In Which I Sleep Through a Royal Wedding

Yes, I watched.

Actually, if I'm going to be completely honest (and you know I'm going to be, or I wouldn't have said anything), I meant to watch William and Kate's wedding. I had my alarm set for 5; I was going to roll out of bed, grab my pillow and comforter, and head down a few floors to the TV Lounge (which contains an adequate-for-royal-wedding-viewing sized TV), where I would wait breathlessly for the ceremony to begin.

Here's what actually happened: I was up until 2:30 a.m. this morning studying for a German test I had this afternoon. Ergo, when my alarm went off at 5 (after only 2 and a half hours of sleep), I told myself "five more minutes, and then I'll go downstairs," rolled over, and fell back asleep. The next time I regained consciousness, it was 6:50. Luckily, I was able to make it out of bed that time and managed to catch the entire balcony scene. Kiss one AND kiss two. (This strikes me as a good sign; Diana and Charles only kissed once, and look where they ended up).

This brings me to my current position: I'm waiting for the taped wedding ceremony video to load on Mac. I'm a little disappointed that I missed seeing it live, but I'm sure my German grade will be better for it.

In other royal-related news, I had a long discussion at work today with a professor who seemed to think that Queen Elizabeth arranged for Diana's murder. The way she put it, Diana was dating someone who was not British, not Christian, and not aristocratic. She was an embarrassment to the royal family, and clearly, she had to go. My reaction? Polite, contained disbelief. Maybe it's true that the Queen did not like Diana. But I absolutely refuse to consider her a possible murderer! Maybe I'm too stubbornly stuck in my romantic ideals concerning monarchy, and maybe I put too much faith in the accuracy of the movie "The Queen," but I can't help it. Queen Elizabeth is above such nonsense. She is a sweet, compassionate woman who would never orchestrate something that could harm her grandsons in such a large way. The driver of Diana's car was drunk, and they were being pursued by the paparazzi. It was a tragic accident that will be remembered forever, but I am quickly becoming sick of all the conspiracy theories surrounding it. Why can't people ever just let the deceased be deceased? Why do they have to keep dragging them back for round 2 and 3 and 4 and etc.?

Well, anyway, I don't want to spoil this beautiful day with my morbid rantings. Here's hoping that Kate and William will have all the blessings wished upon them by both the living and the dead.

P.S. (Dress rave) It was absolutely gorgeous, wasn't it? I loved the lacy long-sleeved look. Very cathedral-appropriate, but not matronly or anything. (Funny story) I was just watching a video clip of Kate arriving at the Abbey, and as soon as she got out of the car, the video host started squealing nonstop about her dress. She literally shrieked quite a few times. I had to switch videos because my ear drums were starting to ache.

Three Months in the 17th Century

For the past few months, I've been walking around campus worrying about things like Holy Office votes, Pope Urban VIII's views on the Thirty Years' War, and Galileo's potential heresy.

I would walk into a meeting with several cardinals at 9:00, and walk out at 9:30 just in time to change for my intramural badminton match.

For the past month specifically, I've been consumed with an attempt to depose the Pope. I met with different factions to try to convince them, I sent emails, I strategized with professors, and I wrote and delivered speeches. I was even imprisoned in the Castel Sant'Angelo (which, ironically, I got to see when I visited Italy a few years ago) for a week when the Pope began to suspect my efforts.

It's funny to think that it is all over now, and that my side has lost. I'm a little disappointed, yes, but honestly, when you worked as hard as you possibly could, when you did absolutely everything you could think of to forward your cause, then it's not so bad to lose; at least you can look back without regret. I suppose I sound like the disgruntled loser who is trying to mask his loss with nobleness. And maybe I am. But I don't think I could have done things differently. I trusted the people I needed to trust, I said the things I needed to say, and I had a lot of fun doing it.


Here's the speech I gave today, right before the failed deposition:

I do not have any illusions about our purpose here today, nor do I wish to overly prolong certain unavoidable business. In a few minutes, the ballots will be passed out, and the voting will begin.
Some of you will undoubtedly remember that the entire premise of a Pope is that he is elected by God. You will vote yea. Some of you will undoubtedly look upon me as a champion for the secular, as one who seeks to diminish the Holy Office and all that it stands for in favor of bloodthirsty Philip and his Spanish minions. You will vote yea. Some of you will cling to your gilded ceilings, choosing to ignore the threat that looms outside the gates. You will also vote yea.
Some of you, however, will recognize that God’s will is almost impossible for mere humans to decipher. You know that while God is incapable of making mistakes, sometimes his intentions are skewed through the leaded pane of humanity. God did not vote for Urban VII those many weeks ago, gentlemen. You did. Nor can you be sure that your actions reflected the will of our Heavenly Father. No one has that certainty. All we can do here on Earth is to act, with much prayer and reflection, in a way we feel is Godly and true. Some of you now feel that our Lord is pointing us down a new path; towards a new Pope, and a revived Church. You will vote nay.
Some of you believe me when I say that I have no desire to disband the Holy Office. You see that I am honest when I assert that a Pope made so by force is a Pope in name only. It is the duty of the Holy Office, and no other body, to appoint a Pope, and I consider it the very highest insult when some of you claim that I believe otherwise.
I regret that the Holy Office and the Spanish armies have been brought together in such a tumultuous manner, but I see it only as a natural result of Urban VII’s unreasonable actions; he not only imprisoned a peaceful diplomat and an innocent cardinal, but he refused to post the charges in detail for all to observe. Despite my belief in the rationality of their concern, however, the presence of the Spanish army does not change my reverence for the Holy Office and all of its functions. Those of you who see this will vote nay.
Last week, I had the privilege of reading a speech delivered by an esteemed Cardinal. In it, he outlined the qualities of leadership, somehow managing to apply the majority of them to Urban VIII. Despite the Cardinal’s thoroughness, however, he missed one leadership quality, one that quite eclipses all others.
That quality is selflessness; a leader should put the needs of his people above his own egocentric inclinations. In this respect, I find that Urban VII has failed most grievously.
Good Catholics are being butchered, my friends. You know this all too well both from Cardinal O’Neill’s stirring speech of last week and from reports that agitate the streets of Rome and become more and more urgent as the days pass. Is it not the Pope’s primary duty to protect his flock that they may flourish and receive God’s grace? And what has the Pope done to ensure their protection? What has he done to answer the pleas for help that fly at him from all parts of Europe? You all know that he has done nothing but sit on his throne and stare at his precious ceiling.
And yet, when a rumor floated across the Vatican that the Pope’s title may be in danger, that his dear power may be diminished, he leaped into action. He rashly imprisoned two men with only vague charges for justification, and he brought the wrath of the Spanish army down on the Holy Office. Clearly, Urban VII’s sense of absolute control is the issue he has his eyes constantly upon. His people must wait in the periphery. Some of you who are disgusted by this obvious selfishness will vote nay.
In a few minutes, when the ballots are distributed, I wish you to remember this: now is no time for passivity, for moderation, for pause. There is more hanging in the balance than the Pope’s dignity; we are voting upon the life of a Catholic boy stranded in Protestant Europe. We are voting upon the salvation of a soldier fighting for our cause, and committing unavoidable crimes in its name. We are voting in the hope that we may gain a leader who is willing to make decisions for the good of God’s Church, rather than for the elevation of his own selfish ambitions. We are voting to ensure that the Catholic Church remains a beacon of light for all the world.
May God move in your hearts and guide your pens towards His will.

Holly Movies

"The Painted Veil" is what my mom refers to as a "Holly Movie."

Holly Movies are historical dramas, usually artfully made, and usually romantic. They don't have to be sad, but many of them are because history is like that sometimes. Sometimes people die in Holly Movies. Holly Movies are sweeping, they're beautiful, and they're poignant. Holly Movies always take themselves seriously, which is good, I think. Stupid comedies are not Holly Movies.

Holly Movies are also, as you have probably guessed, my very favorite kind of movies.

Anyway, I saw "The Painted Veil" a few weeks ago when I checked it out from the library. I then proceeded to watch it three times in one weekend.

I then proceeded to go on itunes and buy this song.

I've been listening to it all day. It's raining out, and if you listen to this song, I'm sure you'll understand why it's the perfect song for a gloomy beautiful day.



P.S. Watch the movie as well. It's perfectly wonderful.

Me and John Adams

What have I ever done for my country?
John Adams spent years and years in France and the Netherlands trying to secure treaties and loans for the newly created United States. Before that, he helped establish said United States. Before that, he stepped forward, despite the outrage of his Patriot peers, to defend the British soldiers who had begun the Boston Massacre. After that, he was President. After that, he prevented the United States from entering another war with England and France. His refusal to maintain a standing army lost him a second term in office. After that, his son was President.
I said the Pledge of Allegiance every day of K-8, and every week of high school. Now I don't say it at all.
On the Fourth of July, my family usually goes up to Lake Superior. We usually have a bonfire, and there is usually strawberry shortcake, and there are usually fireworks.
Then I write a blog post.
Every so often I think to myself that I'm happy to be American.
Every so often I look up at a flag and feel romantic and special and I smile and walk home, self-satisfied.
John Adams said: "Our obligations to our country never cease but with our lives."
John Adams also said: "I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy in order to give their children a right to study painting and poetry."
What have I ever fought for?
What have I ever given my country?
I sit in a classroom and pretend to be a Spanish priest. I talk to factions, I make deals, I deliver speeches.
I enjoy it, but what does it all matter in the long run?
The things I focus on, the things I read, the things I study, they're not real.
They're not real anymore.
They may make me smarter, but they're nothing but pieces of paper now.
John Adams built a country out of similar pieces of paper, but he built it out of actions too. He didn't sit back and let other men do the difficult work. He did it himself. He created something unprecedented.
And he was vain, and he did have a bad temper, and he was stubborn.
But he loved his wife, he loved the law, and he served his country in the best way he knew how, which was the best possible way he could have done it.
Maybe it's silly to compare myself to John Adams. It's probably silly for anyone to.
He was just a short man with a wig and a wonderful wife.
But he lived for his country.
I merely live in my country.

A Speech

Here's a speech I gave in my Trial of Galileo class last week. I suppose if you're not in the class, you probably won't know what I'm talking about, but I'm proud of this speech.

Is there a career out there that would allow me to write and deliver passionate speeches all day? That doesn't involve going to law school, spending millions of dollars on campaigns, and wearing ugly pant suits? Didn't think so.


Appeal to His Holiness, Pope Urban VIII
No one thinks more highly than I do of the faithfulness, as well as the abilities, of the worthy gentlemen sitting in this very room. Considering my great respect for them, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. Should I keep back my opinions, through fear of giving offense, I should consider it an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.
I have listened for these past few weeks to you gentlemen go back and forth about issues of science, of church law, and of biblical interpretation. And while it is all very interesting, I couldn’t help gazing up at your gilded ceiling. If you look very carefully, you can see that there is real gold inlaid in the dome.
Tell me, how many soldiers could just a small bit of that gold feed? How many war horses could be shoed, how many blankets could be purchased, how many mugs of ale could give courage to how many hearts with the wealth of your ceiling? I have heard that the taxes of the people here in Rome are spent on building projects. Is your ceiling one such building project? It’s beautiful.
Your Holiness, forgive me, but above all else, allow me to be blunt. In Spain, they do not bow to your likeness, and murmur, “Your Holiness,” as the Italians do. In Spain, rather, you are known as the pope who has refused to lead his own Church in the great cause of our lifetime. You are the pope who has claimed poverty, but who still somehow manages to afford gold encrusted ceilings. You are the pope who has neglected to declare this war a Holy War, therefore condemning many of those who fight faithfully on the Catholic side to Hell. In Spain, they see your refusals, and your claims, and your neglect as evidence of possible Protestant sympathy.
In Spain, Your Holiness, they call you the Protestant Pope.
They have reason to be bitter, just as you, gentlemen, have reason to be afraid, for as we sit in these hallowed halls debating petty issues, thousands of faithful Catholics are being butchered. Catholic cities are being pillaged and burned. Formerly Catholic lands in Poland, Germany, Bohemia, and Livonia are now controlled by the Protestants. Even now armies gather north of the Alps. If the Protestant side should defeat the Catholic forces, they will have almost undisputed access to Italy. No one in this room need wonder which city they will set their eye on first. There is a chance that soon this ceiling will be blackened by fires set to Rome. The gold, of course, will be removed and used to fund the enemy’s cause. I am quite certain that it will feed a great many Protestant soldiers.
Squabbles over who will cast ballots for which faction will surely become obsolete when there is no Vatican left, no Rome, and no Church. Whether or not the Earth is spinning cannot possibly matter when compared to the Protestant threat marching upon it.
Your Holiness, I implore you; give us a leader all true Catholics can unite under, and prove to the world that the strength of the pope’s leadership is enough to quench even the fiercest enemies. Join Spain on the field of battle and rightfully declare this war a holy one. Tear down your gilded ceiling, for truly, gilded ceilings are for times of piece.
I wish to conclude, as is only proper, with a Bible quote, in hopes that we never forget who’s cause we are fighting for, and what we are fighting against: “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand” (Ephesians 6:10-13).

Things Get Better For Me

Sorry sorry sorry. I know I'm a slacker. But pray believe me when I tell you (with one trustworthy hand on your shoulder) that this week has been a tough week for me.

I've laughed.

I've cried.

I've done both synonymously.

I wish I were joking about the synonymously.

I had three tests this week: American Literature, Art History, and German.

The first two went well, the third I didn't take because

I gave blood on Thursday evening

And then had a slight mental breakdown

And wasn't able to study for said German exam.

I don't know if mental breakdown is what I should call what I had, and I certainly don't like writing 'mental breakdown' because it makes me sound like some sort of basket case. But what else do you call it when you're in the middle of a doubles badminton game, and suddenly you start getting really stressed out and you begin to swing back and forth between laughing and crying?

(I'm usually not a very competitive person. Sure, I like to win, but I think it's incredibly rude and tacky to act rude and tacky when it comes to competitions. So I try to behave in a more dignified manner.)

But let me tell you, I was slightly freaking out during this game of badminton. Within the space of about 3 minutes I moodswung back and forth between laughing and almost sobbing about 5 times. I also seriously considered running over and yelling at people that I hardly knew for doing things that were hardly offensive to me. Then my trusty partner and I walked back to our room and I sat on my bed and cried for a good half hour.

And I don't think it had anything to do with the badminton. I'm going to blame this one on the blood loss and lack of sleep and test stress.

Things have gotten better, though. Last night our friend Ben came up from the cities, and we all went to the on-campus Rooney concert together. I decided after the concert that the kind of music Rooney makes just isn't to my taste, but that it was fun nonetheless. Live concerts usually are.

After the concert, Ben, Maddie, and I settled down in our room with some snacks and Ben's old (and terrible) horror movies and watched and ate until we fell asleep.

This morning was the Prairie Cup, which is a Ground Quidditch tournament. UMM played the U of MN Twin Cities team. It was so cold on the bleachers, but so worth it to watch a cross country runner in gold spandex act as the snitch and run all over campus evading the two seekers. It was so worth it to watch the chasers and beaters and keepers get mud-splattered as they knocked each other around in Indy Lake (which isn't really a lake-more like a large hollow that they flood in the winter for broomball). It was so worth it to hear the announcers announce "prospies!" and then to turn around and cheer at the tour groups as they walked by. I'm certain that if I had been touring a college campus and had seen a game of Quidditch going on, I would have chosen that college on the spot.

P.S. We got 2 inches of snow last night (Friday, April 15th). On Monday, April 11th, it was 70 degrees out. Huh.

Laundry Blues

I hate doing laundry.
I hate walking down 8 flights of stairs to do it, I hate bumping into people on the way, and I hate walking back up again only to walk back down again 38 minutes later to throw my clothes into the dryer.
I hate that people will dump your clothes if you are even 5 minutes late to get them.
I hate that I always spill a bit of detergent, and that when I try to clean it up (because there's a sign saying you have to and because it's Lent and my religion teacher at St. John's taught us that Lent is the season for random acts of kindness. Or was it Advent?) it's slimy and gets on my hands and then I smell like mountain spring for the rest of the week.
I hate that when I want to hang up some clothes in our room, the only place for the drying rack is in the middle of everything, and that I can hardly move without tripping over said drying rack.
I hate that the only thing I have to say on a Saturday night is how much I hate doing laundry.

When I'm out in the real world, and looking for an apartment, please (I'm begging you) don't let me get one without an in-suite washer/dryer. I don't care if they're in a closet, I don't care if they're in my bedroom. Just no stairs.

P.S. Night 3 (final) of Jazz Fest is tonight. I decided not to volunteer after all, but while I was sitting on my bed just now making art history flashcards, I thought it would be nice to listen to UMM's campus radio station's live broadcast of Jazz Fest. I turned to the channel, and was horrified to discover that apparently "live broadcast" means that the DJ talks incessantly in the foreground while muted jazz plays in the background. I began yelling at said DJ. Loudly. I was cruel. I insulted him (and maybe his mother once or twice). So I'm sorry, DJ. This is my public (enough) apology. But next time, just play the jazz, please.

That Jazz

It's a rather nice day out. Windy as always, but otherwise warm. There are only a few patches of snow left around campus, namely the shrunken remains of an igloo on the Mall.

Jazz Fest has been going on since yesterday evening, so as I sit on my bed and type, I hear snatches of saxophone or trumpet or trombone shriek from the direction of the Student Center. I'll be volunteering at tonight's portion of Jazz Fest, and a bunch of us will be wearing "Thank you Bob and Susan" buttons in honor of U of MN president Bob Bruininks, who is also attending tonight. He's retiring this year after having served the University well for a long time.

I also found out today that I got reelected as a Campus Assembly Representative for UMM's student government.
What's really amazing, though, is that the team who won the presidential/vice presidential race only beat the other team by 4 VOTES. Can you believe it? 804 people voted (out of the 1700 students at UMM, which is actually a really high percentage), and it was that close. It's also funny to think that there's a random person walking around campus right now who didn't vote, but if he would have voted, would have voted for the team that ended up losing. That person is 1/4 of the reason why that team lost. Well, sort of. This is me trying to do statistic stuff. Please don't laugh.

I guess my point is that the next time I hear someone say "What's the point of voting? My vote doesn't make a difference!" I'll get right up in their face and laugh. And then I'll tell them the story I just told you.

In other news, I won the Read-a-Thon this year. I think I've explained it in the past, but basically one of my friends and I record all the books we read in one year, and then get together and see who read the most. We also have sub-categories: number of classics read (we debate this), pages read, average length of books read, books read that haven't been read previously, etc.
Here are my stats for April 1st 2010-April 1st 2011:
88 Books (which was exactly my goal)
27,183 pages
308.8 pages per book average
36 new books (I know-this could be higher. I love rereading my old favorites, though)
16 classics (Dracula, A Passage to India, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Fahrenheit 451, Jane Eyre, This Side of Paradise, Memoirs of a Sleep Walker, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Utopia, Rip Van Winkle, Atonement, King Lear, The Hidden Hand, The House of Seven Gables, Franny and Zooey, The Bell Jar)

What's more is that I do so much reading every day for classes that doesn't get recorded anywhere; I'm constantly reading articles, short stories, poems, passages, essays, etc.

Well I think that's all I have. Sorry if this post has been a little sporadic, but it's been such a busy week that I didn't have the energy to do anything fancy or cohesive.

Tschüss!

Broken Glass

What does broken glass mean?
Is it the beginning of something, or is it the ending?
I’m sure I don’t know.
I only know that it was a cappuccino bottle that broke, one of those little ones that come in six packs like they’re beers.
I didn’t even notice the bottle until it fell from a desk in the middle of lecture,
Sending crystal shards tumbling to all corners of the room.
The prof stopped speaking, which surprised me;
I’ve seen them push through cell phone rings
Through whispering
Through endless coughing fits
The broken glass did it, though.
Again, what does that mean?

Jon was up in a minute, slouch left at his desk,
Keeping his place in his open anthology.
He began to pluck dripping pieces of glass from the tile with his fingertips,
Crouching in front of the prof,
Who I think was trying to make a joke.

The girl who spilled was out the door by then.
I didn’t realize until later that she had cut her hand on a piece of her own former bottle.
Which might be ironic.

Something about the way Jon knelt and gingerly picked shining shards from their caffeinated graves
Made me jump up and offer to fetch a broom.
Will mumbled something about checking the Humanities Lounge
But I didn’t waste any time.
The lady in the Division Office showed me the janitor’s closet, and handed me broom and dustpan.
She was very kind.

Prof still wasn’t lecturing, which was still strange, but I supposed
That it would have been more awkward to sweep through American Indian Writers,
To scrape glass to the beat of Sherman Alexie.
I read a book once with a heroine who didn’t know how to sweep.
She had to be taught, and of course it was pretty romantic, because the boy who taught her was in love with her.
But how funny to not know how to sweep.
I’ve always hated it because you can never get all the dust
Or all the glass.
No matter how hard you try, there will be a line of dirt left when you are done
Particles too fine to be flipped into the dustpan.

Today I see no glass glittering in the corners.
Jon’s back in his seat,
And I’m back in mine,
And the prof is speaking again.
And all I can think is how strange of a morning that morning was,
And how it certainly must mean something.
But for all the drafts I’ve made of this narrative,
For all the deep romance and tragedy I’ve tried to pull from it,
I can’t decide if it’s only beginning to mean something because I want it to
Or if it was nothing from the beginning.