why I should not speak to children...

As an explanation of my Facebook status...

I recently had dinner at a friend's home, and there were about three younger kids present. The one child, Eden, is a rather dramatic person and regaled us with a vivid description of her mashed potato volcano. "And look!" she exclaimed, "The corn can be rocks on the side of the volcano!"

Being a decidedly morbid person, I suggested an alternate version. "Or," I said, looking Eden straight in the eye, "the corn could be villagers climbing up the volcano in order to throw human sacrifices in."

My children are going to be warped....seriously warped.

"The Hobbit" and LOTR--the drive-by edition

NOW it all makes sense...

THE HOBBIT
Bilbo Baggins: Ah, now for some peace and quiet. Oops, someone's at thedoor.
Balin: We're dwarves. I'm the merry one.
Dwalin: I'm the happy one.
Fili: I'm the young one.
Kili: I'm the other young one.
Dori: I'm the funny one.
Nori: I'm the joyous one.
Ori: I'm the cute one.
Oin: I'm the jolly one.
Gloin: I'm the silly one.
Bifur: I'm the one with the funniest name.
Bofur: I'm the one with the looniest name.
Bombur: I'm the fat one.
Thorin: I'm the one with a distinct personality.
Gandalf: Now that you're all here, let's go on a quest.
(They get captured by TROLLS, and it is DANGEROUS, because they almost getEATEN. Then they get captured by ORCS, and it is DANGEROUS, because theyalmost get EATEN.)
Bilbo Baggins: What have I got in my pocket?
Gollum: I don't know.
(They get captured by SPIDERS, and it is DANGEROUS, because they almost getEATEN.)
Smaug: I'm an evil dragon. Hiss hiss.
(Bilbo Baggins turns INVISIBLE, and then some obscure co-star SLAYS thedragon, and it makes a MESS.)
Bilbo Baggins: I'm going home. Peace and quiet, here I come.
THE END
----------------------------------------------------------------
THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING
Gandalf: Bilbo Baggins, your Ring is evil. In a couple decades, we'll try todestroy it. In the meantime, leave it for Frodo to play with.
Bilbo Baggins: It's not evil. It's mine. My precious. Mine! MINE, I TELLYOU!!MOOHOOHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
(Frodo takes it to RIVENDELL. Some FRIENDS come with him. They are attackedby black riders a LOT, and it is SCARY.)
Elrond: Frodo Baggins, if Sauron ever gets this Ring, the world will bedestroyed, and evil will reign forever. We must act quickly. Take the Ringto where he lives.
(They do some travelling. Some more FRIENDS come with him. Gandalf DIES inthe mines of Moria, but will later be RESURRECTED in GLORIFIED form havingtriumphed over EVIL, an obvious literary ALLUSION to that movie where theguy comes back as a DOG.)
Boromir: Frodo Baggins, give me the Ring.
Frodo: No.
Boromir: What have I done? (dies)
THE END
----------------------------------------------------------------
THE TWO TOWERS
(Gandalf frees THEODEN and overthrows SARUMAN. A bunch of IRRELEVANT stuffhappens. Then the PLOT starts up again.)
THE END
----------------------------------------------------------------
THE RETURN OF THE KING
Aragorn: We must travel the Paths of the Dead.
Eowyn: You'll die.
(They don't.)
Gandalf: The Hordes of Mordor will destroy Minis Tirith.
(They don't.)
Gandalf: We must attack Mordor. We'll all be killed.
(They aren't.)
Gollum: Mmmm, yummy finger! (dies)
Frodo: The Ring has been destroyed, but now we will die in Mordor.
Sam: Buck up, Master Frodo.
(A bunch of feathered DEUS EX MACHINAS come out of NOWHERE and save EVERYBODY.)
THE END

the stress of having a copycat

I taught Emma how to dance yesterday. Not that I'm the best teacher...far from it. I have about as many moves as a rocking chair--a simple back-and-forth motion is pretty much all I can do. But a two-year-old can't really notice extremely poor skillz in the dancing department. The only thing she can see is that I'm doing things she's never seen before and boy, would she like to try them out! So I improvised. For "Enter Sandman" (Metallica), we tried head-banging, which looked more like vigorous nodding. For "Sweet Home Alabama" (Lynyrd Skynyrd) we did a country two-step (or at least, my version of one). For "About a Girl" (Nirvana), we did a dance reminiscent of the zombies from Michael Jackson's Thriller video, complete with grunts, groans, and strange clawing motions with our hands. For "Dream On" (Aerosmith), we stole a hairbrush from the bathroom and did our best job of lip-synching like '70s rockers. Altogether, our rock-out session was awesome.

But at the same time, the whole incident stirred up various concerns for me. I never grew up with little kids around; my youngest sibling was born when I was six, so my experience with the toddler age group is rather limited. And it never really struck me until yesterday how much little kids like to imitate us. Every move I made (or attempted to make) was immediately copied by Emma, in her own two-year-old version of the move. And I mean every single move. If I got down on my knees to look her in the eye, she would get on her knees too. If I brushed my hair out of my face, her little hand would sweep her own blonde curls behind her ears. And that scares me. These little things, these almost mindless movements are observed and then imitated. And the same goes with words. Even though her enunciation was somewhat undecipherable, I could still hear echoes of my own words as she sang along with the music. I spent less than an hour with Emma, and already she was doing exactly as I did. The influence I had on her is a scary thing. It could be good, too, if I use it right. But right now, all I hear is cheesy voice of Spiderman's uncle ringing in my ears: "With great power comes great responsibility." Such power is a frightening thing, to me. But I'm glad I got a rough estimate as to how much I seem to have. It was quite the dance lesson.

elections come and gone

We came. We saw. We voted. And nobody noticed.

But we can laugh at ourselves. Because Lord knows, everybody else laughs at us anyways.

the six phases of work

This makes me worried...am I slowly going crazy?

sounds good to me...

I love living with this family. And what makes it more fun is that Emily (the mom) is teaching me how to speak...differently. She has a rather unique way of speaking, which involved inserting words that sound like they belong, but in reality, they cause the listener to stop, stare, and say, "Huh?" The more time I spend with her, though, the more I find myself doing this exact same thing. Although, to be honest, I doubt I can top these gems:

"He was curled up in the fertile position."

"...a prescription to Playboy..."

"Whenever I see bras, I think 'Laundry thieves!'"

life as a receptionist/adminstrative assistant

I never really imagined myself working as a receptionist. And, to be honest, I still can hardly believe that I spend eight hours a day, five days a week, sitting in the same chair, doing the same tasks, answering the phone the exact same way (although I spice it up a bit in the afternoons; instead of "Good morning, Viking Pacific, this is Katie", I say "Good afternoon...."). It's all rather surreal...in a boring kind of way. But since this is the only place that actually offered me a job, I have resolved to be thankful and enjoy myself.

And enjoy myself I have. So far I have put in the wrong code for our alarm system (resulting in a very loud siren echoing through the office as I frantically tried to call someone who might know what to do), I have been evacuated from our 12th floor office due to a fire in the building next door (which was more of a smoke screen than anything, really), I have gotten one of the most powerful women in the Peace Country (or so Bill says) to come interview us for her magazine, I ordered pizza for the family picnic, and next week I'm set to make a scarecrow for the First Annual Scarecrow Festival. What makes this even more fun is that I'm also covering for our president's executive assistant. I have just barely learned how to do my own job, let alone someone else's, so that has made this week very interesting.

But my living situation is quite nice. I really love living with a family, and this family is especially nice. Plus they have two adorable little girls, ages 2 and 10 months respectively. Last night I was chasing the tw0-year-old around the living room, and tried to teach her the correct response to the question "Do you surrender?" (which is, of course, a very emphatic "NEVER!")

And besides work, I'm doing my best to see that my schedule is never empty (a lesson I learned from ex-roomie Anna). I have tutoring on Mondays, choir on Tuesdays, more tutoring on either Wednesdays or Thurdays (to be alternated with Bible study and Youth Group), and Latin/Greek study group on Saturday. Thankfully, I'm keeping my Friday nights free (yahoo!) as well as my Sundays.

That's life, folks. As I experience it.

more on happiness

Happiness is often intolerable in other people. We grew up looking over our shoulders, making side-long glances, always on the lookout for someone who was having too much fun (or at least, more fun than we were). Laughter—or to use the demonic definition, “a meaningless acceleration in the rhythm of celestial experience” —can almost cause a spiritual version of cardiac arrest in some. They see the giggling child, enthralled by the inch worm making its way down a skinny branch; the chuckling grandparent, amused by an old comic strip; the gurgling baby, mesmerized by the tinny music emanating from his toy. To these happy people, the joy comes from the simplicity of the moment, the pure and unadulterated delight in a single thing for no other reason than it is itself. The opinion or preference of others doesn’t matter to them. But this attitude can become infuriating to those who witness it. It’s not because the enjoyment of these things is harming someone else; it’s not even because such things should never be enjoyed. But do they have to enjoy everything? Why must God be “a hedonist at heart”, the unrepentant Creator of pleasures forevermore?

there are two kinds of people in the world...

At times, I feel a little like a fish out of water. In Moscow, I loved the discussions and debates, the papers and the books, and all the nerdy things that made up my college education; but back here in Canada, that sort of thing seems to be looked down on. I was talking to one of my co-workers the other day, and he was talking about a relative who was into philosophy. "But that's not for me," he said. "I'd rather do something."

As if philosophy isn't doing something. I know what he means, though. He means doing something physical, rather than just sitting around, doing (for all he can see) absolutely nothing. It's a rather interesting kind of snobbery, though, if you think about it. We look down on people who read, who like to debate philosphical or theological issues, who enjoy discussing hypotheticals. I've even heard people up here bragging about how they don't read, how they haven't picked up a book in years. Of course, the opposite type of snobbery is still very real. Those who read regularly often mock those who make a living doing seemingly menial tasks, the "common" people, the ordinary citizens.

It would be nice to see a more balanced appreciation for these two types of people. After all, we aren't all exactly the same and we shouldn't all try to have exactly the same careers. If we all just "worked" or if we all just "thought", the world would be a very boring place. We ought to recognize our need for both careers, and show gratitude for those who have chosen a path different from our own. The philosphers or theologians should not see themselves as having a loftier vocation than the garbage man, but the garbage man shouldn't mock the very real work that these thinkers do. And it might help to go over to the other side once in a while. I'd like to see a professor with his hands dirty or a oilfield worker with a book in his hand. Wouldn't that be amazing?

happiness meditation, #3

He stands at the bow of the ship, his whale-bone leg resting firmly in its hole, and watches the men at work. One young sailor seems particularly happy this day, whistling a merry tune as he walks the deck. He must be one of those romantics, the captain thinks; one of those men who sees sailing as an adventure, who thrills at the thought of waves and surf, who dreams of far-away ports and exotic lands, for whom "the great flood-gates of the wonder-world [had] swung open"; and there he was, cheerfully doing his work while the captain, their fearless leader known for being "desperate moody, and savage sometimes", glowered at them over the railing "with a crucifixion in his face." He hears the songs, the excited cries of the sailors, but he cannot understand their happiness. To himself, he mutters, "All loveliness is anguish to me, since I can ne'er enjoy. Gifted with the high perception, I lack the low, enjoying power; damned, most subtly and most malignantly! damned in the midst of Paradise!" What the captain wants, what would truly make him happy—the Whale!—consumes his every thought, his every waking and sleeping moment, this single "unachieved revengeful desire." And so he watched his crew, sees their joy, their complete happiness in their toil; he observes the fulfillment of their pedestrian wants, until he can no longer stand it. His voice cracking, his shaking finger pointing at the young man he first noticed, the words spewing from his lips: "Thou art too damned jolly!"

* All quotes from Herman Melville's Moby Dick.