livejournal

So...my livejournal posts are about 800-times smarter and are more well-written than these.

I guess I have some things to think about, then. Maybe I should ditch this and move back to LJ. It kind of reminds me of how I've gotten progressively dumber the longer I've stayed in academia.

Maybe I just need to post more often.

In other news: NANOWRIMO! National Novel Writing Month fast approaches, and I'm actually going to try and do it this year. The goal is to write 50,000 words by November 30th. So, it's a novel-writing frenzy, and as you might imagine, most of the novels that are spewed forth from NaNoWriMo are complete crap. Still, I think any writing effort is worth, well, the effort, and it's all in good fun. So, if you're doing it, be my writing friend! My username is cocobutter.

t-minus 5

I've been going back and forth this past week between utter joy and total confusion. When did this happen? How? And more importantly, why?

So, in homage to the great institution of Marriage, and also in a final attempt at self-reassurance, I've decided to compile my thoughts on an oft-contested way of life:

1. I think marriage should be between two people who love each other unconditionally, and who come to the mutual agreement that they want to spend and build their lives together. And that's pretty much my only criteria (of course there are caveats...like no creepy kidnappers who want to marry 13-year-old girls, for example).

2. Yes, 50% of people who get married get divorced. But we don't know all the details. And according to this, 75% of people who divorce get re-married. That tells me one thing: marriage is worth the trouble. Otherwise, more people who were divorced would swear off it for good. I'm not celebrating that so many marriages end with a divorce, but I AM celebrating the fact that there must have been enough good within the institution itself that they gave it another try.

3. I find the idea of sharing my life with someone else endlessly exhilerating. All that learning, growing, and changing that happens between two people is certainly what I would consider a positive aspect to marriage. The idea of having a built-in best friend is so fantastic to me!

4. We've become a people of instant gratification and low-commitment. People say that a lot, but think about how true it is: we're channel-surfing TiVo-ers, we'll buy pre-peeled potatoes and pre-cut celery, at a restaurant we'd like our food to be presented to us without delay, and we really just hate to be in one place for too long. We are seldom in silence, or solitude. Car leases allow us to trade up every couple years. We have short memories (you probably haven't thought much about BP lately...neither have I!). What a challenge, then, for us to make this promise: that we will love someone for as long as we live (read: until we're dead). We're confronted with so few real challenges anymore! It's refreshing to have to try and work at something, especially when we think it's worth the effort. There's a kind of glory in continuity (not to be sappy (PUN!), but it's not unlike being around for a long time to watch a tree you planted grow into something fruit-bearing or shade-producing).

5. I was fortunate to grow up with an excellent model for a good marriage. My parents are not perfect, and they sometimes get angry with each other. There have been times that one has hurt the other. But, those times are often followed by peaceful apologies. They have always been loving toward us and loving toward each other. I know that they have made many sacrifices and compromises--shock!--but it is only through sacrifice that they have been able to cultivate a constant mutual love and understanding. I hope my marriage is as loving and happy (and fun and light-hearted!) as theirs.

That's probably about it. I'm not married yet, but it is for the above reasons that I can't wait. I'm up for the challenge! I'm ready to live a life of purpose!

And for what it's worth, I think everyone, regardless of sexual orientation, is capable of the kind of lasting, loving, selfless relationship I'm talking about here. I think everyone should get the opportunity to scream it from the rooftops, or to get it printed in his or her local paper (see here).

good-bye, gladys.

Well, that's the end of her. Gladys is dead, and the proceeds are benefitting NHPR (I think). With her leaky trunk, rusted spare, broken passenger-side window, wilted ceiling, dented side, seized calipers, and broken radio, you'd think I'd be doing leaps for joy! Well, you'd think right. But first I had a moment of silence in that old hunk of metal.

I thanked her for not breaking down until I pulled into my driveway.

I yelled at the chipmunks that tried to make a home in her engine.

I lovingly gave her a last, thorough vacuuming.

Together we sat in silence, as I reminisced about our days traveling to Vermont, New York, and Maine.

I turned the reading lamps on and off.

When I came home today from Manchester--my not-so-distant-future home--she was gone.

...moving on. Did you hear I bought a new car? :)

swoop me!

Mondays are lame. Today was a totally gorgeous day and what did I do? Well, actually I finished commenting on some drafts, e-mailed students, packed up my books, took a shower, watched Sailor Moon (HAHAHA, sometimes you just get a hankering), and then went to work.

Now that I think of it, today's been pretty productive. I also looked at my bank account just in time to transfer money from one account to the other before it got overdrawn! I would consider that a success, for certain.

On a different note, and relating to my last post, I went to church this past Sunday. It was mysterious all right...and boring. Really boring. What? I'm human. Anyway, I blame it on the deacon, who is a terrible public speaker.

Spirtual thoughts...

I've been reading my friend Bryan's blog a lot lately, and it has me thinking about my take on religious life.

I guess I'd be more apt in calling it an irreligious life.

Here's the truth, right to the point: In college I decided I didn't quite believe that Jesus was the Messiah. A cool guy, maybe, with a nice message and words to live by, but whether God literally sent him to be our savior is something I'm not convinced of. So, that's an issue. Also, I am what might be described as a bad Catholic.

I find myself struggling with my Catholicism a lot lately because of the colliding forces of the blogosphere, my impending nuptials, and Natural Family Planning (endorsed by the Couple to Couple League, a Catholic entity). It's good to remind yourself of why you do things every once in a while.

I have a primal urge to raise my children in a traditional, Catholic manner. It's my culture, it's my people. I want them to march solemnly in white down the aisle for their First Communions, just as badly as I want them to anxiously wrack their brains for something to confess when first confronted with the Sacrament of Penance. The whole process of Catholicism is not unlike running the gauntlet, with many trials on the way to salvation. But that's what's so great! Salvation is earned, it's not a free pass. You want forgiveness? You have to ask somebody, and you have to be really sorry. You'll actually have to prove how sorry you are. That's where the Hail Marys come in (at least, that's what they say in the movies). I like that. It's all about action, and hopefully, sincerity.

Don't get me started on the mystery of it all. The Catholic Church, I'm sure, prides itself on its sense of mystery and suspense. Ceremonial gowns, candlelit altars, drifting incense. It's such a production, such a show of faith. The bell rings in the tower at the precise moment when the wine makes it miraculous transformation into blood. As the congregations kneels before Christ's body, the choir begins its melodic peals on cue. You almost expect a curtain to lift, and the cast to come out, bowing emphatically for the grand finale.

Eventually all this, the chanting, singing, kneeling, praying, it all becomes rote. Somewhere, something is lost. The meaning of the Word floats somewhere above the incense, impossible for parishioners to grasp. But even then, it's still okay, because this weekly repetition is itself a form of prayer: it is meditation, losing yourself and your consciousness in the motions; it's a kind of unthinking, undoing. It is a way to be present in the moment.

I remember when I was a senior in high school, my English teacher, Mrs. Mountford, was describing a poem to us. I don't remember the poem, but I remember the direction of the discussion: Christianity, and the body of Christ. She said, "Think about that for a minute...eating the body of Christ." The thought struck me: I was a cannibal, and so was everyone in my family. It only felt outdated, though. Just a remnant of our collective mysterious past. I knew it was only bread and wine. I felt smarter than the Eucharist.

While all that pomp might be problematic for my non-Catholic friends, for me, it's a source of solace and comfort. While the world continues to spiral into chaos, here are the Roman Catholics, holding on to their traditions for dear life. It's life-affirming. It's cozy continuity. It's coffee and doughnuts in the church basement.

So, while I might have a hundred problems with Catholicism, for me, it's the cultural aspect that is a constant draw. It's ethnic, in some way. It's living out my Italian/French-Canadian heritage. I don't feel guilty that I'm not a perfect Catholic. I've never felt guilty about skipping church or swearing. Either I'm too demonic to feel good old fashioned Catholic guilt, or I just don't think there's any to be had. Guilt is what you make of it. The only time I ever feel guilty is when I'm in the presence of some other kind of Christian and they make it a point to talk about "Christianity" as if it is the opposite of "Catholicism." I don't think they're the opposite. But for some reason, I just keep on feeling guilty about BEING Catholic. Like it's a dirty thing to be, like I'm somehow unworthy. Like I don't really know what's going on--as if my Christian identity is lost in a fog of incense. It's guilt I'm never quite prepared to bear, and I resent it. Part of the guilt is really just paranoia, but I resent that, too. Maybe resentment is the new guilt?