tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69326429866451359292024-02-21T08:58:43.626-08:00Phoenix WritesPhoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-63744610423679371242012-04-08T10:18:00.003-07:002012-04-08T11:18:33.604-07:00The Challenge: Month 2On April 5th, I completed my second month of no dating. Ten more months to go! This month was actually pretty staggering. God had a lot to teach me, and boy did the message sink in hard. It was a very intense month for personal growth. It's even more intense to think I have ten more months of these kind of lessons. Hoo boy! Anyway, I learned two main points. I learned about the nature of desire, especially a particular desire that's been plaguing me all year, and I learned a little about fairy tale love.<div><br /></div><div>Lately, I've been reading a lot of John Eldredge's works. God speaks to me pretty clearly through his ministry, whether it be a section of his book, "Walking with God" or one of the Ransomed Heart podcasts. About two weeks ago, I had an odd urge, as I was getting ready for bed, to read the next section. </div><div><br /></div><div>Bear in mind, this is not part of my routine. I've gotten into the habit of starting my day with coffee and a devotion, just so I can live out my day with His words on my mind. But for some reason, I had the distinct feeling to read the next section of "Walking with God" that night. So I did. And good gracious, it had a lot to say to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>The section was called, 'Unmet Longings'. That should've been my first tip off. Eldredge wrote about desires of the heart, talking about what to do when the same longing crops up over and over again. He said that a common practice is to bury this desire. Eldredge stresses the danger of burying longings, writing that it is a slow form of starvation for the heart. God awakens these desires for a reason.</div><div><br /></div><div>This hits waaay too close to home. I wrote before about how there has been a certain longing that's constantly been at my heart and no matter how much I pray for relief, it keeps happening. I'd started to shut it down, to close off myself from it. I quickly learned that this wasn't a good idea, but what was denied to me was the answer--what to do with this unmet longing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here, God pointed me to the answer. He forced me to examine this desire carefully and critically--something I most certainly did not want to do. But it woke me up, and I realized, that at the heart of this desire was a want for God. A desperate want to have God at the center of my life, my family, and all the things I love, both now and in the future. This seems like a simple revelation, but for me it was groundbreaking. My desire was an indirect desire for God. What a relief this was! Because God wanted me too, and He was using this desire to awaken my soul and answer my heart's longing. </div><div><br /></div><div>The second thing I learned this month has to do with fairy tales. Bear with me. If you've been around me at all, you'll know that I'm currently obsessed with the show, "Once Upon A Time". People have been telling me to watch it FOREVER but I very foolishly ignored them up until last weekend. Now, it's by far my favorite show. It has everything I love--fairy tales, multi-dimensional characters, tributes to Disney movies, an engaging plot, heart-wrenching romance...sigh. But it does not escape me that there are several allegories that can be made from this show.</div><div><br /></div><div>For instance: The plot revolves around an evil queen transporting all the fairy tale characters to a town called Storybrooke and ruining their happy endings. These characters don't remember who they are or who they're meant to be. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sound familiar? Satan holds this world in captivity, convincing the majority that all we are is ordinary, piddly little humans with no expectation for greatness. </div><div><br /></div><div>But the character Emma Swan, arrives on the scene, and immediately begins to change the town. Slowly but surely, the characters begin to remember their past lives and start fighting the evil queen to win back their happy endings. </div><div><br /></div><div>Christ came down to our fallen earth and reawakened us. Through His majesty, we can fight sin and fight the Prince of Lies who tell us that we are not enough. </div><div><br /></div><div>And that's just a glossing over the plot. There is sooo much more to this show. My next blog post will detail the episode "Skin Deep" and the allegories therein. See you then--and next month, May 5th, for the month 3 recap!</div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-43022313520875131762012-03-20T12:45:00.005-07:002012-03-20T13:24:40.247-07:00In Which I Get AngryWe interrupt this series of thoughtful, spiritual blog posts with an angry rant. Apologies in advance.<div><br /></div><div>I may have mentioned this in a previous blog post. Three years ago, my dear friend Avlbane started a literature/creative writing group with me. We called it the Inklings--basing it upon the same group C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were a part of in Oxford. </div><div><br /></div><div>Inklings started out as just the two of us meeting at a coffeehouse talking about our respective stories. It grew. Oh, how it grew. It is now a formalized club on campus. We have blossoming new writers every semester. It is an incredible experience.</div><div><br /></div><div>Inklings is Avlbane's and my baby. We have a great deal of love and affection for this club and all who are a part of it and all who've helped publicize and really make it into something. </div><div><br /></div><div>So when some condescending smart-ass professor insults both the club AND us AND one of our good friends, we get irritated.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let me back up. One of our friends asked to do a really awesome project on Inklings. She interviewed us, recorded one of the meetings, took tons of pictures, and even did a bunch of professional shots of Avlbane and me. And let me tell you--they were good. They were REALLY good. I had a lot of people ask me why I'd gotten professional pictures taken--they were blown away when I told them a student took them. She worked really hard on this project. </div><div><br /></div><div>She recently had a conference with this jackass who basically told her that her project was not very good (which in fact IT WAS.) and proceeded to tell her that Avlbane and I were silly, immature, full of ourselves, and thought we were equal to Tolkien and Lewis. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let's clear up some things right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>First off: The silly remark. Yes. Avlbane and I are silly. We like to laugh, we like to make jokes--most normal people do. I'm not sure how this is an insult. Is this somehow insinuating Tolkien and Lewis weren't silly? Let me tell you something. Here's what the original Oxford Inklings would do every Tuesday. They would go down to a pub, read from some of their stories, have literary arguments, and get drunk. I mean totally drunk. They would drink and drink and get louder and louder until they were all bellowing with laughter. Imagine a bunch of old, drunk, medievalist Oxford professors slurring their words and arguing about subtext in Beowulf in the original Icelandic. I'm not kidding. This is the EPITOME of silliness. Lewis devotes an entire section in "The Four Loves" to how laughter is a huge component in love. </div><div><br /></div><div>And seriously. Lewis invented marshwiggles and Tolkien invented hobbits. The argument is now invalid.</div><div><br /></div><div>Are we full of ourselves? There is a difference between being full of yourself and being proud of something you accomplished. Alex and I literally started this group with two people--just her and me. Around eight to fifteen people show up at every meeting nowadays. Are we proud of this? Yes. Does this mean we're arrogant and think we're better than everybody else? No. People start clubs at my college every day and I'm sure many of these clubs will go on to be way more successful than the Inklings will ever be. But you know what? Inklings is our baby and we're proud of it. Deal with it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Do we think we're as great as Lewis and Tolkien? </div><div><br /></div><div>Let's recap. C.S. Lewis is and was a renowned theologian. He's been dead since 1963 and people are STILL using his works to back up their research in apologetics. Nearly every recent publication dealing with modern Christianity cites Lewis at some point. Not only that, he held a chair of poetry at Cambridge and worked at Oxford for nearly thirty years. He published over fifty books--at the least--nearly all of which were raging successes. His lectures were among the most popular at Oxford. Not only was he an incredibly intelligent man, he was an incredibly kind man as well, helping fund over thirty students' educations, giving a significant portion of his earnings to charities, and overall being the kindest, humblest guy you could know. Tolkien was pretty much the most talented philologist you will ever meet, not only helping doing the research for the Oxford English Dictionary (no lie) as well as translating Gawain and the Green Knight and several other Middle English works. He studied Icelandic poetry. IN ICELANDIC. The very first recorded Inklings meetings focused mainly on this subject and yes, the meetings were in Icelandic. (Lewis came to one and didn't return till they started speaking English.) He earned a professorship at Oxford over Anglo-Saxon, with a fellowship in 1925. And you know what this mofo did for fun? He wrote the Lord of the Rings in his spare time. IN HIS SPARE TIME. Have you seen those books?! Not only that, being a badass philologist, he created the languages WITHIN Lord of the Rings. </div><div><br /></div><div>No. Avlbane and I do not think we are anywhere NEAR these guys' level of greatness. Nor do we claim to be. All we can say is that C.S. Lewis is my favorite writer and J.R.R. Tolkien is Avlbane's. In no way do we ever claim to BE them. When I say, "Avlbane is the Tolkien to my Lewis," I am saying that my friendship with her is reminiscent of theirs. REMINISCENT. I am saying that Avlbane and my early arguments about Christianity vs. Atheism had a very similar ring to Lewis' and Tolkien's arguments about the same thing. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I could ignore all of this. Writers have thick skins. But what really irritates me the most, is that my friend, who worked SO hard on this project, had to sit there and listen to this jackass professor talk down to her work and insult her friends. THAT is the final sting that makes me want to find this professor and verbally flay him. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the summation of Inklings. Avlbane and I created it for ourselves and others who get the same enjoyment out or writing and reading as we do. We created it because we like to laugh, we like to learn, we like to share our stories and hear others'. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was my understanding that's why Lewis and Tolkien were Inklings.</div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-87400509832688909042012-03-19T06:51:00.005-07:002012-03-19T08:14:21.258-07:00Princes and PrizesI was thinking today about romance and the desire for romance. What a mess the world is in today. I've mentioned before how I think that society views love in a totally warped way. This isn't to undermine romance--I am, at heart, a romantic, but as any of my friends can tell you, this has been buried. It took me a long time to acknowledge my longing for love and romance. <div><br /></div><div> The desire for romance has a strangely double-sided view by the world. On the one hand, there's the 'all you need is love' philosophy, the belief that finding that one true soulmate is the one thing you need to complete you. It's an easy trap to fall into. </div><div><br /></div><div> On the other hand, it's mocked, especially when this desire is seen in women. Women who wish for a Prince Charming are seen at the best of times as idealists. At the worst of times, they're viewed as hopelessly naive. We are told to settle. Settle for the nice guy who does not inspire adventure within our hearts. Settle for the bad boy who is exciting but beats us--emotionally or physically. Settle for whatever comes along, hush up your desires, carry on with your life. But when we long for the idea of a prince--someone immeasurably kind, who understands us but who has the strength to fight for us and slay our dragons--we're immediately scorned.</div><div><br /></div><div> Not to say that we can't fight our own dragons. Women are powerful creatures. We were made that way. Sure, we were made as the manifestations of God's beauty--created in His own image, you know--but there is a ferocity in women. You don't want to mess with us. We are tigresses in our battles. Think of the movie Mean Girls--women fight in ugly, terribly powerful ways. If you don't believe me, go to a woman you know and insult her best friends or her children. </div><div><br /></div><div> But I think there's a desire in every woman that someone might want to fight for us. That someone might want to take the burden of fighting alone from us. Someone who will be our comrade on the battlefield and when the world gets to be too much, someone who take up arms and slay the dragon that feasts on our insecurities.</div><div><br /></div><div> What the world tells men is no better. There is an underlying message of settling told to them as well, but worse still there is this--treat your women as prizes. Collect, capture, lure, entrap women and after all of your effort, be done with it. You're a free agent after all. You can't be tied down, you're a real man. Going through an avalanche of women, no strings attached, is an easy way to get through life. A string of broken hearts behind you? Good for you. Pat yourself on the back. Get yourself a beer. The world will celebrate your success at being an asshole. </div><div><br /></div><div>If this kind of thing sounds familiar, it's probably because a lot of these thoughts come from John and Stasi Eldredge's books. They wrote the books "Captivating", "Wild at Heart", "Love and War", etc. Books that celebrate femininity and masculinity to their fullest extent, as seen through the eyes of Christ. I recommend them to anyone. </div><div><br /></div><div>Basically what I'm getting at is to fight the lie that romance is weakness. To tell my fellow sisters that it's okay to want a prince. It's okay to long for love and hope to be romanced. To my brothers, I want to tell them that emotion does not make them weak and that each and every one of them has the strength to fight for the ones they love. Christ fought for us. Christ wept for us. He is the most perfect example of love--and possibly the only true example of love--that we will ever have. Let's learn to follow in that. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-60128879313746102412012-03-15T19:41:00.005-07:002012-03-15T20:01:22.395-07:00Why, God?Today I asked God why. <div><br /></div><div>For the past few weeks, God has been gently telling me to do something. Something I didn't particularly want to do. Something that would cause me continual pain--but something that I knew would be ultimately to His glory. Something that would probably break my heart into a thousand pieces. </div><div><br /></div><div>Understandably, I didn't want to. I didn't want to suffer pain for the sake of someone else, someone I didn't particularly like. This issue has been causing me pain for a while now. It's been sort of a continual misery to me and I have hated being helpless about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over spring break, after a moment of closure with one of my closest friends, I decided to guard my heart against it. I imagined my heart, I imagined all of the pain, and I visualized locking it away. Kate Voegele has a song called "We the Dreamers" and one of the lines is, "So I'll buy myself a cheap apartment and I'll buy my heart a secret compartment." That's what I was going to do. Every time the issue made my heart hurt, I imagined myself walling up my heart again. Bricks, barbed wire, cement blocks, just locking it away so the pain couldn't get to it. I even attributed the idea to God and thanked Him for it. Eventually, I got to a point where even when the issue was at its strongest, I was emotionally numb to it. I'd stopped caring.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was such a release not to have this pain pierce my heart. But it was a false release. I learned that tonight.</div><div><br /></div><div>Basically, at house church, in no uncertain terms God told me to knock it off. He told me that He still wanted me to do the thing that I did not want to do. He wanted me to make an effort at it. He wanted me to put my whole heart into it, not lock it away. </div><div><br /></div><div>This upset me. I resigned myself to it, but that didn't stop me from being upset with God. I railed at Him on the ride home. Why? Why do you want ME to do this? Why can't someone else? Why can't someone else, who won't be hurt, who won't be pained do this instead of me? Why do you INSIST on me feeling this pain?!</div><div><br /></div><div>I even added in a very nasty voice, "And all I get as an answer is silence. As usual."</div><div><br /></div><div>I stomped into my house, slumped into a chair, and popped open my computer. Scrolling down the facebook page, I noticed someone from my old church had posted a Skit Guys video. I don't know why I clicked it. But I did. </div><div><br /></div><div><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/w39N3vHn1mQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>I wasn't even paying full attention to it. But right at a very timely moment--I heard the bit talking about where Jesus knelt before his disciples and washed their feet. </div><div><br /></div><div>And then I burst into tears.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because I got my answer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Christ was a servant to us. His life was a life of pain. When he washed his disciples' feet, he wasn't just washing their feet, he was washing my feet. He was washing Pilate's feet. He was washing the man who hammered nails into his palms' feet. Christ's life was all about servanthood. And now, God wants to teach me to be a servant. </div><div><br /></div><div>This isn't an easy task. It certainly wasn't for our Lord. And I don't exactly know what will come of it. But I know, right now, here in this place in my life, God wants me to learn how to be a servant to others. To humble myself and wash others' feet--even people I don't like, even people who inadvertently hurt me. All I can do, is pray for His strength and that Christ may create in me a servant's heart. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-48567277578633981512012-03-05T20:19:00.003-08:002012-03-05T20:27:28.870-08:00The Challenge: Month 1 RecapSo, it has been exactly one month since I made the decision to devote a year between me and God, and abstain from dating. <div><br /></div><div>One month down, eleven more to go.</div><div><br /></div><div>How's it gone so far?</div><div><br /></div><div>Pretty easily, actually. This shouldn't really come as a surprise. I'm kind of a homebody, I don't get out much. My idea of a wild Friday night is chilling with Avlbane at her apartment or my house watching movies or Doctor Who or Sherlock. I mean, occasionally after Inklings we'll stop at Cleo's or Scotty's for a beer. But that's about it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't like partying. When I am forced to go to a party (usually because a friend drags me) I end up in the corner, nursing my drink, and reading a book. I am the epitome of lame. </div><div><br /></div><div>So it's not really like there's been a line of boys behind me, begging to ask me out. Which is just dandy for me!</div><div><br /></div><div>I think what's become most noticeable is the lack of possibility. I may be the only one who does this, but sometimes, I'll see a cute guy in one of my classes, or talk to one in line for a coffee or something, and there will be a little bit of chemistry between us. Naturally, because I enjoy overanalyzing an event to death, I'll imagine the first date, what it'd be like to be this person's girlfriend, yadda yadda yadda. </div><div><br /></div><div>But this month, my imagination usually gets cut short with a quick, "He's cute, but I'm not dating for a year." Sometimes it's disheartening. Generally it's a good way to stave off my overactive imagination.</div><div><br /></div><div>My friends have been very supportive which I greatly appreciate. My house church has also provided me a lot of fellowship with this endeavor, occasionally asking me how it's going, if I need prayer or anything. It's nice to know I have this kind of support when things get difficult.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because I know. Things will get difficult. They always do. </div><div><br /></div><div>But for now, I'm enjoying the time with God and me and I like to think He is too. </div><div><br /></div><div>One month down, eleven more to go. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-34533056210490153352012-02-20T10:06:00.000-08:002012-02-20T10:10:13.815-08:00HELPGuys, I really need your help. I'm trying to win a Kate Voegele cover contest. The most 'likes' on youtube wins. I am perilously close to winning this week--it's between me and another girl, literally neck and neck. If you guys could help a girl out and 'like' this video on youtube, I'd be eternally grateful.<div><br /></div><div>If you have already 'liked' it--do you have any other gmail or youtube accounts? :D</div><div><br /></div><div>If you have already 'liked' it with all of your accounts--could you get your friends to 'like' it too? Then tell me you did so, so I can thank you properly in my next blog. </div><div><br /></div><div>PLEASE HELP!</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bmCxs-2DOkM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-87572474319787603782012-02-15T06:20:00.000-08:002012-02-16T05:31:21.664-08:00Job and God's Gambling Problem<div>Warning: Christian thoughts ahead!</div><div><br /></div>A while back, I read somewhere--not sure where--about how God is the ultimate gambler. Not just the ultimate gambler, the ultimate BAD gambler. He bets on us when, chances and history tells Him, we're more likely to lose.<div><br /></div><div>There's Biblical evidence for this. Consider Job 1&2. I'll let you read it for yourself, but here's the summation. God and Satan have a bet that if Satan curses Job and makes his life miserable, that Job will turn away from God. God readily agrees to this. The rest of Job is Job, in his suffering, calling out to God asking him why he was doing this and God responding. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll be honest. I've never really liked Job. It was my least favorite book of the Bible. It seemed to show a very callous side of God. It put to mind a puppeteer or a chess-master, moving and manipulating His pawns about the board. The idea of God wagering on us, especially against the vindictiveness of Satan, seemed horrible to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>But lately, I think I'm beginning to understand Job a little more. God doesn't just bet on Job, He bets on all of us. Against all odds, our crazy in love God continually insists on believing in us and loving us. It makes absolutely no logical sense. How many times has God said to us, 'I'm counting on you,' and we've let Him down? How many times has God pulled through for us compared to when we have pulled through for him? </div><div><br /></div><div>But I suppose God loads the odds for as Scripture says, 'If He is with us, who can stand against us?' If we call on God as our protector, as our Savior, there is no losing. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's funny how often we forget that. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-60890892363369261102012-02-10T12:01:00.000-08:002012-02-12T11:05:24.492-08:00The ChallengeThis past Sunday, I have decided to embark on a rather staggering commitment. I have chosen to abstain from dating--for a year. <div><br /></div><div>That's right. No dating. No dating for you, missy. My deadline is my mother's 54th birthday, February 5th, 2013. </div><div><br /></div><div>This decision was not made lightly. I got the idea from a friend of mine, who runs the house church I attend on Thursday nights. We had a conversation months ago, about how when she came back to Christianity she decided to commit a year to God and simply--not date for that year. I remember being rather impressed at this sacrifice, as the thought, 'I could never do that' flickered through my head. However, the idea remained in my head, marinating. </div><div><br /></div><div>Until last Sunday, when it came to fruition. In case you're curious, here are my main reasons for doing this. </div><div><br /></div><div>1. My desire for a relationship is becoming an idol and a distraction. </div><div><br /></div><div> The irony of this does not escape me--actually, for the past three or four years, the idea of being in a monogamous relationship was not on my agenda. I was very into the whole, 'I don't like to label things' and 'I just don't want to be tied down' sort of thinking. Until this past summer, that is. I am now in a state of desiring and wishing for a relationship. This is not inherently a bad thing--I think most people have experienced a longing to be in love. But I think my want for one has eclipsed my want for a better relationship with God. Therein lies the danger. Nothing should take God's place in life. </div><div><br /></div><div> God created so many things, so many things that when put to His glory, are incredibly beautiful and moving. But they are very easy to make idols of--patriotism, friendship, and most especially--romantic love. </div><div><br /></div><div> Our society has not been especially helpful with this. So many love songs, so many romance novels, and most especially--romantic films. I'm not a hypocrite--I love rom coms. In fact, my Valentine's Day post will be a list of my top ten favorites. However, I'm not blind to the dangers of them.</div><div><br /></div><div> Your basic rom com's premise are two people who incomplete. Something is missing in their lives. They meet the other, they may dislike the other, they may fall in love at first sight--but once they're together, all is right in their lives. This is a very dangerous and tempting trap, to believe that someone else can complete you, that all you need is someone to love and to love you back. Unfortunately, life's a little more complicated than that. </div><div><br /></div><div> There is only one who can fit that place in our lives. There is only one that can complete us. There is only one who can make our lives right. And that's God. Not to say God is against romance--He isn't. Good gracious, He created it, didn't He? Marriage was the first sacrament that God created. But like anything else--sex, family, patriotism, two people in love--you take God away from the equation, it becomes an idol. It takes the place of God. C.S. Lewis goes on about this a little more eloquently, in his fantastic book, "The Four Loves". </div><div><br /></div><div>2. I do not have the time or emotional capabilities to negotiate a relationship right now.</div><div><br /></div><div> This sounds like the oldest cliche in the book. It also sounds like an excuse. It is neither. Despite my wish for love, a relationship, getting one right now would be extremely difficult to manage. I will be graduating this summer. I am determined to get a good GPA this semester. I am applying to grad schools. Most importantly, I am strengthening my connection to God. I am entirely exhausted most of the week. Weekends are spent resting and reviving my body and mind. I am literally stretched to my limit. Not to mention, I don't plan on being in this town long-term. By this time next year, I hope to be in England. It's unfair to expect myself to juggle another person in my life, and it's unfair to them as well. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. When I am able to make a commitment to someone--I want to do it with my whole heart and in a godly way. </div><div><br /></div><div> I feel, that making this commitment to God and myself, that it will better prepare me for the man is God planning for me. I hope--by that time--to truly know what it means to have God at the center of my life and all of my relationships. By loving God better, I will love others by default. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, that's what's on tap for my life. I know this year isn't going to be easy, but I know in the end, it will be worth it. I'll see you March 5th, 2012, to tell you how my first month went. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-27040730412313246972012-01-26T09:03:00.000-08:002012-01-26T10:39:08.595-08:00My Top 5 Favorite Bands and/or Musicians<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>I have a solid hour before class and rather than doing something productive with my time (perish the thought) I decided to make a list of my favorite musicians. Bear in mind, I like a LOT of music. This barely scratches the surface. These are just my tippy top favorites in no particular order. <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>1. Kate Voegele</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe0FzF0e747TVJUY8MxSHj3zynvG8HILdDXa9J_4tmINwkMUIa1AEw3d4PkIO4t6N7mUuwNtf0zPS8ZPy4IdVirXHWPZ15rkH7yI9XvfSuvgbdWaMIdlO4UAsMw33Q83r7V5SPPpSdOLs/s320/kate-voegele-profile.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701988185538237442" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div> If you're a friend, you probably know of her because I yammer on about her constantly and pretty much exclusively play Kate Voegele songs on guitar. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> Anyway--yes, she does star on One Tree Hill, but I liked her BEFORE that. Ahem. I discovered her on iTunes when one of her songs was featured as a free download. That song was "Only Fooling Myself", which is still my favorite song by her, although I love every single one. I got to see her in concert with my darling Fox and she was incredible. She hugged me. She also is teeny, like a foot shorter than me and half my size. I love her because whatever she's going through, she puts into her writing, and when I listen to it, it inevitably will be something I'm going through too. Or--something I will go through. Case in point--when I first heard "Hundred Million Dollar Soul" I thought it was okay, but not her best. Then a few months later I met someone who reminded me of the song--now it's probably my favorite song off her latest album. Her songs have helped me get through my dark days--"Sweet Silver Lining", "High Road", and "Gravity Happens". Her romantic entanglements have been similar to mine--"Only Fooling Myself", "Unfair", "Impatient Girl", and "Say Anything". She also has my coloring and we both love Gibson guitars. See why I love her so much?</div><div><br /></div><div>2. David Bowie</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPqHYb9IMEibaFpdyYbR2gehD0qduC0g2Yn2tc-SVpRFTnUa5kbTTvJa674o-U8hSr-Eca5mnl6Jyb-mafzQnN9mhQ-qYr-Y4I7eKDWyzyM-Nphh9qmIgEKC1AjdUsXEw1zQBPEJ7gvA/s320/david_bowie_07.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702001455783727650" /><div>You had to see this one coming. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>For the full details on the progression of my love for David Bowie, click <a href="http://writingphoenix99.blogspot.com/2011/03/timeline-chronicling-my-love-of-david.html">here</a>. What do I love about this musician? I love that he just doesn't give a flying flip. I love that his lyrics range from deep and insightful, to goofy, to romantic, to deep fried crack on toast. I love that he went through various musical phases and transitions and each of them had something fresh to say. I love how none of his music sounds the same--you get hard rock numbers like "I'm Afraid of Americans" or acoustic indie "Seven" or what-the-hell-is-this "We Are Hungry Men". He is an enigma and I love it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>3. Scouting for Girls</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3h6iGmhyphenhyphenoCKws9v0DszyHQ0eIze1ysoWEGvgKVp5KYbCKt8y7Zd06BnR89iE7l1UjcMtIiQnmzsUdPwkYTuMoA8n5zLEx3fH14CIAWLtJVfpafK6H7yQNcB4NYySbt6e0SmXJk1WJtAs/s320/scoutingmountains.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702003006435513698" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>These guys make me go weak in the knees. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I really really REALLY wanted to see them while I was in England over the summer, but unfortunately they never played in a city that was accessible to me. Drove me nuts. Anyway, they are a British Indie-Pop band and they are wonderful. I discovered them on a youtube fan video someone had made about the SyFy miniseries Alice. It all spilled over from there. I love these guys. Every romantic song they croon--"Heartbeat", "Love How It Hurts", "This Ain't A Love Song", "Take a Chance On Us" makes me want to marry each one of them simultaneously.</div><div>They are so darling. My one gripe with them is they haven't toured in America or released their deluxe edition of their album to the US. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>4. Hayley Westenra</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 274px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-NkMTP2yBLWsmdLj08U_X_M6jm4-Dl9lvku8pXBlJXdgicUC_BuH9iUuEZzNVoLx3fEQzmol5ZbD8MHU7v-0nGZTw7nqAVOkj_lTJaTZx449pQYHcKqB7XORPldzd-xRL3Ax4VWmqKE/s320/paradiso-cover.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702005631628758194" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Ah, Hayley Westenra. I've had her music for a while now, but it's been just recently that I've come to appreciate how beautiful it is. "What You Never Know Won't Hurt You" brings me to tears, "Dark Waltz" is so haunting, and her cover of "Both Sides Now" is breath taking. She has a gorgeous soprano voice and is the singer whose voice is closest to mine. (As much as I love Kate Voegele, she is an alto and I always have sing her songs in a different key.) Hayley Westenra is calming. Listening to her is akin to sitting by a lake or walking alone in a forest. She is incredible--if I ever make it musically, I would beg her to do a duet with me. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>5. Saving Jane</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYbeaOiDktQ97prSAyERh5JK6SRFelHaPQ5PRZlWRf_Cpx3rIK2etipYZnYUHaV7qlFUcvx5KKHzc3AwLSKQMYnqAds4kRifngYLmv6Vxs3XjjOvrBIcsvshab27azxfZiurZ8HIfwfA/s320/band2-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702007984762034050" /></div><div>Can I just say, that when these guys broke up, a little part of me died? I know, I know, they formed a new band, Union Rose, and so far they sound pretty solid. But it still breaks my heart. If you've heard of them, you probably know them for their one-hit wonder, "Girl Next Door". Don't be deceived. This band has some incredible songs and I will never understand why they didn't catch on. "What I Didn't Say" is fantastic, as is "Nicotine", "One Girl Revolution", and "Imperfection". My favorite--"Love Can't Save Us Now"--is one they never released--they just posted the demo on their myspace. </div><div><br /></div><div>Two years ago, the lead singer also wrote two songs during the Twilight madness. They were about vampires--"I'm in Love with a Vampire", which was clearly modeled off of Twilight and "Immortal" which could probably apply to any vampire series. Still, Saving Jane was known for their badass female empowerment songs--the lead singer has written several SCREW YOU MUSIC BUSINESS songs--so, I was horribly disappointed with her writing a song about Twilight. So I messaged her on Myspace. This is what I wrote:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Marti,</span><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "> First of all, I want you to know how much of a huge fan I am of your band. You're going to Indiana in December and me and my compadres will totally be there. :D And let me also say that your new song "I'm in Love with a Vampire" is damned catchy and is some pretty great tuneage. </div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "> Here comes the but.</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "> But I'm a little disappointed and hurt. You've been writing these AMAZING songs about female empowerment and girl power for years--songs that have been my anthem as I take on male-dominated world. And now you write this song, while it's very good, that is clearly inspired from the Twilight series which is the exact opposite of female empowerment. I know you're a fan and I respect that, but surely you can see all the anti-female themes within the books? When does Bella ever save herself rather than have Edward (or Jacob) save her? How is it healthy for adolescents to read about a girl who jumps off a cliff when her boyfriend abandons her? What about all the times Edward orders Bella around and takes control of her life? He watches her sleep for goodness' sake (which your song even mentions). That's not love, that's obsession. And it just hurts that after all the ways your songs have helped me I get a new song about how cool dominating-females-is-cool-cuz-I'm-a-vampire song. </div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "> Please don't get the wrong idea, I'm not trying to slam you, I will ALWAYS be your biggest fan. I just wanted you to know how I felt. </div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">Much love,</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">Phoenix</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-style: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">So I wrote that, and you want to know what happened? SHE ACTUALLY WROTE ME BACK. This was her response:</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-style: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; ">Hi there Phoenix,</span><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">Thanks for sharing you opinion! :-) I can see your point, though I'm not sure I necessarily agree that the books are degrading to women. I think there are some good points as well, like the characters of Rosalie and Alice, who are pretty tough, and I also like that the character of Bella is vulnerable, yet still independent (she leaves her mom and moves to Washington by herself, which is not something I would have been bold enough to do at 17) and is a bit of a loner at school, but doesn't seem desperate to fit in like so many young girls do. And while 'vampire' is definitely Twilight inspired, 'immortal' draws more from vampires in the Sookie Stackhouse stories, and she is definitely an empowered female character.</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">All that said, this was just something fun for me to work on. At the time, I wasn't attempting to write for Saving Jane, it just turned out that the label liked the songs and wanted to release them, and thought SJ would be a good venue for that. I write all the time, songs about all kinds of topics, some of them are empowered, some are sad, some are silly...I do it for myself because it's something I love, and I am fortunate enough that I do what I love for a career, but I don't always have control over which songs get a release. I'd love to do another full length album, but at the moment, our record label is only interested in releasing singles because that's what's more economical for them. So in the meantime, I write and write and wait to see what happens! :-)</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">See you in December,</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">Marti</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;">HULH. It's nice to know when I've piqued. It's also nice to know that one of my favorite bands wasn't offended by my critique and actually took the time to address some of my issues. Rock on, Saving Jane. Rock on.</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div></span></div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-34331153822641553792012-01-06T08:17:00.000-08:002012-01-06T08:45:14.377-08:00Let My People Go<div>WARNING: Blatant Christian themes and thoughts and meditations, up ahead!</div><div><br /></div>My friends Regan, Avlbane, and I have a habit of occasionally being badasses. By this, I mean we will sit in one of our cars, belting out Disney (or Dreamworks, as the case may be) songs at the top of our lungs and then proceeding to analyze them far beyond what the creators of such songs intended. It's what we do. <div><br /></div><div>As we're doing so, I noticed something truly epic about this particular song. Have a listen. </div><div><br /></div><div><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-tVTEyuCKn4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>If you don't hear the inherent the awesomeness of this song, get off this blog.</div><div><br /></div><div>But as we're singing this at the top of our lungs, I noticed something incredibly chilling and epic about the lyrics. The lyrics of this song can parallel not only Moses and Ramses, but God and Lucifer. I think of it as a conversation between God, Michael the Archangel, and Lucifer. Let's have a look-see.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Thus saith the Lord, Since you refuse to free my people, All through the land of Egypt, I send the pestilence and plague into your house, into your bed, into your streams, into your streets, Into your drink, into your bread, upon your cattle, on your sheep, upon your oxen in your field, Into your dreams, into your sleep, Until you break, until you yield, I send the swarm, I send the horde, THUS SAITH THE LORD.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I'll let the awesomeness sink in. These plagues make me think of the upcoming battle between God and Satan--God using all the horrors and powers of earth He's created to destroy Satan's armies. Think of the full might of God. Tornadoes, volcanoes, locusts, blizzards, hurricanes, lightning storms, thunder storms, wildfires, lions, tigers, wolves, oceans, mountains, and deserts. All of these in tandem, determined to destroy the enemy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Next lines!</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Moses: Once I called you brother, once I thought the chance to make you laugh, was all I ever wanted.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>God: I send the thunder from the sky I send the fire raining down!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Moses: And even now, I wish that God had chose another, serving as your foe on his behalf, was the last thing that I wanted.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Lucifer wasn't always Satan. He wasn't always the devil. Once upon a time, he was one of God's most glorious angels, the morning star. How hard it must've been for God to see his beloved turn from him and actively seek to destroy His creations. How sad Michael, the Archangel, must've been to fight against his brother. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>God: I send a hail of burning ice on every field on every town.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Moses: This was my home, all this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside. All the innocent who suffer, from your stubbornness and pride!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I don't think God necessarily likes sending His full wrath upon Satan. After all, Lucifer was beloved once too. But God isn't going to let this fallen, prideful, angel hurt His children. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>God: I send the locusts on a wind such as the world has never seen, on every leaf on every stalk, until there's nothing left of green. I send my scourge, I send my sword, thus saith the Lord. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Moses: You who I called brother, why must you call down another blow? Let my people go!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>God: I send my scourge, I send my sword!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Thus saith the Lord!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>This is a battle that's been going on for millennia, in a place where there is no time. When the Prince of Lies took over our earth, God snarled. "Let my people go!" Or He will storm your camp, Satan. He will raid and take back all the prisoners of this war. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now let's look at Satan's point of view.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Rameses: You who I called brother, how could you have come to hate me so? Is this what you wanted? Then let my heart be hardened! And never mind how high the cost may go! This will still be so! I will never let your people go!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Lucifer isn't some villain dancing on a table squealing, "I'm evil! I'm evil!" He legitimately thinks he's right. He doesn't understand why God is fighting him so hard. <i>How could you have come to hate me so?</i> Lucifer has always saw himself as better than humans, higher above them. Which causes his pride to become more intense and his stubbornness to be even harder. He doesn't care about the cost anymore. He is never going to release this world. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lucky for us, God is never going to stop fighting for us either. Even better, He's already won. He won the day a carpenter's son was born in a stable. Because there is nothing, nothing, God wouldn't do to get us back. His love is that intense. </div><div><br /></div><div>Phoenix out!</div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-23874192069212645902011-11-05T20:44:00.000-07:002011-11-24T10:04:24.456-08:00Not Lucky--Blessed<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div> Thanksgiving has never really had much meaning for me. That sounds kinda petty, but it honestly just isn't one of the holidays that I anticipate or truly love. For me, it always seems to be kind of a pitstop, a point to get through to get to Christmas. You can really tell this by looking at my past blogs. Last year, I didn't say a peep about Thanksgiving. This year however, it's been a little different. <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> I've been on a Nicki Minaj kick lately, and I was listening to this song--</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/R5rqBA2xxTI" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> The lines, "No, I'm not lucky, I'm blessed--yes." really spoke to me. Because she's right. I'm not lucky. I'm blessed. Truly blessed.</div><div><br /></div><div> So here's a sappy Thanksgiving post. I'm going make a list (you all know how I love lists) of seventeen ways God has blessed me. Why seventeen? Because that's all I could think of. Lol. </div><div><br /></div><div>1. God</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I am thankful for God. I am thankful that through all my temper tantrums, my irrationality, even when I hated and cursed Him, He stuck with me. He led me back to Him through the careful use of my friends, the people I've met, and my transforming experience in Oxford. I don't think I'll ever understand why He loves me and why He puts up with me, but I know I am truly grateful that He does. </div><div><br /></div><div>2. Old friends</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqPjljln55TWNkwIrL7axQQjwyhSFcmLaFWYiEAro1Ml3qm_ClPNafw2rR3E2wZ_Aw_sAt6pn0dyPeQRJf0yVvevPzhBIKCE2GIc6uOMakMGmhy4qTsEXpQlh0Cb641owbll_0_AoHUo/s320/DSCN0804.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677851845193570082" /></div><div>I love this picture because it captures everyone I love in a place that I love. These are the ladies that have been there for me, no matter how hard. These are the girls I'd do anything for and I thank God every day for bringing them into my life. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. New friends</div><div><br /></div><div>This past year, I've done a lot in a lot of places. Whenever I do something new, say, transfer to a new university, go to England, etc., I always have this strangely irrational fear that I will not make any new friends and be shunned. This has never been the case. Especially this year, I've met so many amazing people that have impacted my life in incredible ways. For that, I'm grateful and indebted to them. I hope they remain in my life and continue to help me grow and learn. </div><div><br /></div><div>4. My VBC seminar</div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of taking formal classes, I chose to do a fifteen credit project this semester. The project involved researching 'vernacular memorials'--such as tattoo memorials or roadside crosses, things of that nature. My initial reasoning for doing this project was to take a break for the routine of regular courses and try and get back on my feet but in all honesty, this seminar has done so much for me. It's given me confidence in my abilities, reminded me that if I work hard enough, I can do anything. It's forced me to work outside my comfort zone and honestly create something, something I can be proud of. Most of all, it's forced me to face my fears of death. I will never be comfortable with death, but I think the emotional maturity I've gained from this project has prepared me better to deal with it. </div><div><br /></div><div>5. My trip to England</div><div><br /></div><div>I very nearly did not go to England this summer. There were financial struggles, I missed several paperwork deadlines, I nearly didn't get the loan I needed, etc. For a while there, I was sure I would not go. But God worked it out. I am so grateful He did. I gained some of those new friends on that trip. I visited places I'd always wanted to go to. Most importantly, on a rainy day in Oxford, I came back to Him. Good lord, where would I be now if I hadn't gone? </div><div><br /></div><div>6. My family</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll be honest, my family drives me crazy. My oldest brother's inability to wash a dish. My mother's inability to see how awesome she is. My family's basic inability to communicate with each other. But if there's one thing I've learned in my VBC seminar, no one lives forever. I appreciate them and love them even more for being there. And through all the little aggravations, there will always be things I love about them. Saul's never failing ability to make me laugh for one. When my oldest brother (the one who can't wash a dish) brags about my favorite papers. My middle brother's patience. How my mother never fails to coddle me when I want to be coddles. My father's determination to fix anything that comes up in my life. They are my family, and I love them fiercely. </div><div><br /></div><div>7. My Grandpa</div><div><br /></div><div>I love my Grandpa. He's the only grandparent I've ever known, and he is incredible. I have been blessed enough to see him regularly and actually forge a relationship with him. He's 96 and I know he won't be around forever. But I'm so thankful for the time I've been given with him. </div><div><br /></div><div>8. My sister</div><div><br /></div><div>My sister is obviously a part of number 6, my family, but the amount of my gratitude for having her in my life deserves its own spot. I met my sister for the first time the fall of 2008--well, technically, the first letter from her arrived not long after my eighteenth birthday. I met her the following summer. That story will have its own blog post one of these days, but suffice it to say she is incredible and God has blessed me sooo much for bringing us together. </div><div><br /></div><div>9. My cat</div><div><br /></div><div>This seems an overly sentimental one, but I'm feeling particularly sappy, so deal. This occurred to me last night, while I was reading on my bed, and my darling crotchety cat hopped on my bed and curled up next to my chest. There is nothing quite as contenting as a cat using you as a pillow, purring up a storm. I have had this cat, formerly called Goldenrod (I've been calling him THE DOCTOR lately due to my obsession with Doctor Who) since I was nine years old. He has been a constant companion and is very dear to my heart. </div><div><br /></div><div>10. My mother's new job</div><div><br /></div><div>My mother has been searching for a new job for a good two years now. It has caused my family no end of stress and fear. This past month, she finally was accepted into a new position. I haven't stopped thanking God for it. </div><div><br /></div><div>11. My music</div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful that God blessed me with musical genes and a musical momma. Everything I write comes from Him and everything I play/sing would be nothing without Him. </div><div><br /></div><div>12. My writing</div><div><br /></div><div>All the stories I create, all the blogs I scribble, all the papers I sweat over--these are the things I love to work on and I am so blessed that He granted me a talent at it. </div><div><br /></div><div>13. My puppy</div><div><br /></div><div>I have the most beautiful German Shepherd in the world. She is slightly neurotic and drools over all my sheets and is generally crazy, but I love her to bits. She is my baby. </div><div><br /></div><div>14. My church</div><div><br /></div><div>I've never felt quite at home with a church. I refused to get confirmed at thirteen and basically flitted from church to church, feeling that nothing was a right fit for me. However, the church that was attached to my school--has always been a home, even when I didn't see it that way. They recently sent me a college care package and I was so touched by their love and thoughts. So nowadays, I've accepted it--Immanuel Lutheran will always be my home church. </div><div><br /></div><div>15. C.S. Lewis</div><div><br /></div><div>C.S. Lewis has impacted my life so powerfully. He has been quite possibly my greatest teacher, leading me forward in my faith and challenging me to think critically and logically. His words have meant everything to me, and for all he's done, I am thankful. </div><div><br /></div><div>16. House Church</div><div><br /></div><div>I mentioned before that finding new churches is often a trial for me. It's even worse when I'm in an unfamiliar school and town. I prayed to find a new spiritual home and like he does, God answered my prayers. He introduced me to someone in my VBC seminar who led me to House Church, a weekly Bible study and Sunday church. Having a friend there was comforting and relaxed me. So I am thankful for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>17. My education</div><div><br /></div><div>I have been very blessed education-wise. My father, with somewhat snobbish intentions, refused to send any of his children to public schools so my brothers and I went to private institutions our entire life. This was a very important stepping stone in my life, however, and I'm grateful for it. The quality of my education has always been good and my very Lutheran high school and elementary school gave me a wonderful Christian foundation to fall back on. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the end, it's true. I'm not lucky, I'm blessed, and I hope never to forget that. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-85932231793087979612011-10-22T19:21:00.000-07:002011-10-22T21:23:22.714-07:00Top 5 Females on TV I Love<div style="text-align: center;">I'll be honest, I like TV. Now don't get me wrong, as an English major, I'll always prefer books. But there are times when I'm lazy, and I just don't feel like concentrating too hard. That's when I'll switch on the TV (or in all honesty, pirate something online, cuz that's just how I roll.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But here's something I don't like. I don't always like how women are represented on television. I understand, it's hard. You want a character that's likable but you also want a character that's human. You want a character that can kick ass if need be, but you also want a character with vulnerability. For some reason, screenwriters can do it well with men and not so well with women. So here's my list of my favorite women on television.</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Rory Gilmore from "Gilmore Girls"</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDN4e0WHzgoSiyvBcKBmBUJCJNPb5s1TllDnL0tt9Q5y5z3UgtO8Ymqb1fkxJ3UL4mZjJzJNsVXLa9MSWihsh4CY_kcOMCwZAwmqm9LAm8v_U7HgNnJuRnVvl4qmheXuesrgSCBIZnsY/s320/ABledel_240x320.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666508762559831970" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>I won't lie, when I was twelve years old, I wanted to BE Rory Gilmore. In some fashion, I still do. (Although I would've chosen Jess, cuz he was sooo much better than stupid Logan, JUST SAYING) She was relatable to me and to a lot of girls. She was bookish, she was quiet, the quintessential good girl. People thought she was shy but in actuality, she was loads of fun with a quick wit. Like I said. Relatable. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Rory also grows as a person. We see her fight with her mother, Lorelai, (who'd be on this list as well but I didn't have room) we celebrate when she gets into Yale, we wring our hands in anguish when she drops out for that short period of time. She makes mistakes but she learns from them and always manages to fix her life in time.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I think what I love about Rory is she's never let a guy decide her fate. She's been in relationship after relationship--but it's never affected her dreams in a negative way. She tried to make it work with Dean, she didn't run away with Jess when he asked her to (even though I sort of wanted her to and she kind of wanted to as well, she made the right decision, plus it forced Jess to grow up himself) and she DIDN'T marry Logan when she graduated from Yale. She's always known her own mind, which is something admirable in a female character. </div><div><br /></div><div>2. Jo Harvelle from "Supernatural"</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSoRqJyJToXKn9L2xuIZctQXRtxIf1XZCSRPR3SFvRd4_rV98kMi2aCO6K-ksj5ZayKUIanV_ZABuYysUPcAjqll34_qlTI5z8U0SWGER1QyCmE_JjfBq6zr7ukPV0N6SVt6T6lxjcfeU/s320/300px-Jogun.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666513221275980130" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>There was a LOT of Jo hate when she first appeared on the show, but I loved her. She was badass, she didn't take any crap, and she handled a shotgun beautifully. She also punched Dean, which is just sort of amazing in itself. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Jo can also hold her own. I'm pretty sure she could out-hunt Dean and Sam and she also managed to convince her mother that she could be a hunter. Trust me, Ellen Harvelle is a tough nut to crack. She also deserves a place on this list--maybe I should make a list of most awesome TV moms. We shall see. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>In any case, Jo is also brave. She died a hero, saving her friends. That scene still tears me up. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. Samantha Jones from "Sex and the City"</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQr7HBcw8iUABSm9MxIrRBwdPcU3__r8NOJsaRfvT272MO2fvxJuXVUm2FM55fxn7LTLaY72rP8dBz7qSWi7q-SqfvR1gkjIkJZITJ9qIzFQ13fwB-LcYGrFY0QUARi70ZT8JOs3H-ejU/s320/samantha-jones-3632.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666521779188135490" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 200px; " /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Here's the thing about Sex and the City.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's kind of a dumb show.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know, I'm shocked too. With a name like Sex and the City, you were probably expecting the height of intellectualism. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>SATC is my indulgence show. I can pull out excuses for Gilmore Girls--smart dialogue, hilarious references--and Supernatural--amazing plot, great setting, fabulous music, intriguing characters. I don't have excuses for SATC and I don't need them. This is the show where after a hard day of using my brain, I turn it off, order Chinese, and watch. </div><div><br /></div><div>I could go on a full rant on how this show pretends to be feminist and women friendly when in actuality, not one of the episodes has EVER passed the Bechdel test, but that's another blog for another time. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Samantha Jones is probably the only one of the four female protagonists that does not get on my nerves on an episodic basis. She is smart, she is loads of fun, she's confident, and she has a very firm idea on who she is. Her boldness and charm are refreshing--she doesn't seem fake. I like that about her. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>There are also definite flaws to Samantha's character. (I like characters with flaws.) She very rarely lets herself be vulnerable and she hides her insecurities in series of flings. But I also love how defensive she is of her friends. She's loyal to the end--not afraid to tell off one of Carrie's more manipulative exes and perfectly willing to yell at a frenemy who 'stole Charlotte's baby name.' A testament to her character, since Samantha loathes children. All in all, she's a well-rounded character, and while certainly not feminist, still enjoyable to watch.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Arya Stark from "Game of Thrones"</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF9l_KPRtnYQbikP9Bl-9gEUb9TNRw2F_lS64P0GlQbjyYhgssBa2ey76s8bhu0Q2qix5EIsPP7G7JmztRQ2SeDgqz4XIvNA6TG-btydYGBSK5CClhgOhZ1QP2bAmpc6pdXpk465S1Sqo/s320/arya-stark.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666531958934724210" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>I love Game of Thrones. I love its plot, the characters, ESPECIALLY the portrayal of women. We have the women who play by the rules, Danaerys, Cat Stark. And we have the women who do NOT play by the rules. Like Arya here. </div><div><br /></div><div>Don't be fooled by her adorable-ness. She is slowly learning how to kill. She is a force to be reckoned with. I love how she's challenging the established rules for women. That kicks ass, guys. There's only been ten episodes of GoT, so we're still watching the characters evolve. But I feel there will be good things in Arya's future.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>5. Brooke Davis from "One Tree Hill"</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4A6rPlrx3nJ4vs5esgn5pHR7al8B2CMj8Xi_So4km5HZVEOdDSaWl7izpAC5ZufnN183LumhuuZCpoSTWBl-8Ymr74ts5F5v62rFgLAQsxwJVJmac6ew4MrKDmLDUCX2EFqpJ6f9aIz0/s320/brooke+davis+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666533886873302194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px; " /></div><div>I have a lot of issues with One Tree Hill. But one thing has been consistent about this show--I've always loved Brooke Davis. She's savvy, she's stylish, confident, and best of all, evolved. She grows sooo much from her early days. She has such a warm and loving personality, as well as being strong and tough when she needs to be. She has enough grace to forgive Peyton for betraying her--multiple times I might add--and she lives life by her own terms. I think what impressed me the most about Brooke Davis was her reasoning for returning to Tree Hill in season 5. Peyton came back for a boy, Brooke came back to start a new life. That's impressive. </div><div>I also love the growth of her relationships with men on the show. They started out from being purely physical, to puppy love, back to physical (to keep her heart from being broken again) to true love, and then to adult love. I wasn't totally sure about how she fell in love with Julian, because in all honesty, I was getting sick and tired of her getting Peyton's castoffs--but their relationship won me over, especially Brooke's line about always being a footnote in someone else's love story. Sigh. </div><div><br /></div><div>Keep being awesome, Brooke Davis. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-66087759854595797182011-10-10T21:52:00.000-07:002011-10-10T22:21:54.739-07:00100This is my one hundredth blog. <div><br /></div><div>I've been thinking for a while about what I should write for this sucker, and in all honesty, I'm still not sure. So I started flipping through my old blogs for ideas. I sure whined a lot. But I guess that's the point of a blog, right? I also rediscovered an appreciation for my life and all I've been given. I have the most amazing friends in the entire world. I'm sure everyone says that, but I seriously mean it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think the mark of a friendship is how you fight. In the past week, I have gotten into two little tiffs with some friends of mine. Now, I rarely fight with my girlfriends. The most we really do is snipe at each other. Oh, how we snipe. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't go into great detail, but let's take my snipe with Avlbane recently. The night before, I'd been going into deep depressing Phoenix mode, and started going on about how being alone wasn't so bad. I didn't really NEED to have someone in my life. I have a dog. I have a cat. In all honesty, that's all I need. Avlbane cautiously agreed with me but flat out told me not to ignore something right in front of me.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next night, Avlbane came over for dinner. Like I said, due to personal matters and the idea of humiliating myself online, I can't get into specifics. Basically, I announced my intention to retreat. Hide. A certain something had presented itself, and I wasn't having any of it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Well, neither was Avlbane. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have seen Avlbane unleash her wrath on stupid people, and it is most entertaining. It is not so entertaining when I am the brunt of it. She informed me in no uncertain terms that I was being stupid. "I love you, but sometimes you get so focused in on how you think your life is...I don't want you to miss out on what's right in front of you because of it." </div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't like that. Mostly because she's right. When something's going badly in my life, I hide. I compress into a bubble where I think it's safe and hope nothing gets me. This doesn't sound so bad in writing, but in all honesty, it's what led me into my fight with depression last semester. </div><div><br /></div><div>We yelled at each other for about twenty minutes. I kept trying to change the subject but she immediately would turn it back to the situation. Naturally, she won the argument. I seethed for the rest of the evening. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then God smacked me in the face by basically saying He was TOTALLY on Avlbane's side. SIGH. I went to church with Avlbane that weekend and the sermon was about how humans only see part of the picture. God sees the whole story. </div><div><br /></div><div>OKAY GOD, I GET IT.</div><div><br /></div><div>I only see what's going on around me right now. God sees what I've done, what I'm doing, and what I will do. He knows how my story turns out. This whole hiding, retreating business? It's just me trying to get a grasping control on my life, when in all honesty, I don't have a handle on it. I never will. I may see my current situation as hopeless, as God taunting me with something I want but can't have. God sees it as something that may define my life, that may teach me something, so He wants me to shut up and learn from it. </div><div><br /></div><div>My hubris extends more. A few nights ago I had a snipe with Regan about something she's dealing with. Because OBVIOUSLY I know what's best for her. She couldn't possibly decide how she wants to handle her life, so it's MY JOB as her FRIEND to decide for her. </div><div><br /></div><div>Right? </div><div><br /></div><div>Seriously, how does God put up with me? </div><div><br /></div><div>I guess what I can gain from this is that God loves me desperately. He loves me enough to give me friends that are smart enough to tell me when I'm being stupid or going into hiding mode. He loves me enough to give me repeat lessons at something until I learn it. He's a good teacher. He's a good father. Most of all, he's a good friend. </div><div><br /></div><div>"There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends."--John 15:13</div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-78092216919655455852011-09-24T17:05:00.001-07:002011-09-24T17:34:38.259-07:009/11<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>This is an extremely late 9/11 post. Partly because I've been busy, another part because I plumb didn't want to write it. 9/11 brings up a torrent of emotions that I am simply not ok with dealing with. But this past 9/11 was the tenth anniversary--and frankly, it's not right that I simply ignore it.<div><br /></div><div>I spent the tenth anniversary in DC. Seriously. Oh, don't worry, it gets way better. I actually boarded a plane at 6:29 AM from Dayton, Ohio, to Washington DC. Right after a terrorist threat had been announced by the president. Needless to say, this was not exactly a flight I slept through. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I'd never been to DC, although according to my mother, I was born in Bethesda, so I HAVE been to DC, I just don't remember it. Still, I really enjoyed myself. It was cool visiting the monuments that I'd seen in pictures and it was especially cool doing so on a day as important as 9/11. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>One of the first things we (we meaning the special seminar I am a part of this year, rather than taking formal classes) did was go to the Smithsonian museum and check out the 9/11 exhibit. It was...powerful to say the least. It had little booths for each catastrophe--United 93, the twin towers, the Pentagon--each containing wreckage and relics from the disaster. There was a clock that had fallen from a wall within the Pentagon, stopping on the exact time of the attack. There was a squeegie that a window washer had used to carve his way out of one of the towers, rescuing himself and a few others. There were twisted pieces of metal in grotesque shapes, all that remained of heroes and victims. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>At the end of the exhibit, there was a portion where you could sit down, and write down your experiences of 9/11 and post it on a wall. This is what I wrote:</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckZwm5eUFenxHQeLfDQH-h3WBCT8WCx0arYvFQ2vT8MWLUGy6MdFQvHiZGPtkFmP5T1UVlK_nkPpnHjAE05lNiuyKcHBH1giOoPncurvVz79pIQbUie242BRIVwfEGjddLiO8qrF4T-E/s320/DSCN0905.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656084347489797618" /></div><div>I wish I had clearer memories of this day. I was only eleven. Newly eleven, in fact. I remember my father telling me that he knew people in the Pentagon. People who died. I found the names of his friends when we visited the Pentagon memorial. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think one of the most important things to remember about 9/11 was that it wasn't just an attack on New York. It wasn't just an attack on DC. It was an attack on the USA. It was a declaration of war by zealots who wanted us dead. Wanted? Still want us dead. Just because we got Osama, ten years later, doesn't mean the threat is over. They attacked the Pentagon, the center of our military. The place where we plan how to defend our country. They attacked the World Trade Center towers, symbols of capitalism and basically, what a rich country we were. Thank God and the brave souls of United 93 that we will never know the third target. The White House? The Capitol? </div><div><br /></div><div>Every year, come 9/11, I sit down and I reread news articles. I watch youtube videos of the planes hitting the towers, the plane hitting the Pentagon. Most horrifyingly, I force myself to listen to the phone calls of those trapped inside. I listen to the fear in the voices of the flight attendants who called for help. I listen to the 911 calls from the towers, people begging to be rescued, terrified for their lives. I listen to the announcement, just recently released, of the Al Quaeda terrorists, saying they had taken over the plane. Why do I do this? Am I a masochist?</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't ever want to become content with the knowledge that my country, my home was attacked. I don't ever want to become accustomed to this. I don't want to ever forget. </div><div><br /></div><div>The most powerful thing I saw at the 9/11 exhibit was a father, sitting on a bench with his daughter. The girl couldn't have been more than ten years old. He was explaining to her why he had to go to Afghanistan, and what had happened on 9/11. "You were too young to remember, but..." Tears filled my eyes. I think it was shocking to realize that this wound, still so fresh and festering in my memories, will not be remembered by the children of today. My children will read about 9/11 in textbooks, perhaps ask me about it to fulfill a history report. </div><div><br /></div><div>After all this time, I'm not ready for 9/11 to be history yet. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-85346222940471935592011-08-23T11:19:00.000-07:002011-08-23T12:31:11.685-07:00Stratford<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Once upon a time, I was in AP Lit, and my teacher made me a conspiracy theorist. Well, at least in regards to Shakespeare.<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div>One of my fondest memories of that delightful class (other than one of my classmates microwaving a marshmallow Easter peep) were the discussions on who Shakespeare actually was. Was he really the William Shakespeare of Stratford upon Avon, England? Or could he be Edward Devere? Kit Marlowe? Queen Elizabeth? </div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div>In any case, Stratford has always been high on my places to visit. This is because I love Shakespeare's plays and I am a nerd. But that works for me, and I can always fall back on my good looks. </div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div>My first impression of Stratford? Tourist trap.</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div>I'm sorry, but it is. I still love it, it was still fascinating, but geez, could they exploit the hometown of Shakespeare any more? Don't answer that. </div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div>The first place we visited was Shakespeare's birth place. </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhat7-VBLCs_Ch0g_v1_ZWz9CnhFZITmtPad3B3STLvFMvfZB2xkiGziBpEd4dzhjjnlBzKA8W5-H6JiAfJyj-uw9DaBUky06iIdipk0LJrvkq-dx1SyI6DpvZQEcX2_-aVOApxS8FnKdA/s320/DSCN0169.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644119523437994114" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div></div><div>Woot.</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div>The museum was fairly interesting, and I REALLY enjoyed seeing one of the old folios. </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9sH_rGEG5mVhWp7xD_YML2md_TDrbMX414DZHGqYj83FKPJN5lWPsM_0o8HEHx2TbLJ2Cgcolh7qVZRz34STZbmrDE3RXrzXspGsUoSdGXJVjRnvtlSoq86OggD9z8b-EyRNGirM6Wh4/s320/DSCN0171.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644119787995608770" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div></div><div>Old books make me very happy.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>No judging.</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div>The house was designed to look like an Elizabethan's home. It included tiny beds, a cradle in the master bedroom, etc. The outside gardens were very pretty as well.</div><div>
<br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyX9qpZUDpkyPA_Vp_A_7GXhu-Hm1l9NfwoEDKFOE-zCnkGkjNk0NU6-4xn6BajLvZkssgu84zBwTjUcwF3fwvCqDvj_qTDCsL4JYaKTKW-vqiBZALM-s-lNJ0f6xXALw-zVRFuOaV8F0/s320/DSCN0177.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644120482029653122" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVdNcV1qb_E1x-jcASzM8YgLIvwSN44ftoPflVEhZBPnDT67Aq_6BtYbUa8i8Fu-mcEY6-2KzHcEUuI3DY8UcXmshKmrmBA1ekw0_e4dvVR0g-DWv0Na-mod8RDSyIT7srT9jfaxZFuI/s320/DSCN0184.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644120909601266242" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifY63BjkRGzgp7lpGlhr_WkGZXM0iTFCymEy9ayjH8bwxTcLwDCGD5SZ3YJ6cMC1ZtB9W2Luvq2NUsAWxIWywDyIPxchRSr6F_XWrbEx5RTG_tsv0S7UEmEyioYIPjJzoxxDL2PdkjXA0/s320/DSCN0187.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644124202702835698" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PlYb1uG7SmZQRJP7wGaYV1CHFVxxH4SDbQCg6fTIneXmWQDxL2P_lT3I_5S5gJfaK9k7a0ZKLM_9ezVCzGLLC_EGz_wIc9eblUeaHj7RLE0V1owB4b4FNUUwsiO8R__AqgQfVDaglUM/s320/DSCN0173.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644124589220368706" /><div style="text-align: left;">One of the really neat things was the window pane. People scratched their names and initials on it--we were looking at 600 year old graffiti. </div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfGSuXg3eIdtHngPZ8sIA0QBssEhBCHMzHAECmN2hXKNkwBpmGmAFqSmPAWW620398k149Z2yGVdCfbaojQxguXddQ9YyDAjUeeeSyGvScnv8XZvjNLekRN6WmdRlxN4F7Nj0g8Ec02Mw/s320/DSCN0180.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644126930542945394" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I walked upstairs, I passed Juliet, looking wistfully out the window.</div><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCS8RMa2lP6Jt_4htXgEJ-nD2p2-MWiXOzFnmKUtRNNQDuwUMXKTgEHpkUb_ccIrDB0H4P3b4FBNMLvf-hipYjuT_gGPJTYPdcocbzLDWjuGIaNSYXTBK4zGUnfDWqKwo0mCcG-GcCJE/s320/DSCN0190.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644127750890182962" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">The actresses were really nice. And I love their dresses!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqnaja8hIH3TsX60gSZzsxtxSxVxSTe6kEnRZZf6WrLiIebHRrH6lDMJzrh96Nz0OiJzQiuHkQJw_lIsAVeo7wqOyqjuFfoeA-m0bRB8YVz7OraEIv3QFlHhnshsCk_1tzYMgI91wMFs/s320/DSCN0193.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644128704474200578" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">They then performed a scene from "Two Gentlemen of Verona".</div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaD3GqLpooDOdumEhxNRiZ2qxwC5Q99ixtP8Ffjdf73pmobmfs9XHX-BIdIUEr612A2-mr_Q8MyM1We_tr8gQq-HPYY_nrXz7AVvqoCk7WOzerDbxJgGgEiJV7SSIpyNJstcuJlHKHH54/s320/DSCN0194.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644131601370823314" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUac6FVYbBRmv5kK0Y0F-kQelSPQXfrYwIJq56j5TiMH_2gmcjUKX64q3BZt0KR-K2DpOSLZXpYXfg5RpVMQXZKAII6lXtSa1tKPQh-8i700nesRHRsep_EnGz1YQSCHDunQm5_-ki1ss/s320/DSCN0198.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644132268021822834" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">And then we came to the church, where Shakespeare--at least the one that lived in Stratford--was buried with his wife, Anne Hathaway. Now that was something truly neat!</div><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn16zfjHjE5cE1Srs3-le7wznv37EhOwFyzybAOjeuPwP_nVV-EYdyZcIkfGmNj9PPdjoqnpQjLeCYncpNniHaok94Zj8PtC5QS_QatCnliTJ2LWxQwtBLHOI8v4JHOeoGMHVv2KfPU2E/s320/DSCN0214.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644133748851692866" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Afterwards, we went to the Dirty Duck, which is where the actors of the Royal Shakespeare Company go after each performance. The walls were covered with autographed pictures of various actors. </div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And of course, in the evening, we saw them perform a rendition of "Merchant of Venice", which was possibly one of the more bizarre experiences in England. Patrick Stewart was the lead, and it was sooo cool to see him perform up close, but the play as a whole? ...I'll post a review of it tomorrow.</div><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And now, I shall leave you with a picture of a boat which contains a rather sick joke if you know anything about the play "Hamlet". </div><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioHyFBi-x3LGXNYWtHj2RBcmvkepFc0tTE057qys_v7Cwd-oqxByIwfgP9TZh5mJC8fiZEWQCZHVE8bMe2ZpotCT_rOxOpPoTf-a4PVsvlCqI4g5ydlWk0_5b-T8kE7vjK2EbLxoReG08/s320/DSCN0218.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644135311237123314" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-26395612770311750392011-08-19T18:07:00.000-07:002011-08-19T18:48:19.540-07:00Oxford Part 3WARNING: This blog will be chock full of sentimentality, emotion, and blatant Christian themes. If any of these things offends or makes your stomach hurt, please disregard this post. If not, enjoy an obnoxious outpouring of my soul. I promise the random silliness and cool Euro pics will continue afterwards.<div>
<br /></div><div>So...time for some honesty. Me and God? We have not been on the best terms these past six months. Well, past two years, really. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>This may not be a surprise to some. My relationship with God has been a tumultuous whirlwind. Picture in your head a screaming toddler who only calms down when the parent gives her a cookie. Something like that. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>But for these long six months, it's been the worst it's ever been. I rarely spoke to God, except to occasionally pepper Him with demands I felt I needed. I call this, 'grocery listing.' I stopped calling myself a Christian and even (I'm ashamed to say so) allowed a horrible feeling of condescension and superiority fester inside me. I mocked what I once believed with my whole heart. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>It should also not surprise many that these past six months have been the worst in my life. There were times where I could not even manage to get out of bed, I felt so horrible about life. I was miserable. I think some might diagnose it as depression, but all I could see it as were periods of the utmost darkness. I couldn't even see past my own emotion. There didn't seem to be a point in going on anymore. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I was lucky though. Well, I suppose luck had nothing to do with it. I had wonderful friends who loved me, who wouldn't let me succumb to the darkness. There were certain days where my only reason to get out of bed was to go out to lunch with one of them. And then, my trip to England suddenly became a reality, so I had something to look forward to. How could I think life wasn't worth living when I was so close to seeing a place I'd dreamed about? Seeing the homes of C.S Lewis, the cities of Jane Austen, the birthplace of Shakespeare? </div><div>
<br /></div><div>So you can understand, maybe a little more precisely why Oxford was so meaningful to me. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>After C.S Lewis' grave, I decided I would get dinner at a pizza restaurant that had caught my eye and finish my night off with a drink at the Eagle and the Child. I took the bus from Headington back to Oxford and walked to Fire & Stone, where I enjoyed a delicious dinner. As I left the pizza restaurant, it began to rain. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Once I arrived at the pub, I ordered a beer and sat down. I began to read "The Great Divorce" while enjoying my drink. This was probably not the best idea. After all the emotion that had consumed me after seeing my favorite writer's grave, reading one of his best novels while at one of his favorite places was sure to open the floodgates. And sure enough, it did. I had to set my book down while tears misted my eyes. I believe I worried several of the patrons. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>But at that moment, the queerest feeling came over me. It felt almost as though I was having a beer WITH him, with my favorite writer. C.S Lewis himself. As if he was sitting across from me, probably sneering at my light beer and asking me questions I didn't want to answer. And then, it felt as though I was having a real conversation with him. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Immediately, I grabbed my computer and typed out all I heard. As soon as I finished, the floodgates were open, and I was legitimately crying. I wasn't even sure what I was crying for. I downed the rest of my drink, shut my computer down, and hurried out the door. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>It was twilight. I opened up my umbrella and the rain kept pouring down on the cobblestone streets. I walked aimlessly, with the vague notion of heading towards my hostel but if you'd asked me then where I was going, I would probably have only stared at you blankly. I could feel it. I could feel God trying to niggle His way back into my life and I was both desirous and petrified. Could I really do this? Could I really put my trust back into something I had scorned and ridiculed for the past year? </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. I was still crying. I didn't say anything nor did I really have coherent thoughts at this point, but all I can say is that I apologized to God for being such a rotten person and asked quietly for Him to forgive me. I told Him (without saying or thinking, it was a strange sensation, I can't really explain it adequately) that I wanted to come back but I needed His help--I certainly couldn't do it on my own. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>And then I felt peaceful. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>So there you have it. I'm now a Christian. I hate to call this a conversion story since in all honestly, I've been bouncing back and forth from Christianity to skepticism to agnosticism over and over again for the pat three years. But I can say that has stopped. The time for pretending is over. I know that it's not always going to be all sunshine and roses and I know that it's going to get harder as I go on. But all I can say, is I'm here. And I'm staying. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Oh, if you're wondering about the 'conversation in my head with C.S Lewis' that I wrote down, I'm not really sure where to put that. Another blog post? Let me know if you want to see it. Or let me know if you're sick of this nauseating sentimentality and want to get back to the pretty pictures and hilarity. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Love to all!</div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-57097270302884730032011-07-11T09:46:00.000-07:002011-08-05T21:13:52.998-07:00Oxford Part 2<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Funny little story before I recount my Oxford expedition.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Two days before my English Literature presentation was due, my computer crashed. And I mean crashed hard. Wouldn't even start. That night I got very, very drunk. Sigh. Unfortunately because of this debacle, this means my travel blogs and pics would have to be uploaded post-trip. So that's what I'm doing now. Anyway.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Oxford, as you may have guessed, was spectacular. My personal trip there was unbelievably perfect. It was almost as if God was leading me about. I didn't even know days could be that perfect.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The train ride there was eventful. I met a girl, who I'll call Lettie, who helped me figure out how to get my ticked from the self-service machine. She sat next to me and was as intrigued by American culture as I was about English culture. It was a very promising start to Oxford.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>When I arrived, I bought a map at the station for a pound. Here's another clue that God was clearly smiling on my journey: I am hopeless with directions. But as I read the map and navigated around Oxford, I never once lost my way. Of course, this could be that Oxford is such an enclosed city that it is nearly impossible to get lost, but I prefer the God reason.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Here are some of the pictures I took of the beautiful buildings in Oxford.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchu33GpagStpSXD_KZ7er-YxkL4lSu3acLZNRmjSOJ9IwogegoPfWqJFKv58Hvq5V9d1a5ZhF1R4lGmYtkBNkmJe3gQ9T5neMgOYF_7LBMql6Rwq_2ISWYu5YZlGENtCElNjZSrVy3A8/s320/oxford1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637543112807846738" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19rB85sU7U1AFoHlUY9U_5DpkYs_C87jyoAxiGb47ronvNsx_hd5XAFFzIzig4eRHIn3hqbRwfOjIRTiNNvyqdCJJu7IScx56-lycfn66eUbGM9BpZFXP021lcwhA-w7UsPhGlibDfMo/s320/oxford2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637543519310946002" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJCdbuzPd6HLtApRAl3S1HJVvI5CgMXmLtd82ty8OTvwmrsPjLtn6s620MOUWvjpdyIUnpet6W4SAeoK9esKp5GvyxorFTWR0rC_yP1iy1z7TpF-kPs5sgmDHWJxf4rhLLZz0vFmFkQ4/s320/Oxford3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637544432318382802" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVxwjrbpjA9pVgJJjxg9aiv5Ci0KE08ly8oQJaPZfy6yUMVRvjfFk-v2U8bFiavZSekwo9EZ-XIJO_OQ9sQnNfvLbAcxA9vU8MQ6nF9itHEkybBZAJe8dFAm6hVtatIQ4iaSge_S9Eys/s320/Oxford4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637544888525233010" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7rstjBcn1tHbIEIbDdFG2BrjNZaR5qtrXzAB9M4ZYDEltB3dsK631A3BRoRrGD_Lln-5mL9EpmPnYzzeZAMGrIkfpSAompO4p47t5IWCu-iZJhyRuwnUSmNo_p0tL_0HMaAhbiVglcWU/s320/Oxford5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637545421476036370" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi94NAdx1-ioXkmtXK7RojUa_iiNIpEMTAxtnvp0v3UQlTJH6vCMdQ289vi5GKewyGDQ8zSICim9EZJsPTEUGBf7PqdrdtQK8bpV9Hbszi0Eua0WG-nWkqxi57pY9Cxr50vD8vpcc3XK7A/s320/Oxford6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637545890342558738" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganIY0fyXzxNkF25TOgx3RP2Xvbut_z0aMXeP0gP3aHFa3VDd1dFa8DzY6bA5jABAoUHqEKEpOXJDtCt9rKWTCtlSpPQggz8Hg06o2Hu5H_d6igsYpSAp1XHfeyMAi4-ZgUzzLq6l0f5I/s320/Oxford7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637546439151077266" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEiFUD9P-E3PdRl9WVVKnK5YSv5YXOGGldq9RPYkRuOuE2K5z_Gl2SvhtduShtcTGVWEGnPEi80Hbwvoqjo8QyNcAq8e_BxZAtfALwmMFK3CGfKuZ0EOQUbVSy-tOeL4QoYCibNObPBs/s320/Oxford8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637547117804951698" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejSNviBxknxbFudsHK8wT5qJcmVJuNw9EHF53Sb2xzquWAh1pwksM5h6ENJEC8A1lK48krnC8Zmpyr6rm7ZZgbhFlLoj5uaMOm2IYQ9QWrjtBUulsfpS1HywEg94VtlNljuP0Yc04u_Y/s320/Oxford9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637547741020214626" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq99DBfjAx6veAFGUBeTCADDraQClnwClEtFsGTJfTdZ-SEFQYab4FrpusgSNAMyDEM6vnfE2zxzwGH4r4E25w8IQnqurBHrCfmEifFJifoNomAyqhjSQDf-dDe2nfwIcZ8HmwKu_hWRc/s320/Oxford10.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637548386748240386" /><div style="text-align: left;">I love the honesty in the latter picture.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I walked to Magdalen college, C.S Lewis' college, but unfortunately they didn't open till one, and it was eleven. I debated waiting, but ultimately decided to walk the footpath to Headington to see the Kilns, C.S Lewis' old house.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here is the footpath and some of the views on the way to Headington. (Which, by the way, is an outlying village on the outskirts of Oxford)</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6LivWCQD5HrrecSbgGjcEXBZ6psUrjdZMH3NL9xtZ6A6jm4MDa29kGv7rcSx0I-gbW1zFo1pXELVExiAtQvsOKt1xhOPlIhP0dd81axjJ_HetqHr83WPxrTtbpZT7JJu6SpiEpWzYrI/s320/Headingtonfootpath.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637550700114200594" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvMZeqHSGpTpTcAk_Dp-U07dlhcxIGzzTRtmLuFnwCn9mRUcF9LVxvmff4faVNgYzICWYotefssuVp7AbTehsyM9OV3j2hTEW2WpYeSZXx27HZQ1dfoOaLodXvINodDASzIAV_wkAdng/s320/Oxford11.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637550103321701522" /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div> Headington, however, was a good deal bigger than I anticipated. When I finally arrived, I got promptly lost. Luckily, I found a native, a guy about my age, who very helpfully showed me around and with his iPhone helped me find each C.S Lewis spot. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> And so I found...the Kilns. And yes, in case you're curious, I did stick my head through every open window to get pictures of the inside.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAr6uBqifLeI8seFxP1wbaHIT7X8fDDw-4qqfCGtjg4UQHeRF5fvEA0DwsJgNUDfv-ETAhT7srjxUEYpR0R9Ce8qKkGWbs2FB4ft08HmvkkAhD8vVnNoQBElOwEjKunWOR4pSbczjaYy0/s320/kilns1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637553483289136338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h3gJm4b-NecTcBkBXJRBBDtXItWx7C8nRjGRQKu98Oo8nN3X3HdaROaihcOIvpxwev4soOBh3v49ftkjgfiCRyI9LIBikxAgDN6hZnjHOfbRckuQ41Rf6hQgaFPUVSUZtZpm0TeolWI/s320/kilns3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637555299697896194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_mkGgI0Z__65AMxsPAhKDPB345p0b_qqJIvVi8G0yq1ZNL6j2IEDfm1n61ORzOoIWubaYU4QK-DdV-gSOdVcJIMY7YhC9JSz95gqcQqWCSc-X0IXlqLeb22i7B6k35DjeakIhd-rWQw/s320/kilns2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637554057781546418" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ku4taHF37g22R8stMhyphenhyphenb3QHZVS3nPXi-1Cu0zBVzSQtSA1eP_OMYqw6LQYC2swQrKfqlPUjAp-lc3KHD67zTx1yn2v_FCacday4DMahu22bHT7kjCtfS0wSSNvHJ2QIByVTQKmOJ51g/s320/kilns4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637556323462873426" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7JW5jy4ocvi8nSqGR8ZmsKcNWfHM6zI4kZCSczZcUmTV9WRRITMEKLyPG3LoEK-mgpYe986H3r6LWAX2-IRqsdrFSKoYIwsGDUoZAZNm28e-CQZ8wk0CAID4mued8Os0xpcP6F3qyzs/s320/kilns5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637557576496579122" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8J4XFGb7EAN0NJ0XFZ-uiLcuH1EAGM_BWJ78WVL-4_7LNrobiLYQuKKxSLYJkGF0rXgCpyA598Icxwma_b-4-leZhR-zv5wEnAuIvyU0cUX64bWdNCdAVwqrbQIpJZkINyc9bCS6zhiQ/s320/kilns6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637559306105105474" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmWfSc3rG2cikzmVJwpNuT562YaIrUTVb-O2xGnPZrw6TsQtNv6LIdhtWDMv1SCu-2fmTMdDTXwC5W_O-boa5zuBQkkeUSjQUYEmxZYkIORdV5m2lWrercLI2vUNKxRmB_Tbs07P5sZ8/s320/kilns7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637559912962353250" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFEDM7fIhjLRrcLAPzGBZ72y-U-BbtxiuB7giuXBj-FZ8hkqDsATlicjIidp769rvJKWxJE3a7cJS07dB476w7R1rclCuJBjGzRCWJIoMpMVtej-bpkN6fcoAUMku0KZQBEjdOOgTfLDI/s320/kilns8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637560572455824786" /><div><div style="text-align: left;">The gardens were especially beautiful. I sat in one of the benches, feeling quite awed--this was the precise garden Jack and Joy sat in during the summers. </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> C.S Lewis owned a little property--a few acres of land, a pond, etc. Rather than turning it into more houses or developments, they kept the property and made it into a nature preserve, aptly titled the C.S Lewis Nature preserve. It was absolutely beautiful.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1Oa81dmqYqPTaVV9ck5-1Z6KXcyiXNe7x3eDESwoyOrYcnKtdQhFa4HsaV_0P0fSur22clFL8c-NaSyPGOXKOb_ugUneb4AMHLpAYzhhfMG71v-dUfr_MTtVboUkpXEqocznwoYZFNc/s320/lewisnaturepreserve1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637575116237460898" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcuxbJOocEvlKv8HOTLRMvCzIkERJCYSEnfHjr2-ZVN4IPXtCKiJEW1JfbS6ujrUDqVZE3niIaTtnNXcqE7MEo-B2DoAbbLiDOBQh9PTSY_JNXTSN9MrsEwrBycEmiu_xEkV0sL_OG7Fg/s320/lewisnaturepreserve2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637575832483454226" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_RHxZrgG8rH6S8HJcxNHHis1nLUJOocAFYMit81fBIqcXBCUJujYTj7WOOwW4ZiKjjYdeSmsA-Qbd_AMbJFapCtquEKEBg9l6Bi7PY_ppBuElyORsVV7a9KWMksCRABO7lDpgGxfnmA/s320/lewisnaturepreserve3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637576745161725650" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTS41TJsyU0c9KmV65VxUti-FrUQk0g0ECc4mlub2r2kc5OCHI0Fk9M-ldIgwej0Lgzyz6DReSsuqgAksKWYRGmR0iJ3Wz7O2w6SiFCr9kQPS2LM9kYaj5fGJESHAAK056L4qEPoM38TI/s320/lewisnaturepreserve4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637577669390616514" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yJTljk8I1vqk76VoyBdcuh2oWa91cwt8xHY7giZqY6JmiLg3uab97OoHqlxdg8xdEVZm6cfDkuqBG5GhPSgNMug4w1vk3cZdC-ZbxauHvRM13wUJLyvOmRek8qhOjPhudW4q8Qd-UYQ/s320/lewisnaturepreserve5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637578813895647394" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPh5f9eX1tg9xjFS95pTjhq06tliQoYyRa587ExqpG-QiRcqldzscYdybwThj4w2Ws-kFrMdxp66AaGIY2bYsYXDZljxDs963wBOh2EAmF_3LPi8bhFSPiULSGnXNpiFLEJdrw-A6Ttq0/s320/lewisnaturepreserve6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637580938867375794" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWm2d5X0uWZ4XNyG4u4V7Ox_LzLdjXs-mnylUFxYENH1gCWOpEoD1XMjM2G9pX4QplFgmgGDcQaaY64JVdoYa_pG-EUxjg_AE_C0Rs_Yv-NZHb2KIih-S8p_RwmOwRXWRXgLJt4rhRwRc/s320/lewisnaturepreserve7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637582128279699522" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbbxqyygncsk_-HjvFEAcXcJt3BynmGFnNhHdNnKxlwB3XFRzHNZ1rn0FE2uquG3ZeRlxCnsnmm9fQkw4fR_pod7ee1mPgaZtGbnNlRlW2B8Yn1PyF19huJ6K5gz4nXr3E8rhuK1gZDc/s320/lewisnaturepreserve8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637583270447078610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><div style="text-align: left;">I want the above picture blown up and framed. Beautiful. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> After the walk, was a long, ridiculous search for Holy Trinity Church, the church Lewis attended all his life and was buried at. I'm serious, this church does not want to be found. The only way to get to it is find the quiet, off the beaten path, and come in through the garden gate. But the church was beautiful. It was a Friday, so it was quiet. I wandered all around the church, searching for the grave. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Finally, I saw a little sign. THIS WAY TO C.S LEWIS' GRAVE. My heart began to flutter. I walked over, and there it was. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwJV1ubrUxD2CiG9PvXNirIryQpcxWB1c1nH8fO3Bccsgc5dtKYyxb1uVhaxAhBORCGgoa_8MfzHzKq07cD5lSSKfPOuPDXmeC_jsGnZxixRwTn8bKyCVrV86YT-sY14LoIaP0L28Oc0/s320/lewisgrave1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637586949169550882" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> I laid the flowers. I chose sweet pea flowers. They were simple and unaffected, like Lewis himself but extremely fragrant. They seemed and looked appropriate.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGS0J2OyxHj2ggKlVuVovt1tIm8IgW-4fU_fpb3dQVASZzL4NX53u_TAxpY9WsMnlrqhlvtuxSKkTzNwBzbPV9sb1FiS74iHInO62mCa8YoUFQmaxHbY4UEj-sJwSPMlqbcjMwefF6mak/s320/lewisgrave2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637588124918538690" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div> I can't really describe the emotions I was experiencing while being by this grave. Somewhere between joy, somewhere around sorrow. There's no name for it. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBO95604Qb3L36xrZSv9HzGEOIGmAuLdqTErbisjHyl-vBzg4mWtH0aundt5-8sppzlBJyFw9hfMBzCWlZL4le2AiAF168dGtEzDXrmxCdlozp1j3Q9G5FadMAn-uacm1fx4fhCBr-Avg/s320/lewisgrave3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637590033702348978" /></div><div> Afterwards, something amazing, something wonderful happened to me. To be continued!</div><div><br /></div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-53830047544575294302011-06-29T00:34:00.000-07:002011-06-29T00:58:24.714-07:00We Interrupt this Travel Blog...For something I need to get off my chest. First off, let me say, that I love England. I love the culture, I love the cities, and I love the people here. Even though they have crap self-defense laws (no guns ever, and mace is illegal. MACE. WTF?!) I'd like to live here someday. I'd actually like to raise my kids here. <div><br /></div><div>But this love of England will never, ever replace my pride and happiness at being born an American. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wouldn't call myself a crazy patriot. I do not wear American flags on a daily basis, I do not scream, "AMERICA IS THE GREATEST LAND OF ALL!" at random pedestrians. (Although I do look forward to celebrating Independence Day in England...snerk.) </div><div><br /></div><div>But nothing will rile up my American feathers like people trash-talking my country. This has happened a few times. I had to defend America in class the other day, when someone claimed we constantly meddled in other country's business because Americans had control issues. People constantly forget that people ASK us to come. They ASK for our help. </div><div><br /></div><div>And most recently, from a friend who I won't name, (if you do read this, friend, I still love you, but your tweet irritated the crap out of me.) who basically announced their intention to forgo celebrating the Fourth of July because they didn't like where America has been, and they didn't like America was going. </div><div><br /></div><div>First of all, that is an extremely arrogant thing to say. I'm sorry, but it is. It is elitist, condescending, and totally from a first world viewpoint, disregarding people from countries where women are abused daily, forced to hide themselves, and are not even allowed the basic necessity to drive. It reduces anyone who's dreamed of a better life here, who's dreamed of the freedoms this country allows to the human being, as ignorant fools. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not to mention, it insults every single service man or woman who has fought for their country. My God, it insults the very men and women who DIED for their right to even SAY that about their country. It insults my father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, one of my oldest family friends in Afghanistan right now, my cousin, my best friend's parents, my best friend's grandfather--I could go on. </div><div><br /></div><div>I won't deny I have my problems with America. I don't like a lot of America's laws. I don't like some of the rampant social problems we have. I pretty much hate all American politicians. But I will always, always love and respect the ideals and dreams we were founded on, which include freedom to everyone, whatever ethnicity, whatever gender. The freedom to live our lives the way we choose. The freedom for a woman to stand up against patriarchy without reprisal. The freedom for a woman to vote, own her own land, be single, walk outside in a T-shirt and jeans, paint her toenails, kiss a stranger...and FYI, all of these things are punishable by death in several middle eastern countries. The freedom to write whatever we feel like without censorship, something I am passionate about. Yeah, this freedom includes the right to spout off elitist, arrogant statements about America. But don't you dare think that that doesn't come without consequences and offense. </div><div><br /></div><div>Okay. Back to travel posts. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-40002614208895655972011-06-25T16:14:00.000-07:002011-07-03T17:38:18.018-07:00Oxford Part 1<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Obviously, a lot's happened since I've arrived in the U.K. I have several blog posts I want to share with everyone--Worcester Cathedral, Bletchley Park, but I think I'll skip ahead and share what went down on my trip to Oxford. Well, both of them. See, we had a class trip to Oxford, which was only for a few hours, and MY trip, in which I went myself and spent the night there. <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>First of all, as many of you know, I'd love to study at Oxford someday. I'd love to live there. I'd love to work there. Of all the places we were going, Oxford was the city I was looking forward to the most. I'd been planning a mini-C.S Lewis tour for myself for ages. I was psyched.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Now, when fellow academics and I traversed to Oxford, I was realistic. I knew they'd be ushering us into museums and whatnot, and, because Bletchley Park took so long, we probably wouldn't have much free time. I was okay with this. I had a fresh, crisp ticket to Oxford on the Friday morning train. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>However, when our bus stopped RIGHT across the street from The Eagle and the Child, the very pub the Oxford Inklings drank at and talked about their stories...it was like dangling candy in front of a small child but telling the small child they could have all the candy they wanted the upcoming weekend. I kept on whimpering and lagging behind the group, just staring at it. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITTlVXS6yZQPyOlGEJY-E4ScG9jIyLVx55rKN6_I6YReSiZ_IzTHc00_xeZNtpEKmwVEyTijltgoxUoRdIeka0ZPuxLQzRRUu1mrDDUAskr933N0A9WuDTtGERh9con5wqHCB1ZGSmRQ/s320/DSCN0109.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625254236101226866" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>I mean, it was RIGHT THERE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>They dragged us to a few museums, which admittedly were interesting, but I was chomping at the bit for a bit of free time. Finally, when I couldn't stand it any longer, I wandered over to where our student guides, Sid and Katie, stood. I asked if there would be any free time at all because it was extremely important to my sanity and physical well-being that I have a drink at the Eagle and the Child.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>They said they'd try, and Sid seemed especially interested (totally already knew about it being the favored place of the Inklings, good for him) and I walked off, feeling satisfied. We suffered through another museum (I usually like museums, and these ones WERE interesting, but I was too excited about the Bird and the Baby to have any investment in them) until FINALLY we had some sneaky free-time. I bought an Oxford hoodie (why prolong the inevitable? Excuse my obnoxiously optimism, Oxford does that to me.) and then a few of us (probably due to my excessive nagging) trotted to the Eagle and the Child.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Which FYI, was AMAZING.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaKU25FMEcuH21fFN2VDxsWAYI8qah9oCzRkAcnNfJA1tJLPYxA3R0xaYDVhaUdYTygx1HmcgOKN8oPCFChKux4R9s7nWAcibfg9uVx4P3gc5_ML57ykZHDoFhut4n7U8BDIW-NVBH8w/s320/DSCN0118.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625282354465175714" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4tq07xoQrKBDPVhbfVAnimT5IvkBiKWQ5vdToauyXHNLNkW6RvoKa70YiemXjAxq4FuXkI1GSypyXyxK4ZJSW4ps7JMM5nz0-ntdrp2XHUMOP5PwqnOjAdqe-1tW90cAFzuJ_h6nk1xE/s320/DSCN0110.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625272729741901186" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImwz-JtaNuRIqRsFhXawTh_gHMmA3Hp2V4CfFV-r0Wmj4XSYIj2KtnLalJQlOJ6UbnoJlFdQDnoX7c27GVNT0tXHl_1iq-P8Y3Wl_E_rXFfenLNXGWrIpNp4rp83x7v_gz1sfH0Kbai0/s320/DSCN0119.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625287382746673698" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">And yes, I was more than a little excited.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGFiP9hALpgDgmDGv1ZLgpAJRj3SAYEL2VXC9MjzZ7azmRdWlxRfTKT1gH4Mo5VG8IouAECOwhuY6TwQf-TrMj0Yr0AKtNgRn_pz0xXMyJRIcusvV4gg3bkx2X85mTT40NIErHhb-3z4/s320/DSCN0114.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625289339906132034" /></div><div>And tomorrow--my FABULOUS exploits on my own!</div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-65395076890831020922011-06-23T11:02:00.001-07:002011-06-23T11:13:59.869-07:00Gremlins Have Stolen My LuggageIn case you're wondering if I died or something--I didn't. But Delta airlines very thoughtfully lost my luggage for about a week. <div><br /></div><div>Obviously, this isn't how I wanted my first week in the United Kingdom to go. I had very carefully packed all of my cutest outfits, my favorite jewelry, my best shoes (minus my bright red high heels, I just couldn't justify the space they took up.) my shiny new digital camera's accessories, and a butt load of European converters, because Europe still hadn't figured out how to make a correct socket. (By correct, I mean one that fits all my electronics) </div><div><br /></div><div>At first, I figured my loving suitcase would just be a few days late--within three days, three of my compatriots got their suitcases back. Mine was not among them. So began a harrowing saga of me calling Delta, my father calling Delta, us both threatening legal action, me crying, my dad yelling, me really hating the French, until voila! They said it was in the Charlotte Airport, and they would send it along pronto.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then they didn't sent it along pronto. Atlanta claimed Charlotte never sent it. Charlotte said that Altanta was a smelly liar and they did SO SEND IT TO ATLANTA! Heathrow said stop your bickering, you inefficient idiots, and FIND THAT BAG, or the weepy daughter's scary father will sue our asses. </div><div><br /></div><div>A very helpful Frenchman (possibly the same Frenchman who wasn't very helpful four days ago) made a few calls today, and apparently my bag is now magically at Heathrow Airport, which means that Charlotte retagged it (I have no idea why) sent it to Atlanta, Atlanta missed it because of the new tags but still sent it along to England. I am supposed to receive it late tonight.</div><div><br /></div><div>Although, seeing how much Delta has LIED to me these past few days, I'm being warily optimistic. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is not fun having to constantly borrow clothes and computer chargers from your new friends and feel like a total mooch. It is not fun to stress about buying new outfits when you want to put that money towards souvenirs and traveling. It is even less fun when you are phoneless and have to figure all these things out on my own, while my father loses sleep a continent away trying to help sort it.</div><div><br /></div><div>So Delta, after this trip, I will never fly you again. Frankly, I had no grudge against you up till now. You were my first airplane. I was eight years old, visiting my Aunt Kit. The stewardesses doted on me and let me take a picture in the pilot's cockpit wearing his hat. I still have that picture. Look what you did, Delta. You have just pissed on all of those sweet memories. You made my eight-year-old inner child cry. She TRUSTED you, Delta. </div><div><br /></div><div>Assuming my luggage DOES in fact get here tonight, expect more frequent blog posts, I have many many pics and stories to share. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-6234864150548162122011-06-16T01:44:00.001-07:002011-06-16T02:01:07.731-07:00Murphy is Out to Get Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQ1qbJUpQwk_sh1BF6DMYdzgefaBbiWPM9oTe9pQlvl6nGPEoC0OslpI4qK_kB7xBcteUILxW44_a7ql7qNPbiBXV2rWc54v219vDh4fzQ10Q9z3DGNIIZ1cheWZ5pX3pEvaVodf24Ps/s1600/notpleased.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQ1qbJUpQwk_sh1BF6DMYdzgefaBbiWPM9oTe9pQlvl6nGPEoC0OslpI4qK_kB7xBcteUILxW44_a7ql7qNPbiBXV2rWc54v219vDh4fzQ10Q9z3DGNIIZ1cheWZ5pX3pEvaVodf24Ps/s320/notpleased.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618739725805123378" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQ1qbJUpQwk_sh1BF6DMYdzgefaBbiWPM9oTe9pQlvl6nGPEoC0OslpI4qK_kB7xBcteUILxW44_a7ql7qNPbiBXV2rWc54v219vDh4fzQ10Q9z3DGNIIZ1cheWZ5pX3pEvaVodf24Ps/s1600/notpleased.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>Snarl.</div><div><br />Look, North Carolina, it's nothing personal. But you are not England. Not even close. You do not have the Kilns. You do not have Oxford. You do not have C.S Lewis. You do not have Stratford, London, the Royal Shakespeare Company, Stonehenge...I'm sure you're lovely generally, but frankly, I'm cranky. <div><br /></div><div>The original plan was to take a quick flight to Atlanta, get on a different plane, and head off to England. The flight was SUPPOSED to be an hour and a half tops. </div><div><br /></div><div>Murphy's law, everyone. Google it. </div><div><br /></div><div>First our flight was delayed about a half hour because of thunderstorms over Atlanta. Then we got on the plane, and we hovered over Atlanta for about an hour, because Atlanta airport wouldn't let us land, also due to the weather. Then we ran out of fuel so the plane had to go to Charlotte, NC, to refuel.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yay.</div><div><br /></div><div>After waiting a glorious three hours in a stationary position at the Charlotte airfields, we were graciously told that they were cancelling the flight completely. Even more wonderful, Charlotte airport was closed. CLOSED. I didn't even know airports could close. (This is probably because I'm from St. Louis) No flights in or out. So we get to spend the night in an empty airport as we try and finagle a new flight to Atlanta or Dallas or somewhere that will get us on another plane to England. We are a day late at this point, and life is really sucking. </div><div><br /></div><div>So now we have me, very sleep-deprived, with cold feet, in a very cranky mood because my Asperger's doesn't like me being late for anything and everything else WANTS TO GO TO ENGLAND NOW. </div><div><br /></div><div>GAAAAAAAAH. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have no idea when we're leaving--the leader of my program has been on the phone for five hours trying to work it out, bless his heart. Stay tuned. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-89859401089053887682011-06-09T19:07:00.000-07:002011-06-11T18:19:04.789-07:00Merry Ol' England<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>In case you haven't been paying attention, this blog is about to go from epic to SUPER EPIC. Why? Well, I'll tell you.<div><br /></div><div>CUZ I'M GOING TO THE U.K FOR SIX WEEKS, THAT'S WHY!</div><div><br /></div><div>In case you couldn't tell, I'm a wee bit excited about it.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FLT1Ma3AWDXJlXTTo3M4R4orIVIZjSgXxgMuXRJQbk8OW4G2bUHCxtvjAXDEorFFnfJMq2ubQ_M77zLOL6fa4PRD_NGiJ-sRsVswfPcFMqRyAhqrDWWpa0rYuE5G7fxrBTumWpxslyI/s320/whoanow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617134071285927586" /></div><div>Things I will be doing in England:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Traveling all over.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Documenting that process.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Having high tea with Jane Austen. Ok, not really Jane Austen. Just in a place that Jane Austen used to frequent a lot. And I don't even know what high tea IS!</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Visiting Oxford. </div><div><br /></div><div>5. Visiting C.S Lewis' old house, the Kilns.</div><div><br /></div><div>6. Visiting the pub C.S Lewis used to frequent, the Eagle and the Child.</div><div><br /></div><div>7. Visiting the church C.S Lewis used to attend.</div><div><br /></div><div>8. Visiting C.S Lewis' grave and laying flowers on it. (There's a theme for Oxford, in case you couldn't tell.)</div><div><br /></div><div>9. Visiting Stratford on Avon, Shakespeare's old home. (allegedly)</div><div><br /></div><div>10. Seeing the Royal Shakespeare Company perform a play.</div><div><br /></div><div>11. Taking classes at a university.</div><div><br /></div><div>12. Generally having an awesome time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Come June 15th, I will be leaving on a jet plane (name that singer) and be out of contact, as I will NOT be bringing my cell phone. But fear not! I will be blogging like a boss, tweeting everything, and taking LOTS of pictures. So keep a weather eye on my blogs, follow me on twitter, @PhoenixTalon, and enjoy the ride! </div><div><br /></div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-56999757722631644982011-06-01T08:38:00.001-07:002011-06-01T09:59:22.872-07:00Mars Needs a Better Screenplay<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWOBp5YlTwm4I75oZPIqmbitG6oHf4hVsGUOuGaZEPnorv-ri8KE9xkzpBfp2fa_vYyhZASHItANvedeYrX6LJJeliLOd9PZYHCwnbxaR3fzWFZXWVw9RwIjN_9LBMr_T7o_4gW2o9NlA/s1600/watch-mars-needs-moms-online.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWOBp5YlTwm4I75oZPIqmbitG6oHf4hVsGUOuGaZEPnorv-ri8KE9xkzpBfp2fa_vYyhZASHItANvedeYrX6LJJeliLOd9PZYHCwnbxaR3fzWFZXWVw9RwIjN_9LBMr_T7o_4gW2o9NlA/s320/watch-mars-needs-moms-online.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613295614103386706" /></a><br />Let me start off this movie review, (of Mars Needs Moms if you couldn't tell) by saying how much I adore kid's films. Not just Disney--Dreamworks, Pixar, Fox, Studio Ghibli, all sorts. Even when I perform a feminist dissection on them, I still enjoy them immensely. Like the movie Tangled for instance, which my good friend Regan recently reviewed on <a href="http://thesnafu.wordpress.com/2011/05/31/happily-ever-after/">her blog.</a> Regan and I had a great discussion about it, in which we both brought problematic themes in the movie, things we liked (Regan especially loved Mother Gothel, who I thought was wickedly wonderful as well, albeit suspiciously similar to Frollo from Hunchback of Notre Dame) but we both came to the conclusion that we really enjoyed watching it. This is the case for most of kids' films--I notice and file away issues but in general like it. <div><br /></div><div>But after watching Mars Needs Moms, I was legitimately ANGRY. This movie is extremely insulting to women, families, dads, and especially moms, which is ironic, since the supposed theme is about appreciating your mother. </div><div><br /></div><div>First off, Mars Needs Moms was the first movie released after Disney made an announcement that they weren't going to create fairy tale movies anymore (i.e Tangled, Princess and the Frog) because they wanted to cater to their 'little boy' audience. This rather infuriated me, because in the movie industry, the only thing females have a large presence in are princess movies. Princess movies may have their faults, but at least they have an unapologetically female protagonist. </div><div><br /></div><div>So basically, Mars Needs Moms already had my irritation towards it. Still, I was willing to give it a chance. I thought Megamind was going to be a stupid movie, and was very pleasantly surprised at how wrong I was. </div><div><br /></div><div>So much for being an optimist. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, so the movie starts out with these aliens looking at earth. We see our clear villain, an Evil Alien Queen-like character called The Supervisor. The Supervisor sees a mom she likes and says something to another alien character in a sinister voice. </div><div><br /></div><div>We cut to Earth. We meet Milo, a bratty little kid that whines and complains about everything. His dad is on a business trip and won't be able to make...I don't remember. I didn't take notes cuz it was too inconsequential. Soccer game? School play? School festival? Something to that effect. </div><div><br /></div><div>By the way, Milo's mom doesn't get a name. She's just Milo's mom. Macguffins don't get names. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, Milo and his mom fight and Milo shouts that his life would be a whole lot better without his mom. His mom (played by Joan Cusack) gives him a really hurt look and quietly walks away. I seethe silently because I've been 200 miles away from MY mommy and I can tell you it is NOT FUN AT ALL.</div><div><br /></div><div>Milo's mom gets abducted by aliens. Milo is determined to save her, so he stows away in the rocket. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd like to point out how insulting it is that Disney reinforces gender stereotypes by assuming this caters to boys. Because apparently girls only like princess movies. Girls don't like aliens or robots. Someone needs to have a word with Ursula K. Le Guin and Andre Norton, they must've missed that memo. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, it's been fifteen minutes and I'm already getting bored. Milo searches desperately for his mom and meets these strange critters, which turn out to be the poor, down-trodden MALE aliens, who are forced to live in a junkyard. Milo tries to explain what moms do--apparently they're glorified servants--and Milo meets Gribble, who I call the Obnoxious Fat Guy. Because that's who he is. </div><div><br /></div><div>Obnoxious Fat Guy is apparently some kind of hacker. He's been hiding out in the alien junkyard for an undisclosed amount of time and spends his time playing video games and playing voyeur to the aliens. </div><div><br /></div><div>Obnoxious Fat Guy then explains that Mars needs moms, because their society is an entirely female dominated empire, and because the female aliens are busy working and running the world, they don't have time to raise the baby aliens (which pop out of the ground. LIKE DAISIES! They also separate the girl aliens and the boy aliens, raising the girl aliens to run everything and dropping the boy aliens in the junkyard to fend for themselves.) so they need earthling 'mom-ness' to program their nanny-bots. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because as we all know, it is entirely impossible for a woman to work AND be a mom. It must be one or the other. There can be no balance. This is what happens when women work, GOD. Never should've given the double X chromosomed bitches the vote. </div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, so Obnoxious Fat Guy agrees to help Milo rescue his mom, but things go awry pretty quickly. He meets a rebellious female alien named Ki (played by Elisabeth Harnois...who I actually like and am baffled as to why she agreed to do this movie...she was so lovely in Ten Inch Hero!) who has been graffiti-ing flowers on the neat and tidy alien walls. They make friends, yadda yadda yadda. </div><div><br /></div><div>Obnoxious Fat Guy gets captured and nearly dies by firing squad. Milo interrupts the shooting (damn it) and Ki gets a machine laser gun thing. The Supervisor orders her to shoot Milo and Obnoxious Fat Guy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: Shoot the Supervisor. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ki looks distraught and torn.</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: Shoot the Supervisor. </div><div><br /></div><div>She looks between her world and her two new friends, wondering what she should do.</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: SHOOT THE SUPERVISOR, YOU STUPID BINT. </div><div><br /></div><div>She unloads the laser gun and flings it away. Because that laser machine gun wouldn't be USEFUL or anything. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ki, Milo, and Obnoxious Fat Guy dash off in a mad chase sequence. We learn that Obnoxious Fat Guy came here the same way Milo did, trying to rescue his mom years ago. He failed, and apparently a side affect of the extraction process in collecting 'mom-ness' is exploding, so sucks for his mom. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ki finds an ancient alien cave painting which clearly shows an alien mommy, an alien daddy, and a little alien baby. Ki is shocked, because The Supervisor has been telling them that nanny-bots have been raising their young forever. It's not supposed to be this way! It's supposed to be a mom and a dad and a dog and 2.5 kids! Heteronormativity for the win. </div><div><br /></div><div>So Obnoxious Fat Guy or Ki or someone (I was only half-paying attention at this point, playing solitaire on my iPod seemed vastly more interesting) rallies the the poor, oppressed menfolk in an uprising against those cruel heartless harpies. </div><div><br /></div><div>Milo finds his mom and wakes her up. Milo's mom freaks out and starts screaming. You know, for such a great mom, she's kind of useless. If it was MY mom, she probably would've blinked, looked at me, and been all, "Okay, we're on Mars. Let's get out of here." She would've stolen a laser bazooka, shot anyone who tried to get at me, and then baked butterscotch brownies when we got home. </div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, so Milo and his mom are running toward the rocket that Ki has somehow commandeered and arranged to fly back to earth. But something happens and Milo's space helmet breaks and we get a really close to touching scene where Milo's mom removes her space helmet to save him and then begins to suffocate herself. This actually makes me sniffle a little, but that's probably because I'm 200 miles away from my mommy and I miss her. This is also the only scene I actually liked. </div><div><br /></div><div>But it's all okay, because Obnoxious Fat Guy saves Milo's mom with a random deus ex machina space helmet. Yay. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Supervisor tries to kill them again and Ki stops everyone, showing her fellow aliens the picture of the alien cave painting she took with her iPhone. No, seriously. It looks like an iPhone. I'm not even joking. The fellow aliens are furious at The Supervisor for lying to them and drags her off. Milo and his mom go home and live happily ever after. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before I start with my issues, let me shelve my feminist-ness for a second and look at it from a kid's point of view. This movie was simply not fun to watch. The characters are flat and boring, it starts off to quickly so we have no time to become emotionally invested in the characters, the visuals are cluttered and drab, the background often detracts from what's happening, and it just isn't enjoyable. Compare it to Wall-E, which had a similar production and setting, but those visuals were a lot more remarkable and colorful. I'll grant that one of the subplots was that Ki was obsessed with color and that the alien world was supposed to be drab. But in Wall-E, with the polluted and colorless earth, it still LOOKED interesting. Not so with this movie. </div><div><br /></div><div>All right, issues time. First are the obvious issues, that women who work are the devil and anyone not raised in a traditional two-parent household isn't being raised properly. It's like the creator decided to combine all the stereotypes of feminism into one character (the Supervisor) and one world (Mars). Feminists hate children and hate raising children. Feminists hate men. Feminists would prefer a female-dominated world. This is really insulting. I'm not saying a female-dominated alien world isn't an interesting setting, but it's so obviously a caricature of feminism it's derogatory rather than intriguing. Not to mention how it seems to deny the possibility that working women can be mothers too...this really angered me because my mom IS a working woman. The entire reason she DOES work at the job she's at is FOR her kids. </div><div><br /></div><div>It also makes me angry that the nuclear family structure is what's SUPPOSED to raise children. Single dads are in the wrong, so are single moms. So are grandparents who raise their grandkids. The idea that families could come in all shapes and sizes is simply not present.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then there's the whole 'mom' issue. Hey, I love moms. I love my mommy. But why is it assumed that moms are the caretakers and dads bring home the bacon? Every family is different, but this movie seemed to be presenting the idea of what each parent is 'supposed' to do. The movie actually uses the term 'mom-ness'. What does that imply? Milo goes from saying it's servitude, to spoiling him, to kissing him good night and loving him. Don't dads do chores? Don't dad take you sledding, shooting, to the movies? Don't dads kiss you good night and love you as well? How is this movie distinguishing 'mom-ness' and 'dad-ness'? </div><div><br /></div><div>But then, dads don't really get a mention, aside from Ki declaring that alien babies should be raised by parents, not robot nannies. She's kind of vague on the dad's role. </div><div><br /></div><div>I guess my point is that I really don't like how the movie gives parenting mostly to moms and gives dads a free pass. That's insulting to dads, and quite frankly, not true. </div><div><br /></div><div>In essence, this is not a movie I'll be buying, or even watching again. Flat characters, irritating dialogue, troubling themes, and cluttered visuals do not a good movie make. Clearly I'm not the only one who thinks so, since this movie completely bombed at the box office. Here's hoping Disney learns a lesson. </div><div><br /></div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-51440846075908405872011-05-25T06:45:00.000-07:002011-05-27T15:54:07.501-07:00I Slaughtered a Duckling<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzeWXepQ-P21ijdfer5LFPtJTg9qRrACEMoZa_A5H8hmnK5TU437vnMJrxDI8CMoVX82LF8ABie4VnIwf4gyUOz9YG2ApQHc3bkY95P2FWOjyX2BSgP5XOVoc1JQsKzCeydkxxENTTLZs/s1600/4730530159_2c814f8b9f.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzeWXepQ-P21ijdfer5LFPtJTg9qRrACEMoZa_A5H8hmnK5TU437vnMJrxDI8CMoVX82LF8ABie4VnIwf4gyUOz9YG2ApQHc3bkY95P2FWOjyX2BSgP5XOVoc1JQsKzCeydkxxENTTLZs/s320/4730530159_2c814f8b9f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611516431057858866" /></a><br /><div>I was on my way to the city to meet my friend Britt when something truly traumatizing happened. I'm barreling down a county road, singing along to Kate Voegele's new album (which you really ought to pick up) enjoying the drizzly rain when suddenly, I see something waddling across the road. It is a duckling and it is going as fast as it can. </div><div><br /></div><div>I yelp and try to avoid it. I then feel my car go BUMP. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yes. I just ran over a duckling. A DUCKLING. </div><div><br /></div><div>Absolutely horrified, I grab my phone and dial Regan so she can talk me out of driving off a cliff for slaughtering a helpless animal. She doesn't pick up. I grip the steering wheel whimpering, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God."</div><div><br /></div><div>I suddenly hear "I'm Afraid of Americans", by David Bowie, my ringtone, and I grab the phone frantically.</div><div><br /></div><div>Regan: Sorry, sorry! What's up?!</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: I JUST KILLED A DUCKLING!</div><div><br /></div><div>Regan: ...what?</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: I was driving a long minding my own business and it appeared out of nowhere and then I heard a sickening THUMP and I KILLED IT REGAN! I'M GOING TO HELL!</div><div><br /></div><div>That was my day yesterday. How was yours? </div><div><br /></div>Also, my dear Regan at <a href="http://thesnafu.wordpress.com/">The Snafu</a> posted a few of our more memorable texting and tweeting conversations. She's not the only one who gets random texts and tweets so I thought I'd share a few. I think they'll give you startling insight into my personality and why my friends are friends with me. <div><br /></div><div>Me: The most recent status of a guy who used to bully me in middle school: 'no matter how drunk u get...u can't throw up the weed u smoked!' I feel like this is a serious win for me.</div><div>Saul: (my younger brother) Congratulations. I can only hope this happens to me someday.</div><div><br /></div><div>Regan: I was just at QT and the guy was all, 'Here, do you guys like movies? Have some free movie coupons! Here, do you guys like tongue tattoos? Have some tongue tattoos!' And I was all, 'Are you going to ask me if I like beluga whales next?'</div><div>Me: Who the hell would get tongue tattoos? I mean seriously, wouldn't that hurt like a *&%$#$@%$&*#$? And when would you show it off? You don't use your tongue to do anything except eat and make out and none of those are visual activities.</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: If you buy the panda PJs, I'm buying the David Bowie PJs and then we're having a party.</div><div>Regan: How much are they?</div><div>Me: They're thirteen bucks. Do you think I can ask them to not include the thong? I feel like a David Bowie thong is too much.</div><div><br /></div><div>Avlbane: If she wants to use her vagina like an ATM that's her problem. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: So the world's supposed to end tomorrow. I'm going to eat cheetos all day so when I get raptured I can have orange fingers and God can look at me and go, "Nice."</div><div>Saul: I'm totally going to do that and steal your thunder.</div><div>Me: That's a pretty bold assumption that YOU'RE going to Heaven. </div><div>Saul: Point. Okay, I'll do it for Satan.</div><div>Me: Well, Satan did invent cheetos.</div><div>Saul: And when Satan and God have their weekly poker game, they'll both bring it up and go, 'WAITAMINIT.'</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: There is a rather crucial difference between David Bowie and the Backstreet Boys. Which is that David Bowie isn't lame.</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: My professor's friend's son apparently used my essay as a coloring book. At 3 AM, I find this hilarious. </div><div><br /></div><div>Avlbane: Wait a little while, and then JUMP ON HIM LIKE A LIONESS ON A GAZELLE. </div><div>*I stare at her*</div><div>Avlbane: You don't have to jump on him like a lioness...maybe be more stealthy. Like a jaguar.</div><div><br /></div><div>Avlbane: He's so far in the closet, he's drinking tea in Narnia.</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: Let's have BLANK's girlfriend fall in love with BLANK's girlfriend and then you and I can date BLANK and BLANK. </div><div>Avlbane: So your plan is to turn these guys' girlfriends into lesbians?</div><div>Me: Or bisexuals, I'm open-minded.</div><div><br /></div><div>Regan: And WHY does Justin freaking Bieber have a book? I mean seriously, you're like ten. </div><div><br /></div><div>Avlbane: I love the random-ass places your mind goes when you find something new to fangirl. It gives my life a sense of adventure. </div><div><br /></div><div>Chester: Do you think Mr. Darcy and Hawkeye would get along?</div><div>Me: Mr. Darcy of Pride and Prejudice and Hawkeye of MASH? Somehow I doubt they'd interact much.</div><div>Chester: No, Hawkeye of Last of the Mohicans.</div><div>Me: Oh. Yeah, I still don't think they'd interact much. Why?</div><div>Chester: Just wondering. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932642986645135929.post-45214061519169626812011-05-23T06:12:00.000-07:002011-05-23T06:30:15.877-07:00It's the End of the World and I Want Pie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgd9CRNUBHL8dUXI57oHvGDUyrH4H2SBbXh7WRZ8A85jB040JIMmqxEnkWRmT0wAlLe4cw-y1swvvjhZuDAKgtp9yofjTpo81OCttf0ePGKZg60U86T-TiAGnYl6CJlNe_oeNGfGTaqc4/s1600/2192560.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgd9CRNUBHL8dUXI57oHvGDUyrH4H2SBbXh7WRZ8A85jB040JIMmqxEnkWRmT0wAlLe4cw-y1swvvjhZuDAKgtp9yofjTpo81OCttf0ePGKZg60U86T-TiAGnYl6CJlNe_oeNGfGTaqc4/s320/2192560.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609903093019168258" /></a><br />I'm a little late posting this because I've been busy (translation: really lazy) but I wanted to discuss how the rapture was supposed to occur this past Saturday. <div><br /></div><div>First off, I heard about this about three days before. That's not a lot of build up. I mean, at least 2012 is giving us three years of breathless anticipation. On the social media front, the May 21st rapture was more of a collective joke than anything else. There's a few reasons I didn't take it seriously.</div><div><br /></div><div>1. If I get raptured before I go to England, I am going to be super pissed at God and probably will give him the silent treatment. </div><div><br /></div><div>2. I am NOT leaving this earth until I meet David Bowie.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. My 21st birthday is in September. It is also on a Friday. Really? You'd rapture me four months before that? God would never be that cruel. </div><div><br /></div><div>4. I won a karaoke contest last Thursday and I haven't gotten to redeem my gift certificate.</div><div><br /></div><div>In all seriousness, this whole rapture business baffles me. There is the obvious reason that I'm not Baptist, and I don't believe in the concept anyway (sorry guys, Christians don't get a free pass, we have to suffer the end of the world just like everyone else) and then there's the Christian perspective that you can't predict the date. Jesus says pretty clearly (whether you believe in Christianity or not, bear with me, I'm going from a Christian perspective) that WE CAN'T PREDICT THE DATE. Not even the angels know. So knock it off Nostradamus, you're just going to look stupid. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't really take 2012 seriously either. I think the 2012 Doomsday prediction is a lot like the movie 2012--fun to think about when you're bored, but not really substantial. </div><div><br /></div><div>People said the world was going to end in 1884. It didn't. Then the Rapture enthusiasts said it would end in 1994. It didn't. (Probably because David Bowie was touring, God was like, 'well shit, I'll need to postpone this.') People said the world would end in 2000. Here I am, eleven years later, and the world is still kicking. </div><div><br /></div><div>But in the interest of full disclosure, I have compiled another list (I like lists :D) of things I would do if I knew the world would end the next day. </div><div><br /></div><div>1. Watch Labyrinth. </div><div><br /></div><div>2. Drive off aimlessly with my compadre Regan and go to that really yummy sandwich shop. She knows the one. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. Cuddle my cat and dog. </div><div><br /></div><div>4. Take my little brother to a Scouting for Girls concert. </div><div><br /></div><div>5. Go to each of my girlfriends' houses, hug them, sniff their hair, and paint their respective toenails. (It's how I show my love) </div><div><br /></div><div>6. Tweet everything I'm doing.</div><div><br /></div><div>7. Update my blog. </div><div><br /></div><div>8. Eat pie.</div><div><br /></div><div>You know, this list sounds an awful lot like my Summer To-Do list. I suppose there's a lesson in that. </div>Phoenix Talonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15462272711039676065noreply@blogger.com4