Lent has ended.
I wish I could say I found the experience enlightening or fulfilling but the truth is: I didn't. I found the whole affair frustrating and unnerving. I don't feel as if I've actually learned or accomplished anything meaningful that will help me with anything (or even help me grow as a person). Maybe all that was accomplished was a slight form of suffering and sacrifice but is that really an accomplishment, per se?
My moral fiber remains as it has always been; little has changed in regards to spirituality, and I guess my patience however shaken it was, remains steadfast.
Perhaps because I'm not an actual Catholic, I did not gain anything from this experience. My reasoning for attempting Lent, despite not being a Catholic, was that I thought it was unfair that my Catholic friends had to make sacrifices while I got to strut around free from guilt and sacrifice, as I don't belong to any particular religious organization. I figured I'd show solidarity by giving up two things that are almost intrinsic to me: swearing and drinking. More swearing than drinking; although, I was faced with a constant supply of alcohol (read: I was surrounded by beer every day for about 3 weeks straight).
It was very difficult because I was always on the edge of just saying, "nuts to this" and surrendering ahead of schedule. I should mention, however, that I failed a handful of times. I swore out of great frustration, and drank (once). I don't know how to justify the drinking so I won't even try. I did feel an enormous amount of guilt when I did these things but consulted a friend who said to just start over and not to do it again.
I was perplexed because I figured there'd be some sort of ritual required for atonement whenever one slipped up. I really am not familiar with Catholicism other than the stuff I hear from friends during rare/sporadic discussions of faith. I was baptized when I was 2 or 3 but that doesn't mean I can recite fundamental/important tenets and such. And despite my ancestors being Catholics (thanks, Cortez), I know little about the whole thing. I do have my opinions, but they are rather undercooked and thus need more knowledge before they can be shared without coming off as banal and dim or appallingly ghastly in their foul nature. (I ain't too learned in these here Catholic ways to sound like one of them folks with eloquent opinions an' such. I'd be talkin' like of them other fools! Ah-hyuk!)
That same friend also told me that you can take Sundays off when I said that I had finished Lent (when it fact it wouldn't be over for another few days).
"I did 40 days, it's over." I said, breathing a sigh of relief and itching to get back to swearing regularly.
"It's over on Easter, dummy." he chuckled.
"But it's been 40 days." I said, perplexed.
"You take Sundays off." he said, in a nonchalant yet matter-of-fact way.
"You mean I could have been swearing and drinking on the Sabbath?!" I asked, almost outraged but more stupefied.
"Hahahaha yeah!" he responded, coolly.
Hmm.
Maybe I did learn something: research things thoroughly beforehand. Whether or not I apply acquired knowledge is a question that can only be answered by time.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Smiling Passports
This is the first entry of that series about fortune cookie fortunes. I suppose this initial entry should serve as a prologue, obviously. What I guess I'll do is:
• scan and upload the fortune itself, type what it says (if the image doesn't load for whatever reason)
• give some background- where I ate, what I ate, how was it, etc
• present my reaction, thoughts, interpreted meaning (if any) and that should suffice.
I should point out that I may not always remember what I ate or where. There may be an indicator on the fortune- it may say Panda Express, for example. The title of these entries will most likely come from the fortune itself or a variation.
It's all pretty self-explanatory, isn't it?
Right.
Let's get started.
Whenever I go out for Chinese food, I eat the food first and save the fortune cookie for last. Because that's just how I roll. One time someone asked me why I hadn't eaten my fortune cookie and I simply said that I like to save it for last. He in a rather strange way said, "Because you don't want bad luck?" almost sneering. I shrugged it off because it didn't affect me; he made himself look like an ass.
For this first entry... I don't remember what I ate. I ate at place that's about a mile or two from where I live. The place isn't bad, and it gets a fair amount of business from what I can tell. And it should as it is located across the street from a hospital. I'm surprised it's still open given it is also across the street from a McDonald's. That particular McDonald's used to have N64s in its play place. I don't know if they're still there or if they've upgraded to Gamecubes or Wiis but this entry isn't about that McDonald's.
I probably had orange chicken, as I usually do. And beef & broccoli, and something spicy. Because that's how I roll.
A smile is your passport into the hearts of others.
I smirk more than I smile. That's not to say that I don't smile but that I don't smile often. See? Still, I can see where this is going. I keep hearing how smiling actually makes you happy. I'd rather laugh though. Because that includes smiling, laughter, and a good feeling that can extend itself. Once I figure out how to do it, I'll probably start grinning wolfishly like Sam Spade. Let's see what kind of reaction that'll get.
LEARN CHINESE - Boyfriend
男朋友 nan pun yau
Lucky numbers 12, 15, 39, 43, 25, 5
The pronunciation is off, it's missing assisting accent marks. According to Google Translate, at least.
Don't really know what else to say about this side of the fortune. Lucky numbers... for that particular meal?
I don't know why or how I could use this phrase. A more useful phrase would probably be, "May I have some water."
But I don't print these things so I won't knock them too much.
Pretty lackluster first entry but as with all things, these'll improve.
• scan and upload the fortune itself, type what it says (if the image doesn't load for whatever reason)
• give some background- where I ate, what I ate, how was it, etc
• present my reaction, thoughts, interpreted meaning (if any) and that should suffice.
I should point out that I may not always remember what I ate or where. There may be an indicator on the fortune- it may say Panda Express, for example. The title of these entries will most likely come from the fortune itself or a variation.
It's all pretty self-explanatory, isn't it?
Right.
Let's get started.
Whenever I go out for Chinese food, I eat the food first and save the fortune cookie for last. Because that's just how I roll. One time someone asked me why I hadn't eaten my fortune cookie and I simply said that I like to save it for last. He in a rather strange way said, "Because you don't want bad luck?" almost sneering. I shrugged it off because it didn't affect me; he made himself look like an ass.
For this first entry... I don't remember what I ate. I ate at place that's about a mile or two from where I live. The place isn't bad, and it gets a fair amount of business from what I can tell. And it should as it is located across the street from a hospital. I'm surprised it's still open given it is also across the street from a McDonald's. That particular McDonald's used to have N64s in its play place. I don't know if they're still there or if they've upgraded to Gamecubes or Wiis but this entry isn't about that McDonald's.
I probably had orange chicken, as I usually do. And beef & broccoli, and something spicy. Because that's how I roll.
A smile is your passport into the hearts of others.
I smirk more than I smile. That's not to say that I don't smile but that I don't smile often. See? Still, I can see where this is going. I keep hearing how smiling actually makes you happy. I'd rather laugh though. Because that includes smiling, laughter, and a good feeling that can extend itself. Once I figure out how to do it, I'll probably start grinning wolfishly like Sam Spade. Let's see what kind of reaction that'll get.
LEARN CHINESE - Boyfriend
男朋友 nan pun yau
Lucky numbers 12, 15, 39, 43, 25, 5
The pronunciation is off, it's missing assisting accent marks. According to Google Translate, at least.
Don't really know what else to say about this side of the fortune. Lucky numbers... for that particular meal?
I don't know why or how I could use this phrase. A more useful phrase would probably be, "May I have some water."
But I don't print these things so I won't knock them too much.
Pretty lackluster first entry but as with all things, these'll improve.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Granite
Whenever I can't think of anything to write (in the vein of prose or poetry), I will often say to other creative people (or anyone who cares) that I've been in a creative rut for "a few weeks" or "lately". The truth is, I've had an abnormal creative block for about 3 years now. The more creative stuff I write these days is nothing to what I used to be able to write back then. The rate at which I produce stuff these days is chump change compared to then.
A fog of mild but heavy despair sets in over the scribe
I used to be able to come up with lengthy substantial stories on the spot. Or more accurately: ideas and outlines. Things came to me far more easily than they do now. If I were to snap my fingers back then, each snap would generate an idea or two. The triggers for creativity were very sensitive. For instance, I would enter a conversation about musicians that, after a few moments, would spiral into a long narrative about romance and the meaning of life. How long would this narrative be? About 3 or 4 pages, minimum. Approaching 10 or more pages, if I were to actually truly, fully, over-the-top-ly expand on details and such.
It upsets me that my general creativity has been crippled for so long. One can only hope that things return to normal, or a state in which I can produce a greater volume of quality stories with greater ease. While one hopes, I try to do things that could possibly kick-start my creative prowess once more. I read, I scribble ideas and stories, I draw odd shapes and bits and pieces, I listen to music all time, I go hiking and wandering around but whatever it is that is holding a ceiling on my imagination and creativity and such cannot seem to be undone or repaired.
A beam of light shines dimly.
No, I'm not being a jerk who's rubbing his own ego. The truth is that a lot of the stuff you read here (the prose and poetry) is chump change compared to the stuff I used to be able to write. Alas, that stuff disappeared because I wasn't careful when hitting delete. But I've learned my lesson. At least, one would hope. But I have in some way. I back up the stories and poems and such that I want to keep and work in greater detail. Or, at the very least, outline the major details that can bleed the rest of the necessary details. On paper. In pen. Yeah. Feels good.
But it still isn't what I used to be able to conjure up.
Let there be light
I suppose I just need motivation. Yes, I had various sorts of motivation back then. Maybe getting older (even slightly) is taking some sort of toll on me. Maybe I've been exerting my creativity in different ways, ways that are unseen by my own eyes or by my own awareness. Or I'm so focused on other things that I don't notice them. This is quite possible.
Or I'm as equally imaginative today as I was then but I subconsciously focus on quality over quantity giving the illusion that I don't create as much work as I feel is adequate when in fact the prose and poetry are actually substantial and meaty rather than flimsy hors d'oeuvres I may have cranked out with great breezy ease. Or I'm simply just a very vicious critic of my abilities.
The scribe ends this entry.
A fog of mild but heavy despair sets in over the scribe
I used to be able to come up with lengthy substantial stories on the spot. Or more accurately: ideas and outlines. Things came to me far more easily than they do now. If I were to snap my fingers back then, each snap would generate an idea or two. The triggers for creativity were very sensitive. For instance, I would enter a conversation about musicians that, after a few moments, would spiral into a long narrative about romance and the meaning of life. How long would this narrative be? About 3 or 4 pages, minimum. Approaching 10 or more pages, if I were to actually truly, fully, over-the-top-ly expand on details and such.
It upsets me that my general creativity has been crippled for so long. One can only hope that things return to normal, or a state in which I can produce a greater volume of quality stories with greater ease. While one hopes, I try to do things that could possibly kick-start my creative prowess once more. I read, I scribble ideas and stories, I draw odd shapes and bits and pieces, I listen to music all time, I go hiking and wandering around but whatever it is that is holding a ceiling on my imagination and creativity and such cannot seem to be undone or repaired.
A beam of light shines dimly.
No, I'm not being a jerk who's rubbing his own ego. The truth is that a lot of the stuff you read here (the prose and poetry) is chump change compared to the stuff I used to be able to write. Alas, that stuff disappeared because I wasn't careful when hitting delete. But I've learned my lesson. At least, one would hope. But I have in some way. I back up the stories and poems and such that I want to keep and work in greater detail. Or, at the very least, outline the major details that can bleed the rest of the necessary details. On paper. In pen. Yeah. Feels good.
But it still isn't what I used to be able to conjure up.
Let there be light
I suppose I just need motivation. Yes, I had various sorts of motivation back then. Maybe getting older (even slightly) is taking some sort of toll on me. Maybe I've been exerting my creativity in different ways, ways that are unseen by my own eyes or by my own awareness. Or I'm so focused on other things that I don't notice them. This is quite possible.
Or I'm as equally imaginative today as I was then but I subconsciously focus on quality over quantity giving the illusion that I don't create as much work as I feel is adequate when in fact the prose and poetry are actually substantial and meaty rather than flimsy hors d'oeuvres I may have cranked out with great breezy ease. Or I'm simply just a very vicious critic of my abilities.
The scribe ends this entry.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)