Warm fuzzy slippers and hot cocoa for the believer. That's how this article makes me feel (in a sciencey kind of way). I stumbled on an abridged form of this piece about two months ago and recently rediscovered it online. It concerns the drastic debate on the subject "is there life after death?" (one of the top not-so-appreciated topics for civil dinner conversation). Usually, I find that most atheists and non-believers have the upper hand on the intellectual side of this argument, and I give them tons of credit for their superb scientific criticism. However, in light of approaching the believer's perspective, I found that D'Souza puts up quite an eloquent, intelligent fight for the highly criticized afterlife hopeful. While quite obviously D'Souza's own bias shows through, the arguments presented encourage both sides to take a closer look at perhaps "the brighter side of things." Feel free to smile/scoff as you please! Happy reading!
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Life after death: What does the evidence show?
Friday, January 1, 2010
BY DINESH D'SOUZA
IS THERE life after death? I don't think there is a thoughtful person alive, whether believer, atheist or seeker, who hasn't pondered that question.
For me, the question seriously arose a few years ago when my dad died. And then a year ago my best friend was diagnosed with cancer. "What I have learned from this," he told me, "is that the apparent normalcy of our everyday lives is a sham." To him and others, death is the great wrecking ball rolling down the corridor, threatening to wreck all our past accomplishments, present projects and future plans.
It seems impossible to figure out what comes after death, since none of us can return from the other side of that curtain, nor can we interview those who have already died.
Yet belief in life after death is both timeless and global. Almost every culture believes in an afterlife. Belief in life after death runs especially high in non-Western countries, but even in America it runs as high as 75 percent. Only in parts of Asia and Europe is belief in an afterlife an uncommon view.
Atheists who deny both God and an afterlife may be vastly outnumbered, but they think they occupy the intellectual high ground on this question. That's because religious believers typically affirm the afterlife on the basis of faith, while atheists regard themselves as denying it on the basis of science and reason.
Reasons for believing
Setting aside religious convictions, what does reason alone say about life after death? That's the question I sought to answer in my latest book "Life After Death: The Evidence."
I began by leveling the playing field between atheists and believers. Sure, the believer hasn't been to the other side or questioned any dead people, but the atheist hasn't either. So what information does the atheist have that the believer doesn't? None. The absence of proof is not proof of absence, so the atheist's denial of life after death, like the believer's affirmation of it, is ultimately a faith-based position.
The evidence that does exist mostly cuts the other way. Consider the only empirical evidence we have, which is near-death experiences. In these cases, patients were clinically dead; their hearts stopped. Yet tens of thousands of such people around the world report that consciousness and experience continued even when their body ceased functioning.
From a scholarly compendium of articles on the subject, "The Near-Death Experience: A Reader," edited by Lee Bailey and Jenny Yates, we discover that these accounts are remarkably similar. Subjects report being drawn through a tunnel and seeing a bright light. They often experience their whole lives flash before them, what scholars term the "life review." In many cases, they encounter deceased relatives and friends. Frequently they are in a presence of a celestial being.
When near-death experiences were first re-ported by Raymond Moody in the 1970s, they were written off as anecdotal and unverifiable. But now these experiences are so widespread from across cultures that they cannot be easily dismissed, and there is a whole body of scholarship devoted to studying how they come about and what they mean.
Alarmed by the obvious implication of near-death experiences, atheists have been laboring assiduously to explain them away. Today, the best atheist explanation is that near-death experiences are the result of a dying brain. When the brain irreversibly breaks down, psychologist Susan Blackmore contends, it generates special effects that closely track the near-death experience.
There are several problems with this theory, but one fatal one is that many survivors of clinical death are now going to work, looking after their families and functioning just fine. So much for an "irreversible" breakdown.
In my research I also explored evidence from physics, biology and brain science to see if life after death is consistent with or even corroborated by these fields of study.
Insights from physics
Consider the evidence from physics. For the Christian conception of life after death to be viable, there have to be realms beyond the physical universe that are quite literally outside space and time. This is what the Christian concept of "eternity" means. God is eternal and heaven is his eternal realm. But in Newtonian physics these concepts made no sense, because time was presumed to extend indefinitely into the past and the future, and space was presumed to stretch unendingly in all directions.
Today, however, you just have to wander into an introductory college science class to see how 21st-century physics has greatly widened our horizons. Today scientists routinely speak of hidden dimensions, multiple realms and even multiple universes. What do we know about multiple universes? Not a lot, but we know that if they do exist they would have laws radically different from those in our universe.
One of the direct implications of the Big Bang is that not only did the physical universe have a beginning, but space and time also had a beginning. Space and time are properties of our universe. This means that in realms beyond our universe, if such realms exist, there might be no space and no time. Suddenly the Christian idea of eternity is rendered intelligible.
In considering the question of life after death, I moved from why it's possible to why it's probable to why we should embrace the idea. Since we are dealing with a future event, I acknowledge that we cannot have certainty. I don't claim to prove my case beyond a reasonable doubt, but I do claim to prove it by a preponderance of the evidence. In the end, we have to resolve this residual uncertainty by asking a practical question: "Is it good for me to believe?"
For me, the clear answer is yes. If there is no life after death, we are like passengers on the Titanic: We can rearrange the deck chairs and turn up the music, but we are ultimately doomed. By contrast, if there is life after death, we can face death with serenity, viewing it is a gateway to another life. Also we have reason to hope that good will eventually be rewarded and evil held accountable. Moreover, recognizing that our terrestrial existence is part of a larger drama, we can forge a sense of lasting purpose in our lives. So not only is belief in an afterlife reasonable, it is also good for us.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Aaaand That Should Catch Us Up To Today!
I AM VICTORIOUS! :D
TODAY, my house relented, and in turn, we FINALLY received the internet. So, this goes out to my meek little desktop...
Dear Dell,
I heart you sooooo much. I will follow through on our bargain. Promise.
Love,
KMonster
PS- Your blinky "Yes! You ARE connected to the internet!" lights really make me happy.
TODAY, my house relented, and in turn, we FINALLY received the internet. So, this goes out to my meek little desktop...
Dear Dell,
I heart you sooooo much. I will follow through on our bargain. Promise.
Love,
KMonster
PS- Your blinky "Yes! You ARE connected to the internet!" lights really make me happy.
Just A Few Days Ago...
What’s My Age Again? (aka Chapter 23)
Today I discovered something. That is, that I am going nowhere… really REALLY fast. Like beam-me-up-Scottie, ultimate-antithesis-of-the-Comcast-tortoises-commercial, lightning-shooting-out-your-fingertips (“Woah woah woah! Where did all this lightning come from and why is it shooting out my fingertips??”) … fast.
Speaking of high-speed internet, we have none so far. I was under the unique impression my family was finally stepping into the 90s today by having wireless internet installed in the house. Not so. Though I can say the parents made a concerted effort to do just that. We called to have the internet installed and a nice man from AT&Total Nincompoop came over to assist us this morning. As it just so happens to turn out, our house apparently has some sort of “airborne allergy” to the new intruder (we’ll call it INTERNET). We had this explained to us by the learned technicians (who spent hours fiddling around in their big white trucks or stomping around the yard looking important) as a “weird splicing in the cable-thingy that’s supposedta connect you guyses house to duh net.” Bloody brilliant. I knew it was too good to be true. It figures. My entire house is rebelling against technology. “C’mon, House. This’ll be nice and easy. Just let the cable do the work and we’ll pretend it’s just another phone line… What’s that, House? …You don’t have a working phone line anymore? Mother had it cut off months ago? [rumples in defeat, Kermit the Frog-style]
…I’m at a loss. But I shoulda known SHE’D be in on it too. [sigh] OHHH THE HUMANITY!
…Even so, House. Let’s make a deal! You OK the internet, and in return, we’ll give you… LOVE! :D
…Hmm. No dice, eh? Heard that one before, I assume? …Damn… Alright. How about… a remodeled bathroom and some new paint? …DAMN! I thought I had it hook-line-and sinker there. OK. What DO you want? … [GASP!] …But!…I!…Oh alright. Deal.
…What? You were expecting me to tell you the intimate details of the deal between me and my house? Get outta here! Just trust me. Within a week, we’ll have the internet at long last. Mark my words.
(Damn, she drives a hard bargain…) :P
Today I discovered something. That is, that I am going nowhere… really REALLY fast. Like beam-me-up-Scottie, ultimate-antithesis-of-the-Comcast-tortoises-commercial, lightning-shooting-out-your-fingertips (“Woah woah woah! Where did all this lightning come from and why is it shooting out my fingertips??”) … fast.
Speaking of high-speed internet, we have none so far. I was under the unique impression my family was finally stepping into the 90s today by having wireless internet installed in the house. Not so. Though I can say the parents made a concerted effort to do just that. We called to have the internet installed and a nice man from AT&Total Nincompoop came over to assist us this morning. As it just so happens to turn out, our house apparently has some sort of “airborne allergy” to the new intruder (we’ll call it INTERNET). We had this explained to us by the learned technicians (who spent hours fiddling around in their big white trucks or stomping around the yard looking important) as a “weird splicing in the cable-thingy that’s supposedta connect you guyses house to duh net.” Bloody brilliant. I knew it was too good to be true. It figures. My entire house is rebelling against technology. “C’mon, House. This’ll be nice and easy. Just let the cable do the work and we’ll pretend it’s just another phone line… What’s that, House? …You don’t have a working phone line anymore? Mother had it cut off months ago? [rumples in defeat, Kermit the Frog-style]
…I’m at a loss. But I shoulda known SHE’D be in on it too. [sigh] OHHH THE HUMANITY!
…Even so, House. Let’s make a deal! You OK the internet, and in return, we’ll give you… LOVE! :D
…Hmm. No dice, eh? Heard that one before, I assume? …Damn… Alright. How about… a remodeled bathroom and some new paint? …DAMN! I thought I had it hook-line-and sinker there. OK. What DO you want? … [GASP!] …But!…I!…Oh alright. Deal.
…What? You were expecting me to tell you the intimate details of the deal between me and my house? Get outta here! Just trust me. Within a week, we’ll have the internet at long last. Mark my words.
(Damn, she drives a hard bargain…) :P
Let's Skip Ahead A Bit, Shall We?
Ch. 18
January-ish 2010
Dear Computer,
If you could send me a hundred job opportunities within 30 miles of this place, all of which that apply to my specific talents and abilities, I would be most appreciative.
Most appreciatively,
Your Owner
January-ish 2010
Dear Computer,
If you could send me a hundred job opportunities within 30 miles of this place, all of which that apply to my specific talents and abilities, I would be most appreciative.
Most appreciatively,
Your Owner
Chapter 14: You Were Expecting Something Fancier?
“I’d like to make myself believe that planet Earth turns slowly. It’s hard to say that I’d rather stay awake when I’m asleep, cuz everything is never as it seems...”
Giggle in your head. Do it! It feels absolutely wonderful. Do it with careful, passionate practice. Kick off your shoes and hit a squirrel between the eyes. It’ll go nuts, I assure you. Dance under your seatbelt, flip over a rock and call heads or tails. You’ll always win. Do it with love in your heart and a song on your lips. Shake the dust off your brain and pick out the mental seeds that stub your teeth. Don’t pick the cantaloupe out of someone else’s molars until you get the watermelon out of your own…
**It’s sparky, you and I. We’re lucky we’re not electricity. Then we’d REALLY have to watch it.**
Capture a thousand pieces of laughter in a jar, and you could easily create the most musical symphony ever heard by human ears…
I want to be that so badly- a light, a laugh for the whole world. I want to be the smile on your face, the warmth in your heart, the nostalgia in your nostrils… If I could be a pillow to every tired head in the world, I would. If I could be a hug to every person who needed it, I would. If I could be the song that saved someone’s life, I would sing out forever and ever as long as my lungs could churn out the tune. No more an angry hippopotamus of the deep. I want to be the monkey in your wrench, the milk out your nose, the tickle in your gut. I want to make all the goofy faces that ever made anyone laugh out loud, long before the internet did. I want that. And I want to know how.
When I hear a bit of mellow music, I pause and reflect on what I’ve done, what I regret, what I’m happy about, what troubles me, what encourages me, what gives and takes away my hope. It is a complicated scene of rigid irony and conflicted interest. But it sure is interesting. Well, to me that is.
“She says, ‘You’re a masochist for falling for me. So roll up your sleeves…’”
Giggle in your head. Do it! It feels absolutely wonderful. Do it with careful, passionate practice. Kick off your shoes and hit a squirrel between the eyes. It’ll go nuts, I assure you. Dance under your seatbelt, flip over a rock and call heads or tails. You’ll always win. Do it with love in your heart and a song on your lips. Shake the dust off your brain and pick out the mental seeds that stub your teeth. Don’t pick the cantaloupe out of someone else’s molars until you get the watermelon out of your own…
**It’s sparky, you and I. We’re lucky we’re not electricity. Then we’d REALLY have to watch it.**
Capture a thousand pieces of laughter in a jar, and you could easily create the most musical symphony ever heard by human ears…
I want to be that so badly- a light, a laugh for the whole world. I want to be the smile on your face, the warmth in your heart, the nostalgia in your nostrils… If I could be a pillow to every tired head in the world, I would. If I could be a hug to every person who needed it, I would. If I could be the song that saved someone’s life, I would sing out forever and ever as long as my lungs could churn out the tune. No more an angry hippopotamus of the deep. I want to be the monkey in your wrench, the milk out your nose, the tickle in your gut. I want to make all the goofy faces that ever made anyone laugh out loud, long before the internet did. I want that. And I want to know how.
When I hear a bit of mellow music, I pause and reflect on what I’ve done, what I regret, what I’m happy about, what troubles me, what encourages me, what gives and takes away my hope. It is a complicated scene of rigid irony and conflicted interest. But it sure is interesting. Well, to me that is.
“She says, ‘You’re a masochist for falling for me. So roll up your sleeves…’”
Again, With The Backtracking?
13 Dead End Driveway
*Things That I Find Annoying
Getting Sand in Places Sand Does Not Belong
Blinkers Left On For Minutes or Miles Past Their Appropriateness
Arrogance
Bros, Jocks, and the Kinds of Girls Who Flock to Bros/Jocks
Laughter at My Expense
Math
Seafood
Lack of Intelligence
Txt Abbrvs (especially the overuse of “lol”)
Ppl Who Cannt Spel Good/Grammer. Phailures
Having Dog Fur Scent On My Hand
Screamo
People Who Have Absolutely No Appreciation For Kids/Kid Stuff
…
“You look so defeated, lying there in your new twin sized bed…”
**sigh**
That’s it. I’m getting me to a nunnery :P
*Things That I Find Annoying
Getting Sand in Places Sand Does Not Belong
Blinkers Left On For Minutes or Miles Past Their Appropriateness
Arrogance
Bros, Jocks, and the Kinds of Girls Who Flock to Bros/Jocks
Laughter at My Expense
Math
Seafood
Lack of Intelligence
Txt Abbrvs (especially the overuse of “lol”)
Ppl Who Cannt Spel Good/Grammer. Phailures
Having Dog Fur Scent On My Hand
Screamo
People Who Have Absolutely No Appreciation For Kids/Kid Stuff
…
“You look so defeated, lying there in your new twin sized bed…”
**sigh**
That’s it. I’m getting me to a nunnery :P
Third Verse, Same As the First... :P
(aka Chapter 12)
You know, falling into anything is usually pretty dangerous. Especially sandpaper. Ouch.
But feathers. Now that’s an entirely different story. I mean, who doesn’t wanna fall into feathers? Or Jello? Or kisses?
…I suppose it’s all how you look at it. And maybe it depends on if you like falling in the first place. Are you a limit-testing skydiver? Or a persnickety invalid? This could affect your falling enjoyment enormously. As for me, I don’t prescribe to either label. Yet, I’m more the cautious, tiptoe-into-the-water kind of girl, rather than the reckless cannon-baller. Or so it seems. …I can’t believe I just took the liberty of using “baller” in my ramblings. That’s AWESOME. **grins proudly** “Sometimes, just sometimes, I think they should call me “clever [amy].” :D
…I wish there was some method to this madness. I am, of course, referring to love. I wish I better understood myself, my feelings. Because I feel like I’m sending myself mixed signals. It’s very frustrating. I’m a very frustrating girl, I believe. Shall I ever be content? Will I ever find the one person I want to settle with? Also, why do we call it settling, when the double meaning of “settling” is of course somewhat insulting if used to refer to our future partner? Think about it. You say, “Oh, this is John. We’re settling down together.” Cute. However, when used in another way… “Oh, this is John. We’re settling.” …Hmm… slightly worrisome. I can picture Mom and Dad on the other side of this table a bit concerned for their little girl’s future with this man. “But sweetheart! Whyever would you feel you have to settle, darling?” The words down and together, then, must be vital here. It’s the difference between a partner for life and a partner for now.
Well then. I suppose I would be remiss in not telling you about this fantastic friend I have. But perhaps I won’t. Stories always get complicated when you throw friends into the mix (no offense friends). Oh, what the heck… Ever have that moment when you realize that one of the people that you have become close with actually was just maybe the person you were meant to be with? …Hmm. Me neither.
(aka Chapter 12)
You know, falling into anything is usually pretty dangerous. Especially sandpaper. Ouch.
But feathers. Now that’s an entirely different story. I mean, who doesn’t wanna fall into feathers? Or Jello? Or kisses?
…I suppose it’s all how you look at it. And maybe it depends on if you like falling in the first place. Are you a limit-testing skydiver? Or a persnickety invalid? This could affect your falling enjoyment enormously. As for me, I don’t prescribe to either label. Yet, I’m more the cautious, tiptoe-into-the-water kind of girl, rather than the reckless cannon-baller. Or so it seems. …I can’t believe I just took the liberty of using “baller” in my ramblings. That’s AWESOME. **grins proudly** “Sometimes, just sometimes, I think they should call me “clever [amy].” :D
…I wish there was some method to this madness. I am, of course, referring to love. I wish I better understood myself, my feelings. Because I feel like I’m sending myself mixed signals. It’s very frustrating. I’m a very frustrating girl, I believe. Shall I ever be content? Will I ever find the one person I want to settle with? Also, why do we call it settling, when the double meaning of “settling” is of course somewhat insulting if used to refer to our future partner? Think about it. You say, “Oh, this is John. We’re settling down together.” Cute. However, when used in another way… “Oh, this is John. We’re settling.” …Hmm… slightly worrisome. I can picture Mom and Dad on the other side of this table a bit concerned for their little girl’s future with this man. “But sweetheart! Whyever would you feel you have to settle, darling?” The words down and together, then, must be vital here. It’s the difference between a partner for life and a partner for now.
Well then. I suppose I would be remiss in not telling you about this fantastic friend I have. But perhaps I won’t. Stories always get complicated when you throw friends into the mix (no offense friends). Oh, what the heck… Ever have that moment when you realize that one of the people that you have become close with actually was just maybe the person you were meant to be with? …Hmm. Me neither.
Chapter 11- Still December 2009ish
For a brief instance, I see my life passing before my eyes like glass through an accident victim. Then again, it’s only my phone. I swear I live and die by that stupid, cracked, old thing. I jump when I get a text message. No, literally. In the air. Michael Jordan-style. (And no, that expression will NEVER go out. I don’t care if Michael Jordan is now old and fat. He was and always will be a legend of the 90s I knew and loved. So there.) I just can’t seem to get past this dying desire to have a social network. And right now, living at home, my phone’s about the only thing I have to link me to anyyyone outside of these sleepy suburbs. And close to my age, for crying out loud. Ugh. I need to get outta here. Like Jason Bateman needed to get away from his crazy development. Or arrested family. Whatever. **sigh** …Another thing. I hate that I have to type actions in double stars. Did you know that? Apparently Microsoft Word automatically bolds something you put in stars. This was something I was unused to. In texting, I use this coy little device fairly often to express my emotions, like “How are you, honey? **snuggle**” and so on. And I’ve never experienced any weird hitches like that til now. Huh. **sits back in arrogant frustration and contempt** …Stupid Dell. How dare you ruin my cyber-actions fun. Though I’m sure if I was a computer whiz I’d figure out how to turn that little automatic switcheroo to Off. But, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, I’m no computer whiz. I’m not a whiz period. Whizzes are for wusses. So there.
I love my ingenious lame-ness. It suits me, don’t you think?
Sheesh. What an ego…
For a brief instance, I see my life passing before my eyes like glass through an accident victim. Then again, it’s only my phone. I swear I live and die by that stupid, cracked, old thing. I jump when I get a text message. No, literally. In the air. Michael Jordan-style. (And no, that expression will NEVER go out. I don’t care if Michael Jordan is now old and fat. He was and always will be a legend of the 90s I knew and loved. So there.) I just can’t seem to get past this dying desire to have a social network. And right now, living at home, my phone’s about the only thing I have to link me to anyyyone outside of these sleepy suburbs. And close to my age, for crying out loud. Ugh. I need to get outta here. Like Jason Bateman needed to get away from his crazy development. Or arrested family. Whatever. **sigh** …Another thing. I hate that I have to type actions in double stars. Did you know that? Apparently Microsoft Word automatically bolds something you put in stars. This was something I was unused to. In texting, I use this coy little device fairly often to express my emotions, like “How are you, honey? **snuggle**” and so on. And I’ve never experienced any weird hitches like that til now. Huh. **sits back in arrogant frustration and contempt** …Stupid Dell. How dare you ruin my cyber-actions fun. Though I’m sure if I was a computer whiz I’d figure out how to turn that little automatic switcheroo to Off. But, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, I’m no computer whiz. I’m not a whiz period. Whizzes are for wusses. So there.
I love my ingenious lame-ness. It suits me, don’t you think?
Sheesh. What an ego…
Backtracking... The Second
Chapter 10 Installment
Decemberish 2009
Today I met the most BEAUTIFUL check-out man in the whole wide world. You think I’m kidding. Not so. I’m certain of it. His big bubbly blue eyes coy and comical as he heckled me for buying the 2 dollar bottle of red wine (which was really for my mother, if he MUST know). Yes, I know check-out man. You instantly love me too. And oh, how perfectly green our organic-foods life shall be together. In a moment, I could see it all. The matching Hawaiian shirts we wear as we peruse the whole-grain rice cereals hand-in-hand. Our children’s ocean-colored eyes only matched by the dye in our water-saving toilets. We’ll cozy up to a little cardboard fireplace in our downtown high-rise apartment, and life will be produce-perfect…
For once, I gag myself on my own punny-ness. But it’s ok. Cuz it really did happen. And no I didn’t have the guts to stay and see if I could get his number but that’s because I’m afraid to come off like a stalker. And trust me. NOBODY likes to come off as a stalker. Especially when you’re trying your damndest to give off the impression that you sooooo have it going on, cool cucumber-style (no pun intended actually, mr. ideal groceries man)
God bless America I’m cold. And not “oh geez it’s a little cold.” No like honest-to-goodness I’m-Stuck-In-A-Frickin’-Snowstorm-In-Antarctica kind of cold. I must have the WORST circulation known to man. Er wo-man, I guess. Ugh. I swear my mother has GOT to be menopausal. Or pre-menopausal. Peri-menopausal? …Ahem. EITHER way, that leaves me stuck with freezing temperatures and fingers I can’t feel anymore as I type. And toes? HA! What are those? …oh dear I’m rhyming. Unintended rhyming is the WORST, too. COMPOSE THYSELF, DETTMANN! (ahem) …hahahahahahaha! Punny, punny! J
I think I am going to use that as a chapter title. “COMPOSE THYSELF, DETTMANN!” It is literally what I’m doing! Hehe! Though me typing that realization is like hitting my poor reader over the head with it. Like right out of Monty Python’s Holy Grail. “GET ON WITH IT!” We get the joke. MOVE ON.
Anyway, here I am. Sitting here. Wrapped in my gray hoodie, wishing I had a thermal suit on, while my younger sister sweats to death. Is there such a thing as pre-PRE-menopausal? She’s got it. Either that, or she and my mother are in league with each other. Like, “Wonder how long before we drive her to utter ice-cubery? Let’s find out!” Yeah, well… NOT FUNNY, FAMILY! I DON’T LIKE IT WHEN YOU TURN ME INTO ICE-CUBERY! (…thanks, Dane) :P
Ahem. I think I’m changing my middle name. To Cornball. Amy Cornball Dettmann. It is fitting, wouldn’t you say? You’ve heard of Andrew Cornwall Jackson. Well here comes ACD, ready for action! …oh dear. I “C” I’ve really got something there. Rock on. ;)
Decemberish 2009
Today I met the most BEAUTIFUL check-out man in the whole wide world. You think I’m kidding. Not so. I’m certain of it. His big bubbly blue eyes coy and comical as he heckled me for buying the 2 dollar bottle of red wine (which was really for my mother, if he MUST know). Yes, I know check-out man. You instantly love me too. And oh, how perfectly green our organic-foods life shall be together. In a moment, I could see it all. The matching Hawaiian shirts we wear as we peruse the whole-grain rice cereals hand-in-hand. Our children’s ocean-colored eyes only matched by the dye in our water-saving toilets. We’ll cozy up to a little cardboard fireplace in our downtown high-rise apartment, and life will be produce-perfect…
For once, I gag myself on my own punny-ness. But it’s ok. Cuz it really did happen. And no I didn’t have the guts to stay and see if I could get his number but that’s because I’m afraid to come off like a stalker. And trust me. NOBODY likes to come off as a stalker. Especially when you’re trying your damndest to give off the impression that you sooooo have it going on, cool cucumber-style (no pun intended actually, mr. ideal groceries man)
God bless America I’m cold. And not “oh geez it’s a little cold.” No like honest-to-goodness I’m-Stuck-In-A-Frickin’-Snowstorm-In-Antarctica kind of cold. I must have the WORST circulation known to man. Er wo-man, I guess. Ugh. I swear my mother has GOT to be menopausal. Or pre-menopausal. Peri-menopausal? …Ahem. EITHER way, that leaves me stuck with freezing temperatures and fingers I can’t feel anymore as I type. And toes? HA! What are those? …oh dear I’m rhyming. Unintended rhyming is the WORST, too. COMPOSE THYSELF, DETTMANN! (ahem) …hahahahahahaha! Punny, punny! J
I think I am going to use that as a chapter title. “COMPOSE THYSELF, DETTMANN!” It is literally what I’m doing! Hehe! Though me typing that realization is like hitting my poor reader over the head with it. Like right out of Monty Python’s Holy Grail. “GET ON WITH IT!” We get the joke. MOVE ON.
Anyway, here I am. Sitting here. Wrapped in my gray hoodie, wishing I had a thermal suit on, while my younger sister sweats to death. Is there such a thing as pre-PRE-menopausal? She’s got it. Either that, or she and my mother are in league with each other. Like, “Wonder how long before we drive her to utter ice-cubery? Let’s find out!” Yeah, well… NOT FUNNY, FAMILY! I DON’T LIKE IT WHEN YOU TURN ME INTO ICE-CUBERY! (…thanks, Dane) :P
Ahem. I think I’m changing my middle name. To Cornball. Amy Cornball Dettmann. It is fitting, wouldn’t you say? You’ve heard of Andrew Cornwall Jackson. Well here comes ACD, ready for action! …oh dear. I “C” I’ve really got something there. Rock on. ;)
Backtracking...
I think this is a good place to pick up. The eighth installment from my Word Document Book.
October 2009..ish
I think that’s just about the prettiest lyric I’ve heard all day. “I fell in love when you were brushing your teeth over my kitchen sink.” God, I wish I could write lyrics like that. I could make a fortune! (Well, then again this band isn’t really making a fortune. They’re pretty local and just barely making it… Maybe I wouldn’t make a fortune. But it sure would be gratifying.) Or maybe I just want to feel like that someday…
Falling in love. Hmm. What exactly does it take to “fall in love”? Does someone have to push you over a cliff? I’m sure that for some people it must feel exactly like that. Let’s examine this cliché turn of phrase, shall we? To “fall in love.” In the first place, if we are to take the “falling in” part literally, love must be something that can hold or contain you, obviously. Or at the very least, it must be able to absorb you…
Ok that word just looks WRONG. Spelled wrong, I mean. You know the feeling. You write or type something. You pause and stare at the screen for approximately 6 seconds, your mouse hungrily hovering over the word in question. And then it hits you. This word is 100% grammatically/spelling-ly correct, but for whatever reason it just looks wrong. You get very frustrated with this word and begin talking to it. “Why do you look so wrong?” “Who decided you get spelled THAT way?”
… I digress. Ahem. **jumps back on the thought train** Falling in love. Point 2: It also must not be something you’re bumping against or colliding with. Otherwise you’d say “I’ve fallen on love.” Like you were dropped out of the skyscraper window and by some lucky chance landed in a barrel of donuts. Or, “I was walking down the street, texting on my SuperBananaTechno O-Phone and I looked up too late and tripped on a manhole cover and collided with a featherbed mattress.” No. Not like that. Hence, you fall IN love. Sooo… what does love feel like then? Cushion-y? Sharp? Like kissing baby bunny rabbits? I dunno. The world DEMANDS answers! :P
Point 3: Does love have any control of who falls or how? Does it wrap itself around your ankles and pull you in, like an Atlantic wave? Does it like sneaking up behind you, breathing on your neck, suffocating you like a ski-masked thief? Point 4: …Is it ever going to sneak up on me?
October 2009..ish
I think that’s just about the prettiest lyric I’ve heard all day. “I fell in love when you were brushing your teeth over my kitchen sink.” God, I wish I could write lyrics like that. I could make a fortune! (Well, then again this band isn’t really making a fortune. They’re pretty local and just barely making it… Maybe I wouldn’t make a fortune. But it sure would be gratifying.) Or maybe I just want to feel like that someday…
Falling in love. Hmm. What exactly does it take to “fall in love”? Does someone have to push you over a cliff? I’m sure that for some people it must feel exactly like that. Let’s examine this cliché turn of phrase, shall we? To “fall in love.” In the first place, if we are to take the “falling in” part literally, love must be something that can hold or contain you, obviously. Or at the very least, it must be able to absorb you…
Ok that word just looks WRONG. Spelled wrong, I mean. You know the feeling. You write or type something. You pause and stare at the screen for approximately 6 seconds, your mouse hungrily hovering over the word in question. And then it hits you. This word is 100% grammatically/spelling-ly correct, but for whatever reason it just looks wrong. You get very frustrated with this word and begin talking to it. “Why do you look so wrong?” “Who decided you get spelled THAT way?”
… I digress. Ahem. **jumps back on the thought train** Falling in love. Point 2: It also must not be something you’re bumping against or colliding with. Otherwise you’d say “I’ve fallen on love.” Like you were dropped out of the skyscraper window and by some lucky chance landed in a barrel of donuts. Or, “I was walking down the street, texting on my SuperBananaTechno O-Phone and I looked up too late and tripped on a manhole cover and collided with a featherbed mattress.” No. Not like that. Hence, you fall IN love. Sooo… what does love feel like then? Cushion-y? Sharp? Like kissing baby bunny rabbits? I dunno. The world DEMANDS answers! :P
Point 3: Does love have any control of who falls or how? Does it wrap itself around your ankles and pull you in, like an Atlantic wave? Does it like sneaking up behind you, breathing on your neck, suffocating you like a ski-masked thief? Point 4: …Is it ever going to sneak up on me?
Friday, February 19, 2010
A Blanket With Sleeves? The Intro
Let me start from the beginning...
which means I'll have to go back a long, long way...
*cues Star Wars theme*
First of all, I'd like to clarify that I don't own a snuggie. Never did, never will. But I am most definitely pro-anything comfy. So grab your nearest plush, cuddly object and hug it close. Cuz here we go.
This little blog is just for me. Me, the KateMonster. The girl with a hundred nicknames that would take a hundred more stories to tell where they all came from. Thankfully, this blog won't cover that material.
Nope. It's more like a never-ending word document of my life. Maybe, you'll find it interesting. Or boring. Or chuckle-worthy. But here it is, anyway. The sometimes ranting, sometimes goofy, sometimes trying-too-hard-to-be-witty... me.
which means I'll have to go back a long, long way...
*cues Star Wars theme*
First of all, I'd like to clarify that I don't own a snuggie. Never did, never will. But I am most definitely pro-anything comfy. So grab your nearest plush, cuddly object and hug it close. Cuz here we go.
This little blog is just for me. Me, the KateMonster. The girl with a hundred nicknames that would take a hundred more stories to tell where they all came from. Thankfully, this blog won't cover that material.
Nope. It's more like a never-ending word document of my life. Maybe, you'll find it interesting. Or boring. Or chuckle-worthy. But here it is, anyway. The sometimes ranting, sometimes goofy, sometimes trying-too-hard-to-be-witty... me.
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