A few weeks ago, I published an article in which I suggested that I wasn’t into girls who had kissed a lot of people. This was the main point I wished to convey. Throughout the following week, I discovered many people who found my opinion somewhat disagreeable, including a few who apparently wished me serious bodily harm.
Of course, such controversy was very welcome, and nothing other than a pay raise or a pet cybernetic space monkey could cause an opinion writer more joy.
Thus, I thank all the people who disagree with me — and even those who wish me certain death — for making my writing career all the more fulfilling.
One point was made in a letter to the editor, however, that has some merit. A girl asked if why we dwell on dating and relationships so much here at BYU–I when there are so many other important things.
A good question — why do we focus so much on those things?
Is it because our leaders tell us ? Is it because we’re at that age when our blood is seventy percent hormones? Could it be the two factors together, combined and fermented to the point where they’re causing BYU–I students to become unstoppable juggernauts of eternal desperation?
I don’t know what the cause is, but I know the result: too often, I feel like a participant in a feeding frenzy. Does anyone else feel like we’re either the tiny scrap of seal liver floating in the water or one the crazed sharks desperate to be part of that exclusive club that gets a piece of meat?
It’s happened a lot: the first day in a new ward, everyone is scoping out the opposite sex. I’m going to describe this from the point of view of someone possessing a Y chromosome, since that happens to be the kind of human I am.
We guys see a cute girl — and to avoid more spiteful letters from than necessary, I will here define “cute” as “possessing enough attractive qualities, both inward and outward, that, upon first glance, outweigh any visible bad qualities” — and instantly, that girl is the Death Star and we are the Millennium Falcon, caught hopelessly in her tractor beam of love. Then, once attraction has been established, you can catch a whiff of desperation in the way the guys in the ward descend like carrion birds.
I’d like a wife as much as the next guy — assuming the next guy’s not a giant lizard or anything — but I’m not sure I want a part of that.
I agree that marriage is important, and that without it we’re in a bit of a bind as far as eternal things go. I just think that just maybe we might be able to let other things float to the surface of our minds occasionally.
This is probably the part where someone will dredge up an out-of-context General Authority quote that says we have to get married now — yes, this INSTANT! — and hurl it at me, but I don’t care.
Marriage is important, and infinitely so, but it’s my opinion that in the when a girl sees a guy wallowing in desperation to find an eternal companion, her attraction for him is about as nonexistent as a mother in a Disney animated classic.
It’s corny, but I heard someone say once that we get more success trying to “be” the one rather than trying to “find” the one.
I think there might be some truth in that.
Let's not be the sharks. Let's not be the seal liver. Let's be the ... well, this metaphor can only go so far. But my point — let's take a break from the desperate marriage race and just enjoy the ride.
After all, every shark gets a nice meal eventually.
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Five principles of girl-ness
Before I begin my regular column, I think I owe an apology to all the Jane Austen fans I offended last week. No, I take that back — actually, I just an apology to Ms. Austen herself. Jane, you’re welcome to stop by and have a free Otter Pop anytime — on me, as a token of my regret for my naïve suggestion that your books might benefit from a little less feminine angst and a few more gunfights.
To any Twilight fans I may have offended, however — well, you’re on your own.
There are some things we’re not meant to know. Where dinosaurs fit into the scheme of things, for instance. Or why the Spori doesn’t have a vending machine for drinks.
Or what drives the inner workings of the female mind.
Nevertheless, I’m going to sum up the basics of what I’ve learned in my years of living on the same planet as the female half of the human race.
Correct me if I’m wrong, which I probably will be.
Principle #1 — Girls are absolutely necessary for the survival of the species. Just trust me on that one. Or go ask your mom.
Principle #2 — Girls don’t have any clue what they want. In this way, they are much like sea sponges, except more infinitely intelligent, more beautiful, and somewhat less predictable. So — not like sponges at all, I guess. (The analogy was worth a shot.)
Principle #3 — Girls don’t mean exactly what they say. I reference Kelly Kapoor from The Office: “Who says exactly what they’re thinking? What’s up with that?”
If a girl tells you she wants to hang out sometime, what she actually means is a) she is trying to be nice and doesn’t seriously want to do anything with you, or b) she actually wants to hang out, or c) she is planning to emigrate to Mexico. It could be any of the three, or none of them. You never actually know.
Principle #4 — Girls tend to be more lovey-dovey than males. They leave posts like this on each other’s Facebook walls: “OMG! You’re so beautiful! Come visit me!” A guy would never, ever, write something like that on another guy’s Facebook wall, even if the alternative proved to be a dire threat to his life or manliness, like having to watch the six-VHS set of Pride and Prejudice.
Principle #5 — Girls are wonderful, beautiful, indispensible additions to humanity, without whom I would probably be at home watching reruns of 24 again this weekend.
To any Twilight fans I may have offended, however — well, you’re on your own.
There are some things we’re not meant to know. Where dinosaurs fit into the scheme of things, for instance. Or why the Spori doesn’t have a vending machine for drinks.
Or what drives the inner workings of the female mind.
Nevertheless, I’m going to sum up the basics of what I’ve learned in my years of living on the same planet as the female half of the human race.
Correct me if I’m wrong, which I probably will be.
Principle #1 — Girls are absolutely necessary for the survival of the species. Just trust me on that one. Or go ask your mom.
Principle #2 — Girls don’t have any clue what they want. In this way, they are much like sea sponges, except more infinitely intelligent, more beautiful, and somewhat less predictable. So — not like sponges at all, I guess. (The analogy was worth a shot.)
Principle #3 — Girls don’t mean exactly what they say. I reference Kelly Kapoor from The Office: “Who says exactly what they’re thinking? What’s up with that?”
If a girl tells you she wants to hang out sometime, what she actually means is a) she is trying to be nice and doesn’t seriously want to do anything with you, or b) she actually wants to hang out, or c) she is planning to emigrate to Mexico. It could be any of the three, or none of them. You never actually know.
Principle #4 — Girls tend to be more lovey-dovey than males. They leave posts like this on each other’s Facebook walls: “OMG! You’re so beautiful! Come visit me!” A guy would never, ever, write something like that on another guy’s Facebook wall, even if the alternative proved to be a dire threat to his life or manliness, like having to watch the six-VHS set of Pride and Prejudice.
Principle #5 — Girls are wonderful, beautiful, indispensible additions to humanity, without whom I would probably be at home watching reruns of 24 again this weekend.
BYU–Idaho Pharisees miss the mark
I love BYU–Idaho. Weekly devotionals, an unparalleled (and somewhat idiosyncratic) dating scene and prayer before classes — you just don’t find this kind of environment in very many places. “Another great day at BYU–Idaho” is possible every day if you’ve got the right attitude.
But what is that right attitude? It might be more elusive than you think.
When you live in perfect little LDS bubble, some people tend to develop perceptions of righteous that are — I’m going to be honest here — hypocritical, Pharisaic, and somewhat skewed.
Remember last summer? Scroll’s letters to the editor were rampant with angry comments on several topics that shouldn’t have merited the heated discussion that followed.
I’ve chosen examples from last year so as to not offend more people than is necessary to get my point across, but if you peruse recent letters to the editor and listen to conversations on campus — anyone remember the Naked juice controversy last semester? — this kind of Pharisaic misinterpretation of the standards of the Church is ever present and thriving.
What happened last year was this: The Sun Shack, a student-operated eating venue on campus, had an advertisement that featured an attractive, modestly dressed young woman with ketchup smeared on her face. An angry student wrote to Scroll decrying the evils of such a provocative ad, and then the dam broke, flooding the email inbox of Scroll with responses, both in the negative and the affirmative.
That same semester, a headline reading “Little shop of horr … uh, flowers” — obviously a clever play on the musical “Little Shop of Horrors” — drew similar frustration from people who somehow interpreted the “horr” in the headline to mean something totally different. (Oddly enough, the connection didn’t even occur to most of us. What does that say about the mind-in-the-gutter factor of those who were offended?)
I’d like to think I try to my best to live the gospel, but that doesn’t mean burdening others with my own grossly inflated view of spirituality. When someone does that, we miss the mark with our attempts to make up rules and standards or impose our exaggerated standards upon others.
I’m not perfect, but that’s my point: nobody is, and maybe we should concentrate on real issues before we allow our need to feel spiritual interfere with feeling the Spirit.
But what is that right attitude? It might be more elusive than you think.
When you live in perfect little LDS bubble, some people tend to develop perceptions of righteous that are — I’m going to be honest here — hypocritical, Pharisaic, and somewhat skewed.
Remember last summer? Scroll’s letters to the editor were rampant with angry comments on several topics that shouldn’t have merited the heated discussion that followed.
I’ve chosen examples from last year so as to not offend more people than is necessary to get my point across, but if you peruse recent letters to the editor and listen to conversations on campus — anyone remember the Naked juice controversy last semester? — this kind of Pharisaic misinterpretation of the standards of the Church is ever present and thriving.
What happened last year was this: The Sun Shack, a student-operated eating venue on campus, had an advertisement that featured an attractive, modestly dressed young woman with ketchup smeared on her face. An angry student wrote to Scroll decrying the evils of such a provocative ad, and then the dam broke, flooding the email inbox of Scroll with responses, both in the negative and the affirmative.
That same semester, a headline reading “Little shop of horr … uh, flowers” — obviously a clever play on the musical “Little Shop of Horrors” — drew similar frustration from people who somehow interpreted the “horr” in the headline to mean something totally different. (Oddly enough, the connection didn’t even occur to most of us. What does that say about the mind-in-the-gutter factor of those who were offended?)
I’d like to think I try to my best to live the gospel, but that doesn’t mean burdening others with my own grossly inflated view of spirituality. When someone does that, we miss the mark with our attempts to make up rules and standards or impose our exaggerated standards upon others.
I’m not perfect, but that’s my point: nobody is, and maybe we should concentrate on real issues before we allow our need to feel spiritual interfere with feeling the Spirit.
Finding faith with other faiths
When I was little, I viewed people who weren’t members of the Church like they were in some way irreconcilably different from the people like me. I viewed them way I would lepers, aliens in disguise, or Democrats.
They were different from the others in my predominantly LDS community. Some people had tattoos; others had earrings in odd places. Some people just smelled different — a clear indication that they weren’t on the straight and narrow.
I remember when the first family of non-members moved into our subdivision. I rode my bike past them with furtive glances over my shoulder, as if their dark influence might cause my tires to explode, leaving me at their mercy.
My parents were and are great examples of tolerance, but I still couldn’t get over the way non-Mormons were simply different — and that made nonmembers scary.
A mission was an eye-opening experience. Most of the people I met weren’t LDS, and many of them could totally have passed for such. In my two years of service, I encountered hundreds of amazing, wonderful people who either hadn’t had a chance to find the gospel or simply weren’t interested.
Still, these people loved their families, went to work every day, watched Star Wars, called themselves Americans, used deodorant and ate regular food. They went shopping at the mall, drove cars, spoke English, celebrated holidays and got irritated when people played hip-hop at full volume in the middle of the night.
They did not, however, sacrifice goats to their demons gods, plot the hostile takeover of peaceful neighborhoods, eat babies or soak their tentacles in specialized alien fluid every night to keep their skins moist in Earth’s atmosphere.
In other words, these people really were normal human beings.
I went to General Conference recently, where the protestors against the Church were engaged in their semiannual quest to save our souls. Four years ago, when I attended conference before my mission, I saw the protestors as minions of Satan out to destroy the peace that existed on Temple Square.
Now, I see them as possibly God-fearing, good people who might just see their holy crusade against Mormonism as nothing more than their own version of missionary work.
Then, just as I was coming to appreciate a heterogeneous environment and accept that a world where everyone was a clone of me might not be the ideal situation, I came to BYU–Idaho.
I wouldn’t say that diversity is dead here, but I wouldn’t say it’s alive and thriving, either.
I simply wish we had a little more diversity to even things out and prepare us for the real world, where not everyone is a Primary graduate.
A few weeks ago, I went on a date. It went great, and afterward, I called up the girl’s roommate, with whom I am good friends, to get the scoop. “Oh, she had a great time,” said the roommate, who then filled me on more details.
Certain that I knew all I needed to know, I swooped in and asked the girl out again.
This time, as we were making cinnamon rolls, she blithely informed me that she couldn’t eat sweets because she was on Lent.
Yeah, she was Catholic. Here at BYU–Idaho. I stuffed my cinnamon roll into my mouth, uncertain of what to say.
It seems my spiritual journey had reached an apex — She wasn’t LDS, and yet she shared our morals and values. There really can’t be anything too bad about that.
I love my religion, and I know it’s true. But I can accept that others might have their own beliefs, creeds and faiths.
Here’s to BYU–Idaho, where you can be assured that the person sitting next to you probably shares your values.
And here’s to the real world, where there are still a lot of good people, and where we can all join together and do some good.
They were different from the others in my predominantly LDS community. Some people had tattoos; others had earrings in odd places. Some people just smelled different — a clear indication that they weren’t on the straight and narrow.
I remember when the first family of non-members moved into our subdivision. I rode my bike past them with furtive glances over my shoulder, as if their dark influence might cause my tires to explode, leaving me at their mercy.
My parents were and are great examples of tolerance, but I still couldn’t get over the way non-Mormons were simply different — and that made nonmembers scary.
A mission was an eye-opening experience. Most of the people I met weren’t LDS, and many of them could totally have passed for such. In my two years of service, I encountered hundreds of amazing, wonderful people who either hadn’t had a chance to find the gospel or simply weren’t interested.
Still, these people loved their families, went to work every day, watched Star Wars, called themselves Americans, used deodorant and ate regular food. They went shopping at the mall, drove cars, spoke English, celebrated holidays and got irritated when people played hip-hop at full volume in the middle of the night.
They did not, however, sacrifice goats to their demons gods, plot the hostile takeover of peaceful neighborhoods, eat babies or soak their tentacles in specialized alien fluid every night to keep their skins moist in Earth’s atmosphere.
In other words, these people really were normal human beings.
I went to General Conference recently, where the protestors against the Church were engaged in their semiannual quest to save our souls. Four years ago, when I attended conference before my mission, I saw the protestors as minions of Satan out to destroy the peace that existed on Temple Square.
Now, I see them as possibly God-fearing, good people who might just see their holy crusade against Mormonism as nothing more than their own version of missionary work.
Then, just as I was coming to appreciate a heterogeneous environment and accept that a world where everyone was a clone of me might not be the ideal situation, I came to BYU–Idaho.
I wouldn’t say that diversity is dead here, but I wouldn’t say it’s alive and thriving, either.
I simply wish we had a little more diversity to even things out and prepare us for the real world, where not everyone is a Primary graduate.
A few weeks ago, I went on a date. It went great, and afterward, I called up the girl’s roommate, with whom I am good friends, to get the scoop. “Oh, she had a great time,” said the roommate, who then filled me on more details.
Certain that I knew all I needed to know, I swooped in and asked the girl out again.
This time, as we were making cinnamon rolls, she blithely informed me that she couldn’t eat sweets because she was on Lent.
Yeah, she was Catholic. Here at BYU–Idaho. I stuffed my cinnamon roll into my mouth, uncertain of what to say.
It seems my spiritual journey had reached an apex — She wasn’t LDS, and yet she shared our morals and values. There really can’t be anything too bad about that.
I love my religion, and I know it’s true. But I can accept that others might have their own beliefs, creeds and faiths.
Here’s to BYU–Idaho, where you can be assured that the person sitting next to you probably shares your values.
And here’s to the real world, where there are still a lot of good people, and where we can all join together and do some good.
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