Please Read: On Drowning

I read this last year and feel strongly that it bears annual repeating. This is one thing that scares the living CRAP out of me, for both myself and especially my kids. I've had a close call. It's nothing to mess around with.

Please read and share this post: Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning

The most important bit to know is this: People (and children especially) who are drowning are not yelling and not splashing. They don't look like they're drowning--unless you know what to look for. 

And, as the article states, if your kids become quiet while swimming, get your ass over there and find out why.


Excerpt from the article:

There is very little splashing, no waving, and no yelling or calls for help of any kind. To get an idea of just how quiet and undramatic from the surface drowning can be, consider this: It is the number two cause of accidental death in children, age 15 and under (just behind vehicle accidents) – of the approximately 750 children who will drown next year, about 375 of them will do so within 25 yards of a parent or other adult. In ten percent of those drownings, the adult will actually watch them do it, having no idea it is happening (source: CDC).(emphasis added)

Orgasm Girl

If you'll indulge me.

Last night I had to take my husband to the ER (everything's fine). As I'm sure you all know, the ER is a great place to people watch if you absolutely must be there. We took the hour trip to a nicer hospital so the pickings were a bit slim, but we still had a few great groups.

There was the group that seemed to be having a hell of a time, making jokes and laughing. I've been in this group before. Nothing helps an ER visit like joking like idiots, though I will say it does nothing to convince the triage nurse that your condition is at all an emergency. Even when it is.

Then we had Super Scary Guy in the wheelchair. Snce Eric was having cerebral issues and having random fits of blank staring, I advised him to take pains to not stare at SSG. He had already thought of it.

THEN, then there was Orgasm Girl.

It was horrible. I felt terrible. She walked in with her hand clasped to her heart. She looked awful as she sat right in front of us. It was uncomfortable, and not only because she was Orgasm Girl--though that didn't help. Poor thing just writhed and moaned for the next twenty minutes or so.

Writhed. And. Moaned.

Let's just say she needed to take it down an octave. And though I don't think they meant it like that, even the doctors referred to her as "The Screamer" for the duration of our stay.

It's also probably not all that encouraging that her boyfriend seemed completely unimpressed.

We got home at 4am. That makes it just short of a cool 24 hours since I last woke up. I don't think I fell asleep until 5, and then I had to wake up at 8:30 to call SIL who had my kids. I've been up since.

It was date night. Happy date night.

Post Plans

There are so many things I want to say, and the subjects increase each day. They include:

The problem of regret and the need for self-mercy (make sense?) Truth, I'm not sure what I mean by that last part, but I was totally into it two hours ago on my way home from school. Which is part of it, really. School, I mean. A place that represents so many things, a place that evokes so many emotions and thoughts. A place that gives me pride, a place that scares me, a place that challenges me, a place that embarrasses me--and not necessarily like you might think. I also want to speak of regret and the need for self-mercy (just go with me on that term) in a general sense.

Letters to special friends, maybe family. Not even current friends, mostly past.  One or two kinda-sorta both. All people who have impacted my life in the most significant ways. I want to keep these letters fairly vague and anonymous, but I am unconvinced this is a realistic goal. It won't matter in some respects, as long as I don't give out full names. But if you know me well enough, you will know who I speak of. My biggest worry about this is seeming desperate and pathetic though it is full of nostalgia and will also relate in some ways to the last topic I want to write about.

An About Me on steroids. Super honest, bullet points, short explanations (hahahaha!). Easier said than done, and not necessarily an idea that will fulfill my idealism.


I want to write but I've so little time to write. Four classes and I am doing little but work. It is to the point where cleaning my house is relaxing. I made up a form on Excel for our finances the other day and honest to god it helped my headache. It's not as if our finances offered much to relax from, either.

I want to write so fucking bad--more to talk. It's an impotence. It's frustrating.

Hopefully this weekend I'll be able to pop something out. Hopefully by this weekend I'll have done what I need to do (get myself to the library so I can be without distractions--except, say, facebook *sigh!*--and get ALL my shit done) and have a bit of time to just chill. The problem is, there are so many things that I need to do outside of school that now can be categorized as "chilling."

So we'll see.

Recipe: Telestial Brownies

I'm going to use the box mix recipe because I've been a lazy, lazy girl lately. (yes, i know. it's not much more to make brownies from scratch, but srsly. it feels easier...and now i'm thinking about how much healthier, respectively, it is to make these from scratch--damn you, conscience!)

1 basic brownie mix. According to Berry Crocker, add:
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup oil
2 eggs.

So this needs some serious doctoring up because this shizz is whack, jack.

4 tbsp (1/8 cup) cocoa powder mix
1 - 1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
2-3 tbsp INSTANT COFFEE.

Optional:
1 tsp cinnamon
Chocolate chips

It's goooooooood.

(but not good for you. except for the coffee part.)

...and now I'm wondering what it'd taste like with a little brandy or rum in it.

Either way, cook at 325 degrees for at least 20 minutes, if you have my 70's wall oven.

Wa-la. Telestial Brownies.

Red is bad, esp on Christ

Once upon a time some years ago, probably nine or so, I sat in my institute class like a good girl and listened to the lesson. Our instructor presented to us the picture of Christ at the door.

"What sorts of symbolic things do you see here?"

"There's no doorknob!" one particularly astute student said as if he, or anyone else in the room, had never seen the fucking picture before let alone was ever involved in a discussion about it. A million times over.

"That's right, what do you think that means?"

Blahblahblah. I raised my hand. "Christ is wearing red, symbolic of power."

His face sobered. "Now let's be careful with that, Lisa."

Cookies and Dinners

I've always felt like I was a square peg forcing itself into a round hole. But to be fair, I've felt this way both in and out of the church. Very much so within, though. And since this blog deals mostly with religion:

The other day, Kiley over at We Were Going to Be Queens sought for some help regarding how to comfort suffering friends from a distance since she no longer found "I'm praying for you" to be neither honest nor sufficient.

Totally get it. Been on my mind as well.

One of my suggestions? Give her a gift certificate for a restaurant so they don't have to worry about dinner one night.

Kiley was really gracious, noting that she felt it was a good idea but also reminded me how Mormony this sounded. Dinners solve everything! So I laughed with both embarrassment and frustration that this had stayed with me--also that I still feel it's a good idea when necessary. It is nice to not have to worry about that when times are tough.

But gawwwwwwwwwd.

And you know, they are nice. I guess. I always hated bringing them because what if the receiver doesn't like what I make? And I always hated receiving them because what if I hate it? I'm a terrible actress and hardly a gracious one, wearing damn near everything on my sleeve. And let's not forget the annoyances of getting your tupperware back or returning them. So I never asked and never received unless I had just given birth and they were just given.

That was kind of our mode d'emploi with anything regarding our "need" for service. We felt we needed to balance out the people who took full advantage--you know "Hi, I know it's 8 a.m. on a Saturday and it's the only day of the week you have to get yr shit done around the house and the only time your family will see you but we are moving today and need some help could you help?"

And then, then! to discover that the moving family hadn't even bothered to fucking pack.

No, we could handle our own. We had family. We were able.

Dinners and everything just seemed like so much work. That said, we had more than one recipe added to our list after a few dinners were brought over. Sweet and sour chicken is among my favorites. The others are unavailable to us now that Eric has accepted his lactose intolerance, but still. And offering dinners yet remains a go to fantasy idea when I don't know what else to do because anything more personal is just too scary.


Then there are the cookies.

Cookies are the ever universal ice-breaker and offering of friendship. I did this, you did this, we all did this. If you can't get your foot in the door without cookies, you sure as hell should be able to with them. And they're also the great intercessory offering when you don't really want to interact with the person. Just drop 'em off at the door when you know they're not home or pretend you have to split for whatever reason.

I don't like giving gifts when the other person is there to receive. Maybe it is because I am so insecure or so ungraceful myself when I receive--I don't know how to read reactions, especially within the church where cookies are just the norm and fake smiles and thank-yous run rampant. When I give things, I generally do so rather genuinely and if the other person is there, I often allow my insecurity to find signs of annoyance or ungratefulness in the recipient even if such signs weren't there.

"Thank you so much!" could easily, by virtue of tone alone, be interpreted as "Oh...a fruitcake. How, uhm, nice. I'll put it with the others."

Also, the more ornate the packaging the better. A paper plate wrapped in plastic wrap is acceptable in a moment of desperation, but colorful cellophane is better. Tupperware is good, but a pretty basket with a card is better.

After I had Joseph, I had decided to learn to bake because it was the one thing I liked to do that other women in the church liked to do. And I knew I could be good at it. I was. I am.

Bake cookies.

But it's not as if many people in my ward knew about it--family did. Eric's co-workers certainly did, but ward members? Naw. I've never been all that proactive about these things. I made a batch for a missionary dinner, some for a really cool family who actually befriended us, but it didn't work for me, not in the way I'd hoped. I was putting a little part of me out there and got nothing in return. And I think that was the problem: I gave in the hopes of receiving--and isn't that the idea of cookies in the church?

Years before I did make snickerdoodles for my non-member neighbors who, i'll have you know, did not also receive some lame pamphlet or video or card or any bullshit like that. Not my style. Because nothing says "Hi I'm a nice person let's be friendly neighbors" than "Have some conditional friendship cookies because i'm a mormon and therefore nice YOU SHOULD BE MORMON (would you like to meet with the mishies?)"

Anyway. I baked cookies.

And I still want to give them out, but the desire is going away. Mostly because I'm lazy and a horrific procrastinator--but also because it and the dinner thing makes me feel all too Mormon. Because I feel desperate when I do. Like me please please! See? I'm just like you, I make cookies! And also because I hate cellophane (it's pretty and crinkly but terrible for the environment) and the feeling that I'm just not creative or feminine enough to make a proper plating of holiday cookies--how will my presentation be judged? I'm still learning the balance between the redneck simplicity of my youth with the self-aggrandizing basket of "goodies" for whoever, and how either makes me feel as a person.

I agree with Kiley in that these aren't necessarily bad things--cookies and dinner--but motherfuck. They make me feel dirty.

Speak, the movie

You know what? Fuck it.

Remember the post I wrote about the incredible book Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson? (yes I push this thing like it were my bible, but there's something amazing about this book. i think it was the part at the end where the author writes that the most surprising reactions she received regarding the book were all the boys who asked her "what's the big deal?")

I watched the movie this weekend. It starred Twilight's Kristen Stewart, and I'll admit part of why I wanted to see the movie is because of her. I wanted to see another aspect of her acting (next I plan to see The Runaways). My husband remarked during the movie that she had been typecast--another depressed, awkward girl who hates the snow.

But in this case, Melinda Sordino (the character she played) had every reason to be depressed and hate everything. She had been raped by a boy she went to school with and had to see every day. A boy who would pass her by and call her "fresh meat." A boy who literally loomed over her as he spoke with her table-mates. A boy who cornered her in a classroom. A boy who moved on to date her ex-best friend.

I gave the movie 3 out of 5 stars if only because the book is ten times better, if not more, and I had some concerns about logistics. My initial reaction was one of disillusionment, but now I want to watch it again. There were some amazing scenes--the rape scene itself was frightening. The boy ignored her pleas, did his thing, and just left her alone like she was nothing. The scariest thing is that, if you didn't know, you'd think he was a good guy. Hot, funny, charming, easy to like. An older boy expressing interest in a younger, more naive girl, a boy who had a propensity for saying all the right things. And he did ask if she wanted to. That's all you have to do, right? I mean, she went with him to his truck. She kissed him like she wanted to go further. That's consent enough, yeah?

And he was so easy to like. I mean to the point where you even begin to think--after the fact--"maybe he's not so bad."

And that's the point.

Throughout the movie, unlike the book, Melinda has flashbacks to the night. I thought this particular mode of storytelling was incredibly effective in the movie. In the book you don't know what happened until about halfway to 3/4 of the way in. Until that point, she is just a very depressed, weird girl who doesn't talk much and has lost her best friends. I felt for her, because that's how I was. It frightened me to think how I would've reacted had something worse happened to me than what did.

The worst part, though, is how her family and teachers treated her. Her family had their own issues. Her father was jobless, her mother seemed...stressed and depressed herself. They were worried about, though annoyed by their daughter. Her best friends ditched her in anger because she called the cops the night she was raped and they came to break up the party. Nobody knew the real reason the cops were called. It wasn't to break up the party. Seeing it was worse than reading it.

At one point, once the cops arrived (without being told why--they thought it was a neighbor calling to complain), Melinda's best friend, angry, slapped her. Bitch, why did you call the cops? Why did you ruin my night?

SHE SLAPPED HER. After the poor thing had been raped. Shit. You. Not. Her friend didn't know, but Melinda knew. Every single viewer knew. It was powerful.

I think that attitude by so many people who should have noticed, should have cared but rather understandably didn't, struck me as hard as the rape scene did. It was a lesson to be learned. We grow up and we forget so easily. We are so caught up in our own shit that we can’t see past the ends of our noses. I will venture to say this happens to every parent, every friend, every authority figure. We are human. We have ill-timed moments of selfishness and self-centeredness.

Artistically speaking, the movie brought to light a few things I didn't see in the book. Her perceptions of her teachers, how she treated others, how she saw her parents. When she was at her worst, so were they. In the beginning, her English teacher was a mess. By the end, she was a put together woman, someone the kids would respect. Her history teacher was a fucking asshole, but by the end found empathy and treated her softly. The world was evil and unrelentingly hard on her.

Before I realized this, the movie pissed me off. I hate these stories featuring kids with ridiculously stupid adults. I get it--kids think adults are stupid, but this is supposed to be a realistic interpretation of life. I don't appreciate caricatures, but this wasn't like that. This was almost projection of what was going on inside.

The movie did seem to drag on a bit. Not a hell of a lot happened for a good long time, but the flashbacks broke the monotony to keep you interested. Melinda didn't talk much. Nobody expressed a real interest in what was wrong, just told her to get over it. That it was a phase.

The beginning was terribly annoying.

"What's your name?"

"Melinda Sordino."

"Name?"

"Melinda Sordino."

Ad nauseum. I yelled at the television: WE GET IT. For god's sake.

But the point was made early on in the movie. Parents, friends, teachers: if your child goes from happy, functional, and an all-around sociable person with a ton of friends to a quiet girl who does weird shit like drawing stitches on her mouth and doesn't talk much and has no friends within a short, almost immediate period of time, there is likely something very wrong. Don't dismiss it. Don't say stupid shit like "it'll get better" "just smile" or even worse "i understand." Because the fact is, you very well may not.

Or you might and just not know it. Even if you're going through your own tragedies, this child matters more.

And the movie gave girls who had gone through these things someone to relate with. It was incredibly realistic in this way. And again, the rape scene was terrifying. The fact that this boy went on to date others and charm everyone else and just seem like another decent guy was terrifying. Couple it with the fact that too few people see the problem in a rape, that it's almost normalized (how often do you hear the statistics? how often do you hear about how boys will be boys? were you ever a young girl who had older-boy/man fantasies? how often do you hear shit like "she asked for it" or that guys just can't help themselves, that it's up to the girls to control men by the way they dress? How much is the message of what is rape confusing, etc etc ETC)

In all, Kristen Stewart did a pretty slamming job of playing the part. The important basics of the story were kept fairly whole. Nobody ever would have pinned the guy as a rapist. And in every school there is at least one "weird" depressed girl who doesn't necessarily dress in black but is quiet and generally and uncharacteristically withdrawn, the girl (or boy) we dismiss because they're "that age" and everyone is depressed and angsty and they'll get over it. Or, even better, we become frustrated with them because of that. Goddamn teenagers. We have our own shit to deal with, what the fuck, you know? They need to grow up and get over it.

And yes, the rape scene was absolutely necessary, despite what others may think, because too many people don't get it. Again, we forget so easily. We need a good slap in the face. This is where I believe the church and those who gasp at such things are dangerously wrong. In our minds we begin to see the world as too good. It’s not a bad thing to think of people as generally good, but we need to be aware as well for the sake of ourselves, our friends, and our family.

We need to pay attention to our kids and to each other. Period. Treat others the way we’d like to be treated. We need to take care of each other.

In all, I'd recommend you read the book first and yes, see the movie. It's completely worth it.

Outdated

I've concluded that being Mormon sets a person back about 5-10 years. At least. More the longer you're in. The more Molly or Peter you are.

I mean, seriously. Eric and I are just discovering some of these shows.

At first we watched That 70s Show but quickly decided it was rather unworthy for our delicate eyes and ears. We didn't really subscribe to cable back in those days as it was, so it was that or Dharma and Greg which as I remember was a fantastic show.

But I digress.

These days we're watching shows like Arrested Development, Flight of the Conchords, catching up a bit on South Park (at least I am--it was brand new for him), Curb Your Enthusiasm, Big Love, True Blood, etc. The Tudors. There's more. I just can't think for shit lately--but you get the idea.

GOOD SHOWS. And movies, too. I gave up on good movies right around the time that American Beauty came out. I was in my room when my family watched that show because I knew it was unworthy. God. Still have yet to watch that one.

I don't get it. We were too busy watching crap reality shows when this stuff was on. Stuff we never would've watched.

At least we had Gilmore Girls--when Rory and Paris didn't have their little girl-on-girl kiss during Spring Break. Like Seinfeld when they weren't having "The Contest"--which we now find absolutely hilarious.

I know in the eternal scheme of things this is rather lame, but I'm just now getting all the one-liners.

My favorite so far:

you know what time it is when i'm down to just my socks? it's time for business. that's why they're called business socks.

A friend of mine had the last bit on her MySpace page. I didn't get it. I thought she was being random. No. Flight of the Conchords. For reals, people. Watch the show.

Then again, maybe you already have.

Or not?

Animals on Logs

Y'all have to read this. It might piss a few of you off, but jesus:

From STFU Conservatives (I lurve the STFU tumblrs) regarding a Creation Museum exhibit:

Rafting
When the Flood destroyed the world's forests, it must have left billions of trees floating for centuries on the ocean. These log mats served as ready-made rafts for animals to cross oceans. These paths of ocean currents, carrying those rafts, would explain (similar animals and plants on opposite sides of oceans).

I'll let you all react on your own. I can't without sounding like a self-righteous bitch.

ANYWAY I saw my former Stake President the other day as my son and I entered a grocery store. One of the kindest men I know, but I freaked out. I avoided him so he wouldn't recognize me.

WTF, everyone? He's my ex-roomie's FIL. Surely he knows something? He wouldn't be anything but nice, I'm sure of it.

I dunno. I don't get it. There are very few people, if any, who elicit reactions like that from me anymore.

Also: Headed to the Post-Mo gathering tomorrow in San Francisco--looking forward to meeting Donna of the hilarious Ward Gossip, woo!

What's weird, though, is that my kids are staying with my SIL while we're gone. I love SIL to death, as some of you may know, but they're pretty stringent about church and stuff and the kids will be there tomorrow. They know they're going to church, and they're okay with it. Which is cool. I don't want to freak out. Abbie had a bit of a freak out at first, but I let her know it was okay. I don't want her to fear or hate believers (as long as they're respectful and don't tell her she's going to hell--because then it's on, bitches). But that doesn't mean I'm not uncomfortable with it. Maybe we'll talk about it the next day.

I wonder if my mom remembers as clearly as I do the day she asked me how I'd feel if my kids one day decided to be Jehovah's Witnesses. I told her I'd deal with it, which is all you can do, but I have the same thoughts today about whether they'll ever decide to "return to their roots" in a sense. I wouldn't know how to explain it to them, to warn them. This is just something you have to learn on your own, but it can be such a costly lesson.

They all remember church. The older two especially, but Joseph too. I fully expect for us to be outed this weekend, especially since Abbie has decided she looooves coffee and will tell anyone about it (she never gets more than a sip or two, but she loooves it). They'll likely also tell someone or a few someones in the family that we no longer attend or that she's not getting baptised (which is totally okay with her--she's never ever looked forward to that) since she'll turn eight in about six months.

It should be interesting. But good, too. They need other kids to play with.

For me, I'm just looking forward to a break. First I'm going to visit a friend and then hopefully hang with some awesome folks at the Ferry Building tomorrow close to the Wharf. You should stop by if you're close--the gathering will be from 2-4pm. I'll likely be the shortest chica in the room.

Yes.

I can't seem to see very much outside the frame of my relationship with religion these days, and this song is no different.

But it raises a different question: lyrics or music? I'm a lyrics girl, myself. But I do appreciate good music as well.

I Feel Weird
Steel Train, "Trampoline" (2007)

When I was eighteen everything was alive
Then the planes hit the towers
Then she died and he died
A part of me disappeared six feet in the ground
A million miles in the sky a fire burns,
A fire burns, a fire burns and it is mine

And I did what I did
What we did to survive
Five whole years of my life I spent mourning you and why?
Girl you're still alive
But you're too dead to keep inside
You take the years, you keep it all, I finally think I might be alright

So let's just let it all go cause nothing can change
And if something is lost then there's something to frame
I just sing what I have
And I got this girl, not yet crushed by the world
I'll count the freckles on her face one, two, three hundred times a day

And sing a new song
Something I'd never hear
It's better love that I found, bigger love that you fear
So deep inside me, hot in this frozen cave
Her fire burns, her fire burns, her fire burns and it is brave

When I was eighteen everything was alive
Then the planes hit the towers
Then she died, then he died
A part of me disappeared six feet in the ground
A million miles in the sky a fire burns,
A fire burns, and I just let it all go

I won't fear change
And if something is lost then there is something to frame
I'll just sing what I have in the heavens above
In the song in the sky a fire burns,
A fire burns, a fire burns and its for you

Oh how far we've come.

About 18 months ago, I took a quiz: What Kind of Mormon Are You?

I got this result:

Sunstone Mormon

-4 Orthodoxy, 4 LDS knowledge, -5 Cultural homogeneity

---

Orthodoxy ranges from (-) anti-, non- and liberal Mormon, to mainstream, conservative, and fundamentalist Mormon (+).

You're on the cutting edge of LDS progressivism. You believe scholarship and change would benefit the LDS Church, but you realize that your place in Mormonism is marginal.



Noted?

So I was going over my last blog yesterday, rediscovered this quiz, and thought I'd take it again for kicks to see how I've changed with regard to it. This was my new result:

Son of Perdition

-11 Orthodoxy, 5 LDS knowledge, -16 Cultural homogeneity

---

Orthodoxy ranges from (-) anti-, non- and liberal Mormon, to mainstream, conservative, and fundamentalist Mormon (+).

Chances are good that you enjoy the category this quiz put you in. You enjoy thinking about screwing on LDS property. Sometimes you bust out arcane LDS doctrine just to blow some Mormon minds. Missionaries are baffled that you could know so much about their church yet reject it entirely. You hate Mormonism and love every minute of it.

Interesting. Though I don't think I'd like to screw on LDS property. That's a bit too dirty for me, thx. And I'm not exactly the angry anti-type unless I run into an asshole. Even then, I know there's nothing I can do and it's a waste of my energy. Also, my FIL houses the sister missionaries. I do like to mess with them, but only subtly and only when they start in on me. They think there's a chance for us and when they express sentiments I like to put in a few words here and there to let 'em know we're not fresh meat. They're very nice, though. Really, I don't mind them at all when they're not waxing poetic about church--and even then, it depends on what they're talking about. After last conference, the last thing I wanted to hear was how inspiring it was. So, really, for sisters, they seem pretty normal

Rather than waste my time in endless LDS debate, I'd rather just have a drink and watch some rated-R movies. Not for the violence, no, but for the sex.

Of course.

Gestalt

OK. So I'm getting that a lot of people don't like labels, but I doubt even among those who don't like labels define themselves with certain ones.

It's not as if I'm a huge fan, but they do bring some comfort, I think, in certain situations. For example, it's nice to know why I can be depressed one week and totally level and productive the next, willing to do anything because I can take on the fucking world. Why I can be all over the map, forgetful of absolutely everything, never sleep or sleep all the time. Or how I can be happy one minute and your enemy the next. I've been picking fights this weekend, for example, as well as considering dropping this blog entirely--but today I'm better. It's not PMS, however much I kind of wish it were. Knowing I'm bipolar gives me power. I don't advertise this because I fear the stigma, but it helps me. It helps my husband. It helps my kids. That's all that matters.

I consider myself post-Mormon. Liberal. And, as of today, agnostic (I never said I was taking on "atheist" for sure, y'all. just exploring. still am.) It's the best I've got and will basically get the point across. However, it's not for anyone else's benefit but my own.

I know labels can restrict self-perception and others' perceptions of you as well, but they can bring comfort. It's good to know what's going on instead of worrying about a certain behavior or situation. It's good for parents to know their kids are autistic so they can create a battle plan, find support groups, understand that it's not them.

They help to define us but they don't completely define us. Other people will see it otherwise, simply, maybe, because it's easier. Is that my problem or yours? Your problem or mine? You see?

Or am I off your radar with that? Is there a difference to you between conditions and beliefs? I find it easier to either say "I dunno" or "I don't believe" rather than to go into an entire conversation about it without even being asked first. A lot of people struggle when they're in transition from the church to define their spiritual station in life--are they New Order Mormon, Jack Mormon, Cultural Mormon, inactive Mormon, Post or Ex-Mormon, etc. all because they don't feel Mormon. It all depends on who you talk to. That seems to be the rub.

You can say you're agnostic to avoid the lecture while knowing inside you don't believe at all. Plenty will present themselves as totally active and believing Christians or Mormons because they don't want to deal with the assholes. Some will be upfront because they feel a need to discredit stereotypes. A sometimes impossible task.

Something I learned from writing and reading the comments from the last few posts is that labels only work insofar as other people understand exactly what it means...to you. They seem to be extremely subjective. Something I hadn't considered before.

Are you Christian in the way others would consider you saved or a heretic? What brand of agnostic are you? How do you define your Mormon/Christian/Catholic/Jewish, etc. past? Do you even want to, and why or why not?

There are artists, hipsters, jocks, lesbians, gays, shy people, outgoing people, intellectuals, redneck, cholas/cholos, Jewish folks, Islamic folks, emos, gothics (do they exist anymore? they seem to be todays emos), etc. Are some of these mere descriptions or can they be considered labels as well?

We are more than our religious beliefs. We are more than our jobs. We are more than our race, ethnicity. We are more than a mother or a wife, a father or a husband. A child or a parent. So much more. I think that's a lot of the problem here as well. It's easier for both us and others to pick one and obsess over it. They can help to define us, but they don't define us. We are more than the sum of our parts.

How many of us worry about stereotyping and why? I'll tell you, I'm not exactly thrilled about the idea of less or more-religious people looking down at me and thinking I'm closed-minded because I might be giving a bit more credence to science than faith in something I cannot see, attributing some but not necessarily every experience to coincidence or otherwise. I hardly discredit faith entirely. It's not cut and dry like that. At all. I don't like that I have to be careful for others' comfort or for my own. I shouldn't have to be, but maybe that's just reality.

(the last paragraph is not directed toward anyone in particular, just fyi)

I also understand--a lot--how discouraging and disheartening it can be when you are treated as if you are one thing. A mom. Someone's wife. The convert. Someone's roommate. Shy. A woman. A teacher. Tomboy. It's a hard fight to teach others that you're more. That everyone is more.

I've felt the sting of the limiting label and the empowerment and comfort of another.

What say you?

Agnostic Pause

It's soooo weird. Y'all know I'm taking this bio class (mostly how I bitch about it, but that's all directed at my prof. the material is actually really cool). Well lately we've been going over stuff that TOTALLY APPLIES TO MY LIFE RIGHT NOW. Except it's not the scriptures! You know how the scriptures are supposed to have all the answers, how the spirit is supposed to--well. Anyway. Apparently my bio book does the same thing.

!!!

Here's what I'm picking up on lately and what it's doing to my poor, tortured agnostic self (really, ugh)*

Basic introduction: First, The Theory of Common Descent. That is, not that humans evolved from apes, but that every organism on earth arose from a single cell billions of years ago and eventually evolved into everything you see and know of today.

It's like a big family tree. Kind of. To avoid a lengthier explanation, a relatively recent common ancestor of humans is the ape, chimpanzee, etc. It is not saying that we're just apes. Just that it's our most recent ancestor than, say, cats are. Like you're more similar to your grandmother than your second cousin once removed. We've evolved from apes via the process of natural selection. Also, evolution is not about being better, it is not about an ideal. It is the ever changing result of natural selection which states that an environment selects for certain genes in existing species.

It's akin to a flood--if we had a flood and there was a gene for swimming, the swimmers would survive because they could likely get to land. Those without the swimming gene would, well, drown. Not to say that swimmers are better PERIOD, just better suited in the flooded environment. Those without the swimming gene may be selected for in another environment better suited to them. Which is one reason why not all apes are humans.

Also, this shit doesn't happen overnight. Millions upon millions of years.

It's pretty much fact from what I can tell, but here are the three alternative hypotheses my text offers (and later refutes):

Okay, I had all three hypotheses identified/described, but there's no reason for them. They're debunked. They take up a lot of space. Here's what it comes down to:

Scientists have proven that complex molecules can arise from simple, non-living material. Poof! But even if everyone accepted the Theory of Common Descent, here's where my stubbornness comes in. I asked my husband about it:

"So where'd the simple, non-living material come from?"

"Probably something more basic, like elements," he replied. Calmly. Ugh.

"Where'd the elements come from?!" I add.

And on and on, ad nauseum.

But I'd have to be intellectually honest if I'm going down this road: Where'd God come from? The thing is, I've always been content with the idea that God just always existed. Even the LDS teaching that God was once a man who was then exalted to become a god and create his own people who then are exalted to become gods, etc. always unnerved me.


And so I'm sitting here, taking this class, learning about the world and how scientists figure everything out. I get that they don't have all the answers, but they have a lot of them. And they're totally okay with finding new evidence that proves their theories wrong. And I really love what they do: record what you see, not what you expect to see. Consider possible alternative hypotheses: are there any other reasons for this conclusion?

I know science doesn't deal with god, but god sure as hell tries to deal with science. See aforementioned hypotheses and the apologetics that arise from revealed science. It ain't just for those Mormons.

I've my own inner apologist. She's gotten past the whole Maybe God is just testing us and sending us detour evidence. We need to have faith! That's my dad's church talking. Think "dinosaurs." They're also partly responsible for God can inspire those writers to know exactly who Jesus was, what he did, and the thoughts and actions of those who followed him. Also, I get it. Historically, stories have been passed down orally as well, but have you ever played the telephone game?

While my own inner apologist grows quieter by the day, she's still there. Driving me batshit. I don't dig apologetics anymore. I worry myself about the what-ifs enough all on my own.

I don't know. Lately I'm wondering if I might be atheist. Atheism isn't about claiming to know for sure that God doesn't exist, just a belief that all evidence points to "probably not" so you live your life. It's not as if I'm afraid of losing my salvation, because I'm not. I do believe that if there's a god I want anything to do with, I'll be fine.

There's a part of me that wants to believe in God, but there's no really good reason why. Except maybe because I grew up Christian and god was always a part of my life. "Jesus loves you!' and all that shit. I always had someone to talk to, someone who had my back, someone who did only the best for me whether I knew it or not. Someone to help me find my keys. Now it's a matter of having faith in myself, and I'll tell you: I've never really had that. But I really like the idea. I like what it's doing for me.

What's my belief in god, however small, doing for me? What's the point of it?

In the end, I buy neither the biblical account, nor the Book of Mormon account, and I don't really want to come up with my own account. I know some people just figure there's a god and we're his fishbowl, but that's not something I want to expend any energy on.

I do like the idea of eternity, though.

So am I atheist? I don't know. Saying so would in part be very, very relieving but only because I'll have made a decision. I feel as if I'm forever wavering, unable to make a decision. But a decision of what? To what degree I think it's possible god exists? You know? Because I'm not looking back. There's nothing there for me.

As an agnostic, I often feel like I'm trying to have my cake and eat it too. But it's not as if atheists claim to "know" God doesn't exist. And it might be due to my own recently skyrocketing insecurities WITHOUT reading quotes like the following (for my blog)

"Isn't an agnostic just an atheist without balls?" - Stephen Colbert (yeah i know, satirist. still)

"There may be fairies at the bottom of the garden. There is no evidence for it, but you can't prove that there aren't any, so shouldn't we be agnostic with respect to fairies?" - Richard Dawkins

"You happen to be talking to an agnostic. You know what an agnostic is? A cowardly atheist." - Studs Terkel (i know, who?)

So.

In a way, this feels like the very beginning of my disaffection from the LDS church. I couldn't say outright "I don't believe." The thought of saying that petrified me. Atheism doesn't mean I've closed the door completely, just that chances are slim. I'm not entirely sure about that.

See, I still believe in supernatural things. You know, ghosts. Mostly because it's fun, because I've heard some pretty convincing stories from people close to me--not to mention that it drives Eric up the wall. He's got an answer for everything, so I like to bug him.

Me: "Babe! 'Ghost Hunters' is on!"

Him: *groan*

But you know, I don't believe in god but I do believe in ghosts? Logic fail?

I just figure it's no fun to know everything. But one can make reasonable conclusions.

Besides, I'd like, have to change the title of my blog.

I don't know.

Attn: Former Tithers

I know many (if not all) of you no longer tithe to the church (and why the hell should you?) but many of you find you are still able to take that monthly 10% and donate to other charitable causes. Please consider donating some of that money to my friend's 7th grade classroom. I've known her since I was 15--she's one of the best people I know, and she loves her kids. One of her pet projects is to help her students discover a love of reading by offering them a wide variety of books.

If you love reading and/or have experienced how one book--the right book for you--could change your life, how you learned that reading can offer a world of amazing things: knowledge, understanding, being understood, power, hope, etc, consider donating. Not all kids are given this opportunity to find the one book that'll change their lives, especially in disadvantaged areas such as the one she teaches in.

Check out her page at DonorsChoose.org to read more about her students and her reading projects and donate whatever you can.

Banned Books Week

Books! I lovelove YA books especially. And! Banned Books Week is coming up. Like, soon. September 25th, I think.

In protest of censorship I suggest we all buy a book that has been banned and then read the motherfucker. And tell our friends all about it. Have our children read it if you so deem it "appropriate."

You can find which books have been banned or challenged in a variety of ways, but here are the best ways:

Visit the official Banned Books Week site for a short list. The top ten 2009 banned books list is there, but it's certainly not limited to those ten books.

Also, google anything you're interested in and add "banned." Chances are good it's at least been challenged.

People be hatin'

Really, anything good. Anything thought-provoking. We need to seek information, and a lot of it is contained in some very good, very entertaining, enlightening books.

John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. Many will claim it is too profane, but the truth is that many are afraid of its political messages.

Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, written in "1852 as an outcry against slavery after the passage of the Fugitive Slave Act." Abraham Lincoln once remarked it was the trigger for the Civil War.

The Jungle by Upton Sinclair--significant because of its attention to the abuses of the labor market, but was also important because it highlighted the conditions of meat and packing factories, dire health concerns for the public, etc.

But not all books are game changers like this. They don't have to be to be banned. The problem is not that parents don't want their children to read certain books--it's that they don't want anyone's children reading them.

And that's not their place.

It's the fear that is the problem. Harry Potter? Really? For witchcraft? Wha? Harry Potter had a much better message, and in the interest of space I will redirect you here, if you're interested.

There's also too much fear of stoking anti-American sentiments--you know, "some things that are true aren't useful." Or the idea that we shouldn't criticize something even if it's true.

I mean the Texas Board of Education is trying to wipe out anything anti-Christian or something seemingly anti-American from their history books. Arizona is trying to police classes to prevent anti-American sentiments and ethnic studies.

Our patriotism is being questioned because we dare to question and criticize. There are many who want to tell us what to believe, politically and spiritually. What the fuck ever happened to freedom?

They fear that their children will become interested and engage in behavior we'd rather they weren't or didn't--sex, drugs, denouncing Christ. And again, not just their children. Everyone's children. Gotta "protect" them all.

We need to question. We don't get better if we don't have discourse, and we don't have discourse if we censor anything.

Also, many of these books provide a raw peek into our sometimes very uncouth history. And if we don't know our history, especially the bad, we are likely to repeat it.

There are a few books I wouldn't recommend, necessarily, unless you're interested, in which case: have at. I won't judge. But here's my take on a few:

I don't recommend Twilight. It's not that she's Mormon. Honestly, it was the book that got me back to writing fiction. I dug the sexual tension--like a literary burlesque, but still. Sexual tension aside, it's shitty writing. It's lazy writing. Worst of all--and you'll know this if you've read The Host--it's formulaic writing. There's little imagination there. Girl got lucky with her dream.

I don't even care about the feminist-hate on the book. It's the writing I loathe. Mostly because I pick up on styles and accents lightning fast and this stuff stuck on me like skunk for a really long time. I'm still a little stinky.

Girls eat it up because that's exactly what they want. They want this unbelievably out-of-this-world romance. They want their soul mate. They want sex. They want the uber-sexy boyfriend who looks at nobody else, the boy every other girl wants. They like the damsel-in-distress thing. They want to be protected, even if it is too much.

Women eat it up...maybe because they want it too. I tend to think LDS women eat it up because it's acceptable softcore porn (for them). They want sex, too.

But whatev. Junk food reading. It's allowed.

I also kinda hated Catcher in the Rye. I finished it, but I don't get what the big deal is. It was lame.

But, y'know, didn't require a hell of a lot of thought. So, if you're looking for something easy...It's just not that engaging. Some really smart but lazy kid gets kicked out of school and makes his way home and his parents don't know he got kicked out...again. Nothing really happens. He bitches a lot, but that's it.


English is my love. I've ignored it lately, but I dream about it at night. You know. It's more an ideal these days than not, and nothing that good should be neglected like I've neglected it. I'm just angry because I feel neglected too. Also, I feel like the overworked dad whose never home long enough to do anything but acknowledge his kids before tucking them in bed. It requires brain energy, and I'm a zombie.

Brainnns.

All that said, I think I might start Mockingjay tonight. It's an incredible series, Hunger Games, and I highly recommend it. Wouldn't surprise me if they tried to ban it, too.

So buy a banned book. Get it used--they can come really, really cheap for decent if not great quality.

Lemme know if and when you do. I'm thinking I'll either get Anne Frank's Diary (read), To Kill a Mockingbird (haven't read), or Fahrenheit 451 (read). Maybe A Wrinkle in Time. I haven't read that one yet, either. Forever by Judy Blume is also a strong contender.

I wish I had more cash.

If you still haven't read Harry Potter (gasp!) now would be a fantastic time to start.