Some random thoughts and stuff.

You know the quote "I put the 'fun' in 'funeral'"?

It kept running through my head on monday at my grandfather's memorial service, and it made me feel like a terrible person. But since it started with my mother and her siblings giggling uncontrollably through the prelude, I don't feel quite so badly.

I mostly sat there watching my family giggle and whisper in our pews at the front of the church, and I kept thinking (and may have commented to my darling cousin) that we are bad mourners. I've had a really good time at both family funerals I've been to this year, which is kind of boggling, because they were for both my maternal grandparents, the core of all family holidays. I think the world may fall apart this Christmas without Grandmum, the matriarch humming her way about the house, feeding everyone and scolding us goodnaturedly at every opportunity, and Grandpa's sarcasm, wit, and Pall Malls holding court over the livingroom...

These, theoretical readers, are two of the coolest people you'll never meet.

Anyways, as we were all laying claim to pieces of their home (pieces of their lives, I think), the thought kept returning that we're kind of horrible at all this, and as I took my turn driving a few hours on the long trip back home, it occurred to me to connect this experience--having fun and enjoying my family even as we were together to mourn the death of another superhero--to a conversation my little sister and I had a few months ago. It actually began in the context of relationships, but quickly expanded to take in more facets of life.

Someone told me not long before that conversation, that if they were told that they could never fall in love, never be a parent or a spouse, they wouldn't really see the point in living, and that was utterly inconceivable to me

(Admit it, we're all thinking it.

Or maybe just me..)

because there's nothing in my life I can say that about. I was telling Becca this, and she agreed with me.

If someone told me that I would never be published, never paint again, never be a parent, never travel the world, never get married, etc., yes, I would be crushed. I'd spend a few minutes in the mental fetal position wondering why I should even bother, but then I'd get up, and find something else to do with my life. If there's one thing I intend to do with my life, it's to survive it. And if I can't do that, I'm dead and my life is over anyway, so no problem.

Becca and I came to the conclusion that unless the world actually ends, it's not the end of the world.

This is an attitude that I've seen repeatedly in my family, though never actually named by any of us until my sister and I discussed it. We are a clan of survivors, and we've survived a fair share of crap. Some of the strongest, most amazing people I've met are related to me.

So maybe we're not bad mourners. Maybe we just understand that life goes on. Yes, we mourn. Yes, we appreciate what's been lost, but we don't lose sight of everything else in the face of that either, which I find to be a virtue rather than a flaw.

A quick, ranty ramble on Beauty and the Beast.

You know those mornings when you wake up with a song playing in your head you haven't heard in a while? That totally happened to me today. Not that that's in any way relevant to what I was going to write about. I just thought I'd bring that up briefly. I can't be relevant all the time. You might get suspicious and stop reading. And let's not pretend. Half the reason you keep reading is because you have no idea what I'll say next, regardless of what the title of the post is.

I'm really in the mood for some painting again, but I don't think I'll get round to it until after I get back from Wisconsin.

Anyways. I was just putting laundry away and singing obnoxiously loud when I started thinking about Beauty and the Beast. It's one of my favorite Disney movies. That transitioned into the other adaptations of the story that I've seen and read. And you know what I noticed?

Also, someone should really explain to me how he's cursed. Because he looks awesome, 

much better than when he's not.

How exactly does getting with some gorgeous chick cure the prince of being a shallow douchebag? There's no guarantee there that he learned anything. Because it's easy to hold a double standard. Why didn't the curse make him love someone ugly? I feel like that would've accomplished more in the way of correcting his personal flaws.

Which is really the main message there. Magic can fix people who suck.

Wouldn't that be awesome? I want to be a vengeful fairy enchantress thing that goes around cursing all the stupid people.

So I think a much better curse would have been to just take everything from the prince until he fell in love with someone not traditionally lovely. Or maybe blinding him. Then he couldn't base anything on someone's appearance. That would free the entire population of the castle from being collateral too. I always thought it was unfair that all the servants and such got cursed as well, because they really had nothing to do with this. What were they gonna do? Rebel against the aristocracy and take off? That way lies starvation, boys and girls.

I feel like I need to write something like this sometime. Prince Hobo. No Beauty, no Beast. At least not at first glance. Monsters come in all forms, and beauty can be in unexpected places. That seems like it should be the real message to that story.

Has anyone tried role reversal? What about a sweet, hapless prince cursed by a random witch or whatever and saddled with a psychotic wench? That'd be a fun revision of Beauty and the Beast.

Anecdotal Adventure!

So this weekend I'm running deliveries for Edible Arrangements (apparently Mothers' Day is a big deal for them), and two of them today were at this hotel in town...

I've been driving all over this stupid parking lot for ages, and I'm already irritated because it's taken me far too long to find such a painfully obvious building--I didn't see before that the order ticket has a small memo at the bottom stating that the address is in the hotel--and I can't find a parking place remotely near the entrance. As I have two large, fruit bouquets with foot-wide, cardboard bases, I don't relish the idea of carrying the things across a huge expanse of windy parking lot. I've circled it too many times already, and I'm ready to be finished.

Seriously hard to miss. I was annoyed.

When I get inside, one arrangement tucked against either hip, I search for the front desk, which is not, as one would expect, at the front. In fact, it rests inconspicuously behind a large pillar (really more like a section of wall, not unlike the ones they often have in Starbucks) in the far corner of the central hub. I stroll over, trying valiantly to maintain the illusion that I am remotely cheerful and personable, and spend a moment making small talk about how amazing pineapples are with a middle-aged woman also waiting at the desk. When the guy actually working comes to see if he can assist me--warning me in comedic tones that he hasn't had lunch yet, and it may not be safe to leave those with him--I discover that I must actually bring these monstrosities to the rooms they're meant to be sent to, and so lose all hope of just dropping them off and leaving.

I have to go the eleventh floor of the A wing and the fourth floor of the C wing. Deciding that it'll be simpler to start with the higher floor, I set out in search of the elevators, which are not placed anywhere painfully obvious to my sleep-deprived eyes. After struggling through a set of double doors with my burdens and stumbling on an area of mysterious shops and offices in the A wing, I realize that I must have passed the elevators already. I've barely made my way back down the hall toward the lobby when--Aha, elevator!


The button with the UP arrow is abnormally high on the wall, and I'm forced to perform an impressive and absurd balancing act rather than simply craning my hand around to hit it; I stand on one foot, bracing my left knee against the wall and setting one box-stabilized bouquet atop my thigh, then hurriedly punch the button to call the elevator. It arrives with a slightly jittery bounce that doesn't inspire much confidence. I stare at it for a moment, weighing my desire to finish the last two deliveries and leave without taking the stairs up eleven flights against the possibility that I am inevitably going to die in this elevator. The walls are covered in some material that looks as though it's meant to cover up repairs or remodeling or something, and if I've learned anything from movies, it's that scary elevators never lead anywhere good. Unless you happen to be a vengeful spirit, blood-thirsty psycho, or a peckish zombie.

Holy crap. I'm going to die.

I step dubiously inside and do my button-pushing trick again, peering anxiously about the empty elevator and listening to the workings take me up, floor by floor. The line of numbers above the sliding doors light up as I pass each floor with a slight click, and it's like the tic-toking of a very slow clock.

2...3...4...5...

I keep wondering what happens if it stops suddenly and I'm stuck in here.

6...7...

It's hard to ignore the knowledge that every second I'm in here, there's another few feet of empty elevator shaft underneath me.

8...9...

Would I even survive that fall?

10...

When 11 lights finally lights up and the doors open (with a slightly terrifying bounce), I breathe a sigh of relief and step out.

I'm in a small triangular area created by the intersecting halls. It's completely dark. All I can see outside of the small half-circle of light spilling out of the elevator behind me is a few dark corners and the shadowy walls, and my hands are full.

Wouldn't Star-Gauges Guy have told me at the front desk if they were remodeling or something? Why isn't this area off limits, or marked or anything? I'm distinctly unsettled, and I clutch the heavy fruit arrangements, hoping that the elevator doors aren't going to close behind me and leave me trapped alone in the dark. I'm uncomfortably aware of how defenseless I would be if something were to happen.

I've seen the movies. I know how this goes. I have two choices.
One: walk cautiously down that dark hallway in hopes of finding A1101, meet some blood-hungry terror, and die horribly in a deserted hotel room strewn with dusty tools and chunks of drywall.
Two: get my paranoid ass back down to the lobby and find a different way to the room.

That's not even a choice. I turn abruptly and search for the correct button, pushing it a little harder and faster than I might normally have done. I watch the darkness through the closing elevator doors, not quite convinced something isn't going to flash through at the last second and either leave me trapped in a creepy elevator with a murderous something, or stop the doors from closing and leave me face to face with whatever was just out of sight when I stepped out the first time.

The ride down is slower than the ascent somehow, and I spend it half-waiting for the theatrical lurch and creak one  always sees in films. Stepping out, back into what suddenly seems like an alternate world on the ground floor, is slightly frightening, because the elevator jerks again as it comes to a stop.

I'm slightly jumpy when I finally make it to the designated rooms, and I wonder to myself when I developed this irrational fear of riding in in elevators.

For the romantics

"From the diary of Prospero Taligent, cylinder #343

--A number of things about falling in love make it not worth the time and effort. But the worst of these is that we can never truly fall in love with the person, but only what we think that person is--more precisely, we fall in love with an image of a person that we create in our minds based on a few inconsequential traits: hair color; bloodline; timbre of voice; preference in music or literature. We are so quick to make a judgement on first sight, and it is so easy for us to decide that the object of our love is unquestionably perfect. And while people can only be human at best, these same fallible humans are more than capable of imagining each other to be infallible gods.

Any relationships we have with another human being is an ongoing process of error correction, altering this image that we see in our mind's eye whenever we lay love-blinded eyes on our beloved. It changes bit by bit until it matches the beloved herself, who is invariably less than perfect, often unworthy of love, and often incapable of giving love. This is why any extended interpersonal relationship other than the most superficial, be it a friendship, a romance, or a tie between father and daughter, must by necessity involve disappointment and pain..."

The Dream of Perpetual Motion by Dexter Palmer

Love is about realism, not an ideal; honesty, not adoration.

Self-esteem- Some hating to end my day

I know I've referenced the quote before, but in Fight Club, Tyler Durden tells his space monkey disciples "You are not a beautiful unique snowflake. You are the all-seeing, all-dancing crap of the world!" while shoving his angry, sexist, implausible anarchy down their directionless sheep throats.

This is the first thing I often think when people share things that are genuinely stupid and pointless and expect anyone to care.

Kind of like this blog. Isn't funny what a hypocrite I am?

I'm thinking primarily of all forms of social media, lots of art, poetry, etc, and many conversations. This occurs to me because I was just wandering around the internet, and I found myself getting increasingly annoyed by the amount of tripe floating around. Idiotic posts, crappy art, and generally obnoxious wails for attention and validation.

I think this culture over-values validation. A lot. And it starts young. You have to praise a child for everything it does, and then they have graduations for everything ever. I think it undervalues things that are actually achievements. And if you don't set the bar low and commend everyone for their every attempt at anything, you're a horrible person. Because obviously people need to be told everything they do is gold, or else their weak personalities will collapse and they'll whither away and die of bad self esteem.

I hate to break it to you all, but not everyone is or ever will be great. In all likelihood, most of us won't accomplish anything of real worth in our lives.

You know that song "The Kids Aren't Alright"? That's kind of what I'm talking about here.

You aren't a beautiful, unique snowflake. You're probably actually a grain of sand. surrounded by a bajillion others, made of the same stuff, essentially indistinguishable. There are differences, yes, but the chances of you being actually unique or new are basically nil.

Congratulations. Happy Tuesday, kids.

Life after high school...Ish

So, a lot of the younger kids I know are coming up on the end of high school, and that brings to mind the hazy months of senoritus, the college search, and the general curiosity about my plans for the future. In the last couple of years, I've been asked about a million times what I want to do with my life.

I understand that this question is largely because I'm an unemployed (again) twenty-something, not in school, and still at my parents' house, but really? My life? I'm not quite sure if anyone over thirty (or with actual direction for their lives) can appreciate the immensity of that question.

I am twenty years old, and it feels like I've only been out of high school for about three seconds, and yet people have been asking me since graduation what I want to do for the foreseeable future.

And that answer has always been, "I have no idea...School maybe? Have a career? Get married and pop children someday? I dunno." Because what kind of society are we in where people expect you to know what you're doing with your life in your late teens? Most people don't even choose a major in school until toward the end, or they change it at least once before they get their degree. And then comes the whole question of whether or not they even end up somewhere relevant to their degree...

I've officially come to the conclusion that most clueless post-adolescents simply follow the path laid out before them; they do what we're "supposed" to do, which is go to college, theoretically fall in love, get married, and begin the arduous work of starting a career. The thing that I think has been sadly lacking from education is that the traditional path is not the one that everyone has to choose. College isn't for everyone, and it shouldn't be treated as simply the next step of life. Life after high school is supposed to be the start of adulthood, the beginning of independence and personal accountability, which is something that I don't often see in almost anyone under twenty-five.

I think the difficulty here is that people don't want the pressure of choosing an alternate path for themselves. They can pretend the safe, socially acceptable route is enough to sustain their ambitions without ever having to seek for something other or more satisfying. Being creative in your life, not simply following the current--whether that be college, or a crappy job, or marriage--takes effort and ambition and willpower. It's a step into the unknown, and it can be terrifying to be in that kind of free fall.

Yes. This is free fall! Terrifying, atypical life choices being made >.>

I don't mean to glorify my general bummery and that of many of my acquaintances, but I think the illusion that we are ambitionless, childish, slobs is very much present, and I find that people tend to look down on those of us who don't have it figured out right now. But personally, I'd rather admit to not having all the answers right now than end up thousands of dollars in debt for my degree in Literature or whatever that I'll never use in a career. Life isn't something that generally goes according to plan anyway, in my experience at least.

I think part of it is that I don't have any illusions about the likelihood of my having a career I'm passionate about. I would love to be able to get paid for something I love doing, but the chances of that aren't high, and since I can't think of anything else I want to be doing for the long run, I may as well not spend thousands of dollars furthering my education. Instead, I'm going to search for a crappy job so that I can save up the money to do things I actually want to do without being completely penniless afterward.

Anyways, just some thoughts from one of the many useless drones devouring your resources.