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Knowing and Believing


I recently found myself trapped amongst the sweaty, irritable riders of a crowded city bus, and having been put into this situation as a result of poor planning, I also found that I was without any source of personal distraction. So I instead looked to my bus-riding compatriots for entertainment. What I ended up stumbling upon, rather, was an intriguing concept. Across the aisle and two seats up from me, two women were loudly (fortunately for me) discussing an infamously difficult topic to explore whether among friends or strangers. That is to say, one woman was impatiently demanding of her companion how she could possibly go through life believing in God. Meanwhile, the other woman was just as vehemently insisting that it was foolish and even sinful to suggest that there was any other way. From their volley of sometimes profound, often incoherent arguments, I gathered that the first was a scientist of some philosophical persuasion and that the other was some variation of the stereotypical pastor's wife. They eventually exited the bus and went their separate ways, the discussion discarded and forgotten.


But it stayed with me. As the bus ride resumed, now in silence, questions and possibilities swirled around my head. The foremost question; what is knowing? Where, in the great bubble of perception, do the lines blur and faith merges into knowledge? On one end of the spectrum, you have the naive and obvious theory that your brain works directly with the real world. We know that we do all our thinking with our brains, and any information we receive is input from our eyes, ears, and other sense organs. But that's where this theory stops. Say for example, that I point to an apple and say to you, "is that an apple?" and you look at it and reply, "this apple?". I see you seeing it and having thoughts about it, and I conclude that it's really there, just as my eyes and fingers present it to me, and that when I think about it I'm thinking about a real thing. You see why I call it obvious? And at the opposite extreme, you have those in out modern biosphere of thought that will tell you that everything we think we know about the world outside our skulls is an illusion. Can we knowingly say that that's wrong, not really. But it doesn't make sense. And the other attitude is too blunt and restricting. There has to be a middle.

When we think about the world and almost anything in it, what we are really thinking about is a bunch of data, or givens, that have reached our brains from our eyes and ears and so forth. To go back to the apple, I am given a visual image of the apple and I am given a memory of what it felt like when I touched it, but that's all I have to work with, as far as that apple is concerned. It is impossible and unthinkable for my brain to come to grips with the actual, physical apple in and of itself because my brain simply does not have access to it. All that my brain can ever work with are the look and the feel, givens piped into our nerves.

That being said, the concept of 'knowing' understood, how do we classify the information we have regarding whichever greater being we believe in? We say that God is everywhere, for example, but at the same time say that He is more than just a tree or highway or a mountain. Otherwise, to worship God would be to worship nature and that completely defeats the purpose. But if we know that our brain cannot actually "know" something without information sent from the eyes, tongue, fingers...then what do we call our ideas about God or similar concepts? What the heck is believing? How did that all come around? I don't freaking know. I'm not promoting or persecuting any beliefs anybody out there has. I'm not even gonna spring a new idea on you. This isn't a persuasive essay. It's merely what I've been getting at this with this blog. Thought. Think about it.

From me to you,
- The Sad Blogger

Always Trust Stangers Advice.

World Skills was hosted in Calgary this year as you all hopefully know, so I decided that I wanted to go down one day during school. So I left school at 11:15, and took the '73' down to Chinook. Mind you, I was with my cousin, and neither of us had ever taken this route, and we had no idea where we were going. As the whole bus sits there in silence, my cousin and I get on the bus, and are talking kind of loudly, saying we have absolutely no idea where to get off, and we just kept giggling in our seats. Then, the lady in front of us asked us "Are you going down to World Skills, cause if you are, get off at Chinook station, and then take the C-train." Excellent, I finally had a little bit of a clue of where I was going. So we arrive at Chinook, and we get off.


Now I'm by the Pet Store and a Home Depot, and it was now almost 12, and we were getting pretty hungry. So I insisted on going in Home Depot and look for free popcorn. See, at 'Totems' they have free popcorn, I was just looking in the wrong store. So we come out a little bit depressed, and stilla little hungry because there was no popcorn, but we found an A&W, and got something to eat there. Yum. Now I was full, but I didn't know where the train station was. So once again, I was talking loudly again, and this random guy said, 'Turn left, and go straight, and it should be down there.' Excellent.


Now were in the train station, and we caught the first C-train that came up. We were headed northbound, and we were just hoping that we would end up at the stampede grounds somehow, and Thank God, we got to the Earlton station.


We walked around the World Skills, and got some free T-shirts, free bags, carpenters pencil, and I could lift up the 100 pound bricks in one of the 'try a skill' tents. Freaking Awesome.


Now. The Ride home. We now have gained 3 more people, and 3 times the stupidity.


So all we needed to do was take the C-train down town. Get off, and take a two. Simple right?
So, were on the C-train, and we were looking for the McDonalds that my sisters ate at in the morning cause that's where they got on. So we saw the Mcdonalds, and started looking for the next stop to get off at. Well, ofcourse it's our luck, and there weren't any stops while we passed over a river, and some trees and stuff. So now were headed, well, God knows where, and we very smartly decided to take the route all the way around. I mean, that would only take an hour or two right?


Once again. 5 people, all giggling on the bus, talking really loudly, and this woman looked at us and said 'Take my word of advice. Get off the train now, and take one back to your stop.' And then it clicked. We all piled off, and were laughing ridicously hard at our stupidity, and took the next c-train back. So that time, were were successful. We got off, and just had to wait for the 2. We get off and started walking, and we saw the 2, and I suggested 'Guys, we could run and catch that one', and ofcourse our legs hurt by now from walking all the way around, and my friend didn't want to run. She insisted that we would catch it. Ofcourse I have to say ' I would laugh sooo hard if it drives away...' On cue. Bye Bye #2.


So we had to wait around a little while, and there were alot of birds flying around, and my sister was terrified cause she hates birds, but that's besides the point. And were sitting there at the stop, when another bus driver told us 'that that was the wrong bus stop'. So we moved back a little, and waited some more. A bus that was supposed to take 2 minutes ended up taking 20 minutes. Then the 2 finally arrives, and we catch it, and we go all the way home. We get home absolutely exhausted, but we had some awesome pizza, and it was awesome.


Overall that day was very productive.
We learned:
- How to take a 73
- How to take a C-train, and remember our stop, and what to do if we miss it again.
- To read signs of moved bus stops
- And always trust stangers advice.


- Happy Blogger

Good Things Part 2


So often, with seemingly everything in the world weighing down on us, we let it get the better of us and convince ourselves that everything is wrong. When that happens you have to remember the good things. You have to remember things that make your lips curl into a grin just thinking about it, things that make you giggle inside, things that make your chest feel warm.

In the first grade, some kids built a tree house in one of the trees surrounding the lot near our school. At recess I would follow the brave kids to the tree and watch them climb up to the top and hang out there 'til the teachers came and yelled at them to come down. One day I begged my mom to take me to the tree house and I spent 5 minutes working up the courage to climb up the old tree. When I finally got to the top, I was ecstatic! I felt like I was so high up! I don't remember too much from that time, actually. I remember taking trips to Calgary during the summer and seeing the Stampede parade. We'd also come to Calgary at Christmastime and sleep at my grandma's house. We managed to fit two beds into her little guest room and we'd all sleep in there. I liked sleeping with my whole family in one room. I could hear them all breathing and I felt like I was safe. Those trips to grandma's house were also my first experiences with real snow. Back in the day (haha!), the snow seemed so deep! Like it would come up to my eyes! I loved that snow so much. I still get that hint of a little kid feeling whenever it snows. Winter brings back all those memories...Christmas smells, Christmas tastes...I love it.

In October of 1999, my family took a trip to Disney World in Florida. That was an experience. I kept a scrapbook of that entire trip. I took a million photos, wrote whole pages of journal entries, and clipped information out of every guide and map I could get my hands on. That trip is probably in my top five happiest memories ever. Every moment was a good moment. Every long line was worth the gleeful few minutes that resulted. The exhaustion of 16-hour days didn't cause any problems either. The whole thing was amazing. I was too chicken to go on a lot of the bigger, faster rides. But even my family's mocking taunts couldn't ruin the experience for me. I was in child heaven. I'll never forget the magic of that trip.


You know me,
- The Sad Blogger

There Will Be Nun Of That.


As of today, I never have to take another Religious course again. ever. DONE.

I came home, and told my mother the good news, and then blah blah blah, now she wants me to be a nun. A nun. Like a black dress wearing, nun. Now, if you really knew me, I think you'd understand that I would be like Maria from the Sound of Music, and everytime I would do something wrong, there would be a chorus of nuns, standing in perfect staggered positions, singing 'how do you solve a problem like happy blogger'. And then they'd insist that I leave, and then I sing songs with some random children, and we all live happily ever after, climbing every mountain...

A flippitygibbet, a willawisp, a clown...

Sorry 'Ladies and Gentleman', I have fallen short of ideas.
I don't want to be a nun. Just saying.
-Happy Blogger

Have a bit of fun



Because I'm a pretentious douche bag, I was reading poetry just for the heck of it this morning and I stumbled across Percy Bysshe Shelley's To a Skylark and the usage of the word fascinated me. So I did some research. And so the following was born. I'll start with the opening lines of To a Skylark.

HAIL to thee, blithe spirit!
Bird thou never wert—
That from heaven or near it
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.


The term "skylark", more commonly associated with the species of bird, was first printed in 1809 as a verb, meaning "to engage in harmless fun or mischief." Before that, sailors used the term to describe the antics of those that would scurry about the rigging of a ship in port. As the ship approached land, the crew would "lark" about with the anticipation of seeing their families.
It is not certain how the meaning of the word came about. One theory is that the meaning of the word is associated with the free-spirited nature of the bird it derives its name from. Another possibility is that the verb "lark" began as a misinterpretation of the old British verb "lake," which meant "to play or frolic."

I know the meaning of the word "frolic." When I was a kid, my family had some money problems and couldn't afford many toys. We had to find fun the old fashioned way. Honestly, we probably had more fun than the other kids. We lived in a duplex in Vancouver for a short while and our neighbor, Craig, was the most spoiled kid you ever could have imagined. He was the first kid I knew to own a Playstation and I remember his mom inviting my brother and I over to play with it and he never let us touch it. But we really didn't care. We'd hang out in the back yard and play tag or catch or soccer for hours. Now and then we'd see Craig in the back yard, riding around on his little electric Jeep. Remember those? Yeah, he had one of those too. But he wasn't having near as much fun as my brother and I were, tossing the baseball to each other, digging holes in the yard with sticks, using a volleyball as a soccer ball and taking shots.

Kids are so hypnotized by crap these days. There's so much garbage shoveled onto them by the Grand Market of Crap. They sit there all day and stroke their iPods, poke at their cellphones, scream at their video games. Even the toys for younger kids are ridiculous. And the kids watch so much damned TV that there's never anything that they
don't want. They're exposed to an endless stream of toys and games that they must own. People forget how to make their own fun anymore. Nobody just sits in their yard and plays "She Loves Me Not" with a flower or pretends they're an airplane. I used to pretend I was an airplane all the time. In Vancouver, you could be in the backyard and it would be raining. You could run to the front yard and it would be dry. I would run back and forth for an hour, laughing at how magical and amazing it was. People hardly do that anymore.

What happened to that sparkle? That skylark in all of us? Think of the elation in those larking sailors as they came home to their families. Or how it must feel to the skylark to fly. To
fly!!! Can you imagine? Percy Bysshe Shelley called it the "blithe spirit" of the skylark. That means to be completely filled; to be composed of happiness and lightheartedness.

Of course I'm not saying that that blithe spirit has gone from everyone. Maybe you haven't lost it. But it's just something to think about as the new school year takes off. Maybe you've been swept up in something too. Not just toys. Maybe your mind has dulled over the last two months. Well take 5 seconds to think about it...5...4...3...2...1...okay. Yeah? I know, right? It kinda sucks. But it's a new school year. Some might be starting high school for the first time. Or maybe even college. You're going to have a thousand opportunities to wake that kid up inside and have some real new experiences. Have a little fun. Promise? C'mon. Let that skylark out.


As always,
- The Sad Blogger

Dream a Little Dream of...Bee?

The other night, while I was sleeping in my tent trailer, I was having a really awesome dream. I mean, I don't really remember anything about it now, except for the fact that I was about to win some concert tickets. I was sitting in this bland white room, crowded with people, and then they pulled a name out of the draw and was saying "Happy Blogger, Happy Blogger!" All I was thinking was "I won, I won!", and then I realized that the voice was actually an 'external' voice. It was my sister beside me saying my name. It was about quarter to six in the morning, and she looks at me and says "I think I was stung by something, once on my ear, and once on my side". My initial reaction, was burrow deeper into my sleeping back, and cover my ear with my hair, but then she tapped me and said "Seriously, I think something stung me", so I'm still in my sleepy haze, sans glasses, and I was trying to look around the little trailer for, well whatever could have bit my sister. And then she crawled out her sleeping bag, and I squinted (cause sometimes it helps to see better) and I saw a little yellow and black bug crawling in her sleeping back. Well, geez, I wasn't gonna kill it, so we ended up waking up my father, who went outside and shook out the sleeping bag to find absolutely nothing. After an Advil, and some shifting around the trailer, we were heading back to bed, and I looked at my sister and said "So, I guess this means I didn't win the tickets...?!" She looks at me blandly, and falls back asleep.


I was still overly confused on how we never found it, but still, I bug my sister with the occasional..."Still sleeping with the bees?" and she just stares back and mimics, "HAHA, your soo funny!" Well, I thought it was.
-Happy Blogger

A Little Plate For Something Special...

So far, this summer has been incredibl...ly long...boring. FUN! quiet. LOUD. up, down, splurging out the side, but it always seems to serve up something incredibl...ly nice. Whether it was quick pit stop at the closest restaurant, or burnt marshmellows, in they end, they all seemed to be, Nice.


If any of you have ever, you know, 'washed dishes', yeah, well try it camping! It's not always so inviting, where there is no drain, and the water will spill all over you, and you try to stay as clean as possible, because there are no washing machines close, and you fret about, making a big fuss over the nearing wasp thats whispering thoughts of *buzz* in your ear. So, we did the best we could to try to eliminate this, and we bought little disposable plates.


They were stored away, and we had to go through, well this, until finally, there was an occasion in which we actually used them. There seemed to be a special occassion for my cousin, and there just happened to be a cake, unto which, was dying to be placed on some cheap, plastic, little plates. So, one the day of her Birthday, we pulled them out. Then she blew out the candles (Oops, sorry, no boyfriend) and we cut the delicate little pieces of chocolate plates. Now, you have to understand this; My mother was walking around saying 'Look, they're little plates for something special...' and every other time we seemed to use them, that simple little phrase came into mind.


Well, we had a nice little gathering, where we used our 'little plates for something special', and that phrase just seem to stick. Then you realize that it's the little things that can serve up something truly special. (Corny, I know.)
-Happy Blogger

Good Things Part 1


This week, I'm introducing an ongoing series including memories and recollections pertaining to the good things that have made me happy throughout my life so far. I encourage you not just to simply read it and smile, but think about it and try to recall your own happy memories.

So often, with seemingly everything in the world weighing down on us, we let it get the better of us and convince ourselves that everything is wrong. When that happens you have to remember the good things. You have to remember things that make your lips curl into a grin just thinking about it, things that make you giggle inside, things that make your chest feel warm.

It's hard to think back and remember your first memories. I don't remember much of anything before I was at least 4. I remember the apricot tree in our backyard that my dad made a rope swing for. The rope was white and blue and I used to pretend that I was an explorer and swing across perilous precipices. Sometimes my dad would play soccer with me in that backyard. He'd kick the ball in the air and it would go soooo high, it would practically disappear! And I'd laugh and laugh and I thought my dad was the strongest person in the world. Sometimes he'd go away on a business trip and we'd say goodbye to him at the airport and I'd be sad so he'd cheer me up with a whisker kiss. At the time he had a pretty thick beard and he'd scratch it against my cheek and I'd feel better. I also loved the playground. My favorite was the one I called "the swirly park" because it had a tall, yellow spiral slide. Sometimes we'd go to the lake as a family and I'd love swimming and pretending I was in the ocean, fighting off sharks. We'd play frisbee on the beach and my mom would cook the best smokies ever.



Keep thinking,
- The Sad Blogger

C'est la Vie.

Don't you just love it when you'll be sitting there listening to a song, and you realize that you can really understand what the artist was talking about, or just the feelings they were feeling at the time. That often will happen to me, and I'll sit there and pretend sometimes as if 'Taylor Swift' singing 'You Belong to Me', in hope that Lucas Till will realize that he actually belongs with me. But, no. Never happens. Also, you sometimes wish that you could escape into the world of music, and get lost in the lyrics, and be relieved for a few minutes from the crazy world surrounding us.
What I love about music is, is that it is an international language, and it can bring people together with this similarity of the music that can make us all feel unified. I love how it can change the present mood you are in.

Well, I'm sure that all of you out there have heard of "High School Musical", and I know, if anyone was like me, that they would make fun of the fact that they all just randomly start dancing and singing, and you either think that they are retarded, or your like me, and you wish that you could do that too. Well, I wish that there could be songs that I could make up on the spot, and my whole school cafeteria would join me in singing about how much I hate my lunch, and we go off into a little jazzy routine, which would eventually lead to the over throw of the lunch lady, and everyone would rejoice. But, no. Never Happens. Instead, I sing stupid little 'diddy's' in my head, until I'm sitting there, bobbing my head up and down, and people start staring, oh, yes, the starring is wonderful. Then, I follow with just telling myself, that they are all secretly jealous that I can write a song about how much I hate my lunch, and that they will never have the mental capability of doing that, no. No, they won't. Then I feel better.

We all have secret ambitions in which we all want. And I just want to dance and sing, sans jugement. Vive la danse! Vive la musique! C'est la vie.
-Happy Blogger.

Love and Reality

Some, though very few of you, may be aware of and even outraged by a recent piece of overwhelming news. The aforementioned few are followers of the competitive reality series, The Bachelorette. The upsetting news is the result of the season finale aired on Monday. Any REAL fan of the show and anyone who TRULY wanted Jillian (the eligible bombshell searching for love in a world that apparently shuns gorgeous brunettes) to be happy, would have wanted her to pick any of the other guys besides [Special] Ed. And anyone with any kind of grasp on even the subtlest intricacies of the concept of love would have been screaming at their television and throwing coasters when she turned down Reid for the second time. Now, if any guy is still reading this, please bear with me. This is not a rant about The Bachelorette. It is a brief exploration of some of those intricacies of love I was talking about. So on second thought, you might not want to read this anyway.

Alright, while on the surface it makes sense to say that the truest form of love is an intangible essence of the sub-conscious, unfettered by the restrictive definites of logic and sensibility, I must disagree. Sure, most of that can be true but there is also a point in which reality rears its ugly head and part of all that sunshiney fluff has to make way for intelligent thought. Shame, I know. But that is where The Bachelorette fails to bang on all cylinders. It introduces a desperate 'beautiful person' to twenty-some shots at a legitimate relationship, but plunges them all into a fantastical reality that doesn't really exist. Sure, the romantic stone streets of Spain and a riverside picnic in the Hawaiian rainforest may provide the perfect scenarios to experience the more tender aspects of a loving relationship, but they provide no insight into the harsher realities of such a complex thing as marriage.

For those of you that didn't follow the show, you may be ignorantly muttering, "Calm down. They fell in love, it's not like they're getting married!" Oh yeah? I see your ignorant mutter and raise you a triumphant sneer. The guy that wins gets down and proposes right on the show. The point of it is to end up with a ring! I know, right?! I think it's preposterous. The point I'm trying to make is that even though the girl spent eight weeks straight with the guys, they were under the perfect circumstances. Every date was a best-case scenario, every conversation recorded and observed. It was not real life. As much as love can be a supernatural, otherworldly experience, it exists in real life and has to follow the rules as such. But apparently the producers and participants of the show do not realize this.

If Jillian and Ed really do end up married, they will then be stuck in a legally binding contract to each other and only JUST learning about each other's less admirable quirks and qualities in more candid situations. It won't be the same as the fantasy world they lived in on The Bachelorette. Not until they are stuck together will it all come out. Five, ten, twenty years from now, she'll be another unhappy slob with a husband who sees maybe twenty hours a week in his own home. She'll be best buds with cookie sleeves and martini glasses. As she slowly lets herself go, they'll both realize they'd better make a kid before they're both useless. If not to at least produce an excuse to stay together. But unfortunately, his overstress due to work and her voided circulatory system lead to an absolute inability to conceive children. They decide to adopt an autistic Somalian boy (To be both humanitarian and fashionable, of course). When they see that their child spends each day drooling and inhaling sugar cookies, they finally recognize the hideous face of their truly pathetic mutual existence and cry themselves to sleep each night. In separate rooms. So in a last ditch effort to introduce some form of happiness into their lives, they throw a massive Christmas party and buy a dog for the young'un. In the middle of a rousing chorus of Little Drummer Boy, Ed suffers a violent heart attack. Yelling parum-pah-pum-PUM, he topples into the tree, knocking tinsel and balls and dreams scattered across the floor while his retarded child just stares and snorts down another cookie.

I'm going to pause the love story there. The point was that the whole decision making process of The Bachelorette is naive, uninformed, and ignorant of how love operates and coexists in reality. And somewhere in all that, a lesson can be learned and applied to our lives. I won't shove it down your throat any further. But try to let it float around in your mind somewhere. As real and self-sufficient as love can be, try to maintain a balance of reason and sensibility with it.

All the best,
- The Sad Blogger
 

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