Click and Refresh

So instead of reposting the article I read, I decided to just go ahead and post my own on after a long discussion that Andrew and I had. People all over tuned in to watch the VS Fashion show (instead of just thumbing through the catalogs already sitting on their kitchen counters...I guess sex sells better in slow motion.)

The goal: buy our lingerie, the message: you'll look like these women in it. because: these are the most beautiful women in the world.

These women are chosen for the 'big event' because they are the best of the best, the ideal female, yes?

Not quite. My initial reaction is to get pissed. These women, who's JOB is to look thin, strut their stuff on the runway after nearly starving themselves. Women like Adriana Lima, who talked in an interview about the week before The Show and how she spends it sitting on a couch for 24/7 doing nothing but drinking water, are displayed to us as the ideal form. It makes me want to beat them over the head with an 800 pound cookie. It is one thing for a woman to decide that being underweight is what is most important to her, but don't broadcast that woman where children with developing self images can see it. People are exposed, on average, to 10,000 media messages a day. Along side that, only 30 % of Caucasian girls interviewed at the age of 11 and 12 by the APA were satisfied with their body. 70-80% of African American girls were not only satisfied with the way they looked, but really liked their appearance. So where do women recieve such a harsh body image? They aren't (most likely) going home to parents who tell them that they just aren't all that good looking, or that they should be prettier. That means it comes other outlets of influence. You do the math.

Now, the opposite end of this argument is where things get dangerous. Opposite of the "you have to be 6 foot and 30 pounds underweight to be beautiful" problem is an issue that is almost just as disconcerting. In an effort to counter the pressure for women to be unnaturally thin, society has started the "you are beautiful just as you are," movement. While that is true, I'm gonna go ahead and be that asshole that says that if fat is "just as you are," that's not ok. The issue that everyone is missing is HEALTH. Neither being too skinny or too hefty is healthy, they are both so so bad for your body and your organs, especially on a long term basis. Everyone is built differently and some are naturally bigger than others. If that is your body's natural build up, that's fine. Work hard, exercise, and as long as you are keeping yourself fit for the sake of yourself and those who love you, more power to you. But if you're over the weight that is meant for your fame and still sitting on the couch stuffing your face with hydrogenated oils an hour before bed, there's a problem. There's the common excuse of having work, kids and a spouse to exhaust your energy and your time. And while I know that is SO demanding, think of those people in the long term. They deserve the best version of you, a healthy you.

My Turning Page

Fact: Not wanting to write a research paper you desperately need to write is a problem.
Fact: Craving a brown sugar and cinnamon pop-tart at 11 pm is also a problem.
Answer?
Tell yourself that if you work on your paper long enough to process the pop-tart before bed, you can have it.
As I swig my last sip of milk, wipe the crumbs from my lips, I stare at that tiny little sentence...
THE SECOND PAGE! We've hit the second page!! Perhaps just barely, perhaps with just a few trailing words on Surrealism in The Trail, but by golly we've hit it. It's always the biggest barrier for me, the transition from the first to the second page. If I can write two pages, I can write a novella.

That is unless it's on Kafka's The Trial, which has got to be one of my favorite little novels. Don't take the term "little novel" as one of endearment. This book is anything but endearing; it just really is a little novel. Regardless, I strongly suggest it to all.

I do NOT, however, suggest writing your research paper on the topic of your Cambridge graduate professor's dissertation (WHICH is a billion pages long, AND is being published.) She's already cooked up every topic on this kind of thing, making all I have to offer something lame, like Oatmeal.
But I'm going to hope that she is exceedingly sweet and fair with her grading, and maybe I'll make it out of her Modern Lit class alive.

Alas, a "how's work going?" text from Andrew made a slight pang of scholarly guilt strike my conscience, so I guess it's off to page two and adieu to you.


Listen to this song, but most of all, look up the lyrics. I've been listening to it on repeat since Kelsea showed me because it is absolutely beautiful. In fact, I'll post them for you!


I've waited a hundred yearsBut I'd wait a million more for youNothing prepared me for the privilege of being yoursIf I had only felt the warmth within your touchIf I had only seen how you smile when you blushOr how you curl your lip when you concentrate enoughI would have known what I was living forWhat I've been living for
Your love is my turning pageOnly the sweetest words remainEvery kiss is a cursive lineEvery touch is a redefining phraseI surrender who I've been for who you areNothing makes me stronger than your fragile heartIf I had only felt how it feels to be yoursI would have known what I've been living for all alongWhat I've been living for
We're tethered to the story we must tellWhen I saw you well I knew we'd tell it wellWith the whisper we will tame the vicious scenesLike a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees.

A truth

From a book my Aunt Lori is reading called "Tolstoy' Lied," posted to her blog:
It is exactly what I was talking about a few posts ago.

 "THERE IT IS.  Right there on the novel's first page.  Right there in the first line, staring the reader in the face.  A lie.
   Nothing against Tolstoy.  I'm an admirer.  I simply happen to believe he's responsible for the most widely quoted whopper in world literature.  
   "Happy families are all like; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
   Literary types swoon over that line, which opens Anna Karenina.  But have they considered the philosophy they're embracing?
   If Tolstoy is to be taken at his word, a person must be unhappy in order to be interesting.  If this is true, then certain other things follow.  Happy people have no stories you might possibly want to hear.  In order to be happy, you must whitewash your personality; steamroll your curiosities, your irritations, your honesty and indignation.  You must shed idiosyncratic dreams and march in lock-step with the hordes of the content.  Happiness, according to this witticism of Tolstoy's, is not a plant with spikes and gnarled roots; it is a daisy in a field of a thousand daisies.  It is for lovers of kitsch and those with subpar intelligence."

TIger Bait.

You know that moment when it hits you that your team REALLY is that good?

You do if your'e and LSU fan.

It's the one that gives you goosebumps.

Wear the old coat and buy the new book.

I cannot wait to make this

turn to this.

Source: iwastesomuchtime.com via Ashley on Pinterest

To make books come alive for children

We no speak Americano

Fact: It is incredibly hard to convince oneself that groceries are needed when there's almost a full bag of cocoa pebbles sitting on top of my fridge.

Another Fact: This week is going to be killer. Four of my six classes are intensive reading, so that means four research papers, ten pages each about surrealism and psychoanalysis and prostitution in the 18th century and so so much more. Not to mention that the novel reading in all of those classes doesn't exactly get put on the back burner amidst all that paper writing.

While I love my classes, I have to say that Dr. Giles' class has yet to disappoint when it comes to the novels she chooses. RIght now we are in the middle of Corelli's Mandolin, and the writing in it is absolutely breathtaking. Listen to this excerpt, Greek's recount of World War I

"I said it was Pelagia and the sense of beauty that got me home, but I have said nothing about the sense of beauty. Once, near the Mesovon pass, in December, when it was twenty degrees below zero beacuse there was no cloud, the Italians sent up a starshell. It exploded in a cascade of brilliant blue light against the face of the full moon, and the sparks drifted to earth in slow motion like the souls of reluctant angels. As that small magnesium sun hovered and blazed, the black pines stepped out of their modest shadows as though previously they had been veiled like virgins but had now decided to be seen as they are in heaven. The drifts of snow pulsed with the incandescence of the absolute chastity of ice., a mortar coughed disconsolately, and an owl whooped. For the first time in my life I shivered physically from something other than the cold; the world had sloughed away its skin and revealed itself as energy and light.

It is my wish to get well so that I can go back to the lines and experience, perhaps only one more time, that immaculate moment when I saw the face of Gabriel in an instrument of war."

Another favorite, on the light on a Greek island

"It exposes colours in their original prelapsarian state, as though straight from the imagination of God in His youngest days, when He still believed that all was good."

Also, check this kid out, just 19 and mixin it up like a pro.

What's the Bizness

I have registered for my last semester of school ever. I feel like the little girl in the beginning of this video. Plus it's 10:30 at night and I am about to start a five page paper, and this song makes me feel very, very capable.

It's the colors you have

After many an airplane, metro and suburban ride I am back in Monroe. About an hour ago I touched down on a runway that brought an end to one perfect weekend.

A while back I was surprised with a plane ticket to Maryland and another ticket to FedEx Stadium to watch ND play Maryland, all courtesy of the loving Hinnenkamps.

I can't tell you how slowly thursday slid by. It was like time itself had gotten stuck in the Chariots of Fire beach scene, and then the Chariots of Fire DVD began to skip relentlessly. Finally I boarded an itty bitty Monroe airplane from one of the airports two terminals and jetted off to the North.

When I landed everything was on fire. Bright oranges and reds and yellows like I've ever seen light up the hilly town of College Park. Fall in the north might be my favorite. Poor Andrew, I must have told him to look at a billion different trees, like he's never seen a Ginko in the fall.

We (Andrew, Lynsey, Kendra, Mr. Paul and Mrs. Joan) saw monuments, took the subway, froze at a football game, drank hot chocolate, tried and ate Scrapple like a pro, and so much more.

Every single particle of me wanted to stay. Saying goodbye to such a good weekend and ever greater people is always such a drag, no matter when you'll see them next.

All the same I made it to my layover in Atlanta, whose tram was broken and left me booking it two miles through the airport to my gate. A two hour conversation with the sweet old man next to me about his hunting trips to Africa and his 6 foot pet snake in high school he never named got me to Monroe, where Kelsea and her boyfriend Sam waited in the tiny lobby with big signs that said my name on them :)

Unlike many, I have great people to come home to when I don't exactly want to be coming home.

And now I'm exhausted and going to work in the morning. For your pleasure, here is one of the many songs Andrew showed me this weekend that we rocked out to. It's fun :)

Kick It

"I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more."

Sittin on my tiny back patio in the 82 degree November weather, I was talking to my dad on the phone.

"I have to go run by I really don't want to."

"Just think of the awesome feeling you get when you're done," he said.

"The one where I want to puke my guts up?" I said sarcastically.

"Yes, that one."

He couldn't be more right.

Scattered Out With Pearls

Above is what I look like on the inside. Thank you for that, and for every day, Ace.

Expect more

Dear Reader,

press play to listen to the most beautiful song while you read. It almost forces you to take one very solid, very deep breath, and blow.

I just left a class where we discussed the novel we were reading.

First of all- This class is amazing. It's taught by Dr. Giles, (i.e. who I wanna be if I ever grow up) where all twelve of us sit in a circle with her and discuss modern literature. It's a three hour class, and I always leave rejuvenated. Now that's saying something.

What I love about that class is the differing opinions: there are atheists, christians, possibly nihilists, and more. Boy do we get into some discussions.

Today it was about morality, or a lack there of, in the novel we read. Look, I don't need to read kitsch stories where every character is Mother Theresa, but I don't want to read a story where people with no moral compass whatsoever are justified. It leaves me feeling so icky.

We discussed that the book shows people in their most human state (cheating on one another incessantly and with no remorse), and how something about its depravity is beautiful.

Every fiber of my being disagreed.

Can we not hold ourselves to a higher standard?

Yes, I agree that by nature, man is depraved. However, grace restores him from that.

Let the depravity of man be the explanation, not the excuse. Yes, we are filled with nastiness and can sometimes desire to do nasty things to one another. It is human nature not to be perfect. But expect more.

Don't find that depravity beautiful and enticing. That's much, much too easy.

What's truly beautiful is a depraved man and woman who except something so much greater than their own human state, and strive with their entire purpose to hold themselves to a moral standard.

I think that a lot of people overlook the courage it takes to be vulnerable enough to give yourself to God.

What's beautiful is feeling the Id clawing at you, and taming that for the sake of your husband, wife, Father. I am not naive enough to think that man by nature craves monogamy. However, a man with a grasp on what he owes God, and what he has been given, never seeks something outside of a relationship that is the union of two people for a much greater cause, symbolic of Christ's marriage to his people. Dwelling there, in the kind of love that can only be found in monogamy, vulnerably giving yourself to one person as you do your Creator, fulfillment is found. And happiness.

Whew, I no longer feel icky. I feel...ventilated.