The Wisdom of the Wizard: Albus Dumbledore

"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." - What do we choose in life? What do we pursue? What do we want, and how do we show that to those around us? What do we choose?

"It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be." - How have we changed since we were small? Have we become better people? Have we grown into ourselves, or grown away from ourselves? Who are we now?

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." - Are we living life? Do we brood over dreams or unfulfilled wishes? Do we go out to conquer the world or wait for it to hand us our desires? How do we live?

Guest Blog: To Blog, To Write.

This guest blog is brought to you by Kid In The Front Row, who had some spare time this weekend and wanted to go on tour with his blogging.  Kid is an anonymous film blogger; check out his blog if you're interested.

Why are we blogging? What the heck are we doing and who is listening? We don't really know what we're doing and most of the time we're convinced nobody is listening.

We're always convinced nobody is listening. We write and we write and we write, and no-one pays attention. Even at the Oscars; it's a day for the movie stars. Nobody remembers the writers. They only started remembering Aaron Sorkin after he had a cocaine habit.

It's strange how we take this as a norm. We know that blogging is uncool before we even start. Yet we still do it. It's like when you tell people you're a writer, you may as well have told them you had a one night stand with a chimpanzee. They think you're insane, or dreaming. This wouldn't be a problem except that society doesn't like the insane or the dreaming. But they're everything.

Where does a blog like "My Amphigory" fit in the world? Right now it might only have 10 readers, or 300 readers. And the most it will ever have might be 5000, or 50,000 -- but do those numbers matter? And who are they mattering to? Isn't it just great to be a human being who manages to type out your thoughts and ideas? It's a magnificent thing, and there are so many people doing it. Yet somehow, it's like we're still part of the uncool club. And we feel like we need to write better, and more often; in order to reach a prize. A prize that we don't even know. More readers? Fame? Understanding? Love?

What would happen if society valued its writers more? What if, when telling someone you're a blogger, they instantly gave you a million dollars and invited you onto a morning TV show? What if everyone found you more attractive because of it and your readership grew to ten million? Would it mean more, or less?

When you ask the questions, you realize how insane it is. All that matters is that we're all out there WRITING. Men, women, transgendered people; straight people, gay people, white people, black people, tall people, short people, disabled people, angry people, optimistic people, confused people, lonely people, boring people. At the end of the day; it's fantastic. The human experience is being inked down across the globe, every single second of every single day. And that's enough.

And thinking like that makes me want to worry less about how good my previous blog post was, or how many people will read the next thing I write. Because it's all just part of the fun of exploring who we are and what we feel.

-- KITFR

Running

I just wanted you all to know that I ran three miles today.  For you runners out there that is not a big deal, but up until last October I had never been a runner.  I'm not the world's thinnest person and I have never had any recognizable athletic ability.  I have never been on a sports team.  I don't seek out most (read: any) forms of athletic recreation.  I much prefer watching athletic events to participating in them.  I have asthma, which makes breathing especially difficult when exercising, and I live in a high altitude location where the air is already paper thin.  These limitations make it harder for me to be motivated to work out.  In sum, I am not typically a particularly physically (lots of "ally"s and "arly"s) active person, and certainly not a runner.

But now that has changed.  I ran three miles today!  You can't say you ran three miles and not acknowledge that you're a runner...so I am officially a runner now.  It was a slower-paced run, but I'm proud of myself for not breaking the pace to slow down or walk at all--I kept it constant on the treadmill the whole time.  I have been going regularly to the gym since October and have been training for a 5K.  That is to say, I was not training for a specific 5K, I just wanted to set a goal so I would have more motivation to run.  And now, I can tell you that I can run a 5K.  Yes, technically a 5K is 3.10685596 miles (so says Google), so I can't honestly tell all you literal-minded people that I have run a 5K.  I will run an actual 5K on Monday, though, to prove it to you and to myself.  And if I can do it, anyone (who doesn't have leg injuries/problems) can do it!  You just have to start small and push yourself a little further every day until you reach your goal.

My new goal is a 10K.  Bold?  Perhaps.  But I know that if I have gone this far, I can go that far again.  And I feel like building up from a 5K to a 10K will not be as hard as it was going from having difficulty running around the block to running a 5K.  Going from 2 miles to 3 miles wasn't so bad; what's adding on a few more?  Of course I know it won't be easy, but I know now that it is doable.  I'm not nearly as intimidated by the 10K as I was by the 5K.  I'm glad I'm doing this; I haven't felt good about how I've handled my stewardship over this body the Lord gave me.  I definitely haven't taken care of it, and I don't think that has pleased Him.  I hope He is pleased with my current efforts to change that and get more in shape!  And who knows?  Maybe a half marathon is in my future, then maybe a full marathon... :-o  But let's not get too ahead of ourselves.  Let's just take this one day and one run at a time.

The Mountain of The Lord

I find myself in a sober, reflecting mood tonight.  I have been pondering a lot lately about what is important and sacred: in particular, the temple.  There are many things that I could say about the temple, and I wrote some of them down, but I think I will say only this: the temple is the house of God, created for the sanctification of His people.  Every time I go I feel great peace, and I know I am where the Lord wants me to be.  He wants us to come unto Him and partake of the sacred ordinances He has made available for us in His house.  I look forward with earnestness to the day when I can go through the rest of the temple, and when I can be sealed in the temple to my husband for time and all eternity.

I've included the lyrics and a link to one of my favorite songs about the temple.  I hope this song brings His Spirit into your life as well.

The Mountain of The Lord (written by Doug Walker, performed by Jenny Jordan Frogley)

There is a place on earth
Where I can touch heaven
Where I can leave the world
Remember who I am
Where I can stand on holy ground
Where peace and comfort can be found
A sacred part of truth restored
There at the Mountain of the Lord

Inside His Holy House
There lies the power to bind
In heaven as on earth
The family of mankind
God’s work on earth and beyond the grave
So many souls He wants to save
I will be part of these truths restored
There at the Mountain of the Lord

So let us go up and He will teach us
    His ways
And we will walk in His paths to the end
    of our days
There is safety inside and power to spare
That comes from the promises we make
    there

If hallowed walls could speak
What scenes have they beheld
Angels and Heavenly Hosts
The Savior, God Himself
Yet to this place He lets me go
Commune with Him and fill my soul
And something strikes a familiar chord
There at the Mountain of the Lord

There at the Mountain of the Lord.


If you would like to know more, go here to learn about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or here to learn more about LDS temples.

Writer's block

You're in a very difficult situation when you have to write for work and you have major writer's block. This isn't even "creative writing", but sociological research. I need to craft a persuasive literature review three weeks ago using a compilation of article summaries/ideas and my own words, but no words will come. I can't even put together logical sentences summarizing the findings of these articles when I have already summarized most of them in outline form. Yet I can knock out a paragraph on here in one minute about how I can't write. Dude. It's probably because I have no desire to write this literature review anyway, except that I like getting paid...

Harry Potter BAFTA and J. K. Rowling

I want to share with you a thought-provoking blogpost by Kid In The Front Row. Enjoy!

The Great Escape from the Freeway at the Wonderland Carnival

You know how sometimes when you wake up from a weird or unsettling dream, you really want to share it with someone but you have a hard time piecing it altogether in a way that makes sense to relate?  That’s where I’m at right now, so I’m typing it.  My friend T told me that if I was looking for blog ideas, I should take inspiration from my subconscious and write down my dreams on my blog, ergo, I’m writing this here and now.  Ed note after writing: You may not find this interesting; I realize now that it was definitely not my most captivating dream.  It is also unfinished—I woke up part of the way through and couldn’t fall back asleep to finish it.  I wonder how it would have resolved.

For the record, I typically have crazy dreams.  I have an overactive imagination, and I think my subconscious tries desperately to make up for my boring life.  Gotta live somehow, right?  When I say I have weird dreams, I mean they are never boring or “regular” stories that could happen in everyday life.  Well, occasionally they are that way.  But most of the time, they are fantastic stories that could only be captured by a book, a movie with awesome special effects, or an episode of one of my TV shows (for example, I’ve dreamed up—literally dreamed—several brilliant ideas for Glee and Bones TV episodes.  I’m sure I could sell these ideas for a small fortune if I wrote them down.).  Bear this in mind while you read the following.

My sister K and I were the only people I know who were in the dream.  I don’t remember how it started, but it seems as though we were at an amusement park/state carnival of sorts, running around and having fun.   We were probably a few years younger; I don’t think K was married.  I’m the youngest, and there are only two years between her and me but four years between her and our older sister C.  Growing up we spent a lot of time running around and participating in various shenanigans together, so it was not surprising that we were doing so in my dream.

K and I decided to get on the freeway to go somewhere.  We got into a convertible (a trashy one, mind you—no rich snobbery for us!) and got on the 10 freeway in California.  If you asked my conscious self where the 10 is in California, I would have no idea and could only tell you that I have been on it once or twice.  But my subconscious is all-knowing, so we were on that freeway.  It was soon after this happened that the scene seemed to change to the state carnival, and I recognized that we had been there the whole time.  The freeway was actually a racetrack for kids, you know, the kind for the toy cars to ride on.  K and I were in one of those toy convertibles (K was driving), and we were small enough to fit yet too large at the same time.  I realized at one point that there seemed to be a tour guide directing us, showing us “the sights” and talking.  These were almost exclusively the car track, which was sometimes like a roller coaster, sometimes like train tracks, sometimes like a kid’s toy car track, and it was mostly enclosed in tunnels with occasional peeking out around corners to see flashes of the park.  The track led progressively higher in elevation, with ups and downs along the way, but it was at least a story or two in the air.  K and I weren’t really paying attention to the tour guide; we were talking and laughing at this or that.

Traffic on this road was pretty congested; we were going very slowly.  Always, we would have a quick spurt of road and then would end up stopped bumper to bumper for a minute while the tour guide showed us something like the inside of the track (It was a terrible tour idea).  But here was the thrill of it: when we would gain a small stretch of road quickly, one or both of us would invariably fall out of the car onto the side, probably because we were too big for the cars and there were no seatbelts anyway.  We would laugh and have to pick ourselves up and get into the car quickly again before traffic cleared and we were to take off again.  It was usually me who fell out, since K was the driver.  I would get back into the car just in time for us to start moving.  Somehow when I got back in the car, I’d fit in the seat again.  It was like I would grow or shrink à la Alice and Wonderland.  It occurred to me that the tour was more like a sadistic game in which the tour guide tried to time the traffic stops just so that we would lose a passenger or two periodically along the way.  The Quillan book of the Pendragon series comes to mind.

One time when I fell out of the car, we had stopped not in a tunnel but in one of those stretches that was open to the world.  As we were high up in the air, I almost fell over the edge and had to hang on for dear life.  K almost got out to help me up, but the stop was shorter than the previous ones and the cars in front of her had already started to move forward.  She looked scared that I wouldn’t make it up, but I somehow climbed back over the edge.  I had just done so when she was forced to move forward by cars behind her and I waved her forward, saying I’d catch up.  (I wonder now if she wasn’t really driving and the cars were automatically moved along the track like most roller coasters.  It’s possible.)  I quickly climbed onto the track hands and knees style, following the cars behind her and hoping I could catch up quickly.  It was a silly hope; they were driving and I was crawling because I was too large to stand up and run.  I seemed to grow larger still, and that slowed me down—maybe being in the car was what allowed me to shrink again, and without that I would grow exponentially.  I was too large and had to squeeze through tunnels Great Escape style, trying in vain to catch up with K and my tour group. 

As I was scrambling and squeezing through the tunnels, I thought maybe I could take a shortcut, but there were all kinds of tracks around us like the real SoCal freeway system.  None of them were clearly marked (figures), so I had no way of jumping onto an unfamiliar part of the 10 freeway in hopes that I would find K there.  I quickly realized I was way too far behind her to catch up now, and I didn’t know what to do.  I jumped off the track and found myself at the beginning of it, but I couldn’t find the end of the track.  I figured I’d just wait at the front of the ride for K to get off and meet me there, but then realized with a panic that I didn’t have my cell phone on me to call or text her.  How would she know where to meet me?  (That was what it was like before we had cell phones.)  I walked around, hoping for her to find me, but I had been walking around for a few hours with no sign of her…maybe something had happened to her?  Maybe she had fallen off and gotten stuck somewhere in a tunnel?  Or maybe she had not been able to find me and couldn’t reach me by phone?  Maybe she had given up on me?

Someone rang our doorbell and I woke up from my Great Escape from the Freeway at the Wonderland Carnival dream, feeling dissatisfied and unresolved.  It was definitely one of those moments where I wanted to go back to sleep to finish my dream, but I couldn’t.  Instead, I lay there with my brow furrowed (ignoring the door) as I tried to figure out what this meant.  I don’t believe dreams are always significant, but I believe they often have aspects that represent feelings or thoughts the dreamer has.  I have my thoughts about this one, but my interpretations are too personal for a public blog.  Think what you will.  I know this was not a very interesting dream—the plot was much less intricate than my usual dreams.  If you’re still reading this now, I apologize, though you’re the one who came to my blog in the first place.  The dream was still puzzling all the same.

Lifelong Imprisonment: the Beast or Gaston?

Watching a good old Disney movie is the perfect thing to do while cleaning: I’ve seen ‘em a million times and I always enjoy them, which makes them great motivators.  So, this afternoon I put on Beauty and the Beast while I was cleaning my room.  I got the DVD for Christmas and this was its maiden voyage.  All in all, it was a successful experience – the movie worked fine and my room is now clean.  Hallelujah.  But this is all background information.

You see, it occurred to me while I was watching the movie that Belle makes two decisions that when put together reveal something very interesting.  At the beginning of the movie, Belle comes to a dark, imposing castle and finds her sick father stuck in a drafty tower.  Seconds later a terrifying, monstrous Beast shows up.  Although there really could be nothing positive about it, she readily agrees to stay in the tower forever as the Beast’s prisoner so that her father can go free.  She is even the one to suggest it and determinedly resigns herself to her sad fate.  The Beast shows none of his hidden softness or kindness in this encounter, and Belle has no idea of what the future will hold, yet she throws away her young life.  Could this be because she really hates her “provincial life” that badly?  No, I think it is because she really wants to protect her father and has faith that the future will turn out for her situation.

At the end of the movie, her father is in another kind of danger.  The people of her town come to lock away her father in an asylum because they think she is crazy.  All of this was orchestrated by Gaston, who tells Belle that if she agrees to marry him then her father will go free.  Belle’s horrified is response is a vehement “Never!”  Is this because her father’s life was more in danger while a prisoner of the Beast than while stuck in the loony bin?  Possibly, but I don’t know about that.  In asylums back then, proper care and medications to sedate violent patients were not available, so he could easily have fallen victim of neglect or violence.  Maybe she responded that way because she had the mirror and thought she could prove her father wasn’t crazy…but I think she was smart enough to realize that no one would listen, especially with Gaston controlling the crowd.  She just had to try.  And even when Gaston gets angry enough that he accuses her of being crazy, too, she doesn’t try to come up with a compromise like agreeing to marry him then if he’ll spare them both of the asylum.  Notice how he doesn’t call her crazy until she doesn’t respond to his accusation that she has feelings for the Beast and she says that Gaston is the true monster.  He accepts that the Beast is real when she reveals him in the mirror, which should mean that her father can go free, since his talk of the Beast is what made them call him crazy in the first place.  But because Belle calls Gaston a monster, his pride is so damaged that he throws both Belle and her father in the prisoner cart.  She could have agreed to marry Gaston to save her father from committal, but lands both of them in the asylum (luckily, Chip is there to save them, but that is not pertinent to this story).

I’m not trying to tear down a great Disney movie, I promise.  I just want to focus on this interesting juxtaposition.  Belle is willing to remain a prisoner in an enchanted castle for the rest of her life, yet she is not willing to marry a man who could provide a home and comfort for her for the rest of her life.  Both the Beast and Gaston are jerks to her, the Beast even more openly so.  Why does she choose him at the beginning and not Gaston at the end?  Is it because at the beginning she doesn’t have a satisfactory life, but by the end she is in love with the Beast even though she doesn’t realize it?  Maybe…

I think the most likely reason is that Gaston is a narcissistic toolbag.  And a chauvinist pig.  The Beast is mean, sure, but even at the beginning Belle must have seen that he was a lonely creature who had nothing to live for, and was lashing out because of his inner pain and anguish.  Gaston shows that even at the beginning, he has no respect for women: “It’s not right for women to read; soon they start getting ideas, thinking…”  Gaston wants Belle for a prize.  The Beast only wants a prisoner and doesn’t seem to care whether it is an old man or a young woman.  If anything, the Beast reveals a glimmer of hope when he tentatively asks her, “You would…take his place?”  That suggests that he wants her there more than her father, so he is likely to treat her better than he treated him.  Gaston is shallow and vain, but is not your average puffed up windbag.  There is an element of violence that lies beneath his egotistical exterior, showing that if they had gotten married he’d probably be an abusive husband.  Beast has a cold, hard exterior with an aching but warm heart beneath, whereas Gaston is outwardly likeable and inwardly a cold, selfish brute. 

So guys, maybe you’re a little hard on the exterior, but if you learn to let that go and show a warm heart, maybe a beautiful girl will fall for you.  And if you want to get married, don’t be narcissistic toolbags or chauvinist pigs, or nice girls will choose the insane asylum over you.

Chuck Norris's Personal Code

Today I decided to look up Chuck Norris on Wikipedia. Mostly I just wanted to know how old he is, but then I started reading what Wikipedia had to say about him. For the record, I have never been a huge proponent for Chuck Norris jokes. Sometimes they're funny, but most of the time I just think they're dumb. But after reading Wikipedia today I have new respect for the man.

According to Wikipedia, Chuck Norris lives by his own personal code. I really don't know much about Chuck Norris and have no idea if this is true or not, but if it is, I gives props to Chuck. It's a great code. Here it is:

1.   I will develop myself to the maximum of my potential in all ways.

2.   I will forget the mistakes of the past and press on to greater achievements.

3.   I will continually work at developing love, happiness and loyalty in my family.

4.   I will look for the good in all people and make them feel worthwhile.

5.   If I have nothing good to say about a person, I will say nothing.

6.   I will always be as enthusiastic about the success of others as I am about my own.

7.   I will maintain an attitude of open-mindedness.

8.   I will maintain respect for those in authority and demonstrate this respect at all times.

9.   I will always remain loyal to my God, my country, family and my friends.

10. I will remain highly goal-oriented throughout my life because that positive attitude helps my family, my country and myself.

Isn't that an awesome list? I support everything on it! I've never really had a "personal code" because I just focus on following the Savior...but the things on this list are good things that will ultimately bring the one who abides by them closer to God. Worth it? Definitely. I think I'm gonna adopt this code.

The Isle of Inisfree

Music always speaks to me, but this song in particular speaks to me tonight. I hope you like it.

The Isle of Inisfree (as sung by Órla from Celtic Woman)

I've met some folks who say that I'm a dreamer,

And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say,
But sure a body's bound to be a dreamer,
When all the things he loves are far away.
And precious things are dreams unto an exile.
They take him o'er the land across the sea --
Especially when it happens he's an exile,
From that dear lovely Isle of Inisfree.

And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops,
Of this great city, wondrous though it be,
I scarcely feel its wonder or its laughter...
I'm once again back home in Inisfree.

I wander o'er green hills through dreamy valleys,
And find a peace no other land would know.
I hear the birds make music fit for angels,
And watch the rivers laughing as they flow.
And then into a humble shack I wander --
My dear old home -- and tenderly behold,
The folks I love around the turf fire, gathered.
On bended knees, their rosary is told.

But dreams don't last --
Though dreams are not forgotten --
And soon I'm back to stern reality.
But though they pave the footways here with gold dust,
I still would choose the Isle of Inisfree. 

Time that is left

Over the weekend, I was reminded of an experience that happened to a friend of mine. I will keep much of the details and the identity of the individual private, because this is not his website, but I want to talk about it because it was a big part of my life and learning.

Five years ago, my friend was in a serious car accident. He was in ICU for five weeks, as I remember it, and in various hospitals after that for almost five months. He and I were very close, and I was terrified about his condition. I was so scared for him that in the first week after the accident, I didn’t sleep for four nights in a row and I lost 15 lbs. I’m amazed I didn’t fail my classes. Every year I remember his accident both on its actual anniversary and on the day of the Super Bowl. His accident happened the night before Super Bowl Sunday, the same day I was in a regional honor band and orchestra performance. I’ll never forget when our two friends who were driving behind him came over to my house once he was in the hospital, both terribly shaken, one covered in our friend’s blood. The next morning I commandeered my mom’s cell phone for updates during the concert (I didn’t have a phone) and spent the rest of the day in the waiting room at the hospital with the Super Bowl airing on the TVs. The doctors and nurses almost wouldn’t let my friends and me see him because we weren’t family, but we finally were allowed in there two at a time. My heart dropped into my stomach upon seeing him comatose, all scratched up with tubes sticking out all over the place, including out of the top of his head. I spent so much time at the hospital with him over those months that I still shudder a bit at the memories any time I go into a hospital now. But the Lord wanted him to stick around, so my friend made it. It has been a long, painful process for him as he continues to progress. Not only did the accident change his life but it strongly affected mine as well.

This friend and I have drifted apart over the years, and although we don’t keep in close contact we are still good friends. I can still remember like it was yesterday how close we were and how scared I was that he wouldn’t make it. I do not have constant reminders of the accident like he does, yet I have learned from it all the same. I’ve learned to be grateful for my body, no matter how I may be displeased with it at times. I’ve learned to be grateful that the Lord knows what each of us can handle in our lives, and He will push us to that limit so that we can grow, but not over it because He wants us to succeed. My friend has always had a strong spirit, and his accident made him stronger. I’ve also learned that it is vitally important that we always make sure that those we love know that we love them. I know I need to work on that, but I never forget to tell friends and family that I love them when I know I won’t see them for a while.

My friend’s accident also taught me to appreciate the gifts that I have and the ability I have to use them. My friend is a wonderful musician, but now has great difficulty playing musical instruments. I am a gifted musician, yet I don’t play or sing much at all…mostly because I’m a busy graduate student, but that’s really no excuse. God gave me a gift, and I’ve been neglecting it lately. How can I, when I am able and my friend and others are not? It’s not right. I think the most important lesson I learned from my friend’s accident is that this mortal life really is fleeting. God has a plan for each and every one of us, and He wants us to fulfill that plan. We only have a few years to do so, and if we don’t stick to it we could lose our opportunity forever. There is no such guarantee as “I can always do it later,” because later may not come. Now really is all we have. What are we doing with the time that is given us? One of my favorite EFY songs asks this of us. I need to think long and carefully about my answer.

What will you do with the time that’s left?

Will you live it all with no regret?

Will they say that you loved ’til your final breath?

What will you do with the time?

Don't Stop Believin'

Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world

She took the midnight train goin' anywhere

Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit

He took the midnight train goin' anywhere...

Okay, I'm not going to quote the whole Journey song to you. Hopefully you recognized it from those lyrics, but if not go listen to it here. Or listen to it on your iPod; you've probably got it somewhere on there. This song is incredible. I probably sound like Mr. Schuester, but I don't care. Journey really came up with a powerful message, beautifully set to a simple yet interesting melody line with awesome, moving accompaniment. I think this song is really inspiring. Cheesy, I know. Whatever. It's a good song! It encourages you to get out there and go places, live life, and don't get discouraged when things don't happen the way you want them to. Life your life full of hope. Some will win, some will lose, but that's never the end; life goes on and on and on and on. We're all searching for happiness and love, and some find it, some don't. If you're one of the unlucky ones, keep on keepin' on, and don't stop believin'! Things will turn out. Even if you don't believe the words to the song, believe the music. Music has the power to speak to our hearts, and the music in this song does exactly that. Get out there, take a chance, live life a little bit. Maybe you'll score, maybe you'll strike out. But if you don't stop believin' and you keep the faith, things will work out. 

The Scarcity of Common Sense

The intelligence of humankind is rapidly declining.

I know I don't even have to explain that statement to those of you who still use your brains on at least a semi-regular basis. And I know that there are a million different things I could mean by this statement. While applicable in many contexts, I refer to common sense here.

You see, "common sense" is not common. This has been said over and over again, but it bears repeating. People really just don't think sometimes. You'd think it'd be "common sense" to not put your hand on a stove top burner in case it has recently been used, but I have witnessed multiple people making that mistake and getting their fingers burned. You'd think it'd be "common sense" to not put metal in a microwave--super high heat + metal, that's basic science from junior high or earlier, folks--but I have seen people do that as well, to pyrotechnic effect. You'd think it'd be "common sense" to not walk out onto a busy street where cars are whipping by, but people do that all the time. Sometimes they're lucky and they just get a horn honked at them (at which point they often have the nerve to look offended when they were the idiots in the first place), but other times they cause accidents and/or get hit.

I'm writing this today because I'm grading a bunch of papers for a professor. The assignment was to diagram a research article, which means to identify the research question, the theories used, the hypothesis, the method, etc. The students, all juniors and seniors in college, were allowed to choose which article they wanted to diagram. The assignment should be easy, and it was for many of them. But I noticed that a handful of students decided to diagram some article without identifying what article they chose. How on earth am I supposed to check their responses about the article without knowing what article to check them against? Do they expect the grader to take their word for it, that what they say is Article X's research question is in fact Article X's research question? Do they expect the grader to read every article they could have chosen and figure out which one they're talking about? Common sense, people. If the assignment says you get to choose, you have to identify what you chose. 

I don't want to sound like a jerk or like I think I know everything. I just want to know what happened to basic human intelligence. George Carlin once said, "Think about how stupid the average person is, and then realize that half of them are even stupider!" Funny. Sad. But all too true...which makes it even more depressing. 

For the record, if you are of that part of humanity who lacks common sense, and you do or do not know it, I will still love you. I will probably roll my eyes and throw up my hands in exasperation more than once when I'm around you...but I will still love you all the same, even when you don't take to my attempts to beat that common sense into your thick skull =)

The tongue is the only tool that gets sharper with use (Washington Irving)

Communication is a funny thing. Some people who don’t like conflict avoid communicating about problems. Some people talk all the time and others have no idea what they’re talking about (Mark Twain: "If you have nothing to say, say nothing."). Some people can only communicate in their own “language”, meaning they don’t know how to talk to other people in a way that they will understand. Some people beat around the bush and say all kinds of things before the person they’re talking finally figures out what person 1 is saying or trying to say. "The problem with communication is the illusion that it has occurred," said George Bernard Shaw. Relatively few people are effective communicators, at least where it’s important; these people know how to clearly state their thoughts and feelings, how to understand the other person’s thoughts and feelings, and how to make their conversation “go somewhere.”

I think that a large percentage of people or perhaps most people in this world have a basic understanding of how to effectively communicate. However, we don’t all know how to implement those ideas into our own relationships. Or maybe we do know how, but we don’t do it because it’s hard, it’s uncomfortable, or maybe it’s awkward. But communication is vital if we want to have strong relationships in our lives. Even with strangers or acquaintances, we want to communicate something to them. We want those relationships to mean something, even if they won’t last; that is why people in general try to get along with strangers.

Typically when writing a blogpost that you intend people to read, you communicate something. Now you know how I fail here, because since I don’t even know what I’m trying to say about communication, I can’t communicate my message on communication to you! (How’s that for confusing?) I’m mostly just musing. But, communication is something we should all work on. A lot of people feel uncomfortable around people who are very straightforward and blunt. I am usually grateful to those people because they are effective communicators. There is a point where being blunt can be construed as rudeness…and while sometimes that point of rudeness can and should be avoided, other times it is necessary to communicate a point. No, I’m not suggesting you go out and be a jerk and just tell everyone what horrible things you think of them. Just take it in stride, and know that sometimes telling someone something in tough love does more for them than sweet-talking them. Point being, communication is important and we should work on how we communicate. "Communication works for those who work at it," says John Powell. Why should we care? Because "the way we communicate with others and with ourselves ultimately determines the quality of our lives" (Anthony Robbins).