sleep, but not snow, deprived

Stef and I decided we were going to go enjoy Avatar with the others on Thursday night.  Alex decided to sleep.  Smart choice.  We went and watched--loved--the movie and then headed out to the car and geared up for a long... morning?  It was just past three when we got back to my apartment where my brother had already arrived.  Both of us needed to finish up some packing, so we did.  And almost two hours later, at 4:45 a.m., we were on the road headed to Michigan.

About 45 minutes later I realized I had forgotten my phone in the apartment.  Besides that, all was going relatively well.  Unfortunately, it was only a little later when the sleepiness started smacking me something fierce.  I had to stop at a rest area for about ten minutes of sleep, and then another ten minutes of walking around trying to wake up and try to find out whether 64 was closed because of that landslide a few weeks ago.  I couldn't find out, so I decided to keep going.  About half an hour later I had to stop again.  This time it was at a Waffle House, and for another 30 or 40 minutes.  I was getting kind of upset with tiredness, and now that I'm thinking about it, I don't remember much of what happened all that morning.  I ended up getting Alex to wake up enough to switch with me at some point, and finally went to sleep.  But not after asking him at least a dozen times if he was awake enough to drive, in order to make sure he was getting angry at me, and thus, hopefully awake enough to drive.  He was a trooper.  Drove for like three hours while I slept for 10 minutes (it seemed).

When I started driving again, it was after we had stopped to get gas.  I had paid in cash, giving the girl more than I would need because I didn't know how much it would cost.  I pumped the gas, went to the bathroom, and we were off.  Getting onto the freeway, I realized I had forgot to pick up my change, which was about $10.  Wow, I was urinated to the max.  Silly things make me extremely frustrated, especially when I am tired, when there are other people around, and when I made a stupid mistake.  (I have a lot to learn.)  Conveniently, the next exit was only about ten miles away.  DANG IT.  So we--I--wasted like twenty-five minutes driving to that stupid exit, turning around, driving back, and walking in to the gas station, waiting in line for a couple minutes, and then being handed a receipt and $10 bill from a smiling checkout girl.  She was awesome and I hope she has a blessed life with a wonderful husband and many happy, thoughtful children.  I had imagined walking back in there, walking over to the counter in shame, and then being told that I couldn't get my change because someone else had already pumped gas at the same pump or something.  Oh man, being handed that 10 dollars was the only minor bit of relief I got through that whole experience.

We eventually got home around 4:15 that afternoon.  It was a long night/day.

It's pretty much been lightly snowing since we got here.  It's very nice.  The cat still hates me and runs under the Christmas tree when I get close.  She let me pet her a little last night while I ate some cereal, but that's about as lucky as I get.  Mom somehow gets her to jump on her lap and stay there for a while.  I watched Les Triplettes de Belville with my sister last night.  What a strange, but somehow refreshing, movie.  OK, but mostly strange.

Bye.

Fall 2009 Writings

Now that the semester is over and I'm through with finals, I decided to take a few minutes to post some of the articles I wrote in Magazine and Feature Article class so they're available to anyone interested.  A couple of them are rather long, so I wouldn't blame you for not reading them.  Don't feel bad.  I'm posting them for myself as well, so that I can go back to them from anywhere in the world if I ever need to.  By the way, please don't steal any of these articles.  :)  Thanks.  

Rubber bands and the Music of the Heart

            An instrument always starts with rubber bands.  You’re six years old and you want to play the guitar like your dad.  He helps you find a tissue box.  You yank out all the tissue, and suddenly, the guitar’s body is in your hands.  It still needs a neck and some strings.  Your daddy goes to the paper towel rack and unrolls the remaining paper towels, neatly folding and piling them onto the counter so Mommy doesn’t get too upset.  You have a guitar neck. 

            Finally, you grab the rubber bands.  Cutting them and sticking them over the open space in the tissue bo… guitar body… your instrument is complete.  Cradling it in your arms like Daddy does, you hesitantly twang the blue rubber band.  A note!  Music!  Your very first song.  Daddy smiles back at you proudly:  his little musician has found her music.

            Music is the smile or tear of our soul’s trembles.  Without it, it almost wouldn’t seem right to call ourselves human.  We strum our guitar strings, we tweet our piccolos, we blast our trombones, we ripple our fingers over the ivory keys of a piano.  Our violin strings accompany our hottest tears and our loudest laughs.  Our banjos, harps and flutes:  all of them allow us to create the notes that form the melody of our lives.  Music is emotion, and our instruments are the catalyst.  They are invaluable in our search for the tune of our lives.            

            Until he or she has an instrument, every musician, from the screeching newbie to the aged master, is silent.  An instrument in our hands brings us the music that satisfies our ears and our hearts.  Without them, we would live in desperate tension, our joys and sorrows trapped inside our heads—a music-less prison.  It is no wonder, then, that there is often a deep connection with the instruments that set our hearts free.  Every musician has a story of an instrument that accompanies him or her throughout life’s memories.  Here are the stories to those songs.

* * *

            Cheap in price and sound, Chelsea Inglish’s first guitar didn’t seem worth much fuss.  But after precariously propping it against a wall only to hear it crash to the floor as she walked away, there were an abundance of tears.

            “I bawled,” she says. 

            Fortunately, she soon realized it meant that it was time for a new, better, one.  She finally found a store selling guitars for 40% off and bought the guitar that has since brought her through many trying times in her life.           

            “Marty is beautiful,” says Inglish about her mellow-sounding Martin guitar with a satin finish.  “I love how Marty sounds.”

            Ever since learning a few chords from her classmates in 7^th grade, Inglish and Marty have woven a beautiful harmony together. She loves to make good music with her college friends as well as play her guitar for special music or song service at church. Playing is both soothing and exciting for her, a remedy for loneliness and a form of expression. 

            “Emotions are the reason I play,” she says.  Whether she’s lonely, happy and content, sad, depressed or stressed, Marty has been her emotional outlet for several years.  He probably will be for several more to come.

           

            Growing up in Romania, Octavian Poenaru began violin lessons at the age of seven and has played for over 40 years since then.  In the beginning, though, he says if it weren’t for the tears he saw in his father’s eyes, he would have stopped playing.  It’s a good thing he didn’t.

            One time, while Poenaru was in the jungles of Tanzania, he wanted to teach health classes at a local school but was being restricted by the hostility of some of the teachers.  He decided that he would take out his violin and play for the kids.  A few days later, the school’s director came up to him and asked if he would like to teach them music.  The people didn’t know music and had no instruments.

            “It opened my way to the hearts and minds of those people,” he says. 

            Poenaru now lives in Vermont and finds great pleasure in playing the violin with his son and blessing others at church with his talents.  He says that his instrument has helped him to give satisfaction and find personal joy throughout his life. 

            “It is a very expressive instrument, fits some of my personality, and can express profound feelings,” he says.  “[It is] another part of myself.”

           

            Twenty-four year old Scott David Kabel became a man in a Hong Kong airport with Shannon, his Taylor 414CE guitar, faithfully at his side.  Due to the necessity for a third check-in piece of luggage, no way to pay the $200 fee, and some resistance from the Korean Air employees, he was facing some serious difficulties. 

            “I have always been afraid of being pushy,” he says. 

            However, because of the helpful example of some wise people he knew, he realized that if he could just ask enough of the right questions, the workers would run out of excuses.  The problem was that this was the exact thing he had never done before and was afraid to attempt.  But he had no choice.  He decided to keep asking for help.

            Finally, after a lecture from the manager, she waived the fee and allowed him to board with all three pieces of luggage.  The catch was that either his guitar or the CDs would not be insured.

            “In the end, I decided to risk losing Shannon,” he says.  “I knew she was strong.  I knew she could handle it.   And she did, while I became a man.”

            Scott Kabel’s guitar, a surprise gift from his summer camp co-workers, was brought home safely to continue bringing smiles and joy to many of his friends during college.  He would frequently sing and play in small circles of admirers or for larger crowds scattered over a hillside.  His songs came from his heart and were an expression of the love he had for people—and witnesses to the love people have for him.

           

            For Laurie Minner, her violin of 35 years is the tangible connection to her first childhood teacher.  She describes him as an old Russian man who fixed up factory-bought violins and resold them.

            “This is the real connection to the man who formed me as a violinist—the tangible connection,” Minner says.  “But the violin is part of the legacy, my instrumental voice that he left me with when I play this in public.”

              Now a music teacher and orchestra conductor herself, she finds great pleasure in playing both her violin and viola, though doesn’t often find herself picking them up to play for relaxation. 

            “I have kind of an occupational hazard because I do music so much,” she says.  “Music to me is work.  Music for me is serious business.”

            Demonstrating to students a difficult section of a piece or the correct tone to use several times a day can be taxing.  But Minner’s first love is music and she finds joy in the music itself.  Singing and collaborating musically with friends and colleagues is “where the best part of music-making comes together.”

            Her old Russian violin teacher would be proud of his pupil.  Minner’s passion for music will live on in the hearts of hundreds of students as they continue to express themselves with their instruments. 

           

            Rachel Miller was born to play the harp.  She fell in love with it at the age of three when she saw someone playing in the lobby of an old bank in Boston.

            “All I remember is a beautiful dress, beautiful lady, beautiful instrument—and a sound that I will never forget,” she says.  “I wanted to be her.”

            Fast-forward 17 years and Miller is studying harp at Michigan State University after more than a decade of living her dream.  It wasn’t easy, what with an expensive instrument that is not only large, but also relatively uncommon, and three-hour commutes to lessons while she was a kid.  She says staying with the harp has been tough at times, but she chose the instrument and is determined to keep doing her best.

            Being able to inspire and bless others is one thing she loves about her instrument.  She has played for weddings, funerals, church services, banquets and “any time of celebration you can think of.”  Nursing homes are her favorite, however, with kindergarten classes coming in just behind.

            “They appreciate it the most, out of anyone I’ve ever played for,” she says.

            Once, she remembers playing a duet with her flutist friend and bringing both of their mothers to tears.  The music they had played was music from their parents’ weddings. 

            “I remember feeling really proud of us that day,” she says, “Not only because we played the notes on the page well, but because we were able to see the results of our music:  we brought our mothers to a happy memory of theirs.”

            Miller’s favorite place to play is in her cozy living room—with bare feet and sweatpants on.  She also enjoys playing in empty churches where she is able to “pour out” and feel refreshed afterward.  Her emotions play a big role in how she performs on a given day.

            If she is angry, she will go work on an “angry” section of music and the music will be all the more effective.   On the other hand, sometimes her performance suffers if she’s had a hard day in her personal life, for example.

            “Music is emotion,” she says.  “So if you don’t have it, your music is pretty flat.  So much of how I feel and how I play are intertwined.”

            Sometimes it is difficult for her to remember why she is still playing the harp.  Most of the time she loves to play and finds great reward in performing and practicing.  But on some days, the stress of learning her pieces and the pressure of playing them perfectly, as well as the long hours spent and the sacrifices made along the way, seem overwhelming.  However, just as so many musicians have done in the past, she picks up her instrument once again.  And once again, falls in love.  

            “I’ve used it for so long as my vessel of expression,” she says.  “Finding a substitute for that would be like trying to find myself a new body.”

           

            There are many more stories of people who would agree with Miller.  While ultimately it is the music that counts the most as an expression of our thoughts and feelings, it is the instrument that makes the music possible.  Whether it is playing a guitar in front of summer camp children, a violin in the solitude of a bedroom, or a harp in front of a demanding teacher, the music comes from a direct connection between musician and instrument. 

            The relationship between the artist and his or her instrument is the difference between noise and music.  When the music becomes an extension of one’s heart and soul, for a moment, the distinction between the instrument and the player is forgotten.  The two have been fused into one.  

             

Fall 2009 Writings

Never Too Busy to Tri

How to become a successful college triathlete

The childhood memory of my dad coming out last in the swim haunted me as I shivered anxiously in the chilly water waiting for the starting gun to go off.  I was swimming for a relay team a couple of high school buddies and I had formed.  It was our first triathlon and we had trained hard.  As soon as the gun went off, I swam my racing heart out for the entire half-mile.  Afterwards, not being able to lift up our 3^rd place male relay trophy because my muscles were so tight was a small price to pay for the enormous feeling of pride and enjoyment I had gained from the experience.  I was addicted.

 Now in college, I have raced in several triathlons, won a few trophies in my age category and encouraged other friends to become involved in the sport as well.  I have found, though, that when I suggest doing a triathlon, many people object to the idea, not for lack of interest, but because they feel they’re “too busy” with college.  After discussing this issue with some fellow collegiate triathletes, I’m convinced that with careful planning, wise use of time, and smart decisions, any college student who has a desire to attempt a triathlon can accomplish it with success.

I have compiled some of our collective wisdom and experience below for your benefit.  So now, whether you’ve done triathlons before but are new to college life or you’ve wanted to race one for a long time but don’t know how, you have no excuse.  If you’re willing to “tri,” here are several practical ways to become a successful student triathlete without dropping college. 

Create a training schedule

            One of the first steps to successful training is being intentional and organized. David Macias, a nursing major who has completed two half Ironmans and numerous Olympic and sprint distance triathlons, says that people think he has a lot of spare time.  The reality?  “I just run my ship tightly,” he says.

            Create a detailed training schedule several weeks before your race to give you clear goals for each day.  This helps you know what to expect as you try to juggle classes, work, studying and training.  Take advantage of time between your classes or during a lunch break to incorporate a swim or speedwork session into a busy day.  Macias also schedules his long bike rides or brick runs for Sundays and reserves Wednesdays as a day for rest or an easy swim. 

Get out of bed—early

            The predawn hours are a great time to think and get a workout out of the way so you can focus on the day’s responsibilities.  Lisa Owens, who has participated in triathlons since her freshmen year of high school and is a half Ironman finisher, finds that getting up at 6 a.m. to run leaves her less stressed and with more energy for the day. 

            Unfortunately, crawling out of a cozy bed can be tough.  If that’s your case, try one of Owens’ tricks: leave the alarm clock across the room so you are forced to get up to shut it off, or mentally challenge yourself to be strong enough to will yourself out of bed (your roommate might prefer the latter).  Laying everything out the night before for quick access the next morning is another helpful tip.

             

Focus on quality

            “For me it’s about quality, not quantity,” says Macias about his workouts.  He’s right on. It’s important to always focus on the quality of your workout, especially if your allotted time is shortened for whatever reason (it will happen).  A purposeful 20- or 30-minute workout can be just as beneficial as a longer one that doesn’t have a clear focus.  Get to the track and get your heart rate up with some intense mile repeats or 400s instead of whining about missing your scheduled long run. 

            Always try to think about the focus of the day’s workout as you warm up.  If the day’s workout is an endurance swim, for example, focus on maintaining correct form throughout the swim rather than just getting it over with.  If your schedule calls for a hill run, then keep that idea in mind and focus on your stride as you ascend and descend your favorite elevations.

Remember that outside isn’t the only option

            Flying down back roads in the open air past scenic landscapes and grazing cows on your bike is ideal (and preferred!), but don’t completely discount the indoor option.  A cold or rainy day is not a lost day: utilize your school’s gym and hop on the stationary or treadmill.  Owens says that she also exercises indoors when she doesn’t have time to workout until it’s already too dark to run outside. 

            Stationary bikes allow you to multitask by reading or reviewing your notes while you spin, something that you probably shouldn’t try while out on those back roads!  Sometimes the machines also have displays that show heart rate, time, distance and other interesting features of your bike or run which can be helpful to know.

            Weight training is another reason to go indoors.  See if your schedule allows for a couple sessions a week at the weight room, or use it as backup for rainy days.  If your school has a pool near its gym, you can also try some swim-bike combinations or swim as a cool down after some weight training.  I’ve even done my own mini-triathlons completely indoors at my school’s wellness center just for fun or during some wet weather.

Eat with efficiency

            In other words, don’t freak out if you can’t prepare a perfect balance of protein, carbs and fiber for every meal—you’re busy!  It’s helpful to avoid a lot of sugary or processed foods, but just eat as best you can, when you can.  If you only have time for a 15-minute meal from the cafeteria, choose the best food available (salads and sandwiches are quick and healthy).

            Ben Foote, a recent grad and age category winner at a local sprint triathlon, says besides limiting the junk food and making sure to eat a lot before a long bike ride, he doesn’t worry too much about what he eats. 

            One thing to be aware of though, is when to eat.  I can’t exercise within two, sometimes three, hours of a meal so I have to think ahead to balance when I’ll eat and when I’ll train.  Quality of sleep can also be affected by late eating, so it’s important to avoid eating late if you can help it.  Try setting a time, like 7 p.m. for example, after which you will only drink water or eat light foods like fruit.   

Sleep well

            Notice that I didn’t write sleep long, but sleep well.  Sleep schedules for college students are often sporadic at best and short nights are all but inevitable.  If a short night is required, but you still want to wake up early to run or study, plan your studies for the morning and take advantage of the hours before midnight for the best sleep. 

            At times, I’ve also found it helpful to grab a 15-minute power nap after lunch or in between classes.  This revives me enough to make it through a busy afternoon (but I don’t recommend taking a nap too late or it can be difficult to fall asleep at night).  Designating a couple days week to sleep in can also help both your body and mind to recover.

Compensate when necessary

            Training for all three disciplines of the triathlon is important, but depending on your circumstances you may have to make priorities as to which you’ll commit to more.  Geography, schedules or resources often affect workout possibilities.  For example, if your college is in the city, ideal biking routes might be tough to come by.  Or if your pool is only open at certain times of the day, it may be hard for you to fit swims into your schedule. 

            Instead of attempting impossible feats of schedule juggling, just take advantage of whichever sport(s) you have easier access to.  I’ve found that when I don’t have as much time for biking, I can compensate rather well with a slow, long swim or run if those are more feasible. This may not be ideal, but as long as an active training lifestyle is maintained, fitness and progress seem to ensue.

Find a training partner

            Including some social interaction during your training can make a 90-minute bike ride much more interesting.  Finding friends to run, bike or swim with is a great way to share ideas, find encouragement and stay motivated.  Personally, I also think participating in a triathlon with the same friends you trained with is a lot of fun.

            Another reason to find a dependable training partner is accountability.  For example, unless he has someone who is waiting for him at the pool and would “chew me out later,” Foote admits that it is hard for him to wake up for an early swim.  Dragging yourself out of bed at six o’clock in the morning or committing to that 10-mile afternoon run under a hot sun is much less difficult when you know someone is waiting for you. 

Keep record

            Some people enjoy the freedom of training based on feelings and not recording any of the process.  For others, a training log—where time, distance, quality, and type of workout are recorded—is key.  You can log notes, too, like your rating of the route you ran, or particular characteristics of the day (your calf was tight or you did 8 x 400 repeats), or any other impressions you had.  

            The physical representation of your training process helps you to see the progress you’ve made, and thus, serve as motivation and encouragement. It’s also fun to compare earlier times and distances with later ones to see how much you’ve improved and determine what your goal should be for an upcoming race.

             

Make the most of your school’s resources

            One of the greatest benefits for students training for a triathlon is the access to their school’s facilities such as the pool, weight rooms, track, and nearby parks and pathways.  These types of facilities often require a fee at other establishments, but taking advantage of the college’s resources is free. 

            I’ve also received a lot of good advice from my university’s physical education professors regarding how to train, as well as information about upcoming races.  The library is another easily accessible resource where you can study up on training techniques or peruse your favorite triathlon and running magazines.

Be frugal

            Make those precious, hard-earned dollars count by limiting unnecessary expenditures such as restaurant or movie theater visits. Owens says that while race fees can be expensive, she cuts back on eating out and saves her money carefully.  Try putting the ten dollars you would’ve spent on a movie or meal toward your triathlon fund, and watch it add up. 

            You can also save a little gas money by riding your bike to class or work.  You’ll save those extra dollars, promote the environment and get in a few extra minutes on your bike as well!

Don’t be too rigid

            Muscular flexibility is great, but being flexible when it comes to your training schedule is also beneficial.  Expecting the random, spontaneous setbacks that are sure to occur during college will allow you to breath easier when they do.  Whether it’s a roommate requiring some unexpected assistance (a break up or a dead car battery, for example), a forgotten test you have to cram for or a sudden onslaught of the seasonal flu, be open to necessary training schedule improvisations. 

            Another important thing to remember is that missing a workout won’t kill you.  Indeed, it may even allow you to rest up and be even more productive with the next day’s workout.  Finish what you need to accomplish for school and other priorities, and make up for lost training time with quality workouts when you can get back on schedule.  Never be too hard on yourself or you may risk losing out on the satisfaction of training hard and being healthy.

Keep your ultimate goal in mind

            Sometimes all the factors involved in training can become overwhelming and discouraging.  Missed workouts, short nights and sore muscles piled on top of stress from school, work and family can leave you wondering about your sanity.  Do I really want to do a triathlon?  Is it worth it!?

            It’s important, therefore, to keep a firm grasp on the big picture and ultimate goal:  to finish a triathlon and enjoy the whole process.  In the end, you will feel the most fulfilled if you can look back and say that you did your very best and had fun in spite of the difficulties along the way. 

            For Owens, it took planning six months ahead for her to feel like nothing would go wrong in her first triathlon.  She was still nervous on race day, but says as soon as she started to swim it became fun.  She’s been a busy college student addicted to the sport ever since.

            Ultimately, if you’re careful with how you spend your time and can put into practice some of the useful tips above, you’ll probably find yourself addicted to the sport of triathlon as well.  College will always keep you busy, but training for a triathlon is very possible.  I guarantee there is nothing quite like crossing the finish line after a grueling swim, bike and run to give you a sense of accomplishment and pride—even if you’re too exhausted to smile.

Fall 2009 Writings

The Slowest Race
A comparison of my spiritual life and triathlons

            Every summer when the days are longest, I start thinking about two things:  school and the Cohutta Springs triathlon.  Training for this race has become a tradition for me since I came to Southern, and the race in early October is the highlight of the experience.  Reflecting on my time in college, sometimes I feel like my relationship with this triathlon has been a lot like my relationship with God.

            Training every August has become routine. I always use the same training program:  exercise how I can, when I can.  Some days are more successful than others, but in the end, training is rewarding.  Inevitably, I get butterflies of excitement dancing around in my stomach a couple days before the race that make it harder to sleep. 

            At the first triathlon, in spite of a discouraging run and only an average race time, the overall experience was good enough to get me hooked.  Every year since then, I fall back into this same ritual every August, and every year the experience has gotten better. 

            My spiritual walk has been a lot like that.  I came to Southern and got into a predictable routine.  I would start the year with good intentions of getting to know and understand and love God better.  And there would be weeks where I felt like my communication with God was strong, and others when I felt unworthy to be called a Christian.  But even in those discouraging times, there was always a deep assurance that God was exactly who He said He was and that He never loved me any less.  I can’t always pinpoint exactly where God has grown me or what things He has revealed about Himself to me, but I know that I have grown closer to Him every year.             

            As for the triathlon, the race this past October (my senior year) will be a hard experience to beat:  perfect race weather, lots of friends, and even a personal record.  Although nothing significant had changed in my training regimen or the race itself over the years, I have realized that each time I’ve raced it has been more rewarding than the year before.

            God is good to me.  Even though my relationship with Him has been predictable and has had its ups and downs, He has never been unfaithful.  Graduating soon leaves me wondering what He will do with me in the future.  As I continue my walk, or run, with Him, I pray, in the words of David, that He will search me and know my heart and “lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139).  I know that with God, things will just keep getting better and better.

Fall 2009 Writings

Class Walk

5 Fun Ways to Liven Up

an Otherwise Boring Walk Between Classes

The walk down the promenade can be a lonely, boring prospect.  What is one to do with the obligatory 10 minutes of down time between classes?  Sometimes people socialize or review it up for their next class.  Others might get creative and count all the squirrels they see or avoid the cracks so their mother doesn’t have to be rushed to the hospital.  But if you really want to make it a memorable experience, if you really want to leave a lasting impression to students of Southern, if you really want to make life exciting and make people wonder, then try some of these ideas.  They’re bound to transform an otherwise dull walk into one of your favorite times of the day.  Go ahead, try one.  I dare you.

The Extravert Advantage  This is a game that requires a friend or two who are heading in the same direction as you for several minutes.  The rules are simple: whoever knows the most people wins. 

When you see someone whose name you know, call out a loud greeting for them to hear, preferably in your competition’s ear.  This is not only a great incentive to get to know and remember names, but it also makes people feel good.  There’s nothing like a sudden start due to someone throwing your name down the promenade as loud as they can. 

                  Note: do not be afraid to utilize highly embarrassing nicknames.  This heightens the feeling of embarrassment and acceptance.  Also, it’s just more fun for you.

Signature Casts  This activity is a great alternative to actually breaking your arm.  First, find a friend who shares your route.  Then, grab a scrap piece of paper and a writing utensil, preferably one that writes in a bright color.  Next, tape the paper around your forearm to make an impromptu, albeit flimsy, “cast.”  Finally, speed down the promenade acquiring as many signatures as you can.  Whoever has the most by the time you reach your destination wins. 

                  Note:  this can be adapted in many ways.  For example, you could try Quote Casts to see who gets the funniest quote.  Or State Casts, to see who can locate residents from the most, or craziest, states.  As you might imagine, there are a plethora of different versions.

Obvious Messages  As the astute observer will notice, this activity is the opposite of, say, secret messages.  The idea?  Take a load of chalk and write your friends messages on the promenade.  Instead of being secret, they will probably be quite obvious.  Think of it like updating your Facebook status or doing some sidewalk text messaging.  For a different spin, try to start a deep philosophical conversation with random students.  (The downside: say goodbye to your favorite chalk.)

                  Note: it is advisable to check the weather beforehand.  Rain often washes away chalk, effectively erasing your message.

End of Time Training  This is a tried and true trick of the trade.  Ask Bjorn Harboldt.  Impress fellow Adventists with your wilderness survival techniques by pulling out fruit, soy milk, or if you’re lucky, ice cream, from the bushes.  At this point, you might be spewing, “How in the world..!”   Patience.  Allow me to explain. 

First of all, this works well on a day when SA is handing out fruit at the Student Center.  Say… apples.  (If you missed SA’s free fruit, fret not, this is still quite possible with your own apples.)  You nab a couple o’ them apples, grinning powerfully and uttering passionate thank-yous as you continue your march.  Soon, at a location of your discretion (thick shrubbery works best), secretly slink that scrumptious apple into a memorable hiding place.  (Memorable is key.  If you forget where you hid it, all is lost.  Literally.)  Later that day, return with some friends and act really hungry as you near where your apple is hiding.  Then, as if in a moment of utter desperation and curiously sudden insight, thrust your hand into the hiding place and yank out your truly terrific treat to tout to your taken aback friends.   

                  Note: technically this can work with any food.  However, caution is to be taken, especially during the warmer months, due to ants and other such disreputable insects that thrive on hidden treats. 

Collegiate Choir  This adventure is likely to be more enjoyable with a couple friends to help.  But I double dare you to try it on your own.  It’s simple, really.  As you walk, decide on a well-known, catchy song.  Then, sing it so Ooltewah hears it.  Presumably, other students will love the song so much that they will be unable to refrain (pun intended) from joining in with gusto.  See how many people you can get to join your choir.  You might even ask Julie Penner to walk with you one day, then suggest a little game of truth or dare (*wink wink). 

                  Note: inviting Mrs. Penner may not be worth your time (or hers for that matter) because, although she is a spectacular singer, she is busy, and to arrange to meet just to walk to another class is probably a bit overkill.  Of course, if the chance ever arises, please do not hesitate!

i would spare her first

I have to write my last feature article for Magazine Writing class this week (due next) and I think I want to do it on people's favorite instruments.  I've always figured that if my house was burning, one of the first things I would grab would be my violin.  I started trying to research people's favorite instruments but couldn't find much.  I'm sure the stories are out there, but I was having a hard time coming up with anything. There are several forums, though, where people ask what others would grab if there house went up in flames.  Many people talk about their laptops, their photo albums, their safes or their SS docs and passports, etc.  Oh, and that is all assuming that their family members and pets are safe.  One person mentioned their razor and shaving cream so that they would look good still.  I think it was a joke.  I looked at quite a few responses on two or three forums and only once saw a mention of an instrument.  And it was a piano.  I'd like to see someone trying to lug their piano out of flames and smoke.

Anyway, my violin means a lot to me and I think it'd be neat to get other people's perspectives and stories.  If you have any, contact me.  If you know anyone who loves music and plays an instrument (or even better: multiple instruments), contact me.  Otherwise, think of the important things that you'd like to save and then keep hoping your home never goes up in flames.

Listening for 23 years

This story is interesting.  How important it is to be able to communicate with others.  Just being alive isn't really living.  This poor guy must've had some miserable days just watching and listening and... waiting?  Did he have any hope?  I bet he'd be an incredibly fascinating study.  I suppose I will have to look back on this story whenever I'm lonely and remember that maybe I don't have it so bad...  I haven't even been alive as long as this guy was "just" alive.

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/11/24/coma.man.belgium/index.html

@$&#(@!

I just had to share these quotes.  I saw them while looking up language quotes for a supposedly-going-to-be-written Accent article...

In certain trying circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity furnishes a relief denied even to prayer.  ~Mark Twain


At no time is freedom of speech more precious than when a man hits his thumb with a hammer.  ~Marshall Lumsden

Make sure you swallow everything

Tonight at Comm Club vespers, the speaker just read the Samaritan Woman part of John 4, and then forced us to ask questions about it.  At one point, I think she asked something like, "Why do you think Jesus talked with her while His disciples were gone?"  I had been thinking about that for a couple minutes previously, but in a [much?] different way.

My mind asked the question like this:  "How cool is it that Jesus was bold/loving/assertive/friendly/godly/wise (take your pick, there are probably other adjectives that work better) enough to take advantage of the situation!"  After all, his disciples had gone into town to get food, leaving him alone (presumably) at the well.  Then, a woman comes up, probably trying to ignore Him, and waBAM, Jesus has the intuition (?) and brilliance to hook her with a suave "gimme a drink, woman."  Amazing.  I would have just sat there, on my butt, looking at the ants crawl by, or the moss-encrusted well rocks, or my dirty sandals.  Maybe I'd have whistled a tune.  Maybe I would have run after my disciples to make sure they got the right bread and fish.  Certainly, I would have been sure not to have spoken with her.  Especially had I known she was prone to hookin' up with lonely guys (five of them previously, I believe).

But no, Jesus somehow made sure she figured out that He was God and that God was God and that God was GOOD.  Even while reminding her He was thirsty, and telling her she was a lousy woman (five husbands!?!), and making sure it was clear that the Samaritans prayed and worshiped all wrong and that salvation was by the Jews (really, Jesus? Really!?).

But the disciples stayed away long enough for all that to go down.  And she walked away blessed.  And she came back with others.  And many were saved.

Yeah, I don't know if Jesus knew she would come along while the disciples were hittin' the town.  Maybe He did, maybe He didn't.  Maybe God knew and impressed Him to stick around the well.  Why else would He?  Just a nice well?  Perhaps.  But I guess I believe that Jesus knew His Father's gentle whisper well enough that He just stayed.  And then became thirsty, conveniently, when He realized, felt, that a thirstier young woman, torn and broken and bitter, was there for Him to bless.  And somehow, He said all the wrong things in all the right ways.  God apparently doesn't solely rely on Happy Sabbaths and I Love Yous and God Blesss (three Ss?  Two more for the question??).  Even His Son talked smack to a psychologically, mentally, socially, emotionally worn down woman.  But somehow it worked!  I just don't get it.  But I love it.

The Samaritan Woman.  She has her own title now.  But in heaven, she'll be known as the woman who got to give Jesus/Michael a clay of water, not the Samaritan Woman.  She'll be known as the woman of the Eternal Spring of Living Water.  She'll be known as the woman who brought her whole town to Jesus.  She'll be known as the woman who talked with Jesus.

I suppose to me it's not a question of why Jesus did it while His disciples were gone.  To me it's a question of why wouldn't Jesus do it then.  I would've whistled when Jesus, instead, whispered.

"The woman said, 'I know that Messiah is coming.  When he comes, he will explain everything to us.'

'I who speak to you am he.'" said Living Water.

Information overload

Probably everyone has seen this video except for me.  But I saw it today and thought it was neat.  At least the style of it and the track in the background.  It's just a lot of intriguing, if not sometimes-doubtful, information about our day and age.  I especially like how we learn in one week of the New York Times more than... well, whatever it said.  Obviously it wasn't impressive enough for me to have memorized all the information.  



Click this to get to the video

I'm listening to drugs

How is it that life's simplest and purest joys come in the strangest fashions?  I ran into a link to a site that lets me stream Relient k's new cd and it has brought me great, albeit sleepy, contentedness for the better part of two hours.  I hesitate to go to bed because it is like a drug.  I have to listen to it because it's so good. And the next time it just might be even better.

For a long time I thought that I was a really bad person for not listening too closely to the lyrics of songs.  I was afraid that I should be more like Jones who seems to carefully weigh the value of the lyrics before committing to liking the song or not.  (I don't mean to make him sound too thorough of a scale.  But seriously.  He's a superb guy.  Whom, BTW Wally, I haven't seen or talked to in a while...hmm...and I never got back that paper he gave me.  Despicable friendliness right there.)  Things changed a few days ago when I realized that while I listen to a fair share of secular music, the most meaningful songs to me, the ones that I return to time and again, the ones that make me stop and listen and live more heartily afterwards, they are always ones that have quality lyrics.  Many of them are labeled as Christian songs, but some are not.  Either way, the songs are inspirational to me.

I don't know why Lucifer thought there was something he was missing out on.  Director of Heavenly Music.  I'd take that title.  I bet it was delicious to hear that music.  Delete, rewrite:  I bet it will be delicious to hear that music.

Georgina

Language is so neat.  In Christian Beliefs, Pastor Nixon was explaining how we are made in the image of God and that there are three facets of that:  rationality, spirituality, and morality (plus a forth which combines those three: relational capacity).  Three more facets are included in rationality:  future orientation, transcendent thoughts, and speech.  He defined speech as the use of words to creatively communication with others.  I like his inclusion of speech as a part of our rationality and creation in the image of God.

I helped Georgina tonight at our ESL class.  She is a dear old woman who hobbles in with a cane and gingerly takes a seat at the table.  For a couple class periods, the main teacher would include her in the group's rounds as we went through examples of conversations and such.  We soon found out that she was not up for it and could hardly understand anything, which made it difficult to advance with the group without dropping her like unnecessary cargo on a fleeing ship.

This week, I worked with her one-on-one and we seemed to do all right.  I don't know exactly what country she's from, but we got along well in Spanish and made some progress in English as well.  It's so interesting to watch her grasp concepts and relate things she knows in Spanish to their English counterparts.  It's sometimes difficult for me to explain things and difficult for her to wrap her mind around some ideas or words, but we were both thankful for the other's efforts by the end of the lesson.

There is not much that I can teach God. Ok, there is nothing I can teach God.  But I certainly feel like He's patient with me more often than is right.  I mean, He goes beyond right and hits downright merciful every day.  My mind is feeble and my efforts weak.  I don't yet speak His language.  But I'm slowly learning and He is patiently teaching me.  Someday I believe that we will use just the right words to creatively communicate with each other in speech.  Until then, I, like Georgina, allow a small, but sincere smile, and a quiet gracias.

When David Heard

One afternoon last year, probably coming home from work, I had 90.5 on, enjoying some classical.  This particular afternoon this particular station was playing this particular song:  When David Heard.  The Eric Whitacre arrangement.  I was spellbound.  When I got to my apartment I just sat in the idling car, overcome with the power and emotion of the song, for the remaining 10 or so minutes of the piece.  I had to.  There was no other way I would find out the title except to wait for the DJ to enlighten me (actually, I probably could've found it with a little research later...).  But more importantly, I couldn't leave it.

It came on Pandora a couple days ago.  And again tonight.  Again, I could hardly do anything else except listen for the full 13+ minutes the song lasts.  After it played tonight, I spent a while trying to figure out how to embed it onto the sidebar.  Thus, you can see it to the right, and thus, you may now enjoy it for yourself.  Try it out.  Let it play while you read something else.  Maybe go buy it on iTunes or Amazon afterward.  I did.  Last year.  And I don't regret it.  Eric Whitacre is the man. 

A blue bunnied chair emblazened on the plastic of my toothy nightcap.

I had an idea.  A rough sketch of one, anyway.  Since I'm always bugging people with "Hey, that would make a good article," I figured I would just started writing them here.  That is, I'll punch out some rough drafts of the ideas I remember from throughout the day as a sort of preliminary to an actual [possible] article of more depth and substance later.  This way, I will still be super annoying to everyone who lives near me and hears me throughout the week, but I may actually remember some of those moments for the sake of scribbing them down for some global communication offered by the World Wide Web.

3:00 am; Z:ZZ I am

I think my poop's already disentregated in my intestines.  I think my face has acquired the wrinkles I was supposed to get in fifty years.  I think I'm probably bald.  I think if I glanced down I would notice a grandpa gut hanging out of my shirt.  I think even my eyelids gained wait. 

It's been such a long day.  I just finished my second article of the night. 

Dear Reader,

Please learn from the mistakes of a foolish young man.  Fleeting thoughts about getting someone to write an article for you is not the same as getting someone to write for you.  Bouncing ideas inside the cranium (notice, there is a lot of room to bounce) is not the same as bouncing ideas down the arm and fingers onto the paper or keyboard.  Question: did I seriously just think I could peck out a couple quick pieces for tomorrow?  Was I kidding myself when I decided it was just how it was going to go down, that I had no other alternative, and that I'd just have to learn to live with it? 

Oh-ho, silly me.  I guess I will have to learn by my mistake.  The hard way.  Fortunately for you, dear reader, although the data suggests that the majority of you are graduated, almost-graduated, or long-gone-graduated, perhaps you can learn from my mistake.  The easy way.

At least let it be a reminder to you.

Most sincerely, blood-shot-eyes-edly, and truly happily,

Christoffer

Beam me over, Scotty (or is it Scottie? Who cares.)

Stef and I channel flipped between NCIS and My Super Ex-Girlfriend until it was time to head to the dollar theater. We walked in and sat down with Adam, Ryan, and Ross during the previews and got comfortable for........ Star Trek. Beginning at 10:10, Spock's eyebrows and the Enterprise's button's sounds had us enthralled for nearly two hours. The movie is advertised as 2 hours and 6 minutes long. We missed part of it.



Occasionally, I'd ask Stef what time it was to make sure we weren't staying too long. She had to be back at the dorm at 12:30. So when, towards the end of the movie, I happened to ask again what time it was, and she brandished her phone and pressed a button, and the glowy brightness displayed the time, and it was 12:13, well, I immediately did the math in my head and realized that we were already pushing it. I, inspired by Spock, had already calculated the approximate duration of our trip, and therefore our intended time of theater-exiting: 12:08. We were five minutes late.



Running to the car before the movie was over, believe it or not, got my adrenaline going a little bit. Thankfully, there were hardly any cars out at such an early hour on Thursday morning. Unthankfully, the first three stoplights we arrived to decided to stay red for an unreasonable amount of time as we were the only ones present at all three. Finally, pushing the limits of my little Hyundai's acceleration and hitting maximum G-forces, we got onto the freeway for all of the 73 seconds, or whatever, that you're on it between Shallowford and Bonnie Oaks. We got to the light off the exit and finally, it was a green one. A half mile down the road, we end up behind a semi. This wasn't Optimus, this was McKee. I was edging left in order to pass it at the dotted line, when I saw the headlights ahead. Crap. Try again a little later. Crap again. We are dragging past the Conoco's weird intersection and I mentally made the executive decision to pass the truck at an illegal stretch up ahead if it looked clear. We got there, it looked clear, and I went for it. We had loud music, so I couldn't hear the engine, but I noticed the RPMs were probably the highest they've ever been. Heading down Apison Pyke now, around 15 mph over the speed limit, I was worried and constantly looking in my mirrors and in the shadows. It might not sound too fast, but for Collegedale, it's certainly attention-grabbing by you-know-who. Somehow, the light at Little Debbie Parkway was green, as was the one at Exxon. We just had to make it past the bend, behind the school because of the detour, and into the parking lot without any popes seeing us or any accidents stalling us. At this point, you'd like to hear an exhilarating account of an unfortunate police stop. Well, sucka, you ain't gonna hear it. We made it. At 12:28. I think it's the fastest I've ever gone from Hamilton Place to Collegedale. Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you've done better.



Like Spock, Kirk, and Scotty, I was at warp speed passing that semi. Unlike the space travelers, I was praying the whole time. Is that wrong? I don't know, but it was fun.

A Reminiscent Rendezvous

My sister and I were looking at some of the pictures on my computer this evening and later we decided to play a bit with some of them. Here are some folks you might recognize.



Good times.

And finally...

PS... if you haven't noticed already, clicking on the pictures renders a much larger version for your viewing and scrutinizing pleasure.

PPS... I put several more up on FB if you're interested. If you hate any of them, let me know so I can take them down. Otherwise.... :)

The pockets have more holes now than they did two weeks ago, for sure.

Why is patience so difficult sometimes?



I remember being a little kid and thinking life would last forever. Every time the air started getting cooler and the leaves began to trickle down to earth, my mind would begin to conjure up images of large boxes with glossy, colorful wrapping paper and ginormous bows. There would be snow outside and ideally, no rules or chores for several days during the bliss of holiday season. Unfortunately, these wonderful thoughts tormented me for weeks while Christmas never seemed to draw a single day nearer.



The same thing happened for my birthdays. And for school to get out. And for school to begin. Fortunately, for most of those situations, the drawn out anticipation has gradually subsided to only lasting a few short minutes, especially, as we all know, in the case of our beloved Christmas time (just kidding. but seriously). However, this is certainly not to say that the difficulty of being patient has lessened in any way.



Now, my patience is simply tested in different ways. I'm made to wait for a variety of things from supper to finding a girlfriend. Often, it's an agonizing struggle to make some sort of it's-gotta-be-important,-right? decision. And currently, it's just waiting to figure out which camera I should buy.



Sometimes I just want to buy something. And right now is one of those times. But I must be patient. How come it's so hard?

Nikon. Check.
18-55mm preferable. Check.
55-200mm eventually/preferable. Check.

But...
D40?
D5000?
D80?
D90?
Wait/pre-order the D3000?

Running. The kind with your feet.

Today, just so you all know, was my first day running again.

I hurt my ankle pretty swollen bad during staff week, so was out for a good week and a half. During that time, I conveniently either got sick, or attained allergies, which has been plaguing me since my ankle was the size of a rugby ball. I mean, technically, I've been running the whole time. But my heart and legs don't get any benefit except when I sneeze or cough. Fortunately, I have a nice trail to walk on down to archery that is downhill going and uphill coming, for those of you who thought you could actually go downhill both ways.

I might sleep under the stars again. Is anyone else doing that? We're looking at the same stars. Isn't that cool!?

June

I love my violin. And even though I have gotten worse over the years, have discontinued faithful practice, and have no desire or motivation to play very often, it is one thing that connects me with my childhood and allows me to enjoy my own company. Please put my violin in my coffin with me. Or burn me, and put my ashes in my violin, then sail me out to sea. Yeah, that would be better. Thanks, guys.

There. June is covered.

I got nothin'.

he was naked a long time ago

Well, shoot. Happy Birthday was just sung to Schnellbo outside my door in the living room and I missed it. I guess he will be turning 23 for the next 23 hours plus, so I will have time to sing again probably and give him a high five or pat on the back or something really deep and meaningful. He's a good guy.

You're a good guy, Schnellberdino.

Whew...

This is just to make it two in March. Thank goodness I made it.

Bruhaha

I guess I'll write something before the month is over.

the hills of appalachia

It felt great to be running through the hills and woods of my hometown trails. I've never run parts of the stuff we raced over today. The hills were challenging, the lungs were heaving, and the mouth was smiling. Literally. I smiled for part of the race.

Thanks, folks. I do appreciate the gift and will be able to remember it for years whenever I look at my race number: 225. The irony is great; the blessing even greater. You're all a good family.

you should see the wall

It's not very often that I punch a wall. But I think I've done it twice this year so far. I don't even remember the first time. Today, though, is fresh on my mind.

It has been a good (crappy) week so far. There have been some (a ton of) things to do and it feels like I always have plenty (hardly any) of time to finish everything. It felt like my mind was training for the marathon just as hard as my legs with all the running through to-do lists and appointments and assignments required for this week. In so doing, it forgot a minor (major) list item: class at 1.

Somehow, I totally forgot I had class until 1:17 when my class buddy texted me and asked if I was skipping, because I had just missed a sweet quiz.

As my face's temperature increased at an alarming rate and my legs began carrying me to my protective cave of a room, I couldn't help but notice my arm swinging up quickly towards the small section of wall to the right of the closet. Very soon my knuckles were crunching into the firm wall as they came to an abrupt stop on the innocent surface. With nothing but raging desire to do it again, I lowered my fist and rocked to my room where I sat in tense contemplation for a few moments on my bed.

Needless to say, Ben was quiet for a few minutes after I returned to the kitchen and resumed preparing lunch with him. I suppose it also goes without say that my middle, and most protrusiverising, knuckle is a vaguely purplish color and quick to remind me when it grazes anything that doesn't start and end with a-i-r.

I don't suppose there is any need to go around punching walls; it certainly leaves a quaint reminder of the folly for several days. And I won't try to make excuses. I was infuriated at missing class, not only because it was a stupid freshman mistake that I almost made not three days ago, but because it quickly reminded me of how helpless I am at remembering to do and actually accomplishing everything that I am "supposed" to do. With running, eating, sleeping, classing, talking, transportationerizing, studying, listening, reading, thinking, pooping, showering and other things-ing, it's often difficult for me to be alert and aware every waking moment of the day. Unfortunately, that results in bruised knuckles, a sour spirit, and fewer points towards my grade than my scholarships like.

I'd say the wall deserved everything it got and more.