An Apology to Joseph Conrad

"His was an impenetrable darkness. I looked at him as you peer down at a man who is lying at the bottom of a precipice where the sun never shines...I saw on that ivory face the expression of sombre pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror--of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision--he cried out twice, a cry no more than a breath--
'The horror! The horror!'"

-Joseph Conrad

Heart of Darkness

I owe Joseph Conrad an apology. 

I used to really hate his guts. When I was a freshman at SUU, I took ENGL 2010 from Professor Charles Cutheburtson (spelling may be slightly off). It was called "Terrorism in Pop Culture." It was quite a nifty class, actually. I was able to write my final paper on the t.v. show 24. But we read a book by Joseph Conrad that I hated. It was called The Secret Agent. It had a cool premise. A guy joins a sort of anarchist group but is too cowardly to be a suicide bomber for their cause. So he ends up strapping a bomb to his mentally retarded brother-in-law and tells him to go run into a crowd. If I remember correctly, the brother-in-law doesn't make it. He trips or something and explodes before he gets to the target. That's a pretty awesome premise if you ask me. However, I found the book to be painfully boring. I could not get into it despite my best efforts. Too much time was spent talking about the cause (which didn't make much sense. Not because I was only 18 years old but because it was a weird, convoluted cause) and not enough time was spent actually taking action. It was the first book ever assigned to me that I didn't finish. From that point on, I did not care for Joseph Conrad.

Fast-forward about five years. I am assigned to read Conrad's Heart of Darkness. It's a three chapter book but the chapters are quite long. I was about a third of the way through the first chapter and I was dying. Nothing interesting was going on and it was killing me. I just so happen to be in the newsroom when I was reading it and I lamented about having to read this book. Just then, John-Ross Boyce, a good friend of mine and the co-editor for the V, interrupted me, shouting, "Shut your fucking face!" I was a bit thrown off by this. I was used to John-Ross shouting and swearing at people and inanimate objects but not at me. He then went on explaining how Joseph Conrad is the greatest British writer to ever exist and how Heart of Darkness was the best thing to ever come off of that godforsaken island (meaning England, I suppose.) I was taken aback by his statement. John-Ross is one of four people on this planet whose taste and opinion in books I trust without question (the others being Joe Willis, Augustus Johnson, and Davey Morrison-Dillard). So I begrudgingly took his word for it and decided to keep reading.

Around 2 a.m. the following Sunday morning, I texted John-Ross and apologized for doubting him. I had spent most of the day reading and around the middle of the second chapter, things got very interesting. VERY interesting. I couldn't put the book down. I read the remainder of the book. When I was finished, I sat in awe of what I had just read. It was tragic, complex, chilling, devastating, and so beautiful. I loved how the idea of darkness was used within the novel. There is the literal darkness of the Congo, the darkness of how the Europeans view and treat the natives, and finally, and perhaps the most powerful use, the darkness that exists inside each individual, how a man can lose himself within the evil that he can become. That's why the quote I used above is so poignant. Kurtz looked inside himself, recounted the years he had spent living in the heart of the Congo. When he realized how much the darkness, the evilness had taken over him, all he could whisper was, "The horror! The horror!" It's devastatingly beautiful. I loved this book. I really, honestly loved this book. 

And so, Joseph Conrad, wherever your soul may be right now, I'm sorry I wasted so many years hating your guts. I'll never doubt you again.

Love you.

Mean it. 

How to Commit Immigration Fraud: A Love Story

Today is your lucky day, faithful reader. My good friend Jon and I were having a conversation yesterday that was so interesting and humorous that it deserves further exploration here. We were talking about marriage in regards to how if a non-citizen marries a citizen, the non-citizen becomes a citizen. I asserted that if I had a friend whose visa was about to expire, I would marry him so he could become a citizen. Jon seemed bewildered by this, but it was not something I threw out there willy-nilly. There is a logical thought process behind this. Allow me to explain:

It's a regarded fact that I am fiercely loyal to my friends, almost to a fault. If one of my friends needs my help, I typically drop everything and go to their aid. Now, for me to be willing to marry one of friends in order for him to get citizenship, we'd have to be really super good friends. I'm talking there is no one either of us loves or trusts more as a friend. This is not a common occurrence for me. I can think of four people who qualify off the top of my head. Next, he would have had to exhaust all other possible options for him to get an extension on his visa or an entirely new visa. There must not be any other options for him. Third, he must have a job. He can't just be loafing around doing nothing. And before you all call 'objection!' yes, it is possible to have a job and not qualify for a work visa.

Now that the ground rules are establish, let us delve into this fantasy scenario of me committing immigration fraud. My "husband", let's call him Dean, and I would probably have to live together. That's fine with me. We'll have separate rooms and treat each other like roommates. To nearly everyone, we'd just be best friends who also happen to be roommates. We wouldn't wear rings, of course. If someone were to ask (say the Immigration Services) I would explain (perhaps in a semi-hostile manner) that wedding rings are an archaic symbol of ownership and I, as a feminist, refuse to be owned by anyone, even if only symbolically. For the same reason, I wouldn't change my last name. That's just a whole lot of paperwork for something that's not really real.

Now, Jon brought up an interesting point. What happens when one of us wants to get married. For Dean, it's no problem. We'll just get a divorce and he'll get married. For me, it's a bit trickier. If I do ever end up getting married, my hope is that I will date my future husband for a very long time before we actually tie the knot (I mean, this would be a real marriage, not one to commit immigration fraud). Hopefully in that time Dean and I can get a divorce and call it good. However, I am one of those kill-joys who believes in being 100% honest with the ones I love so I would have to explain to my boyfriend/future fiance that Dean is more than just my bestie/roommate.

This is where the humor is brought in. Could you imagine such a conversation? It's what romantic-comedy films are made of! And it would be just too funny for me not to lay out for everyone. Let's call my boyfriend Tom. The scene begins with us sitting on the couch.

Kelly: Tom, I love you. You make me so happy and I know I want to be with you for the rest of forever.

Tom: That's how I feel, Kelly.

Kelly: And I know that we've been talking about marriage a lot lately... But there's something I have to tell you. I'm already technically married. To Dean.

This is the part where Tom has a minor to major 'freak-out' moment. It will probably include a lot of accusations, questions, swearing, and general anger, panic, and confusion. I will wait patiently and then continue.

[Insert explanation of how Dean and I got married so he could stay in the country, how we've never, ever done anything that married couples do, and how we're planning on getting divorced on XXX date here.]

Hopefully after the explanation in its entirety and after Tom calms down a bit, he'll be understanding and stick around. If not, well, he can go screw himself. Like a said, fierce loyalty. It can be a bugger.

Love you.
Mean it.

My Tattoo Ideas

I've always wanted a tattoo.

Even when my dad said that if I ever got one, he'd remove it with a cheese grater. Even when the LDS church forbid them, I'd still think about what I would get. But since that isn't really a problem anymore, (the cheese grater might still be a viable threat) my tattoo ideas have become a little more...serious? Realistic? Plausible? Whatever you want to call it, I'm really thinking about getting one.

But when it comes to what I would get, I'm torn. I've never really been attached to any image, or at least one that would translate into a good looking tattoo. Considering that I've spent most of my life with my nose in a book, it makes sense I'm not a real 'image-oriented' kind of gal. The first image I seriously considered was the symbol for the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense (BPRD).

It's from the comic book series, Hellboy. When I unexpectedly moved back to Provo, I didn't have any friend close by. So I started reading more comic books. I really liked the Hellboy series. Hellboy is destined to bring about the end of the world and in each comic book, he's pressured into fulfilling this destiny. Yet he choses to fight fate. It's his life and he wants to live it the way he wants. His struggle was something I could really relate to, although I doubt I'm the one that will usher in the end of the world.

I've thought about getting some text tattooed on me. The only issue with that is I have about a million and one things to choose from. "Don't let the bastards win" was my granddad's motto. It's always been able to get me through pretty hard times. I also like the idea from Kurt Vonnegut's "Breakfast of Champions" of having a door with the words "Destructive Testing" on it.

The character of Dwayne recalls the story of when he had gone to the General Motors headquarters and had taken a tour of the research facilities. There was a room where the researchers did everything thing they possibly could to every piece of the car. They lit the upholstery on fire, threw gravel at the windshield, ran the engines at high speeds with almost no lubrication, etc. That sign, "Destructive Testing," was on the door of that room. Dwayne then says, "I saw that sign and I couldn't help wondering if that was what God put me on Earth for--to find out how much a man could take without breaking."

Another idea also comes from a Kurt Vonnegut book, God Bless You Mr. Rosewater. In the book, Mr. Rosewater is asked to "baptize" these twin babies. He gives them a little speech about life here on Earth: "...you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies--'Goddamnit, you've got to be kind.'" I think that sums up my feelings on life rather nicely.

But the one tattoo I know I am going to get is a scarlet letter P on the back of my right shoulder.

There are a couple reasons for this. One, one of my favorite American novels is The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. All the other reasons tie in with that story. For a good portion of my life of my life, (nearly 43 percent by my calculations) I hated my life and nearly every single part of it. I hated myself and I often wished I didn't exist. But around the time I turned 22 years old, something changed. I found myself happy. Really happy. Ridiculously happy. It was almost startling because I didn't know people could be so happy without exploding. I loved my life and I loved living it. Then, as time when on, people would accuse me of being prideful, of thinking too highly of myself. Every time this happened I wanted to tell that person it has taken me nearly a decade to learn to love myself and I'm never going back to the way things were. If they thought I was proud, they could go fuck themselves. This is where the tattoo comes in. Just like how Hester was forced to wear her "sin" for public display, even though she didn't feel it was a sin, so will I. Pride is my "scarlet letter." 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Feminism & Keeping my Last Name

The other day I was having a discussion in the newsroom. Unlike most conversations that occur there, this one had nothing to do with sex, alcohol, obscure cinema, or dorky stuff. It was about the idea of women who keep their last name or hyphen their name when they get married. It was an interesting conversation, mainly because it was something I had thought about before & made a decision on years ago and have not thought about it since. I have always planned on taking my husband's last name should I find myself getting married. Like I said, I decided this years ago and haven't really thought about it since. But now I'm starting to reconsider it.

For as long as I can remember, I've always been a champion for women's rights. I guess you could call me a feminist, even though that title carries such a negative connotation nowadays. It seems like in today's society the title feminist is synonymous with bitch. I've been called a feminist before and I instantly get angry because it is said in such a negative fashion, as if the word "bitch" automatically has to follow the word "feminist." When did this happen? When did believing in equality between the sexes become such a negative thing?

It's kind of funny. In my improv group, they all know my political & ethical beliefs lean more to the left and about my passion for women's rights and they exploit it during games, which results in hilarious outcomes. Just last practice I was in a game of "Buzzers & Bells" with Chris and this other girl who is called Captain for some unknown reason. The scene was we were all at a feminist rally and Captain had brought Chris there to pick up on chicks. I came on later as an active participant in the rally. While talking to Captain & Chris, I began listing off facts (that are in reality accurate) about the oppression of women in the workforce, at school, etc. Captain then said something like "Wait, my mom raised me to stay at home, cook, clean, have babies, and wait on my husband because he's the leader of the family." What happened next was perfectly described by Reed & John afterward:

Reed: Kelly, your reaction to what Captain said, that furious rage, was so funny because it was so real.
John: Kelly, how did you get steam to come out of your ears? That was amazing.

Basically, it took all my strength not to kill a bitch right then and there.

I know people laugh about my feminist tendencies and yes, I'll admit it's one of my eccentricities but I don't understand how feminism became such a negative thing in our society. I grew up with the mentality that I should never be denied anything solely based on the fact I'm a woman. I have this "motto" of sorts: "I wish people would quit telling me I can do whatever I want. I never thought I couldn't." That's the God-honest truth. I grew up reading the works of Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, Alice Walker, Eleanor Roosevelt, and others. I was drawn to powerful females throughout history, who fought for their voices to be heard. And even though I know my liberal vote doesn't mean a whole lot in this strict conservative state, I still vote because women who came before me fought tooth and nail so I could have the right to vote. If I don't take advantage of it, it's like their sacrifice doesn't matter.

So why am I still made fun of when I show my feminist side? Why is it something to be mocked? I really don't understand this at all. And if I were to tell my family & friends that I was considering keeping my last name or hyphenating it or whatever, I know I'm going to be made fun of. But why? What is so wrong about wanting to keep my identity? What is so wrong with fighting for equality? What is so wrong with wanting to show everyone that I am more than just a woman?

I guess I'll just add it to the list of things I just don't understand about this world.

Oh, and p.s.
"Women who aspire to be equal to men lack ambition."

Love you.
Mean it.

The Worst Part of my Day

I've developed this habit of texting people at night when I'm in bed.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep, usually 2-3 hours. Those 2-3 hours are horrible. It's when I feel the most alone. I spend most of my days alone, either by circumstance or by choice. It doesn't bother me for the most part. But when it's dark and I'm left with nothing else to distract me, demons come out of hiding. Those old familiar feelings of loneliness, isolation, misery, & despair, I'm so used to them they've become second nature, a morbid "normal" for me.

So I text people. I know texting is one of the lowest forms of communication, probably only beaten by Facebook but it's all I've got to feel connected to someone in those hours of darkness. It's a frail but real feeling that someone out there gives a shit.

It's no secret that I hate night. I've become afraid of the dark over the last few years. I don't know why. Something about it is terrifying. You can't see what's there in the dark. No one can see you either. But this awful feeling like I'm completely alone that comes on only at night is more terrifying to me than pitch-black darkness. And if I can get just one person out there to text me, to make some simple, feeble form of communication to me, the night seems less terrifying.

I wish I could get over this need for connection at night. I'm sure my friends are getting rather sick of it. I know if I had a more solid stable for of connection with someone here then maybe I wouldn't feel the need to make desperate attempts at night to fill the darkness.

The only good thing about the night is it seems to make me more honest, more bold in my writing. I'm never braver than I am at night. I guess since I feel alone, I don't think as much about people reading this and therefore, I don't feel the need to hide anything. It's just a theory.

This is the worst part of my day. And it happens at the end of every goddamn day. So if anyone out there gets a seemingly random text from me at night, just know I'm only trying to make it to morning.

Love you.
Mean it.

#5: Do you believe in God?

A lot of people have been asking me about this lately. Actually, people have been asking me about this ever since I moved back to Provo. It surprises me how much it comes up, but it surprises me more how much people care.

Anyway, the answer to the question "do I believe in God" is yes, kind of.

Allow me to explain:

Since leaving the religion I was raised in (LDS), I haven't joined any other religion. I no longer consider myself a religious person or even a spiritual person for that matter. The only belief that I can claim technically isn't a spiritual or religious belief but rather an intellectual movement that started in the 17th & 18th centuries. Called Deism, it's the belief in a supreme being based on rational thought but not one who has any interaction with its creations. Some have called it the "Divine Watchmaker" god. He created the universe and everything in it but once he was finished, he let go and watched it "tick." You can read more about deism here. A lot of famous and prominent  people have subscribed to this idea including Napoleon Bonaparte, Marlon Brando, Benjamin Franklin, Victor Hugo, David Hume, Thomas Jefferson, John Locke, James Madison, Thomas Paine, Alexander Pope, Mark Twain, George Washington, and Voltaire.

This idea of a "hands-off" kind of god makes sense to me. I can't, for the life of me, claim to be an atheist or even an agnostic. In studying different theories on how the universe was created, there are simply too many variables that needed to be just so in order for the whole thing to work. For instance, as Bill Bryson puts it in his book A Short History of Nearly Everything:

"If the universe had formed just a tiny bit differently--if gravity were fractionally stronger or weaker, if the expansion had proceeded just a little more slowly or swiftly--then there might never have been stable elements to make you and me and the ground we stand on. Had gravity been a trifle stronger, the universe itself might have collapsed like a badly erected tend, without precisely the right values to give it the right dimensions and density and component parts. Had it been weaker, however, nothing would have coalesced. The universe would have remained forever a dull, scattered void." 

It just doesn't seem mathematically probable for that kind of precision to happen all by accident. I can't force myself to believe that it's all random, that there isn't some supreme being making sure that it all is just so. It's just too improbable.

However, my belief in a creator does not automatically mean I believe in an interactive God. To be completely honest, I do believe in a God but I do not believe he gives a shit about any of us. There is just too much pain and suffering in this world to believe God interacts with us. The pain and torture that mankind inflicts on itself, especially on children & others innocent of any wrong doing is incomprehensible and unbearable. If God really did care and really did interact with his creations, why is there still so much suffering? Yes, I understand the concept of free-will and people must face the consequences of their actions, but what about people who are the victims of someone else's bad choice who are completely innocent? How can any God justify abused children? How can he justify natural disasters or terrorist attacks? How can he justify letting me be born here in America where I live a pretty damn comfortable life while at the same time there is a 23-year-old woman in a war-torn country pregnant by a brutal rape with no hope for the future? I've heard arguments that it's just God's way of rewarding our faithfulness in the previous life. I'm sorry but I find that to be bullshit. It's God playing favorites, which doesn't seem like a very just thing to do. The only way I can rationally explain why God allows all of these horrible things to happen is he does not interact with anything in this world.

Now, do I stil believe in being moral. Of course I do, you shmuck. I still believe in justice. I still believe God is going to reward or punish you for the life you led on this planet. If you worked hard, did your best to find happiness, helped your fellow men, or, at the very least,  did everything you could to not make anyone else's life any shittier, I think God will reward you. If you went through life maliciously hurting others for your own personal gain, God's going to punish you. There has to be a point to this horrible mess we call life and I think it's to find happiness and help others. That's it. Pretty simple.

So to summarize everything just discussed:
Do I believe in God? Yes.
Do I believe he gives a shit about us? No.

Love you.
Mean it.

#93: What is your favorite physical feature of the opposite sex?

Some girls dig muscles. Others like a nice smile. Me, I like a guy's hands.

Let me explain.

I have rather small hands. The ring size for my thumb is size 6 and doesn't fit on most girls' forefingers. While my hands are small, my fingers aren't stubby. They're proportional to the rest of my hand and my wrist. I guess they could be described at dainty. They remind me of women in the south before the Civil War. Those Southern Belles had dainty hands and kept them as white and as soft as possible. To me, my hands are extremely feminine.

Now, it's no secret that I like my guys to be more on the intelligent dorky side. However, I love it when guys have strong tough hands. Since my hands are so feminine & dainty, I like my guy's hands to contrast sharply with them. I like hands that are big, calloused, rough, ready to take charge and do some hard work. I love holding a guy's hand or playing with his hands when they're really "manly" like that. Whenever I meet a guy who has hands like that, I instantly find him attractive. If I meet a guy who has hands just like mine, I'm typically turned off to him (there have been a few exceptions but that is the general rule).

p.s. Any innuendos found in this entry are purely coincidental and are the fault of the dirty mind the reader. Shame on you. Get your head out of the gutter.

Love you.
Mean it.