Archive for the ‘General’ Category

I Ain’t Standing Up for Nothing

“Every day when I wake up, I see folks trading in their crowns for all these ‘paper or plastic?’ lives – an opiate for the masses’ hounds.”

If common sense keeps getting scarcer and scarcer, we are going to have to find a new name for it. It continues to boggle my mind how often simple reason seems to elude the average person. This is true for the self-entitled teenagers I encounter on a daily basis, on through the business world and up to the height of stupidity, otherwise known as the U.S. government. That is too broad a range to cover, though, so I am going to focus on the one we can all relate to: customer service.

Now, I understand that it takes all kinds to make a world, and not everyone is going to be a genius. Some people can sleep through class and get an A, while others struggle furiously just to come out with a C. But it’s called “common sense” because it’s supposed to be even across the board. You don’t have to be book-smart and you certainly don’t need a doctorate to be successful. My grandfather quit school after 5th grade to go work on the farm, and he’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever known. He had common sense. My brother can do complicated math problems in his head in seconds, where most people would require a couple sheets of notebook paper and probably a calculator. His “smart-ness” can be tested and measured, but his common sense remains at the forefront, so he’s a great problem-solver with a head for business.

Unfortunately, I think the world has come to value resumes over people, and policies over principles. The result is a lot of painfully dumb people in prestigious positions because their degrees said they should be capable of doing the job, whether they could put it into practice or not.

My friend Brandon has been putting in job applications lately. He has a heavy background in construction, but was recently asked how he could expect to do construction work if he didn’t speak “Mexican.” I am serious. That happened. So, not finding work in his field, he hit the streets to apply in other areas, like food service and retail. On his retail application, he was asked questions like, “Do you enjoy talking to angry customers?” and had to choose a number from 1 (I hate it) to 5 (I love it). After honestly answering the barrage of questions and submitting his application, he learned that anyone who answered 2, 3, or 4 for any of those questions had their applications immediately thrown out. I took a second to let that soak in (and to make sure I heard him correctly), and then said, “So, they want to hire… liars?” Common sense would have said to throw out all the ones and the fives for being, at worst, liars, or at best, completely inept at any job that would require interacting with other people. But, instead of using common sense, this company had a handy policy manual.

Never underestimate the power of a stupid policy in the hands of a stupid person.

My favorite example is still the Hickory Farms manager who would not let me fill up my own cup as part of my combo meal because if I didn’t use one of their cups, it would cut into their profits. If you missed that one the first time, it is worth a read: HERE.

Or, there’s the time my Daddy went to Subway and ordered a 6-inch sub on whole wheat bread – easy, right? But he received a foot-long sub, and when he pointed out the error, was told, “But you said WHOLE wheat.”

This has all been on my mind since I attempted to run a simple errand yesterday at lunch. I try to avoid stores as often as I can (probably for this very reason), but I make an exception for craft stores, which are my kryptonite. Still, I try not to indulge too often, because when I get near scrapbooking supplies, I start throwing money around like a lobbyist on Capitol Hill. I had to go yesterday, though, because I received two identical Cricut cartridges as a gift and I wanted to exchange the duplicate for one I didn’t already have. I didn’t want to return it for money or for a store credit or anything like that. Just a simple exchange – I’ll give you this one, you give me that one. I went first to Michael’s, where I’ve spent thousands of dollars in the past, and they turned me away for my lack of receipt. (Maybe I stumbled over the word “gift” or “even exchange.”) I didn’t fight the fight, because there’s another crafting giant just across the street.

So, onward to A.C. Moore. When I arrived, there was only one person at the register (another arrived a few minutes later), so I stood back and waited until all the paying customers had been helped (including the ones who arrived in line well after me) and then I explained my situation. Namely, that I had received a duplicate cartridge as a gift, it was unopened, they carried the same one (I could see it from where I stood), and I simply wanted to exchange the cartridge in my hand for another of equal value. It couldn’t really get much simpler than that.

The lady asked if I had the receipt. “No, it was a gift. But I don’t want to do a return. I just want to exchange it for another cartridge of equal value.” She explained that she needed to call her manager. I often think this is just a tactic to create an imaginary person who will back up the original story. I heard her tell the “manager” that there was a lady who wanted to RETURN a Cricut cartridge without the receipt. (Which is not what I said – TWICE! – but whatever.) She hung up the phone and said that she could give me a store credit for $29.99, but that was all. Bear in mind, right next to us was a wall display with the very same cartridge priced at $89.99. Again, I reiterated that I did not want to return the cartridge – I wanted to exchange it for one of equal value.

Now, let me pause my tale for a moment and paint you a picture. There I stand, in a retail store whose niche is crafting. I am holding a $90 cartridge, which fits a $300 cutting machine. So, I’m not just dropping by because I needed a little project to stave off boredom on a rainy day. I am obviously a serious crafter with several hundred dollars – if not thousands – invested in this hobby that is their very reason for existing. So, in common sense terms, I am exactly the kind of customer they want to keep around and keep happy.

Now, back to the salesperson, who is trying to explain to me why the cartridge in my hand was not worth the same amount as the identical cartridges hanging on the nearby wall…

“You see,” she says, “you can go online and buy those cartridges – or anything in this store, really – for MUCH cheaper than you can buy it here.”

The implication in her mind was that I could have bought my cartridge for $5 online, and I was trying to trade it in for a $90 cartridge in the store. Which, even if I had, when I gave them the cartridge to re-sell, its value would become the $90 that they were selling it for, regardless of whether I paid $5 or $5000 for it.

The implication in MY mind, which I voiced to her, was, “So, basically, you’re saying that I should do all my craft shopping online?” She was too far gone on the crazy train to object, and could only shrug and nod half-heartedly, while the other salesperson looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She saw where the conversation had gone terribly wrong, but did not interject.

I turned and left the store, shaking my head in sheer disbelief. I wonder if we had recorded that whole conversation and played it back to her an hour later, would she have realized her lapse in judgment? And is she really the one to blame for being dense, or is it because “company policy” has been hammered into her brain until she no longer felt able to think for herself?

I immediately sent a tweet to share my crazy story, and this morning I was greeted by an @ reply from A.C. Moore’s official Twitter. I am happy to say that they solved the problem with common sense and level-headedness, and when I returned to my local store over lunch today, I was in and out with no problem at all. Plus, the two friends accompanying me (so we could have lunch afterwards) shopped while I was exchanging my cartridge and both turned up at the checkout with a handful of items. Thanks to a tiny bit of customer service and common sense, A.C. Moore kept one customer and gained two more.

That would make a happy ending for this blog, but I’m afraid I have yet another tale of woe to report from lunch! We proceeded to one of our favorite spots, Ledo’s Pizza, to grab a quick bite and get back to work. Their pizza is delicious and they have the best house salad dressing I’ve ever tasted. All three of us are frequent customers.

We took our seats and waited a while for the waitress to come over. No big deal. When she did come over, her rundown of the “specials” left us all scratching our heads, and when we asked for clarification about the salad special, she was so flustered that her response made no sense at all. Again, no big deal. We went on with our order, Kelli getting a salad, and Jessica and I sharing a pizza and splitting a side salad. I ordered for both of us, saying, “We are going to share a medium pizza. We’d like pepperoni on the WHOLE pizza and mushrooms on HALF.” While I was talking, I even made the hand motions to show the whole pizza vs. the half pizza and made eye contact, which is my usual practice. I made sure to be very clear and specific, because the first time we ordered by saying a “pepperoni pizza with mushrooms on half,” we’d gotten a pizza that was half pepperoni and half mushroom. That time, I didn’t even mention anything about it, because I felt like I hadn’t been clear enough, and I usually go with the flow at restaurants as much as possible.

The food arrived, and Kelli’s salad still had onions on it, when she had ordered it without, and Jessica and I received a pizza with pepperoni and mushrooms covering the whole thing. So, basically, half of the pizza was still right, but the other half was wrong. The waitress took the pizza away and said another one would be out soon, and I hate to think even now about how that pizza was chucked in the trash can while we sat waiting for our food. Kelli was finished eating by the time our second pizza arrived – this time, with pepperoni on half, and mushrooms on half – again, half right, half wrong. The waitress reached to take that pizza away as well and I stopped her. Not wanting to wait for another pizza to cook, I suggested that she just bring me some pepperoni which I could add to my half. I sloooooowly nibbled through two pieces of mushrooms-only pizza, waiting for the arrival of the accompanying pepperoni. When she brought it, the pepperoni was burnt, which explained why it took so long. So, I sat eating mushroom pizza with burnt pepperoni and practically begging for drink refills. Also of note, I had to tell her what I was drinking every time she came to the table. Never mind that she had put a lemon wedge on top of my cup to differentiate my Diet Pepsi from Jessica’s regular drink. (Kelli had water.)

Making sure not to check back with us, our waitress dropped three checks on the table and quickly disappeared. I picked it up, hoping (rather than believing) that she had given us any sort of special consideration. She hadn’t. I probably would have just let it go, but after the ordeal the day before, and the unbelievably shabby way we had been treated, I had to speak up. Even so, I was careful to be polite, hoping that a little diplomacy would go a long way to making sure that we left happy and she didn’t go cry in the back of the store for the rest of her shift. She seemed shocked that we didn’t want to pay full price, and her offer of amends was to not charge us for one of the toppings on one-half of the pizza. So, basically, two wrong pizzas, inedible pepperoni, time wasted, and her solution was to deduct 75 cents from the check – or, actually, to deduct 75 cents between our two checks. I remained calm, and reminded her that our pizza had come out wrong twice, and then added that my pepperoni had come out burnt even then. This prompted her to make the oh-so-generous gesture to not charge for EITHER of the toppings on the pizza. (Wow. A whole dollar.) She was genuinely too clueless to realize how insulting that was to us, or how unacceptable that would be, so we had no recourse but to accept her measly offer, pay the checks, and leave. I did not even have it in me to slight her on the tip – possibly because I felt so sorry for her since she didn’t have a brain. I’ve yet to check back with Ledo’s to see if perhaps a manager could do something to right the situation, but it was the second time in as many days that I felt slighted and unappreciated in two establishments to which I’ve been very loyal.

Maybe it’s just me, but in a time when all I hear about is the economic downturn, I’d think that businesses would be doing everything possible to retain their loyal customers. Maybe they’ve all forgotten how that’s done? Or maybe they just don’t care?

Certainly, common sense is no longer coming standard issue.

You Probably Think This [Blog] Is About You, Don’t You?

My poor blog is highly neglected.  Believe it or not, I used to blog almost daily.  (Not here, obviously, but the internet proof is still there if you know where to look.)

Now, it seems that my blog usually serves as an internet scrapbook for my trips, where I post pictures and little anecdotes from my travels, so that when I am old and gray and demented, I can look back through these entries and relive my younger years.  (That’s right.  I said YOUNGER years.)

When I decided to start blogging again and get myself a spiffy new domain name, my old standby (“Shifting Sand”) was taken in all its various forms.  So, I started bouncing around ideas that played off my name – or nicknames, like “Panda.”

“Panda” is by no means a name I chose for myself, but when your given name is Amanda, these things tend to happen.  I had no nicknames growing up (and was somewhat shocked in my teen years when someone called me “Mandy” for the first time), but the “Panda” thing started to stick in my early 20s when a few friends started using it regularly.

I decided to roll with it, and found that it worked well for wordplays like “Panda-monium”—which was also already taken by someone (probably a zookeeper – or someone named Amanda – or a zookeeper named Amanda!) on the world wide web.

More thinking and brainstorming with Kelli brought me around to “Pandandrum,” which you obviously know if you’ve navigated here successfully.  I bring this up today because, when I checked my email this morning, I learned that the “Word of the Day” (courtesy of Dictionary.com) is “panjandrum,” which is how this website got its name.

A “panjandrum,” you see, is a person who is not really important… who behaves as though they are really important.  We all know one of those.  Some of my friends and I got a kick out of using that word for years to describe such people.  It was even referenced in an episode of Frasier (“Grand Panjandrum of the Vocabulary Club”).  It seemed appropriate for this blog because there is a certain measure of self-importance inherent in blogging, to presume that anyone cares what I think, where I’ve been, or how I’m feeling.

Aaaand, if you take “panjandrum” and add in “Panda,” you get….

Pandandrum.

Voila!  There is your vocabulary word for the day, and your explanation of my crazy blog url.  And a nod to the fact that I, much like the rest of the population, tend to think of myself a bit more highly than I ought.

Every Night is Another Story

I was always a big fan of Halloween as a kid.  My Mom is a whiz with a sewing machine (which seems to be the sole creative trait that I do NOT possess), so she made most of my childhood costumes, like this witch costume that was recycled through most of my family over the years:

Add to that, my flair for the dramatic, and Halloween was practically made for me.  I trick-or-treated well into my teen years (you wouldn’t have wanted me to send my little brother off alone, would you?), but I was much more interested in showing off my costume than eating the candy I received.

There aren’t quite as many opportunities to dress up as an adult.  This year, though, Jessica threw a Halloween party and gave me a great excuse to go all out for the occasion.  Kids get to dress up as their favorite Disney characters or action heroes, so I decided to dress up as one of my favorite characters:

One Tree Hill’s resident “Tutor Girl” Haley James Scott.  Of course, if I dressed in regular Haley clothing and went around correcting everyone’s grammar all night, I probably would not be easily distinguished from my every-day-self.  So, I elected to go with Haley’s cheerleader look (circa season 4).

So, I enlisted Mom’s help yet again to turn me into a bona fide Tree Hill Raven.

I put on my tattoo (I’ll not be posting that here on the world wide web, but trust me, it was there).  I’ll let you see the “R” I put on my face, though. 

I designed myself a snazzy “Tutor Girl” notebook (and even put some official things inside, for authenticity’s sake):

Since I was dressing up as a 17-year old, I figured I better bring her fake ID to the party, so I recreated that in Photoshop.  I also made a replica of Haley’s Cracker Jack bracelet, so it would be clear that I was a particular Ravens cheerleader.  Kelli’s cousin in NC provided the perfect blue and white pom-poms.  And I donned a wedding ring, too, of course.

So, after a great deal of planning, a lot of Mom’s sewing and me adding the ribboned-details (thank you, stitch-witchery), I was very pleased with the end result:

There was only one small detail that I had to do without.  The real Haley, you see, has a hot husband to cheer for:

But, as they say, “The Show Must Go On.”

The party was a blast, and there were lots of great costumes represented.  First, our lovely host Jessica went all out with a 1920s era Flapper costume.  She looked hawt.

Her daughter, Thai, dressed up like Cleopatra, and was pleased to be “older” than her Mom for the night.

Brandon, or “Bubba” as he is more affectionately termed, was a very affable convict.

His girlfriend Eleanor, was apparently the officer assigned to his case, ready to keep him in line by all necessary means:

Lenard could be spotted sporadically sporting his gorilla costume, but it was a little hot in there!

B.J. donned a Strawberry Shortcake costume, and I called her Strawberry Short-skirt all night.

Here’s our pre-party girl-group photo.

Even Jessica’s dog, Molly, got in on the costume action.  Her costume took only a little more fabric to make than B.J.’s.

Soon, guests started to arrive, including Kelli, aka The Wicked Witch of the West:

Jessa arrived as a very cute Alice in Wonderland:

And she set her sights on Hugh Hefner (Jessica’s Dad):

Some of the other great costumes that dropped in through the evening included…

Shrek and Fiona (Tristan and Michelle, I think):

And a football player and referee combo (Steven and Mary):

The kids had their own party in the basement…

…While the adults carried on upstairs.

A great time was had by all!

If You’ve Got the Poison, I’ve Got the Remedy

purell

The people who love me most in this world know I have serious issues.  Most prominently, I’m a germophobe with (I’d say mild) obsessive-compulsive disorder.  I am known to always have an arsenal of hand-sanitizer at my immediate disposal.  I have a pump bottle on my desk, one in the car cup-holder, and presently have three small bottles in my purse, since I just received a new bottle of (Holla! Cucumber-melon scented!) Purell as a gift from my dear Jessica, just for being me.  (I may have editorialized that last part a little.)

 

People who pass by my desk are often heard remarking, “I smell hand sanitizer,” and anyone who’s ever been in a restaurant with me knows that after I finish perusing the menu, but before I squeeze my lemon into my water and rub my silverware with my napkin, I apply a hearty dose of the 90-proof.

 

To me, if it’s not cute, cuddly, edible, or, you know, soap – it’s dirty.  That is including (but not limited to):  bathrooms, trash cans, mail, keyboards, telephones, grocery carts, door handles, money, and keys.  It especially includes other people and their hands.  It’s true what they say – you really do not know where those hands have been!  But I do.  They’ve been in the stall next to me, after which they left the bathroom without even turning on the faucet.  They’ve been scratching their tail or picking their nose or hanging out at Wal-Mart and they’ve never considered spending a few quality moments with a bar of soap.

 

Sadly, I’ve found that can apply to the most upstanding of folks.  But – and you can accuse me of profiling here – the creepier/crazier/crustier the person, the cruddier the hands.

 

So, this afternoon, one said creepy/crazy/crusty-man came by my office and proceeded to ramble aimlessly and non-sensically about absolutely nothing I could help him with, while I put forth my best effort at pleasantries that – to any rational person – would signal an end to the conversation, followed by the prompt exit from my general vicinity.

 

Instead, he was impervious to hints – subtle or otherwise – and continued to drone on until he finally drew to a close, and much to my chagrin, reached out his hand for mind.  In much the same way that you can tell someone is going to be a sloppy and disgusting kisser, you can tell who’s going to have a skeazy handshake.* 

 

First of all, he held out his hand like he wanted me to caress it rather than shake it.  Secondly, that awkward pose provided me an up-close view of his lengthy fingernails, which made me shudder and want to say, “OK, look.  Signs point to the fact that you’re most likely a dude.  And as a dude, your fingernails should NOT be longer than mine.”  Once we actually made contact, my suspicions were confirmed when I found his handshake to be clammy and limp – I could almost feel the germs leaching onto me with glee.  As soon as he was out the door, I ran to the sink and washed my hands – up to my elbows – for a solid ten minutes.

 

You’d think that was the end of my sordid tale, but, alas – I have more.  Less than an hour later, THE GUY CAME BACK!  It was more of the same – useless information and going on and on and on.  My patience had already worn thin, and all I really wanted was for him to GOOOOO AWAAAAAAY. 

 

Before he would leave, however, he had one final request:

 

*points at my desk* “Hey – can I use some of your hand sanitizer?”

 

Inside, I was all, “Dear God!  Noooo!  Not my hand sanitizer!”  On the outside, though, I begrudgingly handed it over to him and said, “There’s only a little bit left.  You can have it.”  He insisted that he could not take it, as someone else may come along that I don’t know from Adam and they, too, may be uncouth enough to ask to borrow personal items from my desk.  I kept pleading, “No, it’s OK, really, you can keep it,” but in the end, he handed it back to me anyway.

 

I was appalled.  My hand-sanitizer.  My safe and happy place in a word of dirt and disorder and he CONTAMINATED IT.  Luckily, I have a co-worker who loves me and knows me well, so as he stepped out of the door, and I sat teetering on the edge of breakdown, she sprung into action with the disinfectant wipes and saved the day.  She judged it best that the bottle be tossed in the trash after dispensing the remnant into my offended hand, and then she followed it up by wiping down all the surfaces while I practiced my breathing exercises.

 

The bottom line, creepy people of the world, is please do not touch me.  And please do not touch my hand sanitizer.  The fact that you do not have your own is the very same reason I would ask that you NOT.  TOUCH.  ME.

 

Thank you.  That is all.

 

*Not to be confused with “Sleazy Handshake,” Ryan Adams’ latest alt-metal-or-something-esque moniker.

Flooding Me With Their Fallacies

This article crossed my desk today and I found it very interesting.  It is always encouraging to see non-religious groups popping up and using simple logic to backup biblical principles — even if that is not their intent. 

I guess even at Ivy League schools, there are students who don’t appreciate being “indoctrinated” by a liberal agenda – even though that word is generally reserved for pointing fingers at the conservative, Bible-believing crowd.

It occurs to me that there was once a time when scientists believed the world was flat, even though the Bible states otherwise.  Perhaps one day we will all learn to put a little more stock in what’s written in those ancient pages.

_________________________________________

Collegiate Sex-Ed
Ryan T. Anderson, The Witherspoon Institute
February 03, 2009

Every fall, kids arrive on college campuses and learn that their basic moral intuitions on sexual matters don’t square with the reigning ideas. Thanks to debased campus culture and overreaching on the part of administrators and professors, students are beginning to respond systematically—and they’re having an impact. Here’s how.

No two undergraduate experiences are quite the same. But the undergraduate years are marked by certain commonalities: students are challenged intellectually, socially, and ethically. Long-held beliefs are forced to submit to rational scrutiny. No longer is “that’s just the way we do it” or “that’s just the way I feel about the issue” sufficient. In philosophy classrooms and biology labs, students are expected to slough off the opinions they held in their pre-critical-thinking days and adopt the conclusions of the best arguments. Everything is to be tested, and only the rationally defensible is to be retained.

Most students arrive at college knowing few, if any, of their classmates. Navigating the maze of social expectations and the ensuing climbing of social ladders in a community of strangers, students are forced to ask themselves questions: what type of a person am I; what type do I want to become; and with what type do I want to become friends? For many, this explicit self-examination and social-selection—choosing which finite group of people to befriend from a seemingly limitless pool of possibilities—is a first-time experience. In grade school, junior high, and high school, such choices weren’t quite as necessary—there were certain cliques and people just naturally fell into place. Get to college and you get to reinvent yourself—you have to define yourself one way or another.

No longer living under their parents’ roof, no longer in a supportive school, neighborhood, or church community, students no longer have external supports encouraging them to strive to meet the demands of ethical living—and holding them accountable when they fail. Instead, they find themselves subjected to new forms of pressure: a campus culture that demands conformity as the price of social acceptance, a professoriate that preaches new ethical dogmas, and administrators whose policies recognize no values but legality, liability, and physical health. It’s easy to see how otherwise virtuous students can begin to go astray—and how those already set on a bad path from high school have little hope of reforming themselves.

Yet most students arrive at college completely unaware of the patterns of life that await them. The fact is that many unsuspecting freshmen innocently join sports teams, enter into Greek life, and otherwise expect to lead active social lives, but have little idea of what sexual expectations are awaiting. Once seduced into the campus culture, they find it hard to break free. Even if dissatisfied and unfulfilled, they assume the problem is with them, not the culture. And for those who resist it from the get-go, it’s unclear what the alternative is.

Apart from some religious campuses and religious enclaves on secular campuses, the late teens and early twenties are a bit of a wandering. Sex is to be expected, but with no expectation of commitment, never mind marriage. Those desiring an alternative have no example to look to, no role-models to emulate. Gone are the days of courtship. Gone are the days of dating as an explicit preparation for marriage. Gone are the days of using one’s late adolescence and early adulthood to form the habits, the stable dispositions, the virtues required for healthy male-female relationships—both friendships and marriage. Instead, exploitation looms large. And most marriages fail.

But it only gets worse. Campus officials in lecture halls and administrative offices, rather than challenging debased campus culture, actually aid and abet it. “Abstinence education?” That’s a scientifically disproven method of avoiding pregnancy and disease. A pill and a latex sheath is all you need. “Chastity?” Hardly a virtue, the best moral philosophy and clinical psychology tell us that it’s a vice—an unhealthy attitude of repressing sexual desire, hating one’s body, and viewing sex as dirty. Courtship, dating, marriage, and then sex? All you need are consenting adults (in any number or pairings) to have good sex. And marriage is an outdated ideal anyway.

Most won’t buy that last argument—they still long for a marital relationship, of some sort, at some point. But they don’t know how to get there or what to do now. And anyone entering the secular academy holding anything resembling traditional Judeo-Christian views about sex, marriage, and the human family had better be prepared to meet the challenging questions coming his or her way. Why not pornography and masturbation as an alternative outlet to rape? Why not some pre-marital sex and cohabitation as a means of better getting to know one another, to see if you can live together before the wedding vows, to see if you’re sexually compatible before the wedding night? And even if not as preparation for marriage, why not hook-up just as a sign of temporary affection, and, well, because it’s fun, enjoyable, pleasurable?

Yet it’s not just the hook-up culture. If you think men and women are equal in dignity yet distinct and complementary, bringing unique and special gifts to bear on all aspects of life, expect to be called a sexist. If you think mothering and fathering are different, “parenting” in the abstract doesn’t exist as such, expect to be met with hostility. And if you’re at an Ivy League University and intend on being a mom first and foremost, expect to be told that you’re going to waste your education.

But the worst of all university dogmas to reject is the goodness and worth of the homosexual lifestyle. You think two men or two women can’t legitimately enter into a loving and committed relationship? Well, you’re no better than the bigots who opposed interracial marriage. You think a homosexual orientation is intrinsically disordered and homosexual acts are objectively immoral? Can you say “homophobia”? And good luck if you’re someone who experiences same-sex attractions but doesn’t desire to be gay. You will be labeled as self-loathing.

From liberal dogmas on homosexuality to liberationist agendas on sex, feminism and marriage, from the social pressures put on guys and girls to be sexually active to the resulting pornography, masturbation, alcohol, and body-image problems—college campuses aren’t a pretty sight.

After my own four years as an undergraduate at Princeton, the problem was readily apparent to me, and a potential remedy seemed worth trying: rather than cowering away from the liberal orthodoxy on human sexuality, why don’t we subject it to intense, critical, rational scrutiny, expose it as intellectually wanting, and build a social network to oppose it?

February 2005 saw the launch of a new student group at Princeton, the Elizabeth Anscombe Society, named for the famed Cambridge philosophy professor, star student and successor of Ludwig Wittgenstein, and intellectual defender of traditional sexual ethics. The Anscombe Society set for itself a lofty mission:
 
We aim to foster an atmosphere where sex is dignified, respectful, and beautiful; where human relationships are affirming and supportive; where motherhood is not put at odds with feminism; and where no one is objectified, instrumentalized, or demeaned. We aim to increase the level of respect among members of the university community who disagree on these issues as we explore our common understandings as well as our differences. Lastly, we hope to provide those students who strive to understand, live, and love their commitment to chastity and ‘traditional’ sexual and familial ethics with the support they need to make their time at Princeton the best it can be.
 
The students who formed the Anscombe Society were tired of being subjected to a dehumanizing campus culture and hoped to point to an alternative, more excellent way. They were tired of the one-sided presentation of academic arguments related to marriage and family life—biased syllabi inside the classroom and monolithic student groups outside the classroom—and so they hoped to balance the intellectual conversation. Lastly, they were tired of an administration that absurdly claimed to be morally neutral when it came to matters of sexuality while consistently promoting liberal and liberationist sexual policies. They were determined to hold the administration accountable and seek change.

To achieve these ends, the Anscombe Society followed a three-pronged approach.

First and foremost, as a group at an academic institution and as heirs of Anscombe’s legacy, the Anscombe Society was about ideas—the give and take of reasons, the making and countering of arguments. Too often the academy has its own orthodoxy on issues of sexuality, and the prevailing orthodoxies are treated as immune from challenge. In classrooms, administrative offices, student groups, and student publications, an unquestionable dogma had been established. The Anscombe Society, through guest lecturers, newspaper op-eds, and discussion groups, provided serious and respectful academic responses and counter-arguments. The scholars they brought to campus to give public lectures made the intellectual case for a traditional conception of human sexuality and the human family from a multi- and inter-disciplinary perspective that drew on outstanding scholarly works of philosophy, theology, ethics, biology, medicine, psychiatry, psychology, economics, and sociology. They created an academic database on their website with the best articles from these same disciplines.

Now, the practical reality on most college campuses is that the main attacks on traditional sexual morality come from the constant onslaught of same-sex marriage advocates and feminists. Just from the need to play defense, these became central issues of response. For a student arriving on campus with basically sound intuitions about these issues—that there’s something to the fact that we come as male and female, something about our sexual differentiation that matters, and something about male and female forming husbands and wives to become fathers and mothers that mattered—but who couldn’t articulate a robust response to the campus LGBT and feminist groups or their ethics and politics professors, the Anscombe Society offered much-needed intellectual support. These students aren’t bigots. These students aren’t misogynists. But those are the charges you’d get if you voiced traditional thoughts on these issues on many elite secular college campuses today.

As the defense of traditional marriage was made, it quickly became apparent that the argument only runs as a conclusion from the underlying principle—virtue—of chastity. And so the Anscombe Society quickly began shifting from just a response to same-sex marriage and anti-feminine feminism to a whole-hearted proposal of chaste relationships as the most fulfilling. The Anscombe Society was committed to presenting the fullness of truth when it came to the intellectual case for the human family. (With one notable exception, the group abstained from taking a position on the issue of contraception.) Intellectual arguments—that was the first prong.

Second, but equally important given the social realities on college campuses, the Anscombe Society set out to form a supportive community. If you’re one of the few who is personally committed to living a chaste life, you can often feel quite alone on a college campus. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not as if everyone is having sex all the time. But it changes the way you approach considering even the possibility of dating at college if you think that all of your potential suitors will eventually get to the point where they’re expecting sexual favors from you. As a result, many chaste students just withdraw. Part of it is that they simply don’t know who the other like-minded students are; part of it is that they think their ideals are outdated on campus, so they never speak up about them—and other like-minded students do the same. And so they never know how many of them are really out there. The Anscombe Society wanted to bring this closeted community out into the open—to get people to meet and know each other, and to provide alternative social activities for those students who didn’t quite enjoy the usual weekend scene of drunken debauchery. One of the best ideas they had was holding a reception for students sponsored by the faculty who affirmed the virtue of chastity and traditional marriage. Robert George, a professor in Princeton’s Politics department, took the lead in hosting the event. The first year there were eight faculty co-hosts. This past year, just four years later, there were just under twenty—even among the professoriate they don’t know how many of them are out there.

The third task was to provide assistance to those students who needed help in meeting the ethical goals they had set for themselves. This proved to be too ambitious, demanding, and technical for a mere student group. Addictions to pornography, body-image problems, same-sex attractions, usually require professional assistance. Not surprisingly, that’s why Princeton has an LGBT Center, a Women’s Center, and various other special centers with full-time staff people to meet the needs of students. Nothing like that exists for students taking the other side of the moral divide on these questions. At Princeton, the Anscombe Society is negotiating establishment such a center right now.

Predictably, a group like this starting at an Ivy League university made waves. At first it was treated as a novelty. Then some people were threatened by the existence of the group; others were shocked that Princeton would allow a group that held “homophobic” and “anti-woman” views. But within the first couple of months the media started paying attention. Reports began to run in the New York Times, on Jay Leno, and in various social conservative publications and TV shows. The most unusual thing reporters noted about the group was that it wasn’t religious—the students thought reason was on their side.

Along with the media attention came interest from students at other campuses who wanted to start up similar groups. We readily assisted them. Over time it became clear that this assistance couldn’t continue on an informal level, and we organized a 501c3 non-profit group to help provide material support for the groups, and two years ago we hired a full-time employee to launch a national organization called the Love and Fidelity Network that would begin planting similar groups on university campuses in order to create a national network. This fall the Love and Fidelity Network held their first annual conference. A hundred students from twenty schools—including Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Brown, Dartmouth, Columbia, and Cornell—attended. America’s leading scholars on these issues made presentations.

All of that said, there are important lessons to be learned about starting an Anscombe Society. There are pitfalls and mistakes to avoid, based on how similar groups at other campuses have been launched or what a previous model looked like prior to the advent of Anscombe at Princeton.
 
1. Avoid anything that is too touchy-feely, too cutsey, too first-person personal, confessional, or self-referential. This is to be a serious group of serious ideas.

2. Avoid anything resembling chastity pledges, vows, or rings.

3. Do not sacrifice integrity to numbers. Softening your positions on various controversial issues in an attempt to drive up membership numbers defeats the entire purpose of a group like this. The goal isn’t to be popular; the goal is to provide a robust account of the more excellent way.

4. Be religion-friendly but do not be founded on religious premises or arguments. The purpose of a group like the Anscombe Society is to explain how traditional conceptions of the family and the role of sex within the family are more humanly fulfilling. Focusing on the human sciences—philosophy, sociology, psychology, medicine, biology, law, economics, political theory, etc.—should suffice.

5. Remember the doctrine of the mean: the virtuous positions lies between two vices on either extreme. As such, don’t overreact. Don’t respond to campus culture by going too far in the other direction and returning us to aspects of a previous age that have rightly been left behind. Consider three examples:

   a. Sticking with the above: you don’t need to be secularist or anti-religion. There are good theological reasons for the traditional family—and you can include theological reasons as one among many. For example, a panel on religious reasons from across the traditions (Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, etc.) would be effective.

   b. Speaking truth in love on the issue of homosexuality is very difficult. There is the temptation to water-down the truth or to express it in a non-loving way. Anti-gay bigotry is real. It is to be avoided.

   c. Forcing women back into the home, barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen is not the proper response to the Ivy League professor who looks at you incredulously when you tell her that the most important thing in your life is the desire to be a good mom. Finding creative ways to merge your vocation as mother and vocation as scholar, lawyer, doctor, etc. is the way to go. Modern work schedules and professional life were largely formed around gender arrangements from a time long-ago, and they need not be retained. This is the work for the new feminism.

6. Preaching to the choir is not the same as intellectual engagement with campus culture. There is a time and a place for building up the base and equipping the students with basically sound dispositions with solid argumentation. There is also a need to be provocative and shake other students out of their complacent acceptance of liberal dogma. Finding ways to do this and to meet people where they are is key. The goal is securing intellectual and moral conversion.

7. The focus should be on marriage, not chastity. If people ask, “what’s the Anscombe Society all about,” the answer they should get is: “promoting stable and healthy marriages.” Chastity is the virtue that fosters this—both before and during, both inside and outside of marriage. Emphasize the end goal—the good—that you seek to promote.
 

The future for groups like these is bright. In response to debased campus culture coupled with overreaching on the part of administrators and professors, students are beginning to respond systematically—and they’re having an impact. I don’t foresee the basic situation changing in the near-term. We’ll continue to have basically decent kids come to college with basically sound intuitions, and then they’ll be bombarded with alternative messages. The need is to equip them with arguments to know that their basic gut instinct about Adam and Steve is correct; that wanting to have a family and be a mom and be educated is OK. The need is to create alternative environments to counter the cultural pressures that can lead passion to override reason, to form communities of virtue.

But meeting this challenge will not be easy. Survey data on the next generation shows views on the family and sexuality that are quite at odds with the vision of Elizabeth Anscombe. To persuade this generation of the truths Anscombe defended, we’ll need a new generation of scholars, from all the academic disciplines, willing to turn their scholarship toward defending the human family and the principles of morality that protect it and the virtues that sustain it. Given our academic setting, it’s fair to encourage all students, especially graduate students, to consider devoting their research to these issues. And professors shouldn’t be afraid to speak out. Elizabeth Anscombe certainly wasn’t.

Ryan T. Anderson is editor of Public Discourse: Ethics, Law, and the Common Good <http://www.thepublicdiscourse.com> . This essay is adapted from a paper presented at the annual conference of the Center for Ethics and Culture at the University of Notre Dame. Copyright 2009 the Witherspoon Institute <http://www.winst.org> . All rights reserved.

Happy Blog-iversary (or, Welcome Home)

Today marks the three-year anniversary of my blog.  I started blogging on that most ancient of social networking sites, MySpace, on March 17, 2006.  I didn’t know whether I would take to it or not, but I actually enjoyed it very much.  My blogging eventually tapered off (as did its host), and I recently decided to get myself a domain and gear it up again.

 

My hilarious brother Michael once coined the phrase “Mandablog,” where, according to him, “Manda is a prefix meaning extremely long.”  I can’t argue that point.  My blogs have a tendency to get a little long-winded.  I attribute this to my Southern Baptist upbringing.

 

In the process of transitioning to this blog, I went back into the archives and saved all my previous blogs to make sure they don’t get lost in cyberspace and to scare up a little inspiration for the new blog.  In the process, I formulated some statistics:

 

 

2006

2007

2008

Total

Blogs

125

120

27

272

Words

113,311

77,857

29,568

220,736

Pictures

229

317

185

731

 

That works out to 811.5 words per blog, and 2.28 pictures per blog.  The pictures ratio is a little skewed, because most of the blogs had no pictures, and then I did photo-blogs that had as many as 50 photos at a time, like the pictures from my Harry Potter Party or the NKOTB concert Kelli and I went to last year.  But the one staggering realization for me is that 220,736 words is longer than all of the Harry Potter books (except Order of the Phoenix, which was 257,045), and so, theoretically, I could have written a book (or two) by now.

 

Among those 220,736 words, I introduced you all to the music of Levi Weaver,  explained why Prince Eric is my dream guy, tried to start a boycott, caught up on my vocabulary words, griped about the misuse of “LOL, and railed at some random dude who sent me a copy/paste declaration of love on MySpace.

 

That blog saw me through my 25th birthday, the death of my beloved Papa, and the loss of Dr. Falwell less than a year later.

 

I recounted the tale of the C.O.U.S. that attacked me, the passive-aggressive turf war with my ghetto-fabulous neighbors, the manager who couldn’t do math, the crazy dream  I had one night about a vending machine, and one of the most annoying phone calls I have ever made.

 

 

Sometimes I even went the serious route and blogged about things of more importance, like gender roles in relationships, whether you have to be good to go to Heaven, and sometimes maybe a little too much personal information about myself.

 

 

Anyway, I think it’s high time I got back to writing, even if it’s simply a blog with no real theme or intent.  This blog has a new name, too:  Pandandrum.  I’ll give points to anyone (besides Kelli or Jessica) who knows how I arrived at that particular name.  My usual handle, “Shifting Sand,” from the so-named Caedmon’s Call song, was not available as a domain, so I had to reinvent myself in more ways than one.

 

I hope that all the faithful folks who read “Shifting Sand” will follow on over to the new blog.  It’s nice to know that someone is listening, even if I’m rambling about nothing, which I have done many times in the past.

 

Kelli suggested I do a “best of” and bring some of the old blogs over here, so I thought I’d link up some of the memorable ones here, so if you’re new to my musings, you can catch up, or if you’ve been along for the ride since 2006, you can reminisce with me.  Or, if you couldn’t care less about the old stuff, tune in for the new.  First up will probably be a classic Amanda-style photo-blog recap of my trip to Nashville this weekend.

I’d fix it if I could…

Y’all don’t even want to know what I’ve been through with this whole blog setup thing.  It comes from being OCD, and I realize this.

I had a beautiful layout which I designed by dissecting someone else’s theme and replacing essentially everything with my own style.  But, I failed to recognize that the theme I started with had a bug, which wouldn’t be a big deal to some people, but for me, it was a dealbreaker.

So, I am starting over from scratch.  I put my banner up top, but the rest is yet to come.  So don’t judge me.  I’m gonna fix it.  And I will win in the end.

 

(Yes, more Ryan Adams.  Deal with it.)

Back on the Blog

“Most of the time I got nothing to say.
When I do it’s nothing and nobody’s there to listen anyway.”

Ryan Adams, “I Taught Myself How to Grow Old”