Something that touched me in 'Franny and Zooey' (also by J.D. Salinger <3). I wish there weren't so much vulgarities though =/

"One other thing. And that's all. I promise you. But the thing is, you raved and you bitched when you came home about the stupidity of audiences. The goddam 'unskilled laughter' coming from the fifth row. And that's right, that's right--God knows it's depressing. I'm not saying it isn't. But that's none of your business, really. That's none of your business, Franny. An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's. You have no right to think about those things, I swear to you. Not in any real sense, anyway. You know what I mean?"

There was a silence. Both saw it through without any seeming impatience or awkwardness. Franny still appeared to have some considerable pain on one side of her face, and continued to keep her hand on it, but her expression was markedly uncomplaining.

The voice at the other end came through again. "I remember about the fifth time I ever went on 'Wise Child.' I subbed for Walt a few times when he was in a cast--remember when he was in that cast? Anyway, I started bitching one night before the broadcast. Seymour'd told me to shine my shoes just as I was going out the door with Waker. I was furious. The studio audience were all morons, the announcer was a moron, the sponsors were morons, and I just damn well wasn't going to shine my shoes for them, I told Seymour. I said they couldn't see them anyway, where we sat. He said to shine them anyway. He said to shine them for the Fat Lady. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but he had a very Seymour look on his face, and so I did it. He never did tell me who the Fat Lady was, but I shined my shoes for the Fat Lady every time I ever went on the air again--all the years you and I were on the program together, if you remember. I don't think I missed more than just a couple of times. This terribly clear, clear picture of the Fat Lady formed in my mind. I had her sitting on this porch all day, swatting flies, with her radio going full-blast from morning till night. I figured the heat was terrible, and she probably had cancer, and--I don't know. Anyway, it seemed goddam clear why Seymour wanted me to shine my shoes when I went on the air. It made sense"

Franny was standing. She had taken her hand away from her face to hold the phone with two hands. "He told me, too," she said into the phone. "He told me to be funny for the Fat Lady, once." She released one hand from the phone and placed it, very briefly, on the crown of her head, then went back to holding the phone with both hands. "I didn't ever picture her on a porch, but with very--you know--very thick legs, very veiny. I had her in an awful wicker chair. She had cancer, too, though, and she had the radio going full-blast all day! Mine did, too!"

"Yes. Yes. Yes. All right. Let me tell you something now, buddy. . . . Are you listening?"

Franny, looking extremely tense, nodded.

"I don't care where an actor acts. It can be in summer stock, it can be over a radio, it can be over television, it can be in a goddam Broadway theatre, complete with the most fashionable, most well-fed, most sunburned-looking audience you can imagine. But I'll tell you a terrible secret--Are you listening to me? There isn't anyone out there who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. That includes your Professor Tupper, buddy. And all his goddam cousins by the dozens. There isn't anyone anywhere that isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. Don't you know that? Don't you know that goddam secret yet? And don't you know--listen to me, now--don't you know who that Fat Lady really is? . . . Ah, buddy. Ah, buddy. It's Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy."

For joy, apparently, it was all Franny could do to hold the phone, even with both hands."

A couple of cute quotes from Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters:

"Bore that I am, I mentioned R. H. Blyth's definition of sentimentality: that we are being sentimental when we give to a thing more tenderness than God gives to it. I said (sententiously?) that God undoubtedly loves kittens, but not, in all probability, with Technicolor bootees on their paws. He leaves that creative touch to scriptwriters."

Think that's true. It makes me wonder whether i'm holding too dear certain things that I hold dear in life. It's like, i'd be quite embarrassed to admit to God that i have an obsessive interest in, say, men in uniforms (this is just an example; it has nothing to do with the reality =p).

"Much talk from him, and quite intelligent, on the virtues of living the imperfect life, of accepting one's own and other's weaknesses. I agree with him, but only in theory. I'll champion indiscrimination till doomsday, on the ground that it leads to health and a kind of very real, enviable happiness.... But for a discriminating man to dispossess himself of poetry, go beyond poetry. That is, he couldn't possibly learn or drive himself to like bad poetry in the abstract, let alone equate it with good poetry. He would have to drop poetry altogether. I said it would be no easy thing to do."

Totally agree. It sounds like our favourite art-is-subjective-or-objective and morality-vs-relativism arguments. Life is happier and easier when one doesn't blow a coronary each time one encounters bad art or bad morals, but that means that one cannot judge art or morals at all, and thus will have to give both up. That's kinda hard. Can you remain indifferent when old ladies get mugged or when someone slaps you, for no reason at all, hard in the face? Unless you have a schizoid personality, i don't think so.

I love J.D. Salinger =3

Last night I went for the Timothy trail. The speaker said that we should not spend too much time speculating what we cannot know for sure in the Bible, but instead focus on what the Bible intended to tell us. I thought it was very true. It's like, the purpose of the Bible is to teach us how to live a good christian life, rather than (for example) give scientific facts on giant lizards that romped the earth and then died out.

But there was something I didn't like about the trail, and it was that people seemed to think I was an idiot. I was challenging their definition of 'righteous' in a certain chapter, which seemed to mean 'genuinely good' to me but meant 'falsely good' to them. After a while they said I was too literary and too obsessed with little details, but hello, there is a world of difference between 'genuinely good' and 'falsely good', and the wrong definition can vastly affect one's interpretation of the chapter.

I hate it when people think that i have no commonsense just because i'm supposed to be intellectual and literary and all!!! I hate it when they think that I cannot get to the truth because of that!!!

And so, when I woke up the next day, I felt like running away again.

In response to Michelle's tag:

Wow, that really scrambled my sleep deprived mind early in the morning. I think we have different definitions of 'identity' in mind. I was thinking of identity as how you present yourself to the world (or was I? I need more sleep...) and angsting about how some people used Christianity to present themselves in a more interesting manner, which isn't what Christianity is about.

Lalala

This thing aside, I find that, the more I read the book recommended by Ms Teo, the more my dreams seem out of my reach. I don't think I have the mental capabilities to pursue painful and controversial topics to fruition. I don't think I'm smart or charismatic enough to wow the intellectual world. Perhaps in ten years, people will find me doing boring office work in the day and cooking and cleaning at night. Angst.