Did you get engaged while you or your significant other was a student at BYU? If so, how long did you date before you got engaged? How long were you engaged?
And you know what, since I'm so uber-scientific, feel free to report any statistics on any couple you know.
Leave your answer in the comments or email me at byublacksheep (at) gmail (dot) com.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Friday, November 6, 2009
Transcript of John Newton's speech on his confession
John Newton: This is my confession. You must use it. Names, ships' records, ports, people; everything I remember is in here. Although my memory is fading, I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner and Christ is a great savior. You must publish it, blow a hole in their boat with it, damn them with it. I wish I could remember all their names, my 20,000 ghosts. They all had names, beautiful African names. We called them with just grunts, noises. We were apes, they were humans. (cries) I'm weeping. I couldn't weep until I wrote this. "I once was blind, but now I see." Didn't I write that, too?
William Wilberforce: Yes, you did.
John Newton: Well now at last it's true.
William Wilberforce: Yes, you did.
John Newton: Well now at last it's true.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Transcript of Mr. Keating's speech on poetry
Mr. Keating: Keep ripping, gentlemen! This is a battle. A war. And the casualties could be your hearts and souls. Thank you, Dalton. Armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry. No! We'll not have that here. No more Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. Now, my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. Now I see that look in Mr. Pitts' eye, like 19th- century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school. Right? Maybe. Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking, "Yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions." I've a little secret for you. Huddle up. Huddle up! We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering -- these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love -- these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman: "O me! O life! of the question of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish... What good amid these O me, O life?" Answer: "That you are here--That life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse." "That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse." What will your verse be?
Transcript of Mr. Keating's carpe diem speech
Mr. Keating: Seize the day. "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." Why does the writer use these lines? ... Because we are food for worms, lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is, one day, going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die. I would like you to step forward over here and peruse some of the faces from the past. You've walked past them many times, but I don't think you've really looked at them. They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts, full of hormones just like you. Invincible just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see, gentlemen, those boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen. Do you hear it? Carpe. Hear it? Carpe. Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.
Transcript of Dr. Wick's speech on ambivalence
Dr. Wick: You signed yourself into our care. We decide when you leave. You're not ready for it, Susanna. Your progress has plateaued. Does that disappoint you?
Susanna: I'm ambivalent. In fact, that's my new favorite word.
Dr. Wick: Do you know what that means,ambivalence?
Susanna: I don't care.
Dr. Wick: If it's your favorite word, I would've...
Susanna: It means "I don't care." That's what it means.
Dr. Wick: On the contrary, Susanna. Ambivalence suggests strong feelings, in opposition. The prefix, as in ambidextrous means "both." The rest of it, in Latin, means "vigor." The word suggests that you are torn between two opposing courses of action.
Susanna: Will I stay or will I go?
Dr. Wick: Am I sane or am I crazy?
Susanna: Those aren't courses of action.
Dr. Wick: They can be, dear, for some.
Susanna: Well, then, it's the wrong word.
Dr. Wick: No, I think it's perfect. "What world is this? What kingdom? What shores of what worlds?" It's a very big question you're faced with, Susanna. The choice of your life. How much will you indulge in your flaws? What are your flaws? Are they flaws? If you embrace them, will you commityourself to hospital for life? Big questions, big decisions. Not surprising you profess carelessness about them.
Susanna: Is that it?
Dr. Wick: For now.
Susanna: I'm ambivalent. In fact, that's my new favorite word.
Dr. Wick: Do you know what that means,ambivalence?
Susanna: I don't care.
Dr. Wick: If it's your favorite word, I would've...
Susanna: It means "I don't care." That's what it means.
Dr. Wick: On the contrary, Susanna. Ambivalence suggests strong feelings, in opposition. The prefix, as in ambidextrous means "both." The rest of it, in Latin, means "vigor." The word suggests that you are torn between two opposing courses of action.
Susanna: Will I stay or will I go?
Dr. Wick: Am I sane or am I crazy?
Susanna: Those aren't courses of action.
Dr. Wick: They can be, dear, for some.
Susanna: Well, then, it's the wrong word.
Dr. Wick: No, I think it's perfect. "What world is this? What kingdom? What shores of what worlds?" It's a very big question you're faced with, Susanna. The choice of your life. How much will you indulge in your flaws? What are your flaws? Are they flaws? If you embrace them, will you commityourself to hospital for life? Big questions, big decisions. Not surprising you profess carelessness about them.
Susanna: Is that it?
Dr. Wick: For now.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
By Billy Goat
depression is dry. there's no movement, no dynamic emotion. it feels like you're living in a vaccum of stale air. you don't feel. everything inside you is perfectly still.
someone tells a joke and you laugh, and for a second your mind is entertained... but your heart stays motionless and almost cracks in jealousy of the temporary relief your brain gets.
depression is boring. it's like being trapped in a lengthy lecture that won't end, in a lecture hall that is hot and crowded and you can't even hear what the professor is saying. you're stuck, sitting, confused, and waiting. the only way out is to make a scene and you don't want that, but you can't take it anymore. it's torturous and all you can do is take comfort in pieces of your soul slowly dying so that maybe, just maybe, you can disappear without having to do anything crazy.
when you're depressed, everything is either sad or annoying. things you used to like bore you, people you used to enjoy spending time with frustrate you, and you're hypersensitive to "the human condition" and imperfections of the human race and crime and mortality and irony. when you read in the paper that someone passed away, you look around you and realize how inconsequential their death was, and it just makes you wonder what your existence even means anymore... hell, what the existence of anything even means anymore.
you start feeling like you're just done, like there's nothing more than this. you've seen all the sunrises you can tolerate, given and received all the hugs you'll ever need. you're done with butterflies and puppies and christmas, with eating and drinking and getting out of bed.
the thing about depression, the thing that makes living with it so difficult... is that it truly feels like your life is already over. sometimes you want to die just to take your body with you. otherwise, you're trapped in your body, trapped in stale, dry stillness as the weather of living erodes what's left of your cracking heart, and it just hurts so much and seems so unnecessary.
you might think about killing yourself, but you don't.
you don't have motivation to do anything... not to mow the lawn, not to take a shower, not to make dinner... you can't seem to move yourself to function, let alone plan something like a powerful, successful exit from the physical universe. so you lay there and get through it and just survive.
it feels like you're barely breathing, barely blinking... almost like you're walking through a dream world. there's a song by the band rilo kiley, and some of the lyrics are as follows:
all the subtle change in landscape and business
reminds you of your limited time
this time you'll listen to the movement in your body
how it keeps on despite you
and it frightens you
'cause you're barely alive
it really says it pretty perfectly.
while you're basically apathetic about everything, there's one thing you do have pretty strong feelings toward; you absolutely hate yourself, and it is this type of pain that makes being depressed nothing short of unbearable. there's no one thing you hate about yourself that you can change, either. even if you had the perfect grades, the perfect social nature, the perfect hair... you'd still hate yourself because you're still YOU. you hate the way you look, the way you walk, the things you say, the things you do. you hate the sound of your own voice, the sound it makes when you start your car... purely because those things are initiated by your existence, which you also hate. there's no way out. you are the scum of the universe and no one can convince you otherwise. surely adolf hitler deserves more respect. it is the same type of burning, fiery hatred a parent feels toward their child's rapist that you feel for yourself. calling it "intense" would be quite the understatement.
so you're depressed: trapped, stale, tired, apathetic, motionless, barely surviving, and loathing your soul... day after day. sometimes the episode lasts two weeks. sometimes it lasts a year before you can really breathe again. but it always hurts and it's always awful.
and that's what it's like to experience depression.
someone tells a joke and you laugh, and for a second your mind is entertained... but your heart stays motionless and almost cracks in jealousy of the temporary relief your brain gets.
depression is boring. it's like being trapped in a lengthy lecture that won't end, in a lecture hall that is hot and crowded and you can't even hear what the professor is saying. you're stuck, sitting, confused, and waiting. the only way out is to make a scene and you don't want that, but you can't take it anymore. it's torturous and all you can do is take comfort in pieces of your soul slowly dying so that maybe, just maybe, you can disappear without having to do anything crazy.
when you're depressed, everything is either sad or annoying. things you used to like bore you, people you used to enjoy spending time with frustrate you, and you're hypersensitive to "the human condition" and imperfections of the human race and crime and mortality and irony. when you read in the paper that someone passed away, you look around you and realize how inconsequential their death was, and it just makes you wonder what your existence even means anymore... hell, what the existence of anything even means anymore.
you start feeling like you're just done, like there's nothing more than this. you've seen all the sunrises you can tolerate, given and received all the hugs you'll ever need. you're done with butterflies and puppies and christmas, with eating and drinking and getting out of bed.
the thing about depression, the thing that makes living with it so difficult... is that it truly feels like your life is already over. sometimes you want to die just to take your body with you. otherwise, you're trapped in your body, trapped in stale, dry stillness as the weather of living erodes what's left of your cracking heart, and it just hurts so much and seems so unnecessary.
you might think about killing yourself, but you don't.
you don't have motivation to do anything... not to mow the lawn, not to take a shower, not to make dinner... you can't seem to move yourself to function, let alone plan something like a powerful, successful exit from the physical universe. so you lay there and get through it and just survive.
it feels like you're barely breathing, barely blinking... almost like you're walking through a dream world. there's a song by the band rilo kiley, and some of the lyrics are as follows:
all the subtle change in landscape and business
reminds you of your limited time
this time you'll listen to the movement in your body
how it keeps on despite you
and it frightens you
'cause you're barely alive
it really says it pretty perfectly.
while you're basically apathetic about everything, there's one thing you do have pretty strong feelings toward; you absolutely hate yourself, and it is this type of pain that makes being depressed nothing short of unbearable. there's no one thing you hate about yourself that you can change, either. even if you had the perfect grades, the perfect social nature, the perfect hair... you'd still hate yourself because you're still YOU. you hate the way you look, the way you walk, the things you say, the things you do. you hate the sound of your own voice, the sound it makes when you start your car... purely because those things are initiated by your existence, which you also hate. there's no way out. you are the scum of the universe and no one can convince you otherwise. surely adolf hitler deserves more respect. it is the same type of burning, fiery hatred a parent feels toward their child's rapist that you feel for yourself. calling it "intense" would be quite the understatement.
so you're depressed: trapped, stale, tired, apathetic, motionless, barely surviving, and loathing your soul... day after day. sometimes the episode lasts two weeks. sometimes it lasts a year before you can really breathe again. but it always hurts and it's always awful.
and that's what it's like to experience depression.
By Me
It takes a long time to open my eyes. A part of me is painfully aware that I’m stuck in that small place between dreams and wakefulness for a long time before the rest of me realizes that I’m headed irrevocably toward consciousness and fruitlessly attempts to reverse that process. The haze takes a long time to clear out enough for me to feel like it’s time to open my eyes, and then my eyelids feel like they weigh a few pounds each. Too much to be worth the effort. I roll over again. Even through my eyelids the light from my window through shades that are completely drawn is far too bright. Breathe deep. Try to ease myself back to sleep. Roll over again. Wait. Breathe deep. Again. Again. Finally I lose even that bit of energy and quit. Realize I haven’t breathed in about twenty seconds, and try to remember how to breathe in. I open my eyes a fraction and see I’m pointed toward my desk, where my cell phone is sitting. I look at it and wonder the time. I look and wonder, look and wonder, look and wonder, remember to breathe. I spend a bit more time summoning up some energy and reach out and tip the cell phone slowly upward. It takes time to focus my eyes on the time and more time to comprehend it. It’s late. Damn. I really won’t be able to sleep any more.
I try to remember how many times I woke up this morning before finally reaching this point. I woke up in time for a run before class. I woke up in time for my first class. In time for each of my classes. I have now missed all of it. Lazy. Undisciplined.
It’s blazing hot under my covers. My window faces east and so my bedroom gets the worst of the morning light. I lie there, roasting, without moving, without really thinking. Minutes tick by. I think about getting dressed, and dismiss the thought almost immediately. I can’t fathom that process. Too many steps. Find the clean clothes, pick out clean clothes, how many pieces do I need, what order do they go on again, what if it doesn’t match, what about my hair, pajamas are more comfortable, makeup seems stupid, my eyebrows need plucking, it’s all too much. So I just lie there, doing nothing, trying to think of nothing. Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. I stop and listen intently, listening for footsteps or doors or music I wouldn’t listen to. Sounds like the coast is clear. All of my roommates are gone.
Finally I can’t ignore my bladder anymore, no matter how long the walk to the bathroom seems. I push myself upward. Sit. Breathe. When did it get so hard to sit up. Swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Sit. Breathe. Stand up. Sway. Sit back down. Breathe. Walk across the room to where I left my hairbrush on a pile of nothing. Walk past a mirror without looking at it. Fat. Ugly. Fat. Brush my hair so as not to give away that I really have only just gotten out of bed too blatantly, just in case someone is home. Open the door and walk into the hall. It feels like walking through gelatin, or up a stream that’s flowing toward me. I come to the same realization I come to a lot of days: it’s past noon and the only accomplishment to my name is that I’ve managed to pee. What a great contribution to the planet. Lazy. Undiscipliend. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless.
The refrigerator is overwhelming. Do people actually peel fruit or wash vegetables, can openers are ridiculous, when did I go shopping last and why don’t I have bread, the oven is out of the question. I settle on ice cream. I literally watch it melt long enough to where it is easier to scoop. I take it back to my room and get back in bed. Finally I turn on my computer and check my email, my bloglist, and the rest of my to-see list. I avoid anything school related. I visualize myself as a kind of thermometer, and as long as I reach a certain point I’m okay, no matter what is pushing me past that point. True, I’ve never really reached the “okay” point, but I used to come closer. My past academic near perfection (graduating from high school with a 4.0 isn’t really perfect, as you can always do better) helped to balance out my physical hideousness, my sometimes social awkwardness, my lack of ability to save the world. It’s hard to tell yourself that at least you aren’t dumb when your grades are in peril, when you are an unemployed mass that doesn’t make it to class or even look over Powerpoints before taking exams half the time. And I know how I could fix it. I could ace my classes if I would just do the basics. Hating myself became a lot easier when so many of the things I say about myself became more tangibly true. Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless. Stupid.
I haven’t read the news in weeks. I just don’t care about what’s going on. That’s weird. So much of my identity is becoming almost too involved, too invested in others’ lives and problems, being passionate about the world outside of me. This apathy is foreign and I feel like it should bother me. The fact that it should bother me and doesn’t should bother me more. It hardly registers. The friends I have who are hurting don’t get nearly the face time they used to get, because I’m too busy staring at my walls. Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless. Stupid. Uncaring.
After more ceiling staring, I glance at the time. Only a few hours to go until I said I’d meet some friends. I wonder if I can get out of it, without even really considering going. I realize that I really can’t. I’ve used every excuse in the book to get out of my social engagements over the past couple of weeks. I’ve been sick, I’ve been busy, I’ve had car trouble. I haven’t answered my phone in weeks and my mailbox is full and I don’t care. The people I’m supposed to meet will have a better chance of realizing something is wrong if I don’t show than others will. Five hours left. Four hours left. Better start gearing up. Recheck my email. Watch a movie. Three hours left. Walk to the closet and give up halfway. Sit on the floor in the middle of a song and sway a little. Get up and walk the rest of the way. Take a long time dressing. Take longer doing my hair. Put on makeup and get my keys just as it should be time to leave to get there on time. I wonder where the hours went. What took so long? Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless. Stupid. Uncaring. Wasteful.
I sit and talk and laugh with a smile plastered to my face, doing my best to not seem too out of it. It’s incredibly taxing, even though I’ve had some years of practice. I screw up a little and someone looks at me funny for a while. I straighten up. I count down the minutes until it’s over. I put on the same face with my roommates that night until I can finally retreat to my room, where I chat with a few people over the internet. If I was honest, I’d tell you that at some point during the evening I literally have to count to twenty to keep myself from burdening some unsuspecting person with far too many of my problems, as none of my normal two or three confidants is on that night, though I don’t usually talk to them about it, either. I hear many other sad stories, breakups and hard days and someone’s roommate isn’t eating, but I don’t say anything. Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless. Stupid. Uncaring. Wasteful. Needy. Untrusting.
Finally, after conversations and pointless YouTube movies and general surfing and hours, I start to drift off. I leave my computer on, roll over, and wonder if I want to wake up tomorrow morning. The truth is that I don’t.
I try to remember how many times I woke up this morning before finally reaching this point. I woke up in time for a run before class. I woke up in time for my first class. In time for each of my classes. I have now missed all of it. Lazy. Undisciplined.
It’s blazing hot under my covers. My window faces east and so my bedroom gets the worst of the morning light. I lie there, roasting, without moving, without really thinking. Minutes tick by. I think about getting dressed, and dismiss the thought almost immediately. I can’t fathom that process. Too many steps. Find the clean clothes, pick out clean clothes, how many pieces do I need, what order do they go on again, what if it doesn’t match, what about my hair, pajamas are more comfortable, makeup seems stupid, my eyebrows need plucking, it’s all too much. So I just lie there, doing nothing, trying to think of nothing. Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. I stop and listen intently, listening for footsteps or doors or music I wouldn’t listen to. Sounds like the coast is clear. All of my roommates are gone.
Finally I can’t ignore my bladder anymore, no matter how long the walk to the bathroom seems. I push myself upward. Sit. Breathe. When did it get so hard to sit up. Swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Sit. Breathe. Stand up. Sway. Sit back down. Breathe. Walk across the room to where I left my hairbrush on a pile of nothing. Walk past a mirror without looking at it. Fat. Ugly. Fat. Brush my hair so as not to give away that I really have only just gotten out of bed too blatantly, just in case someone is home. Open the door and walk into the hall. It feels like walking through gelatin, or up a stream that’s flowing toward me. I come to the same realization I come to a lot of days: it’s past noon and the only accomplishment to my name is that I’ve managed to pee. What a great contribution to the planet. Lazy. Undiscipliend. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless.
The refrigerator is overwhelming. Do people actually peel fruit or wash vegetables, can openers are ridiculous, when did I go shopping last and why don’t I have bread, the oven is out of the question. I settle on ice cream. I literally watch it melt long enough to where it is easier to scoop. I take it back to my room and get back in bed. Finally I turn on my computer and check my email, my bloglist, and the rest of my to-see list. I avoid anything school related. I visualize myself as a kind of thermometer, and as long as I reach a certain point I’m okay, no matter what is pushing me past that point. True, I’ve never really reached the “okay” point, but I used to come closer. My past academic near perfection (graduating from high school with a 4.0 isn’t really perfect, as you can always do better) helped to balance out my physical hideousness, my sometimes social awkwardness, my lack of ability to save the world. It’s hard to tell yourself that at least you aren’t dumb when your grades are in peril, when you are an unemployed mass that doesn’t make it to class or even look over Powerpoints before taking exams half the time. And I know how I could fix it. I could ace my classes if I would just do the basics. Hating myself became a lot easier when so many of the things I say about myself became more tangibly true. Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless. Stupid.
I haven’t read the news in weeks. I just don’t care about what’s going on. That’s weird. So much of my identity is becoming almost too involved, too invested in others’ lives and problems, being passionate about the world outside of me. This apathy is foreign and I feel like it should bother me. The fact that it should bother me and doesn’t should bother me more. It hardly registers. The friends I have who are hurting don’t get nearly the face time they used to get, because I’m too busy staring at my walls. Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless. Stupid. Uncaring.
After more ceiling staring, I glance at the time. Only a few hours to go until I said I’d meet some friends. I wonder if I can get out of it, without even really considering going. I realize that I really can’t. I’ve used every excuse in the book to get out of my social engagements over the past couple of weeks. I’ve been sick, I’ve been busy, I’ve had car trouble. I haven’t answered my phone in weeks and my mailbox is full and I don’t care. The people I’m supposed to meet will have a better chance of realizing something is wrong if I don’t show than others will. Five hours left. Four hours left. Better start gearing up. Recheck my email. Watch a movie. Three hours left. Walk to the closet and give up halfway. Sit on the floor in the middle of a song and sway a little. Get up and walk the rest of the way. Take a long time dressing. Take longer doing my hair. Put on makeup and get my keys just as it should be time to leave to get there on time. I wonder where the hours went. What took so long? Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless. Stupid. Uncaring. Wasteful.
I sit and talk and laugh with a smile plastered to my face, doing my best to not seem too out of it. It’s incredibly taxing, even though I’ve had some years of practice. I screw up a little and someone looks at me funny for a while. I straighten up. I count down the minutes until it’s over. I put on the same face with my roommates that night until I can finally retreat to my room, where I chat with a few people over the internet. If I was honest, I’d tell you that at some point during the evening I literally have to count to twenty to keep myself from burdening some unsuspecting person with far too many of my problems, as none of my normal two or three confidants is on that night, though I don’t usually talk to them about it, either. I hear many other sad stories, breakups and hard days and someone’s roommate isn’t eating, but I don’t say anything. Lazy. Undisciplined. Ungrateful. Fat. Ugly. Worthless. Stupid. Uncaring. Wasteful. Needy. Untrusting.
Finally, after conversations and pointless YouTube movies and general surfing and hours, I start to drift off. I leave my computer on, roll over, and wonder if I want to wake up tomorrow morning. The truth is that I don’t.
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