The Exotic World that is Home

I just lost a glove. Sometimes when I'm running, I'll notice a lone shoe or glove or sock and think "How silly, how could you possibly loose just one? Wouldn't you notice?" Of course such thoughts are selfish. A loss might be a product of a unique circumstance, like using the uni computers because the net isn't working at home and you're a hygeine freak and so you wear a glove on you right hand so that you don't have to rub palms with evey other uni student who has used this mouse.

Yesterday was a exhausting. Firstly, I met with Greg, my logic lecturer, who lives and breaths formal logic. The meeting was thus: If I had a program to upload images on my computer, I would draw a little picture of me with my head sawn open and Greg trying to cram in a mountain of books and proof diagrams. An hour or so later, I escaped the vaulted hall, and opened up my head and let all the precious information dissolve in the uni pool.

I swum hard and I was exhausted when I arrived at Jason's place in the city. I should have saved my energy. You see, Jason loves philosophy more than I do. He lives and breaths philosophy of religion and metaphysics. And he's much smarter than me and far more rigorous. So, if I had that image program enabled, I'd draw a little picture of me in the corner of a cell, getting beaten with a club. I read his essay for "God and Evil" and it's so much better than mine it's embrassing that he read mine. Other than that, the evening was pleasant; Val and a friend were there and the four of us ate a yummy stir-fry.

The ride home on the train was disturbing, however. I boarded at Parlaiment station with a group of Indian guys and sitting at the back of crowded carriage were a couple of girls from Ringwood (yes, the suburb is as bad as it sounds). From that moment to the inner suburban station where the guys disembarked, I heard the most horrible barrage of racist insults from those girls mouths. Maybe I'm just niave, but I was horrified. I felt physically sick, embarressed, sad and angry. The best way to alienate myself from those girls would have been to tell them off but I'm too much of social coward to do so. Besides, on what grounds could I have done so? I was sad because the attitudes and behaviour of those girls (and presumably others) does nothing for good race relations. And I was so angry, I wanted to administer justice, physically. But prayer is mightier than violence.

That said, violence does have its place. My mind swings from anger about violence (sexual abuse of children, gang warfare, "collateral damage", violence against people who live on the streets) to the desire that violence be the vechile of justice. I guess this is a false dichotomy. God is a God of justice and when Christ returns, there will be violence, but this violence will be administered to those who commited injustices and violence against the innocent and did not repent and take refuge in the one who judges.

Oh and I guess I'd better make some reference to the title. I was thinking about home: running along the dirt road through the forest to the meadow, our rustic mudbrick house in the bush, the vista of Hobart and the Derwent and Mt Wellington, the cold fresh air... These are all familiar things to me - I was immersed in them for years and now that I reflect on them on the train, in the mundane here in Melbourne, they become so alien to me (and almost dangerously romanticised). How strange.

By the way, I wrote an article titled: Feminism, Christianity and Strip Clubs: A manifesto.

Today Paul gave me "New Issues Facing Christians Today" by the John Stott as a belated birthday present. It looks set to be a ripper.

It's late. Ergo, I post.

I'm posting this late at night, so I'll probably regret what I wrote and I bet it will come out as the sort of post Dave doesn't like. Sorry, Dave.

Bruce gave me back my commented upon draft. On the back he wrote something about an interesting essay displaying independent thought, but needs a LOT of work for it to get a good mark (to save my pride I'll say I knew that). He also said, sweetly, that he thinks I can do that. I have a lot of respect for Bruce. Most of his comments, however, kinda destroy my whole argument - so I now have nothing left to say. It's difficult to formulate a definition of freewill that gets past the rigourous philosopher that is Bruce. I'll think of something, though.

I love sharehousing. I guess I say that because my housemates are so rad. I think I'd like to sharehouse with rad people for the rest of my life, if I don't get married. I don't think I'd like to live by myself - I'd get even more lonely and mad than normal.

Living in suburbia has made me realise that I really don't like it. I'd love to live in the inner city, or by the beach. But I reckon if I lived in both those places for a while, I'd yearn for elsewhere. This is a good thing, because it reminds me that my home is not here on this earth.

Question: would you rather live 1) at the bottom of a very steep deep valley or 2) at the very edge of a very high vertical cliff?

I have a silly question: what do married couples (or other people with bedfellows) do about dutch ovens? Pretend not to notice? Jump out of the bed?

Oh, and don't miss my Closer review.

Closer

A review in http://howfarfromperfect.blogspot.com

A Bit on the Dark Side

"If you're not with me, you're my enemy."

"Only a Sith Deals in absoloutes."
...

"Anakin, Emporer Palpantine is evil."

"But from my point of view, the Jedi are evil."

"Then you are truely lost."

Brilliant. This movie had the five others to stand on, so it felt like a complete, satisfying tale. And interesting thematically and philosophically: the ambiguity of good and evil.

Cogito

No, I don’t take drugs, I just have good imagination. The downside of this is that I don’t have much control over what pops into my head. Like, I find it really easy to imagine the Queen on the toilet, or Elle McPherson on the toilet or Colin Firth on the toilet … Maybe that’s why I fall out of love so easily.

An enigma that has puzzled me for the last twenty two years is the way other people think. So, to satisfy my gnawing curiosity, I’d like to know how you, dear reader, think. I would like specifics, not vagueness or generalities, because on such an inaccessible matter as the mind, that’s uninformative. For instance, don’t say “I think a lot about football.” Instead tell me what pops into your head when you’re “thinking about football.” What’s it like? What bits make your head buzz?

Are you visual? Verbal? Mathematical? Conceptual? If you’re mathematical, can you please describe in gory detail what that looks like? Do you reminisce lots or plan tomorrow and next year while you are trying to sleep? Do you “see” time in your head? Do you carry around a mental atlas? When someone says a word, do you see the word, hear it, see what it represents or something else? Do you make mental lists? Are you introspective? Do you think much about the way other people think? Do you have “vibes” accessible in your head? Do you “see” music when it plays? Please, talk about yourself. I am interested.

When I’m thinking about a philosophical concept or problem, or categorizing things for the pure joy of it, I’ll have this “backdrop” in my head, which will be an scene I’m familiar with but there will be no apparent nexus with whatever it is I’m thinking about. For example, I might be thinking about philosophical fallacies in arguments, and I’ll be doing this on the visual background of the place in Tasmania near my house where I used to run to. Does anyone else do this?

Birl/Goy

"What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence... but what really matters is what we can only be silent about."

Just kidding folks. I'll keep writing.

You're probably wondering what that "but" is doing in the above phrase. It possibly should be an "and", but it doesn't matter really, because "but" has no logical consequence. Strange. Perhaps there is a logic where such subtlties are taken into account. Maybe I should invent one.

"The aspect of things that are most important to us are hidden becayse of their simplicity and familiarity." I just spent the last couple of days arguing for the most obvious of propositions because I take it that Bruce prizes rigour. I keep cringing because I handed in a rubbish draft and Bruce will think I'm really stupid. Argh. Pride issues.

I read this book "For Women Only: what you need to know about the inner lives of men". Enlightening. Which is strange given I grew up with blokes. Upon reflection, however, I realised many of the things that men worry about worries me too. Like wanting respect and being afraid that your inadequacies will be found out. For example, in Honours, I have an irrational fear that Bruce will pull me aside and say "What do you think you're doing? You shouldn't be here - you're too dumb!"

My explanation for this androgenity (my taste in movies is quite blokish too) is global. As women do traditionally men things, we'll experience their worries and pressures. Androgenity (sp?) is popping up everywhere - female models have square jaws and wide mouths. Male models have pouty lips.

In other news, I hung out with Dooda, Tim and Shaun last night. T'was radcoolfun. And, boy do those boys lurve gelato.

Hair ~ Novelty Songs ~ Rats

So that I don't look like a complete fool (I am currently a partial one), I have moved my brief review of Saved! to How Far From Perfect. I can't link it, but if you're clever, you'll know where to look.

~

I had a hair style and colour yesterday for a bargain price at a hair college in the city. They said some complimentry things like my hair colour is "light and lovely" (mouse blondey brown!) and that I had a small face so I shouldn't make my hair too big. Two things I have insecurities about. Hmm, I think I'll go back there to have my ego pumped. And I might be able to get a free hairdo in July at a hair competition.

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I wrote another novelty song called "Who stole the attic?" I won't publish it here unless you really really want me to and actually read the last song I posted, which is perfectly understandable if you didn't - I know I never read people's songs they wrote - don't know why - maybe it's the superficial incoherence and repetiveness that puts me off... Hang on a minute...

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I think there are rats living in our roof. The thought of it simultaneously makes my skin crawl and invokes a feeling a morbid feeling of fascination. The gnawing and the scuttling sounds tend to put me off my dinner, though.

Need a Little Help From My Friends

I need you intelligent bunch of people help me with a philosophical problem:

What's so great about freewill?

Please tell me your thoughts. They don't have to be rigorous (that's my job ;-)) and intellectual sounding, I'd just like to hear your opinion.

Feathers and Leaves

Here's part of a song that I composed when running the other morning. Please feel free to put it to music:

~Leaves and Feathers~

Birds have leaves and
Trees grow feathers
(Repeat)
Leaves and feathers
Feathers and leaves

Species are not a natural kind
(But surely a duck is a duck?)
Total Skepticator Two Thousand
Says "Leaves are feathers
And there are no feathers
And there are no leaves"

Birds have leaves and
Trees grow feathers
(Repeat)
Leaves and feathers
Feathers and leaves
(In some cultures it's considered offensive to confuse the two)

Turning over a new feather
Dip my leaf in the ink
"What we cannot speak about
We must pass over in silence"
No two leaves are the same
Or it is all feathers

Birds have leaves aaaand
Trees grow feathers
Leaves and feathers
Feathers grow leaves
Leaves are feathers

Feathers
Leaves
Leathers
Feaves
Thiefs

Oh Oh Oh Oh
Don't you just wish you were a duck?

Edit: Competition: Put this to music and send a tape/CD to me (email me for my address), I will give a non-poxy prize to the best rendition.

Twenty two.

On Saturday it was my 22nd birthday. So if you forgot to wish me Happy Birthday then, now is your chance. ;-) I won't give a spiel listing all my achievements over the past twenty two years, for four reasons: 1) There aren't any 2) To do so is to assimilate to patriarchy 3) I don't measure my life like that 4) what's important about my life is not *my* achievements, but God's; that he took a sinner and, in His grace, redeemed me and (praise God) continues to do so. :)

I love autumn. Today is one of those crisp, still, sunny days that remind me of Tasmania. Generally the grass is always greener, but there are exceptions. When it is autumn I don't wish for any other season. I'm not sure if it is a gift or a curse, but I'm restless - I've learnt to no longer myopically desire earthly things - because once I have them I always see the imperfection.

Anyhoo, my birthday booty includes:

A dainty sterling silver bracelet from the Lovely Emily G
Emails and Sms plural from thoughtful friends and family
Greenday's American Idiot from brother Seth
Money from awesome parentals
Money from generous Granmother
Phonecall from Smiths Jnr
Sushi-making kit, chocolate and cookbook from Emily B
Greek dinner from kind people from Church
Tirara that flashes from Tracey

Thank you everyone!

I may have to take a brief sabatical from blogging due to a galaxy of work I'm orbiting through. Please pray that I will work hard and land safely. :)

Boys, Clothes & Talk. How girly.

Constantine is dead. I mean, he was elminated from American Idol last friday night. I didn't cry as much as Paula Abdul, but I wanted to. Oh well, at least he'll get a record deal (a hopeful guess). And I am soo buying it. I was suprised that Anthony Federa and Constantine were in the bottom two. I mean, they were totally getting the female vote - the girls who squeal over Jesse McCartney would have voted for Anthony (who would they vote for in the Federal Elections??), wheras Constantine got the Thinking Woman's vote. ;-)

Do you ever wear clothes and just for a moment you reflect and conclude that, yes, this is totally me. That happened to me yesterday. You see, a lot of the time I wear stuff that I don't think is an expression of my identity. Like jeans and a knitted top - purely warm and functional and not very feminine. However, yesterday I wore a brown cord skirt (Valleygirl $5!) with an uneven hem. It's made out of a number of stips of fabric so that it looks like it's made out of a giant Autumn leaf (I wore it to Valerie's autumnal party on saturday night). The skirt has a "Nightmare Before Christmas"/American Gothic vibe.

Valerie's party was aptly held in Canterbury Pressy Church Hall (quasi-gothic interior). I only knew a couple of people and I don't really like introducing myself. Thankfully Bei-en and Paul (people I did know) introduced me to a few people. But after introductions, I don't have much else to say, since I don't like chit-chat. Actually, I haven't yet found anyone who has confessed to loving smalltalk. If it's the case that we all hate it then this makes social interaction all the more absurd. My Uncle Andrew put it like this [in response to his 9yo daughter's question about what adults talk about]: "You can just say anything. It doesn't matter, as long as it's inane. There's no connection between what's going on in here (points to head) and what's going on here (points to group of people standing around in the circle)."