As children and youth in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we are often taught a list of things that must be done in order to accomplish true repentance. They are known as the Rs of Repentance, and there are usually about four to seven of them, depending on the teacher. They include things like recognition, remorse, restitution, reformation, resolution, etc. I rather dislike this method of teaching repentance, and here's why:
1. It makes repentance seem too hard. Think of all the bad things you've ever done. Imagine going through this extensive list for every one of them. Life is just too short! You'd never finish! And what about all the sins you don't remember committing? If the Rs are really the only way to go, we're all damned.
2. It makes repentance seem too easy. Any of us who have undergone real repentance laugh at the thought of repentance as a checklist. "Oh yeah, that was bad, I shouldn't have done that. I feel bad that I did that. I apologize for doing that. I won't do it again. I feel better now. Let's go get smoothies." If repentance were that easy, I sure would have sinned a lot more! Boiling such a deep and meaningful experience as repentance down to a catchy list trivializes it.
3. And what about Jesus? I don't hear anything about the Savior in this list. It paints repentance as something you can accomplish by yourself. For the record, there is no repentance without Christ; without Him we would all be damned. In the end, He is the one who fixes us, who throws out that old woman of sin and makes us a new creature . . . in Christ.
I propose a different, in my opinion better, way to teach repentance.
Confess and forsake. Confessing involves coming to God with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, humbling ourselves, acknowledging that God's ways are higher than our ways. It means asking, begging, pleading for forgiveness, for the mercy and atonement of Jesus Christ to be applied to our faults. Forsaking our sins means having a mighty change of heart, a complete turning away from our sins. Forsaking is having no more desire to do evil, but to do good continually. It is covenanting with God to do better. It is accepting that we are no longer the person who committed the sin, but that we are made anew through Christ's atonement. To me, this part is the most difficult. It is so easy to continue to beat ourselves up about what we did and what losers we are. We have to have enough faith in the atonement to realize that the people who sinned are not the people we are now. We have to accept that we have been forgiven. Then, if we live in a constant state of confessing, forsaking, striving to align our hearts with The Good, we live in a state of justification. The sacrament itself does not cleanse us from our sins; partaking of the sacrament signifies that we are living in a justified state. And eventually, after going through this process over and over, we will become sanctified; we will be made holy.
Now, tell me, which lesson on repentance would you rather have?
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The "Spiritual" Sex
I recently discovered I have a teeth grinding problem. I got a night guard and all that, but that doesn't treat the cause, and I can't wear it all the time. Do you know what would stop me from grinding my teeth down to nothing morning, noon, and night? I believe this bad habit would cease if all the sexism in the world would also cease. So it looks like my straight, white, dazzling smile will be a toothless grin by the time I turn thirty-five.
One sexist "doctrine" that really frosts my cookies is that women are naturally more spiritual than men. Let us have a little chat about benevolent sexism. Benevolent sexism stems from the interdependence of the sexes. It consists of ideas that women need to be cherished and protected by men, that men depend on women to fulfill the "essential" roles of parenting and homemaking, and that men need women (to be romantic sexual objects) to feel complete. It is different from hostile sexism, which branch is more familiar to most people. Benevolent sexism is a hot topic in sex and gender scientific literature right now because, more and more, studies are showing that it is just as harmful as hostile sexism. People who embrace benevolent sexism are more likely to also embrace hostile sexism. Studies have shown that benevolent sexism is a more subtle and cunning way to subjugate women. As men treat women in a benevolently sexist manner, women often begin to accept male dominance. This then propagates the cycle of inequality.
Back to women's "innate" spirituality. This common sentiment in Mormanity (my word for the culture entwined in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) is a form of benevolent sexism. Many members, including general authorities, use this sentiment to justify every instance of differential treatment of the sexes. It is often said that women don't need the priesthood because they're naturally more spiritual, while men need the opportunity to serve and grow. Another common one is that a woman must nurture the children because she innately walks closer to God. Sometimes I wonder if these dogmas are spouted off so frequently as a way to keep women complacent in their places of lesser power in Church authority. The fact is, women are more active in religion the world over. Why the difference, you ask? I have come to the conclusion that, since women have historically been held in inferiority and powerlessness by men, they have become more humble. This, then, has become a societal norm, and the social differences still present today continue the trend. As we all know, humility begets faith in God. Those who have less have greater need to believe in and rely on a higher spiritual power; they hope that this divine being will give them their just reward in time. Therefore, the humbled women throughout history have turned to God for comfort.
Some other benevolently sexist attitudes common in the Church:
To find out how much sexism you espouse, take this quiz.
One sexist "doctrine" that really frosts my cookies is that women are naturally more spiritual than men. Let us have a little chat about benevolent sexism. Benevolent sexism stems from the interdependence of the sexes. It consists of ideas that women need to be cherished and protected by men, that men depend on women to fulfill the "essential" roles of parenting and homemaking, and that men need women (to be romantic sexual objects) to feel complete. It is different from hostile sexism, which branch is more familiar to most people. Benevolent sexism is a hot topic in sex and gender scientific literature right now because, more and more, studies are showing that it is just as harmful as hostile sexism. People who embrace benevolent sexism are more likely to also embrace hostile sexism. Studies have shown that benevolent sexism is a more subtle and cunning way to subjugate women. As men treat women in a benevolently sexist manner, women often begin to accept male dominance. This then propagates the cycle of inequality.
Back to women's "innate" spirituality. This common sentiment in Mormanity (my word for the culture entwined in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) is a form of benevolent sexism. Many members, including general authorities, use this sentiment to justify every instance of differential treatment of the sexes. It is often said that women don't need the priesthood because they're naturally more spiritual, while men need the opportunity to serve and grow. Another common one is that a woman must nurture the children because she innately walks closer to God. Sometimes I wonder if these dogmas are spouted off so frequently as a way to keep women complacent in their places of lesser power in Church authority. The fact is, women are more active in religion the world over. Why the difference, you ask? I have come to the conclusion that, since women have historically been held in inferiority and powerlessness by men, they have become more humble. This, then, has become a societal norm, and the social differences still present today continue the trend. As we all know, humility begets faith in God. Those who have less have greater need to believe in and rely on a higher spiritual power; they hope that this divine being will give them their just reward in time. Therefore, the humbled women throughout history have turned to God for comfort.
Some other benevolently sexist attitudes common in the Church:
- We don't talk about Heavenly Mother because Heavenly Father is protecting her name from the abuse and slander of the world (if that is the case, then maybe I don't want to be a Heavenly Mother someday. This paints a picture of a rather weak and inconsequential divine feminine, don't you think? By the way, this was initially said by a primary teacher. Also, there is no doctrine that says that the topic of Heavenly Mother is taboo and should not be discussed. In my opinion, we should be a little wary when discussing her in a formal church setting only because there is so little doctrine on her).
- Men have the priesthood and women, instead of the priesthood, have motherhood (as if fatherhood can in no way compare to motherhood. Granted, only women can give birth and nurse. But men can bottle feed, hold, nurture, and show just as much love as women can. Cultural bounds lead us to believe this is not true, but it is).
- Whereas in the priesthood session of conference men get the third degree, women in the relief society session are patted and praised and coddled for how good they are (in my opinion, women are just as intrinsically bad as men are; culture has just taught them to be more subtle about it. Any differences in bad conduct is the product of societal norms and not of innate goodness).
To find out how much sexism you espouse, take this quiz.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Why I didn't change my name
In case you didn't know, my full name is exactly the same as it was before I tied the proverbial knot. You may be confused as to why I would choose to be unorthodox in this way. Let me enlighten you.
1. I like my name the way it is. It rolls off the tongue nicely. My parents did a good job naming me. Although I do sort of wish they would have gone by my mom's fantastic French Basque surname: Etchepare (etch-a-pear).
2. My name is fraught with genealogical significance. Yes, Miller is about the most boring last name in America* (and, incidentally, Germany), but it is the name of my forebears, and I revere it for that reason. I like to remember that it was once the German Müller (we have this cool Amish family history book that dates my direct namesake line back to the first Miller to come to America, back in the seventeenth century). My first and middle names are derived from the first names of my maternal grandparents, Jean and Olive. I come from a long line of Basque "Jeans" and "Jeannes". And besides being the name of my grandmother, Olivia is just a really awesome middle name. There was no way I was going to scrap it. I value my ancestors not only because of my religion. As a geneticist, I find genealogy particularly interesting. So I chose not to eliminate my heritage from my name just because I decided to change my marital status. Those of you who have researched your ancestors and done family history know that the maiden name is the only one that counts, anyway.
3. I am the only child of the oldest child, of the oldest child, of the oldest child down the Miller line. I am also the first female born on my father's side (obviously) in one hundred years. I feel that this somehow gives me especial reason to retain my original surname.
4. My mother didn't change her last name . . . until I was in high school (I was kind of mad when she did that without telling me). When she married she was an established, successful person. Changing her name would have been extra-complicated and would have ruined her impact factor. I remember people calling for Ms. Etchepare all the time when I was a kid. I didn't think anything of it; that was my mom's name. Because of her decision, I have no pre-existing notions that a woman must change her surname to that of her husband upon her marriage. Also, my mother-in-law hyphenated her name, so Husband doesn't have any problems with my decision either.
5. I eliminated hyphenating because Husband wouldn't hyphenate too. He likes his name the way it is (plus he didn't grow up being indoctrinated to believe that one day his name would have to change to that of his spouse). I probably would have hyphenated if he had been willing to take on the hyphenated last name as well.
6. The name Herrick reminds me of two things. The first is Robert Herrick, the famous poet (whose father was, coincidentally, named Nicholas). The second is the species of fish known as herring. While I find Robert Herrick's poetry amusing for its irony (a clergyman writing sensual poetry that urges young, unmarried women to be sexually active), I loathe seafood. Wikipedia describes the herring as an "oily fish", which does not help matters. Miller reminds me of a happy, pleasant middle-aged man living on the outskirts of a small village in Germany in a quaint cottage with a windmill behind it.
7. This motivation is shameful and perhaps immature, but I've included it anyway: I want to see people's reactions. I have already had the pleasure of explaining to members of our branch that Husband and I have different last names. No one seemed very taken aback by this. Everyone calls me Sister Miller. But I really can't wait to get back to Utah and ruffle some feathers there. I'll try not to be annoying about it. If someone calls me Sister Herrick, I won't correct them. But I'll make it clear in my introductions what my full name is and what Husband's full name is. I am confident they will all catch on eventually. Am I being too optimistic here?
If you are married, why did you/your spouse keep or change names when you got married? If you are single, what would you do with your name if you got married?
*I've found that famous people with average first names and boring last names tend to go by their full three names. For instance, Sarah Parker becomes Sarah Jessica Parker; Catherine Jones becomes Catherine Zeta-Jones, etc.
1. I like my name the way it is. It rolls off the tongue nicely. My parents did a good job naming me. Although I do sort of wish they would have gone by my mom's fantastic French Basque surname: Etchepare (etch-a-pear).
2. My name is fraught with genealogical significance. Yes, Miller is about the most boring last name in America* (and, incidentally, Germany), but it is the name of my forebears, and I revere it for that reason. I like to remember that it was once the German Müller (we have this cool Amish family history book that dates my direct namesake line back to the first Miller to come to America, back in the seventeenth century). My first and middle names are derived from the first names of my maternal grandparents, Jean and Olive. I come from a long line of Basque "Jeans" and "Jeannes". And besides being the name of my grandmother, Olivia is just a really awesome middle name. There was no way I was going to scrap it. I value my ancestors not only because of my religion. As a geneticist, I find genealogy particularly interesting. So I chose not to eliminate my heritage from my name just because I decided to change my marital status. Those of you who have researched your ancestors and done family history know that the maiden name is the only one that counts, anyway.
3. I am the only child of the oldest child, of the oldest child, of the oldest child down the Miller line. I am also the first female born on my father's side (obviously) in one hundred years. I feel that this somehow gives me especial reason to retain my original surname.
4. My mother didn't change her last name . . . until I was in high school (I was kind of mad when she did that without telling me). When she married she was an established, successful person. Changing her name would have been extra-complicated and would have ruined her impact factor. I remember people calling for Ms. Etchepare all the time when I was a kid. I didn't think anything of it; that was my mom's name. Because of her decision, I have no pre-existing notions that a woman must change her surname to that of her husband upon her marriage. Also, my mother-in-law hyphenated her name, so Husband doesn't have any problems with my decision either.
5. I eliminated hyphenating because Husband wouldn't hyphenate too. He likes his name the way it is (plus he didn't grow up being indoctrinated to believe that one day his name would have to change to that of his spouse). I probably would have hyphenated if he had been willing to take on the hyphenated last name as well.
6. The name Herrick reminds me of two things. The first is Robert Herrick, the famous poet (whose father was, coincidentally, named Nicholas). The second is the species of fish known as herring. While I find Robert Herrick's poetry amusing for its irony (a clergyman writing sensual poetry that urges young, unmarried women to be sexually active), I loathe seafood. Wikipedia describes the herring as an "oily fish", which does not help matters. Miller reminds me of a happy, pleasant middle-aged man living on the outskirts of a small village in Germany in a quaint cottage with a windmill behind it.
7. This motivation is shameful and perhaps immature, but I've included it anyway: I want to see people's reactions. I have already had the pleasure of explaining to members of our branch that Husband and I have different last names. No one seemed very taken aback by this. Everyone calls me Sister Miller. But I really can't wait to get back to Utah and ruffle some feathers there. I'll try not to be annoying about it. If someone calls me Sister Herrick, I won't correct them. But I'll make it clear in my introductions what my full name is and what Husband's full name is. I am confident they will all catch on eventually. Am I being too optimistic here?
If you are married, why did you/your spouse keep or change names when you got married? If you are single, what would you do with your name if you got married?
*I've found that famous people with average first names and boring last names tend to go by their full three names. For instance, Sarah Parker becomes Sarah Jessica Parker; Catherine Jones becomes Catherine Zeta-Jones, etc.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
It's a Great Day to be Alive
A few weeks ago, one of my favorite bloggers told a tale of some women she knows wishing they lived in Jane Austen or Victorian times, when men were "gentlemen". She scoffed at this ignorant viewpoint, and so do I. Wearing rose-colored glasses when viewing the history of the treatment of women may make the past look romantic, but it's incredibly inaccurate. I decided to post about this topic myself rather than leave an annoyingly long comment on her post.
Husband and I have discussed this a lot recently. We concluded that the din of complaints about our current state of affairs is a bit louder than it needs to be. Are there things about our culture/government/economy that need tweaking these days? Of course. But when we complain about these things, we are often failing to recognize just how good we have it. Injustice and fear have been facts of life for thousands of years. But back in the day, instead of worrying about the injustice of social programs or fearing credit card payments, people were worrying about the injustice of tyrannical leadership and worrying about their town being pillaged and burned. The injustice that humans have inflicted upon each other throughout history is horrifying. I am especially disturbed when I think of the historical suffering of women, usually at the hands of men. I'm not just thinking about the unfulfilled 1950s housewife or the stifled, weak Victorian lady on a pedestal whom some ill-informed women envy. I'm thinking about the ancient Roman armies that always came equipped with a harem of sex slaves. I'm thinking about the women who were raped and abused, often by their own husbands, while everyone perceived it as business-as-usual or else blamed the woman (granted this still happens today, but it's much less widespread . . . I hope). I'm thinking about the religious leaders who taught that women don't have souls and the philosophers who taught that women are incomplete forms of men. Of innocent virgins brutally sacrificed to pagan gods, of women whose children were slaughtered at the command of rulers, of the millions of women who lived as slaves, whose life was not their own, but belonged to someone else.
Add in the many women who were goaded to marry for monetary or political purposes, whose talents weren't recognized due to their sex, who had no method of birth control and constantly risked pregnancy and thereby death, who were molded into the unrelenting stereotype of frailness, daintiness, and illogicality. History sounds pretty bleak for women. Would you really like to be Elizabeth Bennett, who was subject to a sexist contract that would render her homeless upon her father's death? Or Juliet, whose parents were pressuring her to marry a smarmy man at thirteen years of age (okay, I suppose few people actually want to be Juliet; she was kind of an idiot)?
We can fantasize about living in another time all we want, but I would rather live now than at any other time, when the status of women is almost equal to that of men. People complain about the world but, at least in my culture, 2011 is a time of incredible decency and safety and respect. It fills me with gratitude. I am so grateful that God did not send me to Earth at a different time. I probably would have been lynched for being a witch (for my sinister handedness alone), thrown into a mental institution (which were hell-holes themselves back in the day), or would have become some sort of mass murderer (the misogyny would have gotten to me eventually). I'm perfectly happy to live in 2011, without the Mr. Darcys, the knights in shining armor, and the theory of wandering womb syndrome.
Husband and I have discussed this a lot recently. We concluded that the din of complaints about our current state of affairs is a bit louder than it needs to be. Are there things about our culture/government/economy that need tweaking these days? Of course. But when we complain about these things, we are often failing to recognize just how good we have it. Injustice and fear have been facts of life for thousands of years. But back in the day, instead of worrying about the injustice of social programs or fearing credit card payments, people were worrying about the injustice of tyrannical leadership and worrying about their town being pillaged and burned. The injustice that humans have inflicted upon each other throughout history is horrifying. I am especially disturbed when I think of the historical suffering of women, usually at the hands of men. I'm not just thinking about the unfulfilled 1950s housewife or the stifled, weak Victorian lady on a pedestal whom some ill-informed women envy. I'm thinking about the ancient Roman armies that always came equipped with a harem of sex slaves. I'm thinking about the women who were raped and abused, often by their own husbands, while everyone perceived it as business-as-usual or else blamed the woman (granted this still happens today, but it's much less widespread . . . I hope). I'm thinking about the religious leaders who taught that women don't have souls and the philosophers who taught that women are incomplete forms of men. Of innocent virgins brutally sacrificed to pagan gods, of women whose children were slaughtered at the command of rulers, of the millions of women who lived as slaves, whose life was not their own, but belonged to someone else.
Add in the many women who were goaded to marry for monetary or political purposes, whose talents weren't recognized due to their sex, who had no method of birth control and constantly risked pregnancy and thereby death, who were molded into the unrelenting stereotype of frailness, daintiness, and illogicality. History sounds pretty bleak for women. Would you really like to be Elizabeth Bennett, who was subject to a sexist contract that would render her homeless upon her father's death? Or Juliet, whose parents were pressuring her to marry a smarmy man at thirteen years of age (okay, I suppose few people actually want to be Juliet; she was kind of an idiot)?
We can fantasize about living in another time all we want, but I would rather live now than at any other time, when the status of women is almost equal to that of men. People complain about the world but, at least in my culture, 2011 is a time of incredible decency and safety and respect. It fills me with gratitude. I am so grateful that God did not send me to Earth at a different time. I probably would have been lynched for being a witch (for my sinister handedness alone), thrown into a mental institution (which were hell-holes themselves back in the day), or would have become some sort of mass murderer (the misogyny would have gotten to me eventually). I'm perfectly happy to live in 2011, without the Mr. Darcys, the knights in shining armor, and the theory of wandering womb syndrome.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
What Marriage is Really Like
After reading several blogs that portray marriage as nauseatingly idyllic and husbands as perfectly adorable and righteous beings, I have decided to set the record straight. The following is a factual story from my life. In "choose your own adventure" style, I have written two endings. One is the actual ending to my tale, while the other is a tweaked version in the style of these other blogs. See if you can tell which is which.
The other day I was laying in my bed attempting to read a classic novel on an iphone. This was proving somewhat difficult, and so I adjusted the substandard, oddly large and square pillow provided in our furnished apartment here in Germany (I forgot my Tempur-Pedic pillow of the gods at home; my mom sent it to me forever ago and I'm starting to fear it has been lost in transit. Sob). As I did so I found, to my horror, that there was a big squashed bug underneath said substandard pillow! Such an experience would be awful enough for the average person; I, however, have especial reason to panic.
When I was around twelve years of age, I found myself in a similar situation. I was laying in bed reading a book (this is one of my favorite pastimes). I noticed there were some short, bent-looking hairs on either side of my pillow. I gingerly lifted my pillow to find none other than an enormous flattened daddy long-leg spider! What I had perceived to be hairs were actually detached spider legs! Lots of screaming and hand-wringing ensued. For years to come, even after the pillowcase was banished and the sheets washed, I never moved my pillow to reveal the fateful spot, and never let my feet touch the corresponding area at the bottom of the sheet, just in case it had been put on the other way. Obsessive-compulsive disorderly behavior? Perhaps. Suffice it to say one day I got new sheets and felt safe again.
Ending One: I rushed to my fearless knight in shinning armor, who proceeded too hold me in his arms and quiet all my fears. He then attacked the offending insect with a tissue {he's so smart like that!}, and that night he went without a pillow and we fell asleep cuddling on his side of the bed {but not before reading scriptures and having personal AND family prayer because we're way spirchul}. Isn't he the BEST husband EVER?!?! We're SO in LOVE. The next morning I washed the sheets because, duh, that's women's work! Luv him!
Ending Two: Having grown up just a bit, there was no screaming or hand-wringing. There was, however, a sharp intake of breath and a rush to big, strong, husband man. He, having been asleep, was not thrilled by his awakening and did not see the dire nature of the situation. He promptly flicked the bug onto the ground and told me I was being ridiculous. I did not appreciate this reaction. I asked him would he at least trade pillows with me? This request was met with equal derision (at this very moment he is making the noise of "bugs crawling over your face at night" for my listening pleasure). Feeling slighted and as though my supposed lover did not care about my feelings, I proceeded to sulk for the rest of the day (immature? Yes. This is what happens when you get married at 21). At long last, he relented and traded pillows with me, but not without that "this is insane" attitude.
Ah, marital bliss. Can you tell which is the true story?
The other day I was laying in my bed attempting to read a classic novel on an iphone. This was proving somewhat difficult, and so I adjusted the substandard, oddly large and square pillow provided in our furnished apartment here in Germany (I forgot my Tempur-Pedic pillow of the gods at home; my mom sent it to me forever ago and I'm starting to fear it has been lost in transit. Sob). As I did so I found, to my horror, that there was a big squashed bug underneath said substandard pillow! Such an experience would be awful enough for the average person; I, however, have especial reason to panic.
When I was around twelve years of age, I found myself in a similar situation. I was laying in bed reading a book (this is one of my favorite pastimes). I noticed there were some short, bent-looking hairs on either side of my pillow. I gingerly lifted my pillow to find none other than an enormous flattened daddy long-leg spider! What I had perceived to be hairs were actually detached spider legs! Lots of screaming and hand-wringing ensued. For years to come, even after the pillowcase was banished and the sheets washed, I never moved my pillow to reveal the fateful spot, and never let my feet touch the corresponding area at the bottom of the sheet, just in case it had been put on the other way. Obsessive-compulsive disorderly behavior? Perhaps. Suffice it to say one day I got new sheets and felt safe again.
Ending One: I rushed to my fearless knight in shinning armor, who proceeded too hold me in his arms and quiet all my fears. He then attacked the offending insect with a tissue {he's so smart like that!}, and that night he went without a pillow and we fell asleep cuddling on his side of the bed {but not before reading scriptures and having personal AND family prayer because we're way spirchul}. Isn't he the BEST husband EVER?!?! We're SO in LOVE. The next morning I washed the sheets because, duh, that's women's work! Luv him!
Ending Two: Having grown up just a bit, there was no screaming or hand-wringing. There was, however, a sharp intake of breath and a rush to big, strong, husband man. He, having been asleep, was not thrilled by his awakening and did not see the dire nature of the situation. He promptly flicked the bug onto the ground and told me I was being ridiculous. I did not appreciate this reaction. I asked him would he at least trade pillows with me? This request was met with equal derision (at this very moment he is making the noise of "bugs crawling over your face at night" for my listening pleasure). Feeling slighted and as though my supposed lover did not care about my feelings, I proceeded to sulk for the rest of the day (immature? Yes. This is what happens when you get married at 21). At long last, he relented and traded pillows with me, but not without that "this is insane" attitude.
Ah, marital bliss. Can you tell which is the true story?
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Thank You Autotune
If you shift your gaze upward a couple inches, you will see that I have found a sufficiently pithy phrase to go underneath my blog title! It is a quotation from the fabulous Madonna episode of the hit television show Glee. To those of you who are judging me for watching such a depraved show, know that I even watch it on Sundays! Gasp! Yes, it is depraved, but it also has fantastic music and hilarious one liners. Therefore I deem it to be a pleasant way to pass the time. Plus, as I was the most celibate teenager on the planet, I find the subject matter of Glee particularly interesting by comparison. Yesterday, while Husband and I were having an epic Glee marathon (aka laying around in our jammies all day watching reruns and gorging ourselves on Oreos and root beer [good old Amurrcan food]), we stumbled upon this awesome phrase and decided we needed to call attention to it somehow. So now it is my blog's subtitle. I hope, by and by, the content of my blog will do it justice.
Speaking of Glee, I have been meaning to write about this topic since my blog's inception: autotuning. I have heard many a music enthusiast deride autotuning as a disgrace to music and a slap in the face to truly talented musicians. The argument is that by digitally altering singers' voices to hit every note perfectly, vocalists appear more talented than they actually are. Make no mistake; this argument has truth to it. Autotuning is used to catapult semi-talented yet highly marketable individuals to fame. My question is, why is this a problem? Let's face it, marketability will win out over talent every time (think Milli Vanilli, every season of American Idol, etc.). But with autotuning, my ears don't have to suffer for it. Reader, I'm going to be frank, at the risk of sounding conceited. I am musically gifted. I know when something's in tune and when it's not. And when it's not, I may become uncomfortable. Thanks to autotuning, when I watch my beloved Glee, my ears are not assaulted by ill-sounding chords or poor intonation. Every song is absolutely flawless. It's incredible. We use technology to enhance every aspect of our lives. Why not this one as well?
Plus, autotuning resulted in this gem:
So here's to autotuning: my impeccable pitch thanks you.
Speaking of Glee, I have been meaning to write about this topic since my blog's inception: autotuning. I have heard many a music enthusiast deride autotuning as a disgrace to music and a slap in the face to truly talented musicians. The argument is that by digitally altering singers' voices to hit every note perfectly, vocalists appear more talented than they actually are. Make no mistake; this argument has truth to it. Autotuning is used to catapult semi-talented yet highly marketable individuals to fame. My question is, why is this a problem? Let's face it, marketability will win out over talent every time (think Milli Vanilli, every season of American Idol, etc.). But with autotuning, my ears don't have to suffer for it. Reader, I'm going to be frank, at the risk of sounding conceited. I am musically gifted. I know when something's in tune and when it's not. And when it's not, I may become uncomfortable. Thanks to autotuning, when I watch my beloved Glee, my ears are not assaulted by ill-sounding chords or poor intonation. Every song is absolutely flawless. It's incredible. We use technology to enhance every aspect of our lives. Why not this one as well?
Plus, autotuning resulted in this gem:
So here's to autotuning: my impeccable pitch thanks you.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Amurrca the Beautiful
I really like writing posts in list form. So here's another one. You're welcome.
Last Saturday I went to an early 4th of July celebration at the Vogelweh army base in western Germany. We went there to visit Husband's aunt and uncle and their four kids, who are stationed here. What better place to celebrate Independence Day while in Germany than a United States military base? It was like an oasis of American culture in a desert of Germanity. Seeing all the stuff I've been missing has made me realize just how much I love "Amurrca". I have compiled is a list of reasons I'm proud to be an Amurrcan, in light of my recent experiences:
1. Food is cheaper and comes in bigger quantities in America. I've never been an "I break for Costco" kind of person, but our current state of poverty has shown me the virtues of buying in bulk. Our charitable relatives took us to the Commissary, the American grocery store on the base. It was like Christmas had come early. We ran from aisle to aisle, collecting as much nonperishable food as we could carry. This included huge cans of fruit, four packs of Kraft macaroni and cheese, a 12-pack of root beer, Craisins! and several jars of real salsa (as opposed to the German version, which is basically ketchup with chili powder in it). We peed our pants when we found the enormous jars of peanut butter (due to the prevalence of Nutella, peanut butter is virtually extinct here. We have found this to be problematic as PB&Js are pretty much the only thing we can afford these days). There's no such thing as a gallon of milk in Germany, and the rare package of Oreos contains a mere sixteen cookies within. Apparently Germans are used to going grocery shopping every day. This does not suit me, not only because it reeks of inefficiency, but also because we live at the top of a very steep hill and the only way to the top (for us car-less folk) is on foot. Hopefully the substantial amount of food we purchased will last us for the rest of our time in Germany! Okay, that's exceedingly optimistic. Especially considering that we ate half a package of Oreos just on the drive home.
2. In the U.S. everybody realizes that smoking kills. I have observed the most peculiar phenomenon here in Germany. Yes, the prevalence of cigarette smoking is high, but that's not the strange part. The strange part is that the people smoking are young adults. You'd think the only people smoking would be those older individuals who just never managed to kick the habit. But the number of young people smoking suggests that German youth either don't know or don't care about the risks of smoking. Doesn't everyone have at least one grandparent who died of lung cancer due to a smoking habit? I have two. I just don't understand it. Oh yeah, I'm tempted by fancy cocktails and wines, but smoking is one activity in which I have absolutely no desire to participate; this includes the second-hand variety, which I've been inhaling a lot of lately. So it was nice to get away from the unending cloud of smoke for a while. I smelled all of one cigarette at Vogelweh. It was heavenly.
3. We do not tolerate graffiti in the U.S. In this neck of the woods graffiti is viewed as self-expression. I'm all for self-expression, but please do it on your own property. My heart breaks a little bit every time I see an ancient, historical building desecrated with spray paint. I will admit that the graffiti is quite well-done here in Jena. Graffiti artists strategically tag around words and signs, making sure not to cover up important messages. Some taggers even employ stencils in their craft. I'm partial to a widely-used stencil that depicts busts of two bearded, early modern-day prophet-looking men with the words "boys in the hood are always hard" underneath them (oddly, a ton of the graffiti is in English). That said, it still makes our quaint town look trashy. So it was nice to get away from that for a while. Of course there was no graffiti on the base, and I don't remember seeing any in the surrounding area either. This is probably because the area is largely inhabited by American military personnel. While with our relatives, we also visited this awesome touristy town called Cochem, in the Mosel river valley. It boasts an incredible castle on a hill in the middle of the town. You better believe there was not a trace of graffiti there. It's beautiful hamlets like Cochem that make me realize just how visually unappealing Jena is in many places. Decrepit buildings may be charming, but adding graffiti to them makes them look slummy. Legal graffiti is an acceptable art form, but I fully support the practice of destroying misdemeanorly art that we employ in the States.
4. America really is a melting pot. From the second I walked on the base, I realized that I had been missing the diversity that we enjoy in the U.S. And this is coming from someone who has lived in Utah for the past four years. It was so refreshing to see an even mix of all different races. There were Hispanic kids playing with Asian kids, interracial couples with their halfie children, and even some Polynesian people! My favorite moment of the whole day occurred when a funny little black boy approached an elderly Asian couple and started making silly faces at them. The Asian couple laughed, the boy laughed, and I wept with patriotism. I knew I would never see that in Jena.
5. We have a dang good national anthem. On a seriously patriotic note, I was touched to watch all the military people stand at attention while "The Star Spangled Banner" played before the fireworks show. I particularly enjoyed watching one man try to look solemn and reverent while simultaneously attempting to discipline his rowdy kids. While I stood there, I thought of how the national anthem plays at BYU every evening while the flag is retired. You're supposed to stop walking and talking until it's done. Whenever I have the misfortune of being outside during this occurrence, I usually keep walking to my destination and try to avoid the judgmental glances coming my way. I don't hate America, but I feel like people who stop and gaze misty-eyed in the general direction of the flag are just doing it for show. I don't need to prove my patriotism to anyone. And yet I'm writing a blog post about it. Anway, when I stood for the national anthem at Vogelweh, it was not for show. Something about being out of the good old US of A has made me realize that I really am a patriot. I'm exceedingly grateful that I hail from the sweet land of liberty. I'm still not going to stop for the national anthem at BYU, though.
God bless Amurrca. I miss you.
Last Saturday I went to an early 4th of July celebration at the Vogelweh army base in western Germany. We went there to visit Husband's aunt and uncle and their four kids, who are stationed here. What better place to celebrate Independence Day while in Germany than a United States military base? It was like an oasis of American culture in a desert of Germanity. Seeing all the stuff I've been missing has made me realize just how much I love "Amurrca". I have compiled is a list of reasons I'm proud to be an Amurrcan, in light of my recent experiences:
1. Food is cheaper and comes in bigger quantities in America. I've never been an "I break for Costco" kind of person, but our current state of poverty has shown me the virtues of buying in bulk. Our charitable relatives took us to the Commissary, the American grocery store on the base. It was like Christmas had come early. We ran from aisle to aisle, collecting as much nonperishable food as we could carry. This included huge cans of fruit, four packs of Kraft macaroni and cheese, a 12-pack of root beer, Craisins! and several jars of real salsa (as opposed to the German version, which is basically ketchup with chili powder in it). We peed our pants when we found the enormous jars of peanut butter (due to the prevalence of Nutella, peanut butter is virtually extinct here. We have found this to be problematic as PB&Js are pretty much the only thing we can afford these days). There's no such thing as a gallon of milk in Germany, and the rare package of Oreos contains a mere sixteen cookies within. Apparently Germans are used to going grocery shopping every day. This does not suit me, not only because it reeks of inefficiency, but also because we live at the top of a very steep hill and the only way to the top (for us car-less folk) is on foot. Hopefully the substantial amount of food we purchased will last us for the rest of our time in Germany! Okay, that's exceedingly optimistic. Especially considering that we ate half a package of Oreos just on the drive home.
2. In the U.S. everybody realizes that smoking kills. I have observed the most peculiar phenomenon here in Germany. Yes, the prevalence of cigarette smoking is high, but that's not the strange part. The strange part is that the people smoking are young adults. You'd think the only people smoking would be those older individuals who just never managed to kick the habit. But the number of young people smoking suggests that German youth either don't know or don't care about the risks of smoking. Doesn't everyone have at least one grandparent who died of lung cancer due to a smoking habit? I have two. I just don't understand it. Oh yeah, I'm tempted by fancy cocktails and wines, but smoking is one activity in which I have absolutely no desire to participate; this includes the second-hand variety, which I've been inhaling a lot of lately. So it was nice to get away from the unending cloud of smoke for a while. I smelled all of one cigarette at Vogelweh. It was heavenly.
3. We do not tolerate graffiti in the U.S. In this neck of the woods graffiti is viewed as self-expression. I'm all for self-expression, but please do it on your own property. My heart breaks a little bit every time I see an ancient, historical building desecrated with spray paint. I will admit that the graffiti is quite well-done here in Jena. Graffiti artists strategically tag around words and signs, making sure not to cover up important messages. Some taggers even employ stencils in their craft. I'm partial to a widely-used stencil that depicts busts of two bearded, early modern-day prophet-looking men with the words "boys in the hood are always hard" underneath them (oddly, a ton of the graffiti is in English). That said, it still makes our quaint town look trashy. So it was nice to get away from that for a while. Of course there was no graffiti on the base, and I don't remember seeing any in the surrounding area either. This is probably because the area is largely inhabited by American military personnel. While with our relatives, we also visited this awesome touristy town called Cochem, in the Mosel river valley. It boasts an incredible castle on a hill in the middle of the town. You better believe there was not a trace of graffiti there. It's beautiful hamlets like Cochem that make me realize just how visually unappealing Jena is in many places. Decrepit buildings may be charming, but adding graffiti to them makes them look slummy. Legal graffiti is an acceptable art form, but I fully support the practice of destroying misdemeanorly art that we employ in the States.
4. America really is a melting pot. From the second I walked on the base, I realized that I had been missing the diversity that we enjoy in the U.S. And this is coming from someone who has lived in Utah for the past four years. It was so refreshing to see an even mix of all different races. There were Hispanic kids playing with Asian kids, interracial couples with their halfie children, and even some Polynesian people! My favorite moment of the whole day occurred when a funny little black boy approached an elderly Asian couple and started making silly faces at them. The Asian couple laughed, the boy laughed, and I wept with patriotism. I knew I would never see that in Jena.
5. We have a dang good national anthem. On a seriously patriotic note, I was touched to watch all the military people stand at attention while "The Star Spangled Banner" played before the fireworks show. I particularly enjoyed watching one man try to look solemn and reverent while simultaneously attempting to discipline his rowdy kids. While I stood there, I thought of how the national anthem plays at BYU every evening while the flag is retired. You're supposed to stop walking and talking until it's done. Whenever I have the misfortune of being outside during this occurrence, I usually keep walking to my destination and try to avoid the judgmental glances coming my way. I don't hate America, but I feel like people who stop and gaze misty-eyed in the general direction of the flag are just doing it for show. I don't need to prove my patriotism to anyone. And yet I'm writing a blog post about it. Anway, when I stood for the national anthem at Vogelweh, it was not for show. Something about being out of the good old US of A has made me realize that I really am a patriot. I'm exceedingly grateful that I hail from the sweet land of liberty. I'm still not going to stop for the national anthem at BYU, though.
God bless Amurrca. I miss you.
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