In honor of Lent, Brandon and I have decided to participate in the annual sacrifices. While most people give up little things, things the individual could consider a minor sin, we decided to go big. We decided to give up a huge sin for the rest of our lives. It might be tough, but it will be eternally rewarding. So for at least the next thirty-some-odd days, Brandon and I are giving up hookers.
Archive for February, 2007
As all eight of my classes this quarter are in Olson Hall, I visit the bathroom there usually once a day. Recently, as I am forced to choose one of the three urinals, I am reminded of this interactive flash animation from years ago.
The problem with the bathroom design is that, while there is room for three men to be standing at the urinals, there isn’t enough space to move to and from the urinal comfortably, since the handicapped stall creates a little urinal corridor. This means that if anyone has to get by you, you’re stuck with the uncomfortableness of another guy brushing up against you while you’re doing your business.
My default urinal is the middle one. I chose this one not only because it is the first one at regular height, but also because it gives one option in case someone else comes in before I finish. If I went to the nearest one, anyone needing to go would have to move by me. If I went to the end, in the chance that someone else came in, I would finish first and have to squeeze by them. It’s still uncomfortable. So I’ve decided the middle is the best bet.
In observation of other men’s choices, I have come to realize that, when faced with the likelihood of brushing up with another guy, most will use a stall. The rest, mostly men 40+, simply don’t care. I feel morally against using a stall when there are urinals available, so I am forced into my own predicament. In my mind, it’s like using a handicap parking spot or the motorized shopping cart at the grocery store. It would be fun while it lasted, but I’d feel guilty for a while. And a little extra dirty, too.
Women are so lucky they don’t have to deal with our bathroom burdens. They just wait patiently for 10-15 minutes to get their own stall, in which I imagine they talk to their friends. Why else do they go in groups?
Instead of being a normal person and commenting on my post, my father decided to email me (love you, Dad). He said:
My fraternity was Xi Psi Phi, and I was also in the Omicron Kappa Upsilon upon graduation from dental school.
So I asked,
Did you have nerdy parties too?
His reply:
Xi Psi Phi was a social fraternity that I joined in the last semester of dental school because, Marty Halbur, the chapter president, and a good friend, told me that the frat member with the highest GPA gets a special award, and if I joined, I would get the award. So I did, never went to any wild parties, and got the award.
Xi Psi Phi is a national honor fraternity for which you get nomimated (sic) if you are in the top 5 % or so of the graduating class. No parties there, but I got a great lunch paid by one of the professors.
(By the way, Ken Jennings had a great little piece on (sic) today.)
I am very much my father’s son. I joined my fraternity so I would get cool cords and a special tassel when I graduate. Aside from that, I do nothing but put it on my resumé. I should try and get a lunch out of the deal.
I guess this means that the Yo La Tengo Late-Summer Weblog Challenge is finally over. I finally received my check for $17.69 from Mr. Ben Popik himself. Rather Dashing had a pretty good run there, yet pretty much died when it ended. That’s okay though. I like standing on tables.
In case you were unaware, I am a member of a fraternity. My fraternity, Eta Sigma Phi, is the national Greek and Latin honors society. Every year, our big event is a national translation competition. I am convinced this is the nerdiest fraternity ever.
Anyway, the translation competition was last week. There are six exams available; I took three.
On Wednesday morning, I took the two hour Koine (New Testament) Greek exam. It wasn’t that bad. I was still feeling fresh, so I managed to come out with a translation that made sense in English. There were a few words I completely made up, but at least I understood what was going on. Of the available 2 hours, I only used up an hour and a half.
Friday at 8am, I opted to take the English to Latin exam. Why I did this is beyond me. I learned later that the exam was geared toward students in their 3rd or 4th year of Latin. I started learning Latin nine months ago. We were given 3 hours to translate 3 paragraphs of English prose and I didn’t finish. It was pretty exhausting.
In case you don’t find the fact that I took this exam ridiculous, when I told any other Latin student I was taking this test, the reaction would be the same. It usually involved a peaking of the eyebrows, jarring the head forward a little, and exclaiming, “Are you insane?” I was asked this question so many times, I didn’t even realize that I had been responding in the affirmative the whole time.
The test was a passage taken from the RIAA’s official website. In fact, the passage can be found here. We only had to translate the first half or so. There were a few words that were glossed for us, such as “internet” and “CD,” but other than that, we were on our own. Most of the words were easy to find in an English to Latin dictionary (yes, we were allowed one, but only for this test), but some were untranslatable. My biggest difficulty was the word “bootleg,” which I felt carried a sense in its own. Since we were dealing with all sorts of piracy, I couldn’t just go with a synonym. I had to be creative. I ended up going with something along the lines of “a recording in boot.” I hope I get some creative points.
The final exam I took was later that afternoon. Completely exhausted from the prior exam, my mind was not fully functional. The intermediate Greek exam, like the Koine, was 2 hours and dictionaryless. This one was the worst for me. At the end, I had a somewhat made-up loose translation that didn’t quite make sense in English. At least at the end of the Latin prose composition, I had a piece that seemed tome to be in Latin. This just seemed to be a collection of unrelated English phrases. After about 90 minutes, I gave up and turned the thing in.
Then I had to go back to class. Then I went home for an hour, checked the strange religious peoples’ comments on my Mormon post, and went to the Siegel’s. There, I was expected to play the piano. It wasn’t that bad, except I was pretty much just falling asleep. It was a really long day.
Last night, for the first time in my life, I made a purchase from a ticket scalper. Granted, I saved maybe five minutes in line and a dollar, but I was living on the edge. It was two dance performances choreographed by graduate students from the Theatre and Dance department, meaning tickets were about $10. I don’t think anyone actually cares that I made my purchase from people with an extra ticket rather than the ticket box 20 feet away, but I felt sneaky.
This is part 5 of a series. It begins here.
To potentially conclude this 5 part series on my dealings with the Mormons, I actually allowed them to come over to my house and try to convert me. We agreed on 6pm or earlier, so they came around 6:10.
When I spoke to them on the phone, it seemed that two of their sisters would come to my place for an hour or so. When the door was opened, I was surprised to see three of them, then even more shocked when four walked inside. I hurriedly cleaned up remnants from dinner, then allowed them to seat themselves at the dining room table. By this time, Joe and Brandon awkwardly decided to finish watching the King’s game in Joe’s room.
When I came back from the kitchen, I found all four of them sitting on one side of the table, not unlike the Da Vinci’s depiction of the Last Supper. I grabbed a chair and placed it opposite them, commenting on how it felt like an interrogation.
My original plan was to sit them down and tell them that I think their religion is a joke and that they should defend it without using the Book of Mormon. As usual, I lost my nerve when they were actually there. Sort of.
So now we were all sitting at the table, them on one side, me on the other. They explained that there’s a rule that instructs there to be another girl present, so they brought along the other two female missionaries. As it turns out, I wish they didn’t, as they were the ones who talked for a long time without really providing me with the things I was looking for.
Let me introduce the four:
Sister Brown: A Pacific Islander from Utah. The only one actually from Utah.
Sister (insert random letters here): Such a thick accent, I still have no idea where she’s from. She converted to the church along with her family, including her father, who was into ‘drinking and smoking’ (this became her mantra in the story of her conversion). She started every other sentence with my name. I’m sure someone somewhere told her it would make the listener feel more connected if you used his or her name often, but she was doing it so much, I felt a little uncomfortable.
Sister Harris: I think this one was the pack leader. From her voice, I could tell all of our correspondence was done through her. Very friendly and perky, the kind of girl you would expect to be a counselor at a religious summer camp or something. I think she was from Illinois.
Sister (I don’t remember; make up a white name): Picture a chubby white girl with asthma. People have made fun of her all her life so she’s built up a defensive personality. It seems like she has has to concentrate on breathing between sentences. I forget where she was from, but judging by her build, I’d go with somewhere in the Midwest. Somewhere where they eat a lot of… everything.
After reading those descriptions, I sure hope they don’t find this site. Although, knowing the Mormons, they’re watching me as I type this.
I should also point out that they were all somewhere in their mid-twenties. They seemed to be my peers, if not a little bit older. And aside from the big one, none of them were even remotely blonde. Sister Harris was very much a redhead (although she did have really blue eyes–point for me). The other two seemed likely to get some pretty good scholarships based on ethnicity, so no blondeness there. It seems one of my Mormon myths was busted on the spot.
So we began. As part of my plan, I didn’t tell them anything about myself beforehand. I wanted to leave them with no basis of where to stand. They were on my turf.
They opened with a prayer. I felt a little uncomfortable that they used my name, but I guess that’s just how they roll.
Since they had no idea where to begin, they started preaching Christianity to me. Actually, they were preaching prophets. I quickly learned that they really like prophets. Early on, they wanted to reference a verse, so they started pulling out their bibles. I asked if I should go get mine, to which they replied enthusiastically.
I hurried to my room and started pulling a mess of books off of my bookshelf. Remember, my turf. I brought my NRSV, Contemporary Parallel (8 translations), Book of Mormon, Greek New Testament, and my Oxford Commentary on the Bible. As I passed Joe’s room with this giant stack of books, I poked my head in and said, “I’m going to out-bible them.”
I sat down with my stack, pulled out the NRSV, and started flipping through to Amos (they really like Amos). Then it occurred to me. “What translation of the bible are you using?” I asked.
“The King James Version,” they replied.
“Hold on a sec,” I said, then ran back to my room for my KJV.
Once properly suited, I opened to the chapter and they asked me to read the verse. I suppose through me reading it, I was supposed to understand and believe their point. That was something that came up again.
I noticed that when it came to quoting verses, whoever happened to be speaking would open to that verse quickly, having already had it bookmarked. They had done this many times before.
So for the first hour or so, they were preaching Christianity. Their flow was great, so I didn’t feel justified in interrupting. When there was a pause, someone else would jump in with a verse, a personal story, or something that she “just loves.” There was a lot of just loving in our little meeting. “I just love this verse” or “I just love how we have prophets.” I just love just loving things.
I learned that the reason they put so much emphasis on the prophets is because they still have them. Apparently there’s a guy who speaks to God and will let them know that God doesn’t approve of shopping on Sundays (real life example).
Then they got into the Book of Mormon. There was a lot of stuff I didn’t really care about, so I started zoning out for a few minutes. I did remember that they were heavily oriented on faith. This is a traditional characteristic of religions, I know, but it felt like they were pushing it a bit. They kept on telling me to pray about the Book of Mormon and asking God if it was the true book.
There was a lot that they talked about that I didn’t feel justified in interrupting, so I let them talk. But finally, when they seemed to be winding down, they asked if I had any questions. This was my time to shine.
I asked them about the origins of the Book of Mormon then repeated their story in my own words for confirmation. From what I learned this time, Joseph Smith found the plates that were buried by an ancient somewhere in New York. He was 22 and had only received an 8th grade education. As well as the plates, he found the Urim and Thummim, which he used to translate the texts. Apparently he also used them to go back over the bible, so many Mormon bibles have alternative Joseph Smith translations at the bottom. Thanks, Joe.
I did my questioning about remaining original texts, to which they gave the same answer as the man on the phone. There seemed to be a lull in their spiel, so I started mine. It seems they were trained in converting people, not defending their religion from me. This was also different from any conversations I’ve had with friends about what I personally believe because it was conducted in a professional atmosphere. I had several good points, so I’ll try and remember them.
When I brought up the original texts, I compared it to the bible. One of the common acknowledgments even among Atheists is that Jesus was a man here on earth. He walked around and people wrote about him, even if only believing that he was the son of God. The things they wrote have been copied through the generations and have become a great part of the lives of many people in many languages. Yet even now, we are still finding old manuscripts that are in the same original language and maintain almost the exact same words.
When it comes to the Book of Mormon, we don’t have very convincing evidence that these prophets lived in the Americas in the time they are said to have lived here. The only record we have of their writings is what our poorly educated friend found and pretended to translate in 1820. Not only do we not have the original text, but we don’t even have proof of the original language. It feels like it leaves too big of holes for “faith” to cover up.
With their huge emphasis on prophets, I wanted to know what they believed. I asked them, “If your prophet were to proclaim something in contrast to the teachings of the Bible or Book of Mormon, who would you go with?” They muttered that the prophet would never contradict the bible, so I argued hypothetically. They answered as best they could, going with “whatever felt right in their hearts.”
It was at that point I brought up the point of polygamy. This is one of the most infamous parts of their religion, so it seems reasonable that they would have a rehearsed answer. Men go off to war, leave widows and families behind who need support. God tells the prophets it’s okay to have more than one wife, they go at it. The population stabilizes (and non-Mormons freak out), God tells the prophets it’s no longer okay. No more arguments.
Then I brought up the fact that the Mormons are very exclusive and don’t really welcome outsiders. They seemed a little confused and argued that there are always people who come and listen in at their church. It wasn’t until I mentioned the word “temple” that they did a collective, “Oh….”
They explained that the temple is the house of God and that it should be kept very clean. When I quoted that God does not dwell in houses made of human hands, they looked puzzled and asked where that was in the bible. I told them that I had seen their temples and found them garish and flashy, contradictory to the teachings of the New Testament.
They mentioned the temple in Sacramento, as it had just been renovated. Having recently talked to Riddy about it, I was armed with a few killer points. They were excited to see if I got to tour it before it was dedicated. I said that I did not, but I heard about it. I heard that after they closed it off to the public, they tore up the carpet and replaced it because it had been walked on by non-Mormons. They tried to defend it, saying that it was probably just dirty, then went on to explain how they make you wear plastic bags over your shoes when you go inside. Personally, I would love to have to wear booties when I worship God.
I explained how I interpreted Jesus’ words to mean that after the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, there was no more need for an earthly edifice in which God would dwell. He would then dwell in the hearts of each individual.
To answer the question of how they paid for the temple, I brought up the whole money aspect. If you were unaware, the Mormons give 10% of their income to the church. When I told them that Jesus preached for free and that I didn’t think money should be a part of religion, they explained that they do in fact preach for free. They were preaching to me and not making me pay. In fact, when they go on their mission, they are required to pay money. Fancy that. But still, membership to the church requires a hefty monetary donation. This was one of my favorite parts. They were arguing that there are plenty of places in the bible that talk about tithing and its benefits. So they would turn to the left half of their bibles and start quoting.
” But that’s the Old Testament,” I explained. “Jesus came and preached that it was no longer necessary. You can’t quote from the Old Testament to try and negate something that Jesus changed.”
Unable to come to a good conclusion, they tried working faith back on me. The girl with the accent told me a somewhat comprehensible story about her father and his problems with smoking and drinking. “You know, Jeff,” she would say, “mumble mumble smoking and drinking.” That exact sentence was repeated for about ten minutes, the other three looking on with compassion. There was one time she was nearing the end of the sentence and concluded with “smoking.” I was actually a little excited when I heard this. But my excitement was cut short by an “and drinking” after finished inhaling.
The point of her story was that her father (a smoker and drinker) was against the Mormons. She prayed that if the Book of Mormon was true, her father would quit smoking and drinking. It was an inspirational story best left for an ESL class.
Still curious about their modern day prophets, I asked them another question. Since they couldn’t respond to any of my claims that they were practicing things contrary to what Jesus taught, I asked, “Do you believe your prophets are higher than Jesus?” They explained that the modern day prophets are on the same level as the Old Testament prophets. “Sure,” I replied. “But were those higher than Jesus?” Of course, they had to concede that Jesus was the Son of God, so no, human prophets were not greater than Jesus. Thus, even if a prophet told them that God wanted a ridiculous temple, they agreed that my interpretation of what Jesus taught was more valid. In retrospect, that seemed to answer an earlier question I had about the prophets in disagreement with the scriptures. How interesting.
Someone finally found the verse about God not dwelling in temples, which is in Acts 17. She then retorted to me, “So is Paul higher than Jesus?” This was the fat girl, the one with the little complex.
“No,” I replied disdainfully, “But he’s not contradicting anything Jesus said either.” End of argument.
Not thinking of any other questions off the top of my head, I brought out my real clincher. Knowing that none of them knew Greek, I asked, “So it’s unanimous throughout your church that you use the King James Version?” They agreed. “Why that version?”
This is a question I love asking people. To my knowledge, there is no good reason for sticking adamantly to the King James Version aside from an arbitrary decision to have one unified translation. Armed with my Greek New Testament, I waited for them to stop stammering and try and answer. It felt similar to pointing a gun at a fence and waiting for little rabbits to hop in view.
“Because it’s the oldest…” Nope.
“Because it’s the best translation…” Nope
“Because it uses an older style…” Nope, nope, nope.
As a classicist, I can tell you that the King James Version of the bible is inferior to many other modern translations. You’re not going to win this argument.
With that, we all seemed to be tired enough. We closed in another prayer (“Jeff, would you like to lead us in prayer?” “Not particularly.”), then we said our goodbyes. Four handshakes and thank yous later, I was alone in the quiet apartment. It was exhausting, but I felt like I had accomplished things. I learned a bit about the Mormon religion and had several arguments they could not refute. I guess it went as I expected.
In retrospect, this was a pretty harsh recap. If you happen to be Mormon, I apologize. I tend to be a bitter writer. Just check out the rest of this blog.
Continue reading here.
I have a problem with the Linguistics TAs at my school. Since the field is entirely about languages, most people who work in the department know a few. Also, because one of the emphases is English as a Second Language, many of the TAs are foreign exchange students. The two for my class are both Asian and have very thick accents. I find this problematic.
Much of what we are learning heavily involves pronunciation. It is extremely annoying to try and understand the IPA when your instructor cannot distinguish between certain sounds. It’s like learning to paint from a blind person.
While all of that is rather annoying, the part that gets me the most is that there’s nothing I can do about it. A huge part of Linguistics is being culturally aware and sensitive toward other dialects. If you complain to anyone in the department, it makes you look like you haven’t been paying attention in their class. Try going to Women’s Studies and complaining that it’s taught from a feminist perspective. I imagine there would be similar results.
Back when I was a Freshman, I hated those cocky people who would bike around campus without holding onto the handlebars. That lasted a few months or so until I learned how to do it myself. Now, after two and a half years of practice, I’ve become rather adept at the art. For the longest time, it’s been my desire to be seen riding around campus with my nose buried in a book (not literally). I discovered something I might consider just as good.
In a somewhat unrelated note, Jayna bought this cool little metal notepad over the summer. The cover is spring loaded, so when you take out the pen–which serves as a lock–it opens right up. Seeing this and the fact that it was on sale, I bought one for myself.
Over the weekend, I was reminded of the fact that I own this, so I brought it out and have started using it again. I slipped it in my pocket and have been jotting down notes today.
Back to the bike. When biking through a particularly busy part of campus, I’ll slip my hand in my pocket, pull out my notepad, open it up, and jot down a note or two. I think I like this even better than reading a book, because it not only involves holding paper, but holding a pen and using it to write. What joy!
Man, I have become a cocky bike rider.
