawl, nobody's going to recognize him."

"Don't get any ideas about shooting cannons at your old professors. Bad idea."

"If it's a no, then it's a no, ya know?"

The Confederacy: "We're too busy losing to write things down."

"So he's not regarded as a fool?"
"He is by me."

"Can't talk like Yoda. Can't put question marks in your titles."
"Can you talk like Yoda in your title?"

"The Machine will talk to you. It will say, 'You are now part of the Machine' and you will say 'Thank you.'"

"Whatever you just said, forget it. Just remember what I said."

"In my family, we call that rhyming."

"I teach everything from Beowulf to Virginia Woolf around here."

"It looks a little bit like it's having a migraine."

"Several people in this college must be rewind-challenged."

"Intelligence is no guarantee of morality or congeniality."

"The Guillotine is a lot quicker than lethal injection."
"Plus you don't have to have a needle in you."
"That's right. So if you don't like needles... ask for the Guillotine."

"Quebec and Texas should just become Quebexas. They'd speak French with a Texan accent."

"Does eating grass make you docile?"

"That's a nondocile cow. A resistant cow. Possibly a rebellious cow."

"What eats whales? I don't know."

"We had to withdraw my defense 'cause it failed."

"I never make mistakes when drawing an octopus."

"Prompts are an instrument of psychological torture."

"That sounds just like a man. That's just a man talking. Oh man."

Harry Potter: "Is that the only connection you people have with trains?"

"Inferiorating- ooh. That's probably a non-word."

"Good job. You referred to yourself."

"We only use rifles because we don't shoot people."
"What a rule."

"Yeah, but there are also laws, you know."

"Can we leave the world of fantasy for a moment and have real examples from actual life?"

"I actually find you despicable."

"What does this say about her?"
"She's terrifying. Just listen to the music."

Things in Plastic Bags

This is sitting in the entryway.

"Put your Rosary in here"

That's not even the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my house.

In other news, my mother found Older Sister's missing earrings today. They were in a plastic bag, just like she'd said.

Now, it's not exactly that I didn't believe my mother when she said that she'd seen the earrings around the house in a plastic bag. It's just that she also tells me to put the gallon of milk back in the microwave after I'm done with it.

Omniscience

Time and time again I hear people say that the Judeo-Christian God is like some big puppet-master in the sky, using all the puny humans on Earth as His playthings and controlling what they do. Or at least, they say, that's what He would be like if He existed. Which He doesn't. Everyone knows that God and unicorns don't exist.

That's what the logix say. And the logix are all the rage right now.

Personally, I think God is a lot more like an author.

I've heard it said that when you're a good writer, you don't start with a plot. You start with interesting characters.

In my experience, interesting characters aren't contrived so much as discovered. Yeah, you have to reach for them, but once you land on them and start digging into the recesses of their souls, they're so much more than anything you could have deliberately constructed. It's like they've existed forever--they've just been waiting for someone to give them form.

This relationship between the author and the characters parallels the relationship between God and His children. The spirits of us humans aka the children of God have always existed in some manifestation or another, and we have always borne the special characteristics and traits that make each of us who we are. We existed forever--we just waited for someone to give us form. God "organized" us into our present form as spirits, and then gave us bodies that allowed us to come to Earth.

Through the process of giving form to the characters, the author learns who they are. Their desires, fears, patterns of reaction--she knows those things. And once she does, all she has to do is set the characters loose on the page.

Such a writer has no need to stomp all over her story, twisting every event to her will. Rather she lets things happen. She knows what those things will be because she knows the characters, but she forces nothing. She lets the characters be what they are and do what they do, and they create more genuine and interesting conflict, tragedy, and comedy than she could pre-construct.

Of course, the characters can't do everything for themselves. That is why the author exists. She's there to give direction where it's needed, to provide the circumstances to struggle as well as the circumstances to overcome. But she does this with a light and organic touch of a finger rather than ham-fisted blows.

Our Heavenly Father is the author, and we are the characters. He guides us, He places us in challenging situations and with challenging people, He gives us what we need to grow. But in the end, we, the characters, are the ones who determine what we do.

We determine how our story goes.

Asymptotes

I'm a geometry sort of person myself. Geometry sends thrills of joy through my body.

And equations? Well, they're not so bad, really. Solving one has always given me immense satisfaction.

Of all math concepts, the one that I particularly disliked in high school was graphing points. Sometimes I would mix up the x-axis and y-axis (rather like I sometimes mix up left and right) and then my graphs would be a mess. Add to that all the shifting and reflecting of functions and whatnot and the whole thing just became like a hopelessly tangled ball of yarn in my head.

Yesterday the Fearless One reminded me that I once wrote a poem about a graph concept that was particularly frustrating to me: asymptotes. Here it is, for your viewing pleasure.

Asymptotes
If I ever met an asymptote, do you know what I'd say?

It's likely I would tell that useless thing to go away.

Asymptotes aren't helpful, for they muddle up my brain.

A graph with one becomes a thing that I cannot explain.

In a function, they're supposed to show the balances and checks,

but all they do for me is help me to misplace each x.

They say that asymptotes make sense, but that is just a lie.

Why should there ever have to be a limit to this y?

Numbers are just things that should be lined up in a line.

To any other way of thought I find I'm not inclined,

and therefore, it is hard for me to see this in my mind:

that two puny dotted straits would keep some points confined?

Points on a graph can't run away; they stay within their space.

Confining them is fruitless, a fact you've got to face.

If those stagnant points should truly wish to move about,

I doubt those skinny asymptotes could really keep them out.

Yes, asymptotes are useless, no matter where one roams.

So I won't do my Pre-Calc homework, I'll just sit here writing poems.

The One About Eating Grass

When I was a small and impressionable child, my childhood best friend told me how delicious grass tastes.

CHILDHOOD BF: Grass tastes so good!

As a small and impressionable child, I naturally didn't believe anything that anybody else told me. I had to disbelieve everything until I proved it for myself. So the best course of action to prove or disprove Childhood BF's claim was obviously to eat some of the grass that grew on the soccer field of the elementary school.

Childhood BF explained that in order to properly consume a lawn, one must not eat an entire blade of grass but only the tender white part at the tip of the root.

I selected a likely blade. Carefully I loosened it from the dirt, being careful not to break it off above the root. Delicately I bit the tender white part from the greenery. I chewed it. I swallowed. And-

"You're right!" I exclaimed. "Grass does taste so good!"

For several days, we spent our recesses eating grass. As we ate, we talked about how delicious the grass was and wondered if it could be improved upon.

After some debate, it was decided that the only thing that could improve grass was sugar. Sparkling sugar, snuck by the spoonful from the canister in the cupboard above the stove or poured from pink paper packets at a restaurant dinner. It tasted like dust from an angel's wings.

Yes, Childhood BF and I agreed, sugar would be just the thing to go with our grass roots. But since we couldn't get sugar during first-grade recess, we made do without.

One day, our teacher told our class that we were allowed to stay at recess for five extra minutes aka until the "late bell." Happily, we looked forward to five extra minutes of grass consumption.

This recess was also the recess that the other kids finally noticed the two girls eating the soccer field.

CLASSMATES: What are you doing?

US: Join us!

As a child, I had like this irresistible magnetism that caused people to go along with my ideas. I don't know where it came from or how it worked, but the force of this power caused three or four other kids to suddenly start eating grass, too.

We told them that we did this every recess. They thought that was awesome. We explained that sugar would go great with grass. They thought that was legit.

The recess bell rang.

CLASSMATES: (start to leave)

US: Where are you going?

CLASSMATES: The bell rang.

US: But remember? Mrs. First-Grade Teacher said we could stay out until the late bell!

CLASSMATES: Oh yeah! (go back to eating grass)

Every five minutes, another bell would ring, and our classmates would start to leave. But Childhood BF and I would sing, "It's not the late bell yet!" and then they would stay and continue to nibble tender white tips off grass roots with us.

To be clear: Childhood BF and I were not tricking our classmates. We were so caught up in the grass that none of the bells seemed late enough to us.

We were terribly surprised when Mrs. First-Grade Teacher came outside to collect us.

I can only imagine what she thought when she found her wayward students sitting in a circle on the soccer field, eating grass. I have to imagine because I don't remember her reaction. All I remember is that we weren't punished (and that it was neither the first nor last time that I received no punishment for a delinquent act I committed in elementary school. But those are stories for another time).

However. Let it be noted in the annals of time that after that recess, Childhood BF and I never ate grass at recess again.