Emily's Random Stories

At the Library:

Carrot top boy: "Emilia, how art thou?"

External Emily: "verily well, I do indeed have the Latin book you seek."

Inward Emily: I have long dreamed of this day when I will be spoken to in a manner befitting a young woman belonging to a novel. Only at this school. I love my life.

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Note to self: avoid sitting next to Jason of the golden locks. (Okay, fine, that was a bad reference to Jason and the golden fleece, I don't know why I thought that would work. It was funny in my head.) The fact of the matter is he cannot sit still. Seriously, he's as bad as sitting next to Eli. You would think he would have learned to control the wiggles by this point, but no. Shift, shift, wiggle, wiggle. Sit still Jason. First he was leaning over to my side of the table (and when I say my side, I'm not being selfish, this is a crowded class, there's only so much room at the table. You have to claim your writing space, and that was my writing space) and here's Jason leaning in on that, and suddenly he's rocking back in his chair, then he's chewing on his pen cap, then it's shift, shift, wiggle, wiggle. Inward Emily: No, you cannot elbow Jason and hiss at him like he was your brother. 

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12:33 AM. Emily walking Monica back to her dorm (unrelated note, no she is not wearing a jacket or shoes, but IT'S LIKE TEN FEET, OKAY?)

Emily: "Goodnight, Monica."

Monica: "Goodnight, Emily."

Emily walks back.

Male voice "Sweetheart, you're going to catch your death of cold."

Exterior Emily: "Er, okay. What are you doing still out and about?"

Male voice transforms from creepy to goofy: "The night is still young, the night is still young."

Interior Emily: ARE YOU TRYING TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK? I THOUGHT YOU WERE A REGENCY VILLAIN LURKING IN THE SHADOWS CALLING ME SWEETHEART. SWEETHEART YOURSELF. I JUST ABOUT SWOONED OR STARTED SHRIEKING. NEVER AGAIN. I DON'T CARE THAT IT'S ONLY TEN FEET TO THE OTHER GIRLS DORM. NEVER. AGAIN.

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There I am sitting at my nice little corner desk in the computer lab, typing away, like the good little student that I am, and in walks Jason.

Jason sees Ruby sitting at a computer.

Jason opens his mouth.

Jason proclaims loudly "RUBY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THAT IS MY DESK. I SIT THERE EVERY NIGHT. YOU KNOW I DO. WHY WOULD YOU TAKE MY DESK?"

Emily hums happily to herself: happy little Emily typing away, good little Emily minding her own business, nice little Emily doing lots of work.

Jason turns, sees Emily. "EMILY. YOU SAW ME SITTING THERE LAST NIGHT. TELL HER."

Emily:

Emily:

Interior Emily: Don't you go involving me. I got nuthin' to do with this. Nuthin' at all.

Exterior Emily: "No comment."

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Emily walks into a room and hears uproarious laughter.

Interior Emily: *sniff* Oh the unrestrained vulgarity of the modern age, with it's unrestrained laughter and boisterous common folk. Peasants. 

Emily walks out of the room.

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Emily walking down the dip (the downward path) in the dark:

Upperclassman: "hi Emily."

Exterior Emily: *nods* "Hey."

Interior Emily: WHO ARE YOU? DO I KNOW YOU? HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME? HOW CAN YOU SEE ME? I WALK IN THE DARK, HOW IS IT THAT YOU CAN YOU SEE MY FACE?

#over-analyzing

(I USE THE HASH-TAG IRONICALLY, OKAY?)

Basically, I think the answer is laser vision. Everybody has laser vision but me.
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Emily, musing: "hey, so you know that guy? Of course you know that guy, everybody knows that guy. ANYWAY. I think he's a werewolf. That is, he's not right now, but he has the potential of being one. He looks just like the sort of character in a book that would become one. The solder like coat, the hair that sticks up, the overly large smile when he walks by you. WEREWOLF."
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Dickens Night With Ally

This semester I'm living by a new goal, a goal that corresponds perfectly with this quote:

“Spend your free time the way you like, not the way you think you're supposed to. Stay home on New Year's Eve if that's what makes you happy. Skip the committee meeting. Cross the street to avoid making aimless chitchat with random acquaintances. Read. Cook. Run. Write a story. Make a deal with yourself that you'll attend a set number of social events in exchange for not feeling guilty when you beg off.” 
― Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking

This is not to say I am not planning on pushing myself, I've simply made a resolution to stop pushing myself to the point where I'm unhappy about it. Perhaps that sounds strange, but that's what I did last semester. I was so caught up in the idea that I had to be social, I had to meet people, I had to push myself to be outgoing, extroverted and enjoy myself in doing so, but in the process I lost my sense of perspective. I pushed myself to a point where I came away feeling drained, unhappy, and insecure. 

That is not what your free time should feel like. It is important to set out time to socialize, but only to the extent that you come away feeling refreshed and invigorated. It's also important to set out introvert time. There is a time for visiting, a time for laughter with friends, but there is also a time for quiet, for tea, and for what Jane Austen would call tête–à–tête conversation (the private conversation between two persons), and thus was Dickens night born.

Dickens Night is the night of the week that Ally and I claim our necessary introvert time. We sip tea, we have nice conversations, and we enjoy the quiet. It is dubbed "Dickens Night" in honor of Little Dorrit, which was our excuse for our introvert time. Each night we would watch a couple episodes or so, until we finished the series (which we did a couple of days ago.) and come away feeling ready to dive back into our busy days of socialization with a renewed vigor. Sadly, Little Dorrit ran out of episodes, so Dickens Night is on hold until we proceed with Our Mutual Friend some time next week. It's a nice pattern to have, let me tell you. I get to spend time with Ally, we get our introvert time, and we go to breakfast the next day all ready to make conversation with our fellowman. You see, everyone's happy!

I suppose the thing I want to emphasize in making this post is the importance of carving out introvert time for yourself. It is important to find a time of quiet, a time to recharge. It is important to go with that natural inclination, you will know the right time for quiet and the right time to be social. Go with what makes you happiest. Now, I'm not saying don't push yourself. By all means, go outside your comfort zone, do something bold, bright, courageous, just make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. Don't do it because you think you have to. Don't do it because you're trying to make yourself be like everyone else and enjoying their pleasures and pastimes rather than your own. Do it because you want to.

To finish as a began, with some very nice, very true quotes (in fact you really should read this book. It's very good.)

“The secret to life is to put yourself in the right lighting. For some, it's a Broadway spotlight; for others, a lamplit desk. Use your natural powers -- of persistence, concentration, and insight -- to do work you love and work that matters. Solve problems. make art, think deeply.” 
― Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking

“Spend your free time the way you like, not the way you think you're supposed to.” 
― Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking

Just Another Day in the Life of Emily

It's that time again!

What time?

Story time with Emily! (As you probably know by now that often takes to form of me regaling you with embarrassing stories. Perhaps I find further mortification edifying, perhaps I want to read upon my misfortunes in my old age and weep, perhaps I simply have a strange sense of humor and find myself humorous. There is humor in the ridiculous. Methinks the last explanation comes closest to the truth, but I will leave you to come to your own conclusions.)

As you know, I recently went on a ski trip. The following is a take away story from that trip and I wish you joy in it. Most people when they go skiing tend to have the normal accident stories that go hand and hand with snow sports. "Whoopsy-daisy, I fell down!" That sort of thing. Not Emily. For a good hour and a half I was accident free (surprised? I thought you had more confidence in me than that! Ehem, who am I kidding?) Honestly, I might have been getting a little bit over confident. I hadn't been skiing in three years and I was speeding down the slope with the greatest of ease. I started composing poetry in my head, I started gazing off in the distance dreamily, I started telling myself I was quite the little skier. I should have known it wouldn't last for long. Now, if we are going to take preferences into account, I'd like to state here and now that I would have preferred to have my comeuppance out of the site of man and beast, but then, our preferences in such cases often don't count for much. My story was not a little fall, it was not a little bump, it was not something that people say "Whoopsy-daisy" about. Oh no, when I fall I take out three people in the process. That's just how Emily's roll. (That was a pun, hardy har har, as you will soon see.) That's right I barrel-rolled. And took out three people. Don't forget that fact. I was just minding my own business, skiing along like the little skier I was, and then I came to the chair lift. Now, let it be known, I don't like getting on chair lifts. Anyways, there was a guy from school waiting at the bottom and I went to say hello because I'm polite, or try to be. So after I finished talking to this guy I said in a chipper tone (because I'm a chipper sort of being) "Well, I'll be seeing you, I'm going to go down again!" Little did I know, that he was the one that would be seeing me: barrel-roll under a chair lift. That's right. I misjudged the time. What can I say? I never had a good sense of timing. There were three innocent looking fellows about to get on a chair, I thought I'd get on the next one, I misjudged the time and skied in too fast and knocked them down like bowling pins. (What's ironic about this is that I'm not good at bowling and I get gutter balls more often than not. That is unless I am the bowling ball. My new mantra in life is don't be the bowling ball. Be anything but the bowling ball. Just don't be the bowling ball.) So the chaps went down, I rolled, I apologized profusely (probably a bit too much, in fact), and now I'm wondering how I can avoid the group of people from school who witnessed the incident for the rest of my college career.

But really, skiing was amazing. I want to go again. Nobody can say I'm not resilient.

My other random story for today is to comment on the young man who walked past the library desk while I was working last night. I don't think you understand, Sir, the complete in-decorum of singing that particular Seven Brides for Seven Brothers song in public. I realize it's a catchy tune, but you might want to remember that there are young ladies present and it might come as quite a shock to one of them to suddenly hear "Bless your beautiful hide wherever you may be..." (you know the rest) sung in a deep voice as you wander your way through the library. Just a suggestion, don't take Adam as a role model. Things turned out for him, but he was very lucky. Very lucky indeed. 

Sunday Morning at College

Sunday mornings at college are lovely. Of course, they still make me a bit homesick, because I miss the Sunday routine at home: going to Mass with my family and then donuts and coffee on the way home. (Yes, I know, Mom, you're shaking your head at me while reading this and reminding me that I romanticize it and that Jack and Riley are in the backseat poking each other with chocolatey fingers, but I'm going to insist that I miss that too. Call me crazy.) Anyway, there's something lovely about the Sunday morning routine here too. I love being able to walk to Mass in the morning. It's one of my favorite things about this campus. I can get up, get ready, put on my coat (and hat and mittens and don't forget the scarf! It's cold here.) and walk down the winding little path, over the little bridge and into our beautiful chapel. (you see? I romanticize everything. I could have described it as an ice cold walk where my fingers turn purple and I start panting like a little puppy- but I won't. I'm going to describe the cold as invigorating.)

Our chapel is beautiful here, and Sunday Mass is the best because the choir sings. Their voices are like angles from above. (That includes Monica. I have such talented friends.)

Another thing I like about Sundays here is brunch. (Not for the food, never for the food) but for the company. I love the atmosphere of Sunday brunch, visiting with people over coffee (Did I mention I always bring my French Press down to the commons for Sunday? I refuse to drink commons coffee because I am a coffee snob and so I bring my own coffee. Aren't I a hipster?) and talking about Aristotle's definition of friendship. Yes, that's the thing I like most about brunch here, it's perfectly normal to jump into a conversation where everyone's arguing wholeheartedly about different interpretations that could be taken from Aristotle. See, that's the thing about Christendom. Everyday life is an education. Education is not restricted to the classroom, or to studying, it stealthily steeps into every conversation. We're growing in our ability not only to think, but to really truly converse. It's so sad looking at people today and seeing how very few truly know what it is to have a good conversation. Conversation tends to be restricted to people, to gossip, and it should be filled with ideas. (I am so sorry for the amount of parenthesis and italics I'm using tonight. I don't know what's happening, other than I feel like I'm whispering when I use parenthesis and sometimes things need extra emphasis.) It's good to have friendships and acquaintanceships  (I don't think that's a word, but I'm using it) with people who want to discuss ideas. It's good to sit down and find yourself in a heated argument about the definition of friendship, which suddenly turns into a sidetracked conversation about Disney music, and then goes back to friendship.

Sunday mornings at college are lovely.

Adventure is Out There

In about an hour I'm leaving on a trip to go skiing. Perhaps I should spend this hour doing something productive (in other words, studying) but the sudden impulse has filled me to write a quick blog post. I've been meaning to sit down and write one ever since last Sunday (I actually do have a more formal one planned, something on the topic of Springtime and new life, but that would involve sitting down and concentrating, and transferring the picture I took from my camera- anyway, you know how it goes.)

I'm really excited to be going skiing though. Not only is skiing something I love, but I feel like I'm going on an adventure, and that's a pleasant feeling, indeed. In Padre's class he often goes on mini rants about what students spend their free time doing. I actually love when Padre goes on one of his rants about that, because there's so much truth to it. There was a Latin phrase that he had us write down in our notebooks (and I would replicate it here but I'm not a Latin scholar and I don't have my notebook with me) but it essentially meant 'work and play hard.' Something along those lines. It's just so true. So much of our time we spend passively doing things, part studying, part procrastinating, part socializing, but never giving our all to any of it, and that's not the way it should be. We should be on fire. When we study we should give our whole mind and heart to what we're working on, when we play it should be to do something memorable and lasting, unlike passively watching movies that you don't even really care about.

That's what I feel like I'm doing today. This is a memorable adventure, it's going out and doing something lasting and worthwhile, with people of my community at college. It's doing something active, exciting and meaningful. Tomorrow I'll be devoting my morning to studying hard, and today I'm going to do something fun.

Emily out.

Longer post later.

Change

Hello blog dear, I've been away. I suppose that's part of being at college though, you will have to bear with me as I neglect but never forget you. So, before I get too caught up in mindless babbling, let us begin with the actual topic of this post. (Yes, half of it will probably be babbling, because that is what I do best.)

The other night I was noticing all the quotes that people had put up in the hallway of my dorm. It's interesting what you can learn about people from the quotes they select and display. To put it into a mildly sentimental sentence- you could say quotes are like windows into the soul. (See, I warned you it was a sentimental sounding sentence!) Anyway, the night I was walking past the one that caught my eye was one by Scott Fitzgerald: "It’s a funny thing about coming home. Looks the same, smells the same, feels the same. You realize what has changed is you." 

It's one of those quotes that gets you to musing. I've been thinking about how true it is, but not just from home. (Actually, I don't really find it relevant with home at all. At least, not to the point where it is worth mentioning, because home is a different story altogether.) Particularly I find this quote relevant in my relations with college dorms. I guess it stands out to me because with college there are all these funny transitions with breaks and what-not, where you are separated from what becomes your daily life, and then you are thrown back into it, and everything is the same, but so different. The things that are the same are the laundry hamper, the blankets on your bed, the pictures on the wall, but most especially the daily routine you fall into of trudging down the hall at exactly the same time every morning. Everything looks, smells, and feels the same, it's the same routine that became so habitual last semester, but even though there is all that sameness there is so much different.

It's just a very fascinating thing to think about because it's very rare that you get to have such a close observation of your own change. I feel like that is put badly, but I don't know how else to word it. See, we're constantly in a state of change, a state of growth, and whether we're growing in good habits or bad ones there is still always that sense of change. Normally we can't pick out that change in ourselves, because it happens so gradually, but with going away to school and coming back it's easier to pick out little things that you feel differently about even from break to break.

Even in our relations with other people there is that sense of change in yourself. I'm going to school with exactly the same people that I started out the first semester with back in August, and yet my knowledge of all of them is so different. This is something I've thought a lot about, because you can look back at all those first impressions you had and realize how different people are from what you first thought them at introduction. Maybe that change is in you, maybe it is them, maybe (and this is most likely) both. Oddly enough, this topic goes quite well with what we're talking about in my Philosophy of Human Nature course. We've just started to delve into talking about what constitutes nature, but one of the first things we've talked about is how something that distinguishes things that are constituted by nature from those that are not is the impulse towards change and growth.

Long story short, isn't it funny, that feeling of sameness and difference? To look at something and remember exactly how you felt when you beheld it for the first time, and at the same time be looking at it through different eyes and with different understanding.

Philosophy and Jane Austen

Beware, the following post may get a bit involved and lengthy, but it's a post I've been meaning to write up since mid-semester last year. Dedicated to my darling Dr. Cuddeback companion: the lovely Alexandra.

In Philosophy class Alex and I like to make connections to Jane Austen. That's just what Austenites do. If something is worth mentioning, it is worth mentioning with reference to our noble patroness. So naturally, when we got to the part of the class where we talked about Plato's Allegory of the Cave, we looked at it in the eyes of dedicated Austenites and drew a most brilliant connection. For the purpose of this post I must first make some explanation of what the Allegory of the Cave is all about, however, and as I don't feel up to the task myself I have found a brief (yes, this is the briefest one I could find) explanation of it. (You'll thank me later, if I put this into my own words you would find yourself in the greatest muddle.)

The Allegory of the Cave

1. Plato realizes that the general run of humankind can think, and speak, etc., without (so far as they acknowledge) any awareness of his realm of Forms.
2. The allegory of the cave is supposed to explain this.
3. In the allegory, Plato likens people untutored in the Theory of Forms to prisoners chained in a cave, unable to turn their heads. All they can see is the wall of the cave. Behind them burns a fire.  Between the fire and the prisoners there is a parapet, along which puppeteers can walk. The puppeteers, who are behind the prisoners, hold up puppets that cast shadows on the wall of the cave. The prisoners are unable to see these puppets, the real objects, that pass behind them. What the prisoners see and hear are shadows and echoes cast by objects that they do not see. Here is an illustration of Plato’s Cave:
4. Such prisoners would mistake appearance for reality. They would think the things they see on the wall (the shadows) were real; they would know nothing of the real causes of the shadows.
5. So when the prisoners talk, what are they talking about? If an object (a book, let us say) is carried past behind them, and it casts a shadow on the wall, and a prisoner says “I see a book,” what is he talking about?He thinks he is talking about a book, but he is really talking about a shadow. But he uses the word “book.” What does that refer to?
   
6. Plato gives his answer at line (515b2). The text here has puzzled many editors, and it has been frequently emended. The translation in Grube/Reeve gets the point correctly:

   “And if they could talk to one another, don’t you think they’d suppose that the names they used applied to the things they see passing before them?”

7. Plato’s point is that the prisoners would be mistaken. For they would be taking the terms in their language to refer to the shadows that pass before their eyes, rather than (as is correct, in Plato’s view) to the real things that cast the shadows.If a prisoner says “That’s a book” he thinks that the word “book” refers to the very thing he is looking at. But he would be wrong. He’s only looking at a shadow. The real referent of the word “book” he cannot see. To see it, he would have to turn his head around. (http://faculty.washington.edu/smcohen/320/cave.htm)

So basically, there are several levels of knowledge. There is the looking at shadows and believing them to be reality, there is the turning your head and seeing the shadows for what they are, there is the emerging from the cave and seeing reality (but after being in the cave so long your eyes are going to be blinded by the light and you aren't going to grasp it all) and then there is the moment where your eyes have adjusted and you finally take it all in. 

Now comes the moment where I get to explain our Jane Austen comparison. 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that there are many different kinds of Jane Austen fans, and there are many different levels of comprehension for her work. These levels of comprehension correspond with the levels of knowledge. So first we have, what I will call the

LOST IN AUSTEN FANGIRL

She professes to be Jane Austen's biggest fan. She proclaims she has read Jane Austen's books so many times she has lost track (please note, she only ever mentions Pride and Prejudice.) She talks about how she dreams of living in the regency era (and yet, she has practically speaking no knowledge of how to survive in that time period) The fact of the matter is that the Lost in Austen fangirl talks about being obsessed with Jane Austen but what she's really obsessed with is Colin Firth in a wet shirt. Example A.

If you've seen Lost in Austen you will know what I'm talking about..

By this time you can probably guess what level of knowledge I'm drawing this comparison to. The Lost in Austen fangirl is like the person absorbed with the shadows on the wall. They see, but they do not see. They cannot get past Mr. Darcy in the wet shirt, and they cannot get past the shadows of what is there to be seen. It is a superficial knowledge, a knowledge that does not get past the very cover of things.

We then proceed to the second level.

THE BBC PRIDE AND PREJUDICE FANGIRL

This fangirl watches the BBC adaption of Pride and Prejudice on repeat. She adores everything about it. Now, don't get me wrong, the BBC adaption is the best of all adaptions. It is the one that comes closest to capturing the essence of the story, but in this fangirl there's still a lot of obsession with Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy.

Then we have:

THE FIRST TIME READER

Now, I don't know about you, but the first time I read Pride and Prejudice I just thought of it as a ripping good story. I wasn't looking for deeper meanings, themes, or motifs, I was just enjoying it for the storyline. It amused me and I laughed with the characters but it didn't lead me to deep arduous contemplation on humanity or human nature. You see the reality, but it's too bright to take everything in.

last but not least we have:

THE DEVOTED AUSTENITE

The one who read Jane Austen and see all that is there. They who look beyond the portrayal of the characters from movie adaptions, beyond the story itself, and look for the world as seen through Jane Austen's eyes. This is the reader who is trying to learn from what is written, finding depth and finding meaning. 

In short, this has been a comparison between the different levels of comprehension in the Jane Austen reader, and Plato's Allegory of the cave.