The J word

Judging. Yes, I said it. Judging. To some people it’s a bad word (though they use it often enough). To some Christians, it’s the unpardonable sin. To popular media, it’s the biggest scandal. To me, it’s a reality I wish people would understand.

For all the Christians out there screaming for a curb on judging, I’d like to remind you of a well-known passage of scripture: “Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart.” I don’t know what other people think of that, but if I mistake not it seems to be saying that people judge from the sense God gave them (sight, smell, hearing, understanding, facts, knowledge) to put together a picture in their mind. Only God is truly capable of looking at the true identity of a person. Let’s not pretend that there is anyone but the Creator who can honestly say they don’t judge. The Bible would not warns us of it if it wasn’t so.

Outside of the Christian world, the anit-judge movement is just as strong, but with a different foundation. TV shows, movies and all involved in that line of business and any outspoken line will tell you with vhim and vigor about the sin of judging. It’s “not about what you look like” and it’s “do what you love no matter what other people think”. There’s a reason there are production and artistic directors: to make things look good because people pay attention to what they see!! I don’t know one celebrity or anyone one in the public eye who isn’t dressed for the part–doesn’t do what they do except to make a point to other people. A nice thing to remember for this group of people comes from Batman (hardly objectionable to anyone) “It’s not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you.” Never was a truer word spoken.

When someone tells me I shouldn’t judge, my first reaction is “I’m judging? Can you really make that judgement? Isn’t that…illegal?”. People judge. It’s a fact. No one can say that they don’t because that’s implying that other people do and then they end up judging. The only reason anyone ever says that they don’t judge is because they know that they will be judged by that statement. It’s a natural part of life–the circle of life. We judge, are judged, and judge again. 

It’s a harsh fact, to be sure, but judging is a fact nonetheless. If anything, we can use this fact to our advantage. Understanding that people judge by appearances and first impressions, we therefore needs to make sure they have every reason to judge in our favor. Do people get jobs by looking like an unreliable bum? Are first dates based on your winning personality? Do athletes get picked for a team if they’re scrawny? I think not.

People judge too much by appearance? Yes they do, so make sure it’s a good one.

Chasing One’s Tail

The common law of government, that majority rules, has become rather the theme of moral conscience than that of the state. The majority and it’s activities are now the naturally accepted code of behavior. Based upon the actions of the people around us we justify our own deeds as we say to ourselves in tones of apathy, “Everyone else does it, how could so many people be doing the wrong thing? It must not be wrong then.”  In truth, this theory could be correct. Are rules and laws made by the people or for the people? Who can tell? On the other hand, if we carry on as we choose, comforting ourselves with the fact that we are one of many sinners, then there is no room left for fair judgement. It would be hypocrisy to make a judgement and even a punishment on anyone if all were alike and justified by each other. No one is perfect and there is only the degree of a crime that separates the judge from the judged.

So far my thoughts on this have been inconclusive. I will admit that the right thing to say, would be that every person must judge for themselves, based on their personal experience and conviction. However, I must also admit that I do not, and probably never will, trust the intelligence and discernment of the average individual. I don’t, in any way, pretend to be any better than the next person, but that doesn’t mean that the stupidity of some people escapes my notice. How can I then trust such people, and many more like them, to judge for themselves what may affect more than only themselves? Here is the moment when I must remind myself that what will be will be, and I must learn to work around at it as best I can.

(I sound like a socialist, but I assure anyone reading this that I am no such thing. I am merely a frustrated thinker, who can decide how to deal with the stress of living with so many trying people. Life is so hard sometimes…oh well. )

Back to my original statement however, I am still extremely confused by life as a reality (rules of the majority) or life in an ideal world (individual discretion). Perhaps the wise thing to do would be to go half and half– balancing the weight of one with the other in order to keep things level. Even this requires some choice however, and there we are again wondering who can be trusted.

As you can see, I have gotten nowhere with this argument and probably never will. I guess that with all that I’ve said here, what I really end with is a question of reality; what is the reality? Ideals mean little if they are only ideals and not the true reality, so reality we must rest upon (if we can determine what it is) and let the rest happen as it will. I suppose I’m just chasing my tail and will only get more and more dizzy, but so it is and will always be, and that is certainly reality.

Quoting for Dummies

Quoter? Quotist? Quotanite? Quotient? Quoti? Quotester?

Quoting is an art.  A highly skilled talent, really. A quoter must be well versed in films, books, music and so on. To be a “well rounded individual” you must be a master of the art. A lord, so to speak, of parroting the words of others more clever than yourself.

Any competent quoter, will know, that any competent quoter, will tell you, that any competent quoter will be able to come up with a quote for any occasion. A quote for common conversation, a quote for a string of quotes, a quote for comic relief, a quote for strong speeches, or a quote for lack of any original wit.

I find it particularly thrilling when I am inspired with an ingenious quote that impresses the multitudes, stuns my critics, and puts a sort of smile on the face of intellectuals. Even better is when I have the temporary delight of creating my own wise saying, that others may use my words as a sort of compliment to myself.

Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and therefore quoting is the greatest gift one can poses. To quote someone with their knowledge and approval is to climb higher and higher in life. This quoting with purpose.

That Warm Fuzzy Feeling

Love songs are completely inaccurate, and everybody knows it! So, why are they the most popular? Even more than that, why do people base their lives on them? Everyone knows that the typical love song is just for the hearing and not to be used as a guideline for life.

I will admit that there are some love songs that are quite meaningful for me, but no matter how they touch me I refuse to use the expression “They’re playing our song.” I want to know who first said that and why it was repeated. There is no “our song” and if there is, then you can bet that your relationship won’t last very long.

Love is not an eHarmony commercial with perfectly matched people and “love that lasts ’til the stars turn cold.” It doesn’t work that way. It’s a difficult journey filled with blood, sweat and tears. You love it, you hate it, you believe it, you doubt it, and in the end it’s just where the chips fall. And so be it!

The question is, is love the object or the feeling? Maybe it’s a little of both? Maybe it’s neither? And since I have very little faith  in the average heart or head, I would say that no one can possibly know.

Again, I find the subject a complete waste of time and not worth the headache it allows. And to that warm, fuzzy feeling I say, do what you like, but don’t bother me.

To Be, Or Not To Be?

Lately, I’ve been asking myself whether anything is absolute. I know that some things are true and couldn’t possibly be anything else, but what about those things that are just cultural. My question is, if something is wrong here, does that mean that it is wrong everywhere?

In my opinion almost everything is subjective (a statement  that is subjective in itself). What is considered evil sin here, may be part of daily life somewhere else, and vise versa. What does anyone really know? In my opinion, nothing. Who can say who is right and who is wrong?  In that case is anything wrong? Is everything right?

Even following the Bible you can have your own interpretations based on culture. Somethings, certainly, you can be sure of, but most of life is just culture and time period. This doesn’t sound exactly Christian, but I think it should be open for debate. Every Christian should ask themselves what they are basing their beliefs and rules upon. It isn’t sinful or wrong, it’s just a truthful examination of oneself.

As much as I’ve thought about this, in the end, the only thing I can say is that there are very few standards that are inflexible, and thus we should be very careful about our opinions.

Coffee

There is nothing more comforting than coffee, but I’ve never thanked it properly. I’ve never given the coffee maker a present or given a party in its honor. I’ve never nominated it for friend of the year or made a holiday in its name. I feel that I have been remiss in this regard and I mean to mend my ways. I shall start off with a poem in its honor. Let’s see….

Ode to the Coffee Pot

Today, in honor of my friend,
I’d like to say some things.
I’d like to state my gratitude
For the happiness that it brings.

On rainy days and stormy nights
It’s there to make me grin,
And comfort me when all seems lost,
And when I cry within.

And when the sun is shining bright
And days are fine and nice
It isn’t bad with flavoring
And whipped up cream, and ice.

In the morning when I arise,
I hear its perky chatter,
And smell that glorious scent of its,
Then, nothing is the matter.

And so today, I honor it,
That friend of ceaseless good.
I love my friend, the Coffee Pot,
And would wed it, if I could.

That’s best I can come up with, though it really deserves so much more.

Of all the beverages in this world (and there are many) coffee is still the most loved. Everyone (if they are quite sane) will drink and enjoy this life-lending-liquid. It is the drink of the gods and brings people together like nothing else can.

As wonderful as it is, I can’t seem to find any symbolic value in it. It’s a friend to all, a universally enjoyed drink, hundreds of years old and in some ways, very good for you. But I can’t tie all these things together into a anything really meaningful. Maybe it’s an example of the type of friend we should all strive to become… It has a meaning for each individual.

I could go on for years about the virtues of coffee, but really, all that is important is that we give it the respect it deserves.

The Leading Man

Since the last post was on the subject of children, this will concern the children’s father. This subject is rather a…well, it’s not a subject I like. That is, I don’t like the idea of having to marry and making sure I choose the right fellow, nor do I like the idea of  the small population of young millionaires in the world.

I believe I could marry for money. I am not an Elizabeth Bennet and I know that money does  make a significant difference (although notice how Jane Austen’s characters so conveniently fell in love with men that just happened to be rich). Looks and money do matter, and love really doesn’t. Friendship is more important than anything– well, actually money is, but friendship is a close second.

Whomever I marry I need to make sure will be good to any children we have. Nothing is more taxing on a Mother than being a Wife…and vise versa. 

I really have no preference to style and looks (good nose and chin are all I ask), I do, however, have a preference to Nationality. Jewish, English, Scottish or Norwegian are all good with me. I might let a few others on the list, but only a very few.

The property is important. The family is important. The title is very important!  He doesn’t have to have one, but if he does, I would prefer something more extravagant and aristocratic. Nothing like “Sir Blah blah blah”, anyone can be a Sir. But if he were born with it, that would give it something closer to dignity.

Talent’s and hobbies are also important, but that’s still up in the air. Singer or painter? African big game hunter or Rugby player? I have no idea, and that’s something that can be changed anyway.

Character? Phlegmatic or Sanguine.  Intelligence? As much as me or a little more.  Age? Anywhere from my age to fifteen years above. Occupation? Hopefully he won’t need one, but if he does, I’d say Politician, Professor (of anything but math), Writer…whatever…just something with brains.

I’ve got to do the dishes now (which, by the way, will be done by a maid in the future), but at least I finally posted. And what a post.

Children (ˈchil-drən, -dərn)

I have no great expectation for my children. They are going be intelligent and beautiful.

I really have no desire for children at all. Children are wonderful, but only from afar off. They are strange and foreign to me, and I neither understand their ways nor the delicate art of raising them. Let the nurse take care of them. Let the tutor teach them. Let my extensive grounds be their entertainment. And let me, give instructions to their nurse, pay the tutor, watch them play, and above all, let me only have to deal with the enjoyment of them and not the strife.

I could like children if I really tried, but it’s such a hard thing to do. My only comfort when pondering on my yet-to-be children, is that I can raise mine to be what I love in children. With a Mark Lester face and personality that is purely Margaret O’Brien this child would be perfect. Actually that’s not entirely true, because Mark Lester’s face was only as good as his personality was, and Margaret O’Brien’s personality really only works in a little girl. So I’ll have to figure that out, but I’ll get worked out by the time it’s needed.

I’ve three options in mind for number and order of children. Either three children with the only girl coming first, two being one of each, or four in which it would be even. But names will be hard for four.

Names I haven’t figured out yet. The girls are almost established, but the boys are established at all…it depend on what their father’s name is, and where we live. Names are very important because they are stuck with them for the rest of their lives, and I don’t want to be responsible for an unhappily named child (or person for that matter).

I want to name them all after someone, but that might not be possible, since there are a great many names that I adore that were never bestowed upon the right people. But these are the troubles of life, are they not?

Much will depend upon their father. What they look like, what they are names, how they are raised, how much money I can spend on them, and how what kind of characters they’ll have. He is very important indeed. But we mustn’t get sidetracked and start discussing him and his requirements.

Anyway, children are an important subject in my mind, but as it is very late and I am tired, I will cease this and go to bed.

Poetry

I love poetry. I really do. But I hate when people insist on writing free verse because they have neither the patience nor the brains to give it any form or order. I’ve written free verse before, and am exceedingly ashamed for it. But, I did try, to give it pattern of some form or another.

Emily Dickenson wrote a lot of free verse, but I respect her’s more because she knew what she was doing and when to do it. ( Speaking of her, I want it to be known that I love her poetry, but not her…she stayed always at home and alone, with the ridiculous idea that she could find the world in books…that’s ridiculous, of course, because books are written by someone, and that someone sees things a certain way, and so they write things in a certain way, and that is not reality. Or, at least, that’s how I understand her life to be.)

Free verse too, opens things for uncontrolled speaking. The speaking can go on and on, with no consideration to the eyes and ears of the audience. Not to mention, if one is going to insist on free verse, then one ought to write prose and not poetry…it makes things far easier to understand (and for that matter, endure).

Then there is always the new idea that a teenager, having no other innocent way to vent their frustration, may turn to dramatic, Gothic, sobbing words. A dreadful crucifixion of the English language. A slow, suffering, heavy-eye-make-uped death, which, as long as it stops now and again to move to the next line of abused words, may be called, poetry.

Poetry, however, is a graceful, angelic parade of meaningful, well placed and beautiful words (that we are so blessed to have).  There are some, who don’t understand this, and therefore, have not right to play with that glorious thing: poetry.

It does sound ridiculous to say,”You must rhyme, or perish,”  but it’s not that way at all. It’s not rhyming so much as flow and order. Some people say, that having to rhyme only  limits, but that is lazy. If you are not a good enough poet to  match one word with another, than you ought not write poetry at all…well, that’s not entirely true. Some poems are very good without conventional rhyme, but still, one should try.

Actually, that isn’t the problem anyway. The problem is people writing random lines of frivolous, personal strife. Absolutely no discretion. I don’t want to know about it, and there are few others who do.

I’m done with my rants, but now you know why never to write free verse unless you have a good reason and can make it acceptable.

The Sound of Music

Music is more than just…well, music.  In Webster’s Dictionary, music is defined as *clears throat*… the science or art of ordering tones or sounds in succession, in combination, and in temporal relationships to produce a composition having unity and continuity b:vocal, instrumental, or mechanical sounds having rhythm, melody, or harmony…ooor! an agreeable sound.

In that case, the sound of a washer containing shoes would be, music (see: fifth line, forth word). A chainsaw would be, music. A tea kettle’s whistle would be, music. Or, even the typing that I’m doing at this very minute, could be, considered music.

Songs are different though, because songs have words. Now “words”…the definition on that one is boring and unimaginative, so I’ll give my own interpretation of the word…no pun intended, there. Words express what you mean to say or are thinking, right? Of course right. So, what is a good song, you wonder. I will tell you.

Think of ocean caves. Think of bees…alright, maybe I’m stretching the whole thing, but I do have some sort of point, would not you agree? Of course you would. Who wouldn’t? Not I, to be sure.

So, favorite music….I think that purring cats are rather rhythmic. Slurping coffee pots, are machines of melody. A neighborhood of barking dogs is a symphony of sound. And if we were really imaginative (as I’m sure we are) even doing greasy, slimy, sticky dishes could be classified as music.

So, life is a never ending song, with unintelligible words, and a chaotic smattering of little, black notes. Personally, I prefer Frank Sinatra….