Existential Mortality = Joy

We have been reading dead Germans for longer than anyone should ever be forced to.  Whether or not Tuesday's lecture/discussion/monologue was on the Heidegger reading we were required is beyond me, because I'm still on Nietzsche.  The discussion - which is really just Dr. P talking about what he thinks about the reading and anything possibly related in his life currently, with the occasional lewd joke thrown in - somehow ended up being about death.  According to Heidegger, man's ultimate possibility is his impossibility.  In English: the only thing certain in life is death.
Philosophy lectures can be long and frustrating, because they are often a lot of jargon to no end.  Philosophers supposedly search for answers, but they seem to delight in coming roundabout 360 degrees.  That, combined with the cheery prospect of death, should have made it a particularly depressing lecture.
On the contrary, it made my day about 100% better.
Dr. P presented a few different reactions to our mortality: we can become nihilists, we can become hedonists, or we can relish each moment of joy with added value because of its scarcity and inevitable end.  Of these three, I agreed with the third.  To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, if not for shadows, we wouldn't know what light means.  Dr. P continued with the the consequences of our mortality and our general insignificance on earth - in a hundred years, he said, nobody will think of us anymore.  Nobody will remember us, and even if we do something that goes in the history books, we're still dead, and we're not coming back.  This was the absolute highlight of my day, because - in two hundred years, when nobody remembers my name,
I WILL BE WITH JESUS
And who even cares about the history books then?

I finally remembered to bring my metronome to work today.  Luke, my 9 year old student, thought it was THE COOLEST thing ever.  He had a hard time playing with it at first, which always made me loathe the thing as a kid, but he still thought it was SO COOL and wanted to know WHERE he could get one for himself.  He also was thrilled to show off his awesome multiplication skills when I wanted to switch from the quarter note getting the beat to the eighth note getting the beat.  When Luke's lesson is over, he always sends his 7 year old brother Kyle in for his lesson.  Kyle opened the door and gave the room a quick once-over, like he was looking for something really big, and said (loudly),
"Where's the metronome thingy?  Luke said there was gonna be a metronome thingy!"  I picked it up the small ticker and showed it to him,
"This is it.  Do you want to see how it works?"  Kyle's face immediately fell.
"Oh.  Luke said I was gonna be really surprised."  He paused, shook his said wryly and said, "I'm not."

In other news, I bought an electronic piano today, secondhand from my boss.

The only thing it doesn't have is weighted keys, which would give it more the feel of a real piano.  Nonetheless, it was a great deal, and after I moved Mary Beth's bed into the living room it fit perfectly.  Ah, I'm kidding.  I had to move my dresser into my closet, but it's a sacrifice willingly made.  All that remains to do now is get a good pair of headphones so as not to bother the roomies when pounding out Regina Spektor's "Apres Moi" or tripping over Clair de Lune.

This semester is a tough one, with 5 classes total, 3 of them upper-level and reading/writing intensive.  I've become a bit burned out on writing the opinion column and, obviously, blogging.  I hate that I feel so apathetic toward writing, but I'm too apathetic to overcome that apathy.  Music is becoming more important to me (not that it was ever less important) and I find myself drumming piano fingerings on my desk during particularly long lectures.  I am counting down the weeks until summer (6 1/2!), even though I usually hate summer.  I find if I have low expectations, my expectations will be pleasantly exceeded.  I know, I'm a regular Pollyanna.  We found an apartment we like and will be moving in hopefully in June.  Maybe I will finally have room for all my instruments and 1/4 of my books!

Heigh-ho, Berlin!

My Russian history book is open to the chapter on Russian exile in Berlin, Paris, and America, post-Bolshevik.  My ticket for the DDR (German Democratic Republic) museum in Berlin, ever the faithful bookmark, is tucked between the pages.  Berlin here and Berlin there, and it makes me want to go back.  We only spent 4 days in Berlin, those few days packed with snow, trains, and tourism, but it was enough to generate a lifetime of interest.  I'm no worldwide explorer, yet, but I've been to my share of European cities, and Berlin stands out starkly, embracing its scandalous and tragic recent history to defy traditional spire-filled European skylines. The panoramic brochure of Berlin as seen from the Reichstag that makes a pretend window on the backing of my desk shows a different, clearer, and more cluttered Berlin than the dark, snowy, light-studded city I saw from the same perspective the freakishly cold night that we ventured to the glass-domed building.  What is it about Berlin?  Is it the Soviet bloc buildings?  The ruins of a French Prussia?  The insistent modernity sprung up alongside, in spite of, inescapable past?
It's quite possible that I am romanticizing the city.  I tend to romanticize things I don't know much about.  Yet, the remnants of a soviet world, so foreign to me, whisper enticingly.  There are hundreds of cathedrals and castles in Europe, but only one Berlin.
Berlin.  It speaks to me just like all the other places I long to visit.  Always restless, always wanting to go somewhere, do something, have an adventure!  Adventures are never what I expect, though.  Usually they're decidedly less adventurous.
Robert Louis Stevenson reminded me recently that "the most beautiful adventures are not those we go to seek."  I was frustrated when he told me this...does this mean I should sit at home and just wait for adventure to come to me?  Robert, what are you thinking?  Unfortunately, he died a while ago, so he can't answer me back.  I do agree with his statement, but it leaves much to be desired regarding how to approach adventures.
It would be nice if I could achieve some resolution in this short blog post.  Adventure equals __, therefore I should ___ in my own life.  Enter dreamy and optimistic phrase with a sunny outlook on life.  Adventure is out there!  You know.  But alas, life is always far more complicated, varied, nebulous, ambiguous, turbulent, and deceptive.  How's that for sunny side down?

golden crust on the apple pie

Tell you what I like about jazz trumpet...sometimes you can't tell if it's the muted trumpet or someone singing nonsense.  Is it the instrument or the voice?  Does it matter?  The feeling's the same - mournful, staggering, playful, and a little bit drunk.  
I know what you're thinking.  What on earth am I doing up so early on a Saturday morning?!  (It's 11:48 AM)  I have actually been awake for over an hour.  How is that for crazy?  I have plans to get stuff done today.  Therefore, I have to have a couple hours to contemplate what it is that needs doing, before I can contemplate starting.  Furthermore, it is a blueskyed almost-60 degrees here in the recently frigid 'Ham, which means that an outdoor excursion is absolutely necessary.  
Last night I went ice skating and was reminded why I hate ice skating.  Luckily I was with several people, because misery loves company.
Best get to that contemplating.  Have a lovely Saturday!  Don't over exert yourself!

the anti-romantic

Since Valentine's Day is rolling around soon, I thought I would share my feelings with you regarding this popular holiday.  I thought that videotaping myself hurling would be an accurate description, but I haven't thrown up since Christmas, so I am resigned to use words instead.
I do not like Valentine's Day.  I think it is icky.  Think about it: crappy candy and obscenely prolific pink.  What's not to hurl about?  Trite expressions of love written by greeting card companies are supposed to convey our true feelings to the people we care for, or just to whomever will consent to be our beloved for a day in a mutual desire to stave off loneliness during a holiday exclusively for twos.
Do I sound like a woman scorned?  Well, I'm not.  Truth be told, I have never been in love.  I'm told that when I finally am in love, all the mushy-gushy stuff I sneer at now will seem terribly romantic and exciting.  Still, I don't think I will embrace teddy bears with hearts, want candy hearts, or anything with hearts for that matter (I really don't like hearts), and I'm fairly certain I'll still hate pink and dislike Titanic.  However, I doubt this will be a problem.  When trivialities are removed, truth is allowed to stand starkly in full view, no longer cluttered or obscured by additions.  Love will be allowed to be love when it has shed trite expressions or poor imitations.  That, I can look forward to.
Meanwhile, the singles are looking, or at least hoping and wishing for a perfect Valentine to appear within the week.  Couples will make reservations at expensive restaurants and buy each other expensive trinkets.  Third-graders will make Valentine shoeboxes, which actually is pretty cute.  And I have good news.  Next Saturday night I'll be with the ones I love the most: my parents.  I'll take good old familial love over the Feb 14 scramble any day.  Particularly if they are going to drive 200 miles just to see me and to bring the things I forgot last time I was home (I need to send them that list...). I don't know how this ended up as a tribute to my parents, but when I start writing I rarely know where I will end, so: Be My Valentines, Mom and Dad?

boob tube

I will never understand the culture in which TV is a member of the family.

Some people turn on the TV first thing when they get up in the morning (if they even turned it off the night before).  I like to have a cup of coffee and stare out the window, maybe check my e-mail.  I'm not too fond of strangers on the telly talking loudly at me while I'm trying to enjoy my morning.

Some people never turn the TV off.  They NEVER TURN THE TV OFF.  Whether nobody's watching or everybody's watching, or everybody's in the room with the TV but nobody's watching, or people are back and forth, the TV is always on, stuck on some lame show that nobody really wants to pay attention to.  Despite this fact, it never occurs to somebody to turn the darn thing off!  Growing up, we only turned the TV on for a couple hours a day, and watched it the whole time it was on.  Then, when the show was over, or our brains had rotted enough, we turned it off.

TV is like candy or dessert.  It's fun and good in small doses.  In fact, I like good TV shows as much as I like movies.  House, Bones, NCIS, Law and Order - they're like mini-movies that I get to watch every week.  But 95% of television is total CRAP, which is why I don't understand why people want to have it on so often. 

As long as I'm discussing crap, I might as well tell you about my least favorite TV channel ever: The Freakshow Channel.  Whoops, I'm sorry, I meant TLC, The Learning Channel.  This channel takes advantage of people's desire for fame, recognition, or even just an understanding ear, and exploits them as freaks for their differences.  And we, the American population, watch them like we would the Fat Lady at the circus.  Any misplaced expectation on the part of the subjects of the show that they would be understood and seen as normal through publicity is shot to hell as they are paraded around on television as DIFFERENT and WEIRD. 

Anyway.  That's my morning rant.  Now back to my coffee.

Failure (is a good thing)

I would like to apologize for the post I made earlier, if you read it before I deleted it.  Regardless, I apologize.  A friend had expressed a certain sentiment to me and I took it as a personal affront.  The blog post that resulted from my pissiness was a whiny, asinine, foundationless retaliation to something that I probably misperceive. 

God has gifted me with comprehension, memorization, and a handful of other talents.  I have twisted those gifts into arrogance, superiority, a judgmental attitude, ill patience, elitism, and chip on my shoulder.  As usual, humankind perverts the blessings of God to their own misconceived and often evil devices.  I often call people stupid (though, mercifully, not to their faces).  I get frustrated when people don't understand what I think is simple and obvious.  I resent people for resenting the fact that I often blow the curve, only, while their resentment probably passes, mine builds and festers until I have a generally disdainful attitude directed at everybody that I think unjustly alienates me for being "the smart kid"  - which is not something that really happens in college, but did in middle school and high school, which just shows how much I do harbor and let fester old paper cut injuries.  In truth, it's most likely my arrogantly disdainful attitude that turns people away in the first place.  I nurture and cultivate the presumed injury of this rift, feeding it like a carnivorous plant.  I keep my distance and build walls with impressive (albeit often useless) knowledge and continue to subjugate people, taking enormous self-satisfaction in my position of lone ranger intelligensia. 

In short, I fail to love enough.  I fail to be patient, I fail to be humble, I fail to be vulnerable.  I fail to uphold and uplift and encourage sincerely.  I fail to be Christ to others. 

I tell you this to admit my own brokenness, so that maybe some good will come of it.  In fact, good has already come of it.  God loves brokenness, because it is in our brokenness that we realize how much we need him.  When we fail, God shines.  He shines because he forgives us through Christ's blood, and because he uses our weaknesses for his purposes.  God has no use for superheroes or perfect people.  He wants wayward prodigal sons and daughters who can be reconciled to him, and who through their weakness and brokenness can show the way home to the equally wayward.

We are all broken, injured, prideful, sinful.  But we are not abandoned to the unhappiness of our dark paths.  "If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday.  And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.  And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt, you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in."
- Isaiah 58:10-12

Once Upon a Time

"Fairy tales are more than true, not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be defeated."

- G. K. Chesterson

Last semester I took a pretty unique class, Folklore, which included nature hikes and basket weaving and lectures on all sorts of delicious mythology.  Basically, it was like school when I was 10 (thanks mom), except the tests were harder.  The first assignment was to read 15-20 of Grimm's Fairy Tales.  Best assignment ever, right?  I could get used to that kind of studying.  At the next class session, the professor asked,
"What did you all think of the reading?  I bet it's been awhile since any of you read fairy tales."
For most people, this is probably true.  Our exposure to fairy tales is usually limited to stories read to us as small children and Disney movies.  Every book of fairy tales I ever read is still on my bookshelf, without a single speck of dust disgracing their belovedly worn pages.  If eyes wore out ink instead of sun, those books would have been blank years ago.  This avid devotion is not a habit of the past, either.  It's difficult for me to go into a used bookstore and leave without some dingy fairy tale collection.  The latest, a book of Irish fairy tales, is currently sealed in a plastic bag with dryer sheets for the purpose of hopefully eradicating the forty-year-chainsmoker smell.  My little fairy-tale family also includes Grimm's (of course), The Big Red Fairy Book, Welsh fairy tales, Tibetan tales, Cherokee animal tales, George MacDonald, and many other compilations that aren't really intended for people over the age of 10.  My favorites of course include any tale where enchantment is broken by love and everyone lives happily ever after.  Heroes in disguise and princesses worth dying for are always a major plus.  But doesn't everybody agree with this?  Doesn't everybody love it when the stable-boy turns out to be a prince, defeats evil against all odds, and rescues the princess from her terrible misfortune?  Then they get married and everyone rejoices!  Except for the evil witch, who dances in hot-iron shoes until she falls over dead.

A friend of mine got detention in elementary school for talking back to her teacher who was trying to perpertrate the insidious lie that faries do not exist.  It's very important that we believe fairies exist, because if we don't then they die (isn't that a delightful metaphysical irony).  More important is the reason G. K. Chesterson said that fairy tales are more than true.  When you read a fairy tale, excluding some of the more bizarre tales involving cooking pots and foamy mermaids, something epic and very life-changing takes place for the characters.  An enchantment is broken, a true identity is discovered, a great treasure is discovered.  Most importantly, evil is always defeated (once again, excluding the foamy mermaids).  Everything good that was lost is restored, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Maybe the reason adults don't often read fairy tales is because they're jaded into believing that such stories cannot possibly be true.  Lost with childhood innocence is the belief that everything turns out all right.  It's not hard to fall into this; I think everybody does.  It is naive and stupid to believe that life is all sunshine and flowers, and if you do believe that you're in for a long hard landing.  But the moment we forget that dragons really can be defeated, that goodness is restored and evil dances to its death, we lose all hope.

Please put aside your faulty silliness filter for a moment and bear with me.  Read this tale with childish innocence.  We are living in a land under great evil enchantment.  We dripped tallow on the Prince's white shirt and brought it upon ourselves.  The castle has been usurped by a wicked witch of a stepmother.  Daily we must pick the rice out of the ashes in hope of going to the ball, with the threat of death if we fail.  But despite the fact that we didn't listen to the Prince's admonishment, that we did light that candle and drip the tallow, he's coming to rescue us.  He has disguised himself as the shoe-shine so he can fight the dragon and strike at the heart of the enemy.  But alas!  The wicked witch sneaked up from behind and turned the prince into a dove.  She now keeps him in a cage.  We ask the poor dove-prince, what can we do?  He tells us, stab me in the heart with a thorn.  Kill the beautiful prince?  Never!  But he demands that we do, and when the thorn pierces his heart he leaps up free, a prince again!  He kills the witch and breaks the enchantment.  The king returns to the castle and the entire kingdom rejoices!  And all of the land dances and celebrates as the Prince and we, the rescued Princess, are married.

Some things, friend, are too good not to be true.  Some tales speak so deeply into our hearts that we feel we have stumbled on something of the real truth, without which the world would not make sense and life would not be much worth living.  This is why we love fairy tales.  This is why they are important. 

 "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.""
Revelation 21:1-4