This movie rocks.
22.12.10
Best Movie in the Whole Wide World
This movie rocks.
19.11.10
come and find me
Sometimes when it's dark I choose not to see. I sit and I wait. And I do my best to laugh at the appropriate times and answer the questions that I understand with appropriate answers. I try to answer in ways that will not encourage more questions. Sometimes when it's hot I choose to be cold. When I start to burn I turn frigid, painful to touch. Sometimes when I feel a little alive I choose to bury myself. I walk into my open arms and enjoy my own country. Freedom for all--all of me. Sometimes, when it gets too loud for me to think, I choose to yell back until I can't help but smile. It's a good thing no one can hear my yells. It's a good thing I yell in my own language. Sometimes when the questions become too much, I choose to look at the stars and the birds. It seems they don't ever have questions. Nothing touches them. They glow and they fly, forever and free. Unless they decide to stop.
Someday will never come. Sometimes is never always. Choosing is not always that. Sometimes when I choose, I don't really.
I'm breaking this typing-my-woes-for-you-thing off. We're done. Find me, if you want. I like this game, so I'm not disappearing. But, I'm going to keep running. I hope I don't ever stop. I hope only two people catch me. And I hope I give my running fever to later little lads and ladies. And I hope that sometimes I won't have to write anything at all.
7.11.10
race for the raceless
I went to church yesterday by myself. I saw some Adventists in the bus on the way. Two women and a young boy. I knew they were Adventists because they had some Adventist published material. They sat down a row in front of me in the church, but moved back to my row when the sabbath school leader asked us all to be on the same one. So I sat by them. I offered the one lady my jacket, figuring she'd refuse, when I heard her say it was cold. She refused. We ended up going back on the same bus, too. Maybe we'll find a church close to home. We'd both like that.
I ate Ramen and crackers with butter for lunch. I wrote a little and listened to Sons of Korah. I almost fell asleep. I knew it was time for a walk. I got ready, put my map in my pocket, and headed out. West. Toward the coast. My goal was to get to the ocean. I figured it'd take about an hour.
The first part, just a couple blocks from my house, got a little worrisome right away. I stick out. No one bothered me, though. A group of guys said something, and one caught my eye as he was sitting on the curb just as I walked by him. They didn't do anything, though. I would sneak out my map every now and then to try and track progress. I followed the sun, too. West. I took a couple roads I didn't plan on. Finally I got to Barranco. It reminded me of Argentina, or Spain, or something nice. Colorful old buildings. Vacant streets with leaves blowing across sometimes. Weekends are good for traffic. I kept walking. I saw a parachute in the distance. And then no more buildings. Soon enough, a hundred feet below, lay the ocean, and about an hour away indeed. Probably less. Surfers clad in their little black wetsuits clamored for the waves. A guy with a bike came out of some random door and passed me up the stairs. I sat down at a bench underneath a trellis covered in some kind of vine to look at my map again and eat my cracker snack. Then I kept walking. North. My new goal was to get to the street my regular bus passed on and then take it home.
I passed gardens. I passed couples. Bikers and skateboarders. Not very many, just enough. I cut into the city following the sidewalk when it didn't cross a little ravine with a busy street at the bottom. I wound back toward the coast. The buildings were taller now, the hotels nicer. Fashionable clothing started to appear frequently. I was in nice Lima. I joined a straight road with lots of people on the sidewalks. Tourists, young people, old people, some beggars, lots of vendors at their kiosks. Eventually I came to a big plaza that I pass on my way to work. The Nike 10k race was being set up. Hundreds, or thousands, of people were beginning to congregate, decked out in their neon yellow race shirts. I felt extremely out of the loop and not a bit envious. Judging by looks alone, I would've beat most of them had I been in shape. I kept walking.
I got to my office. By then it was dark. Almost two hours after leaving home. I sat at my desk. I listened to music and journaled. Then, I left.
I wanted to walk down and watch the race. I thought it started at 7. Maybe it was supposed to. I hung around for a while, just trying to stay moving so people couldn't rob me as easily. Eventually they started the race. 10,000 runners, I saw on the internet today. The race started with three fireworks. I stood at the very back, waiting until the last few runners were able to pick up their stride into a jog. With "I Gotta Feeling" pumping through the race speakers, I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and smiled.
Some roads were being blockaded for the race. I waited at a place my bus was supposed to pass for several minutes. I realized it probably wasn't going to come, so I started walking down my bus route figuring it'd have to join eventually. It did--when I was about ten minutes away from home. So, I walked all the way back home, too. My left heel was bleeding just a bit. My legs were stiff. I was hungry and thirsty. And feeling a little bit..............
There's not much you should say out loud when you're feeling sorry for yourself. Most of it sounds awfully pitiful to everyone else. And you regret it all later, too. But sometimes, I'm in too much of a hurry typing and whining to just shut up. What am I racing toward?
I ate Ramen and crackers with butter for lunch. I wrote a little and listened to Sons of Korah. I almost fell asleep. I knew it was time for a walk. I got ready, put my map in my pocket, and headed out. West. Toward the coast. My goal was to get to the ocean. I figured it'd take about an hour.
The first part, just a couple blocks from my house, got a little worrisome right away. I stick out. No one bothered me, though. A group of guys said something, and one caught my eye as he was sitting on the curb just as I walked by him. They didn't do anything, though. I would sneak out my map every now and then to try and track progress. I followed the sun, too. West. I took a couple roads I didn't plan on. Finally I got to Barranco. It reminded me of Argentina, or Spain, or something nice. Colorful old buildings. Vacant streets with leaves blowing across sometimes. Weekends are good for traffic. I kept walking. I saw a parachute in the distance. And then no more buildings. Soon enough, a hundred feet below, lay the ocean, and about an hour away indeed. Probably less. Surfers clad in their little black wetsuits clamored for the waves. A guy with a bike came out of some random door and passed me up the stairs. I sat down at a bench underneath a trellis covered in some kind of vine to look at my map again and eat my cracker snack. Then I kept walking. North. My new goal was to get to the street my regular bus passed on and then take it home.
I passed gardens. I passed couples. Bikers and skateboarders. Not very many, just enough. I cut into the city following the sidewalk when it didn't cross a little ravine with a busy street at the bottom. I wound back toward the coast. The buildings were taller now, the hotels nicer. Fashionable clothing started to appear frequently. I was in nice Lima. I joined a straight road with lots of people on the sidewalks. Tourists, young people, old people, some beggars, lots of vendors at their kiosks. Eventually I came to a big plaza that I pass on my way to work. The Nike 10k race was being set up. Hundreds, or thousands, of people were beginning to congregate, decked out in their neon yellow race shirts. I felt extremely out of the loop and not a bit envious. Judging by looks alone, I would've beat most of them had I been in shape. I kept walking.
I got to my office. By then it was dark. Almost two hours after leaving home. I sat at my desk. I listened to music and journaled. Then, I left.
I wanted to walk down and watch the race. I thought it started at 7. Maybe it was supposed to. I hung around for a while, just trying to stay moving so people couldn't rob me as easily. Eventually they started the race. 10,000 runners, I saw on the internet today. The race started with three fireworks. I stood at the very back, waiting until the last few runners were able to pick up their stride into a jog. With "I Gotta Feeling" pumping through the race speakers, I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and smiled.
Some roads were being blockaded for the race. I waited at a place my bus was supposed to pass for several minutes. I realized it probably wasn't going to come, so I started walking down my bus route figuring it'd have to join eventually. It did--when I was about ten minutes away from home. So, I walked all the way back home, too. My left heel was bleeding just a bit. My legs were stiff. I was hungry and thirsty. And feeling a little bit..............
There's not much you should say out loud when you're feeling sorry for yourself. Most of it sounds awfully pitiful to everyone else. And you regret it all later, too. But sometimes, I'm in too much of a hurry typing and whining to just shut up. What am I racing toward?
4.11.10
Peace like a piece
We sang Peace like a River tonight in class. I hope it's okay to sing songs that you don't feel. I didn't feel peace like a river or love like an ocean. I was trying not to feel much. I've soared and now been shot down. Back to the walk, the grind, the long haul. I guess I did soar there for a bit. That's something.
Now I know where the tortillas and shredded cheese are at the market. Now I see what a little cooking effort can produce. Now I know that not all cats hate me, and that dogs are mostly as disgusting as ever. And chickens, too. Now I know that my resources for English class are plentiful, that I have no right to complain about my situation here at all. Now I know that life without the internet is quite possible. Now I know that the country is better than the city and the city is better than the country.
So. Here's to the trudge. Here's to having the water, if not the feelings.
Now I know where the tortillas and shredded cheese are at the market. Now I see what a little cooking effort can produce. Now I know that not all cats hate me, and that dogs are mostly as disgusting as ever. And chickens, too. Now I know that my resources for English class are plentiful, that I have no right to complain about my situation here at all. Now I know that life without the internet is quite possible. Now I know that the country is better than the city and the city is better than the country.
So. Here's to the trudge. Here's to having the water, if not the feelings.
24.10.10
I felt like a kid again
That's essentially what I got to journal about last night. For the first time in years, I felt like I was in high school, reading a book that took me in which I was willing to sit still for hours for and stay up late for and finish, all in one night. That's what I did when I was a kid. I'd stay up super late reading, sometimes after Dad went to bed so he wouldn't see my lamplight and come in telling me I should sleep. Then sometimes I'd also get up super early before school so that I could keep reading or even finish the book. I used to carry a book with me to class and in the halls. And on drives to wherever and during supper and all that. Those were the good days. And then I got friends. And could listen to music. And watch movies. And train for triathlons.
Last night when I wrote in my journal, was also the first time I've done that in a long time. I looked. I had written about four times in the past 14 or so months. That's awful. The worst I've done since when I didn't have a journal. It felt good to handwrite things again, even though it's awful stressful on the fingers and you sure can't keep up with your thoughts. But they seem to become clearer with handwriting, if I can just force myself to use a pen instead of this keyboard.
After reading that book, and going back to my younger years, and journaling, I was able to just sit and think. It was about 2 in the morning. I haven't done that in a while either. I loved it very much. There was something real about it. So if that last entry seemed like a low, this was the high. Go figure.
I'm sure the thoughts and feelings I had last night will fade soon enough. They will become lost in the mess of tomorrow and in the stress and monotony of work. And in the base animal characteristics of mine like hunger and needing to go to the bathroom and sleep. But I wrote them down. And I came up with three reasons that I want to live. Which isn't as morbid as it sounds. And for last night, at least, I was stoked about it. And it even spilled over into today. Which also hasn't happened in a long time.
die alive. love my own. change the world.
Last night when I wrote in my journal, was also the first time I've done that in a long time. I looked. I had written about four times in the past 14 or so months. That's awful. The worst I've done since when I didn't have a journal. It felt good to handwrite things again, even though it's awful stressful on the fingers and you sure can't keep up with your thoughts. But they seem to become clearer with handwriting, if I can just force myself to use a pen instead of this keyboard.
After reading that book, and going back to my younger years, and journaling, I was able to just sit and think. It was about 2 in the morning. I haven't done that in a while either. I loved it very much. There was something real about it. So if that last entry seemed like a low, this was the high. Go figure.
I'm sure the thoughts and feelings I had last night will fade soon enough. They will become lost in the mess of tomorrow and in the stress and monotony of work. And in the base animal characteristics of mine like hunger and needing to go to the bathroom and sleep. But I wrote them down. And I came up with three reasons that I want to live. Which isn't as morbid as it sounds. And for last night, at least, I was stoked about it. And it even spilled over into today. Which also hasn't happened in a long time.
die alive. love my own. change the world.
22.10.10
sometimes
i immediately regret the things i write. they are so pitifully insufficient. and my vocabulary is awful. and i repeat a lot. and mostly, my mind changes right afterward. but then, i guess that's why we write stuff out. dang. i hate that. and think it's funny. and i think i'm going home soon.
what does it mean
when his days kind of run together and he can go to bed realizing that nothing really happened that day. Is he dead? Is he dead to people? He's just curious. Being just a memory is pretty much being dead. Are other people dead to him. Some are. Those people from high school, they're dead. The only real difference, he thinks, is that technically there's still the slight possibility of running into them again. But then that's just awkward because he's not very good with those types of situations.
He sits in his chair all day wondering what to do for class, how to make lesson plans and syllabi, how to enforce rules, how to treat everyone at the office. He's the youngest one here. Except for that other guy. He's going through a big transition period in his life. It's like it hasn't dawned on him that when he steps foot back on home soil he's stepping into... well, he doesn't know. He reads things all the time about people growing and changing. About adventures or bad days. He wonders, did his parents ever write about how they were growing and changing? Or is that just a phenomenon of our generation? He wonders if he'll always talk about growth. Even when he's a grandpa. Will he say, Today was a tough day, but at least I grew.?
He sometimes wishes he could justify just doing things. Or maybe it's that he actually needs to learn how. When he sits on public transportation, he just watches. Is he making any kind of human progress by watching? When he teaches, he just struggles. Is he preparing for anything in the future by struggling? Is he preparing a future poet or engineer or other genius whose English foundation will be essential? He goes home and eats. He does pushups. Then he gets in bed. He gets in bed to watch a movie or read, or just be. What kind of growing is he doing then?
And how freaking big is he supposed to grow, anyway?!
He wonders if he's dead. It's not that he feels dead. But he's a little confused. If this is life, then why is it so... drab? He thinks that being creative, productive, ambitious -- that those are the signs of life he sees in others that he should have. But then, he thinks about that. He says to himself, even they only appear alive to me when they flit through my experience. If they never did, they'd still be dead. And, he figures, if they stopped flitting through and just decided to stay in his experience for a while, he figures their "lives" might appear just as drab sometimes.
So. What is he supposed to do? Go be spiritual? Is he supposed to go write a poem or a song, or draw something, or imagine his dream home or a shirt that he'd like to try and make? Is he supposed to spend the next hour trying to make a plausible plan for his little, supposed, and expected future? Is he supposed to just accept what he considers dull as his life? He compares, yes, but not only to those who seem to have a less dull life. He also compares to those whose existence seems rather mundane because of its exceeding seeming monotony and desperateness. Remember that woman who sits on the curb on your way to work? He does. Her life looks awful. He doesn't think he'd find that meaningful or enjoyable or worthwhile or anything like that. But he wonders--does she think about growth? Does she imagine she's heading anywhere? Does she consider her existence drab? Maybe she should go write a poem.
He doesn't really know anything. Except, that sometimes he gets hungry. Sometimes he gets dirty and wants to feel clean. Sometimes sleepiness overwhelms him and he must rest. Sometimes stress releases a darkness that few see. Sometimes loathing pricks at his upper lip, and other times inspiration and compassion swell his little heart muscle. He figures those things are true enough. But what do they mean? Will they let him really die--not only to become a memory, but die as a mass of flesh--leaving something behind? Some kind of story or legend or whatever you want to call it? Is that what he'd want to breath for anyway? He seems to recollect a few existences distinguished who left a legend behind, but never seemed to think their days were very special or worth much.
He figures everything should come around to God. He doesn't like that it always does. He blames it on the way he's been raised. He doesn't like it when he imagines the advice people would give him to the things that he says and thinks, were they ever to give him any. Is it that he's too stupid to see how obvious and practical that advice is? Or is it that he thinks he's following it but... obviously not? Is it that he doesn't agree? Or, could it be? Could he really hate the advice? Hate the thought of doing what they say? Is it that he wants it to be harder? That he has to earn something? Is it that most of the minutes he's ever been conscious he's been focused on something outside of himself, and that the relatively few minutes he's spent musing about all the other minutes make him think that his life is just not quite right? He doesn't find it comforting that he's not the only one wondering when he'll awake and be alive. He thinks, if this is how life is, it's... drab. But, is he supposed to just try to do stuff all the time? Is he supposed to get as busy as he can so that at least the drabness seems bigger?
What does it mean. He asks. Knowing that his current thoughts won't really be repeated until the next time he says What does it mean. Where is the life in that?
Nothing changes. That's what's funny. It's funny because as much as he wants to think, what good does it ever do him? Nothing changes. No, it's not that he's dead. It's... He thinks a moment. Maybe it's... maybe he's afraid. of trying to live and failing.
He sits in his chair all day wondering what to do for class, how to make lesson plans and syllabi, how to enforce rules, how to treat everyone at the office. He's the youngest one here. Except for that other guy. He's going through a big transition period in his life. It's like it hasn't dawned on him that when he steps foot back on home soil he's stepping into... well, he doesn't know. He reads things all the time about people growing and changing. About adventures or bad days. He wonders, did his parents ever write about how they were growing and changing? Or is that just a phenomenon of our generation? He wonders if he'll always talk about growth. Even when he's a grandpa. Will he say, Today was a tough day, but at least I grew.?
He sometimes wishes he could justify just doing things. Or maybe it's that he actually needs to learn how. When he sits on public transportation, he just watches. Is he making any kind of human progress by watching? When he teaches, he just struggles. Is he preparing for anything in the future by struggling? Is he preparing a future poet or engineer or other genius whose English foundation will be essential? He goes home and eats. He does pushups. Then he gets in bed. He gets in bed to watch a movie or read, or just be. What kind of growing is he doing then?
And how freaking big is he supposed to grow, anyway?!
He wonders if he's dead. It's not that he feels dead. But he's a little confused. If this is life, then why is it so... drab? He thinks that being creative, productive, ambitious -- that those are the signs of life he sees in others that he should have. But then, he thinks about that. He says to himself, even they only appear alive to me when they flit through my experience. If they never did, they'd still be dead. And, he figures, if they stopped flitting through and just decided to stay in his experience for a while, he figures their "lives" might appear just as drab sometimes.
So. What is he supposed to do? Go be spiritual? Is he supposed to go write a poem or a song, or draw something, or imagine his dream home or a shirt that he'd like to try and make? Is he supposed to spend the next hour trying to make a plausible plan for his little, supposed, and expected future? Is he supposed to just accept what he considers dull as his life? He compares, yes, but not only to those who seem to have a less dull life. He also compares to those whose existence seems rather mundane because of its exceeding seeming monotony and desperateness. Remember that woman who sits on the curb on your way to work? He does. Her life looks awful. He doesn't think he'd find that meaningful or enjoyable or worthwhile or anything like that. But he wonders--does she think about growth? Does she imagine she's heading anywhere? Does she consider her existence drab? Maybe she should go write a poem.
He doesn't really know anything. Except, that sometimes he gets hungry. Sometimes he gets dirty and wants to feel clean. Sometimes sleepiness overwhelms him and he must rest. Sometimes stress releases a darkness that few see. Sometimes loathing pricks at his upper lip, and other times inspiration and compassion swell his little heart muscle. He figures those things are true enough. But what do they mean? Will they let him really die--not only to become a memory, but die as a mass of flesh--leaving something behind? Some kind of story or legend or whatever you want to call it? Is that what he'd want to breath for anyway? He seems to recollect a few existences distinguished who left a legend behind, but never seemed to think their days were very special or worth much.
He figures everything should come around to God. He doesn't like that it always does. He blames it on the way he's been raised. He doesn't like it when he imagines the advice people would give him to the things that he says and thinks, were they ever to give him any. Is it that he's too stupid to see how obvious and practical that advice is? Or is it that he thinks he's following it but... obviously not? Is it that he doesn't agree? Or, could it be? Could he really hate the advice? Hate the thought of doing what they say? Is it that he wants it to be harder? That he has to earn something? Is it that most of the minutes he's ever been conscious he's been focused on something outside of himself, and that the relatively few minutes he's spent musing about all the other minutes make him think that his life is just not quite right? He doesn't find it comforting that he's not the only one wondering when he'll awake and be alive. He thinks, if this is how life is, it's... drab. But, is he supposed to just try to do stuff all the time? Is he supposed to get as busy as he can so that at least the drabness seems bigger?
What does it mean. He asks. Knowing that his current thoughts won't really be repeated until the next time he says What does it mean. Where is the life in that?
Nothing changes. That's what's funny. It's funny because as much as he wants to think, what good does it ever do him? Nothing changes. No, it's not that he's dead. It's... He thinks a moment. Maybe it's... maybe he's afraid. of trying to live and failing.
20.10.10
10.10.10
I made slippers this past week. They're not very good, but they're better than wearing only socks or having to walk around the house with stupid shoes on. Even if the shoes were smart, they'd still be stupid.This past week was a Sigur Ros week. Especially Góðan Daginn which you can listen to below, right.
Here's the 180 degree view of my front iron door. I sat on the sidewalk that continues straight from the door, not the one that goes down the length of the street in front, several houses down, where the park is. I sat there and drank some tea the other evening. I watched the teens play soccer on the little concrete court. I enjoyed the cool air and the failing sunlight. And then I chatted with the old man who came out to have a smoke. I was sitting on his front sidewalk. He said his son left for Argentina that morning at 10 o'clock. He asked how the work was in Argentina. I think he was hoping the best for his son. He also said that it costs $140 and takes 4 days to get from Lima to Buenos Aires by bus, via Chile. That was one of my most favorite times of drinking tea ever.
Also, I watched this movie. I'm not sure if watching it in Japanese with Spanish subtitles made a difference, but it is one of the best movies I've ever seen. As in, one of my favorites. I guess it may not even be that "good" of a movie, but I very much liked it.7.10.10
The hard floor
On a whim, I decided to try and sleep out in the garage area of our house last night. I got my sleeping bag and headed out. It was 11:15 or so, later than I usually go to bed here. My housemate was already in bed. I needed to see the sky and breath fresh air. I needed to try to think for a bit. And I needed a hard floor.
I don't know, I like sleeping on hard floors sometimes. Last night it was concrete, my thin sleeping bag, my t-shirt and long-sleeve shirts, and then my backbone. I liked it very much. I even got to think for a few minutes before allowing sleep to overcome me.
I had to get up and go to my room around 4:15 though because the concrete was too cold and my sleeping back too thin. It was probably only about 58 degrees, but I figured I wouldn't battle it out that night. I went to my bed. It's funny though. I never warmed up.
I like hard floors. Sometimes they're just the right place to be, the right place for me. I like only having myself to keep me comfortable. But yes, I think I like going back to a bed, too. I still find it strange though, that I didn't warm up. Is this how it's always going to be? Maybe I should just stay on the floor, by myself. Cold. Under the starless, city sky.
I don't know, I like sleeping on hard floors sometimes. Last night it was concrete, my thin sleeping bag, my t-shirt and long-sleeve shirts, and then my backbone. I liked it very much. I even got to think for a few minutes before allowing sleep to overcome me.
I had to get up and go to my room around 4:15 though because the concrete was too cold and my sleeping back too thin. It was probably only about 58 degrees, but I figured I wouldn't battle it out that night. I went to my bed. It's funny though. I never warmed up.
I like hard floors. Sometimes they're just the right place to be, the right place for me. I like only having myself to keep me comfortable. But yes, I think I like going back to a bed, too. I still find it strange though, that I didn't warm up. Is this how it's always going to be? Maybe I should just stay on the floor, by myself. Cold. Under the starless, city sky.
4.10.10
Bullet List
+ Elections for the Lima mayor (I think) were yesterday. Everyone came to work today with a purple finger where they must've had ink for a fingerprint.
+ I was surprised to find out that the books I thought we were ordering are not what we are going to end up ordering. I will try not to complain.
+ We went to the university again on Sabbath. I was there on Friday again as well, to speak with the ESL people. There were Revelation seminars going on there this weekend. I heard a couple. One of the presenters works with Dad. Another used to work with Dad. Another is a famous SDA scholar. It was neat to hear the translations and how sometimes they didn't feel right. But translating is a tough job.
+ I rearranged my room a bit. I like it this way better.
+ I went to the market by myself Sunday. It wasn't a big deal, really. I was glad I could go alone. I'm almost done with the food I bought though. That's unfortunate.
+ I bought some yarn. I'm thinking crocheted slippers. I won't have to buy them that way. The yarn was a pretty good price.
+ I have a story to tell about our house getting broken in to. But not now.
29.9.10
Gmail labs. Oh man.
I was just exploring the gmail settings. I ran into the gmail labs thing. So cool. I have four inboxes on one page now. That way I can have a normal inbox, an inbox for emails I have labeled as coming from friends and family, an inbox for starred emails, and more inboxes for whatever I want. Oh dang. I recommend checking it out if you have gmail and haven't looked into it already. Also, archiving is pretty useful, I think. And you can play the Snake game by pressing & if you have keyboard shortcuts enabled. And you can do stuff directly with google search, google docs, previews of flickr and picasa pictures. And other things. Anthony probably already knows about all this and more. Anthony impresses me.
Something's happening to me
First, I have to say that I'm enjoying reading everyone's blogs. Personally, I like it a lot. Definitely more than Facebook. I don't even miss that thing. I don't want to say I recommend unplugging from it, but...
Okay, so something's happening to me and I don't understand it yet. But with all these nostalgic thoughts floating around this evening, I guess this fits right in. At least, in the sense that I will be journaling a lot of the current stuffs and then someday I will also look back and read them. And understand better. And see growth or at least change.
I am learning a lot from Mervin. It's not that he's teaching me. Or that he knows something that I don't. Or that he has read more or anything like that. I don't think. I think it's more like I'm just gaining more perspective from him. His way, the Peruvian way in many instances, is different than Christoffer's way. Talking with Mervin is leading me to ideas that had never occurred to me before. Not original ideas. Used ones, to be sure. But new to me.
There's a lot about this SDA, Christian, stewardship, godliness, sacrifice, missionary, disciple, trust-in-Jesus thing that has never been a part of my consideration. Or understanding. Or view. Or something. I think that I'm lacking so very much. It's not like that's news to me. But I think I'm starting to see some specific lacks. Some specific differences where I could decide to change. Improve? I don't know. But I think by the end of my time here I could be a person with more concrete, and much different, ideas about how to be human on this earth, in the context of a great controversy and second coming and death-for-my-sins-on-the-cross.
I'm tempted to copy and paste this into a Word document and not press Publish Post. But I've done that too often recently. I guess I will decide not to feel dumb about pressing that button tonight even though this seems irrelevant to anyone but myself. I just hope that I can continue to understand. And not grow weary of it.
Chris, why is this important? Why do you want to post this? You're not coming to any conclusions. You're not expressing anything of novelty. You're not saying anything that is very applicable in a tangible way to someone who might read this. You've disabled comments. You're not sure you'd want to get feedback anyway. As if there was anything to respond to in this post. And that's my point. But later, later what will you think of these words that you are typing? How will you feel? Embarrassed? Ridiculously stupid or immature? Impressed? Excited? Discouraged? It's almost 7:30 p.m. Lima, Peru. Waiting for Mervin. Not sure what your thoughts are. The words understand, express, idea, thought... they're getting overused. What's happening to me? Nothing big. I'm hungry though. I know that. I wonder, if anyone reads this, would they tell me? This part feels so fun and sly. Where's Sherlock!?
Okay, so something's happening to me and I don't understand it yet. But with all these nostalgic thoughts floating around this evening, I guess this fits right in. At least, in the sense that I will be journaling a lot of the current stuffs and then someday I will also look back and read them. And understand better. And see growth or at least change.
I am learning a lot from Mervin. It's not that he's teaching me. Or that he knows something that I don't. Or that he has read more or anything like that. I don't think. I think it's more like I'm just gaining more perspective from him. His way, the Peruvian way in many instances, is different than Christoffer's way. Talking with Mervin is leading me to ideas that had never occurred to me before. Not original ideas. Used ones, to be sure. But new to me.
There's a lot about this SDA, Christian, stewardship, godliness, sacrifice, missionary, disciple, trust-in-Jesus thing that has never been a part of my consideration. Or understanding. Or view. Or something. I think that I'm lacking so very much. It's not like that's news to me. But I think I'm starting to see some specific lacks. Some specific differences where I could decide to change. Improve? I don't know. But I think by the end of my time here I could be a person with more concrete, and much different, ideas about how to be human on this earth, in the context of a great controversy and second coming and death-for-my-sins-on-the-cross.
I'm tempted to copy and paste this into a Word document and not press Publish Post. But I've done that too often recently. I guess I will decide not to feel dumb about pressing that button tonight even though this seems irrelevant to anyone but myself. I just hope that I can continue to understand. And not grow weary of it.
Chris, why is this important? Why do you want to post this? You're not coming to any conclusions. You're not expressing anything of novelty. You're not saying anything that is very applicable in a tangible way to someone who might read this. You've disabled comments. You're not sure you'd want to get feedback anyway. As if there was anything to respond to in this post. And that's my point. But later, later what will you think of these words that you are typing? How will you feel? Embarrassed? Ridiculously stupid or immature? Impressed? Excited? Discouraged? It's almost 7:30 p.m. Lima, Peru. Waiting for Mervin. Not sure what your thoughts are. The words understand, express, idea, thought... they're getting overused. What's happening to me? Nothing big. I'm hungry though. I know that. I wonder, if anyone reads this, would they tell me? This part feels so fun and sly. Where's Sherlock!?
23.9.10
I've been clenching my jaw and scrunching up my forehead a lot these days. A few times a day I'll notice and try to relax, but a few moments later I'll realize that that only lasted a few of those few moments.
I wish I was more creative. InDesign kills me. My "designs" look like straight up blocky crap from a 70-year-old secretary using Word. No offense to that person.
I eat bread and sugar here. It's pretty good.
I wish I could walk around the city. It looks so very interesting. Especially if I could walk around with someone from the United States that I knew and enjoyed. The next best thing that I have found is to not do anything. Just kidding. That's not the next best thing at all, but I haven't had any other options.
I am trying to email and blog too much.
But at least I've gradually been making my way through Sherlock Holmes.
I'm excited about teaching English. It's a rewarding field because it is challenging, every day is different but still the same, and most of all, one is exposed to many cultures, traditions, languages, and especially instant gratification. If this teaching stuff goes well, I might just have to look into it. I could live in other countries, start schools, and pretty much not have to learn anything except what I learned when I was two.
I wish I was more creative. InDesign kills me. My "designs" look like straight up blocky crap from a 70-year-old secretary using Word. No offense to that person.
I eat bread and sugar here. It's pretty good.
I wish I could walk around the city. It looks so very interesting. Especially if I could walk around with someone from the United States that I knew and enjoyed. The next best thing that I have found is to not do anything. Just kidding. That's not the next best thing at all, but I haven't had any other options.
I am trying to email and blog too much.
But at least I've gradually been making my way through Sherlock Holmes.
I'm excited about teaching English. It's a rewarding field because it is challenging, every day is different but still the same, and most of all, one is exposed to many cultures, traditions, languages, and especially instant gratification. If this teaching stuff goes well, I might just have to look into it. I could live in other countries, start schools, and pretty much not have to learn anything except what I learned when I was two.
19.9.10
Classic meets modern
Ben "Wonderful" Schnell introduced me to the free iPod Kindle app. He also introduced me to the free classics one can download off of wherever I've been downloading them from. Oh dang, I gave it away. I've been downloading downright loads of classics and scheming about when to read them. So far, good times have been right before bed and during our daily taxi rides. I've rather been enjoy Sherlock Holmes at present.
For the past couple weeks, a thought has recurred in my mind momentarily several times. It is that I ought to be listening to more Spanish music. But I don't think I've listened to a single one since that thought has impressed itself nicely into my subconscious.
I do like listening to Sigur Ros though. And apparently Gabriel began enjoying their melodies as well. I was happy and proud. I've also been enjoying Jeremy Larson as of late. It's nice to put in my ears as I go to sleep. I've also let Greg Laswell sing to me. And that sounds really weird and gay. I don't usually put music on as I go to bed. I used to when I was younger, but stopped when I started to think it may be a sub-ideal way to drift into unconsciousness. Also, it affected my songs' play counts (of which I am quite particular) so as to show them increasing when I had not, in fact, really listened to them. I like to have a more precise number for play count so that I know more exactly how often I have listened to one song compared to another.
I don't feel that I have anything further to say on the matter at present. Go read something worthwhile. Dang it, I'm still writing for readers.
For the past couple weeks, a thought has recurred in my mind momentarily several times. It is that I ought to be listening to more Spanish music. But I don't think I've listened to a single one since that thought has impressed itself nicely into my subconscious.
I do like listening to Sigur Ros though. And apparently Gabriel began enjoying their melodies as well. I was happy and proud. I've also been enjoying Jeremy Larson as of late. It's nice to put in my ears as I go to sleep. I've also let Greg Laswell sing to me. And that sounds really weird and gay. I don't usually put music on as I go to bed. I used to when I was younger, but stopped when I started to think it may be a sub-ideal way to drift into unconsciousness. Also, it affected my songs' play counts (of which I am quite particular) so as to show them increasing when I had not, in fact, really listened to them. I like to have a more precise number for play count so that I know more exactly how often I have listened to one song compared to another.
I don't feel that I have anything further to say on the matter at present. Go read something worthwhile. Dang it, I'm still writing for readers.
16.9.10
FYI
Interested in reading my complaints from Peru? Curious about the woes of my new life? Want to hear about how awful my job is? Care to lament with me about the inflictions I am now suffering?*
Well, you can read about it at christofferslife.blogspot.com.
*Be warned, it may not be that bad at all. Yet...
Well, you can read about it at christofferslife.blogspot.com.
*Be warned, it may not be that bad at all. Yet...
12.9.10
My Precious
I think my cat has slowly been warming up to me. She's been more-or-less more friendly than usual these past couple days, and has let me pet her a little, even. She hissed at me the other day, but I was provoking her, so it was understandable. Too bad I'm leaving soon. Otherwise we might've been friends. Alas, she will soon have to flee from others' footsteps. Such tragedy.
I feel a little like a hobbit. The normal hobbits, not the Bilbos and Frodos. I like the comfort of home and fresh air and familiar food. I don't really want any adventure if adventure means going away and having to wear formal clothes all day, speak Spanish all day, and not really ever be alone [probably]. Too bad I'm not a character in a book. Then I'd be at the author's whim. In real life, I'm at my own whim. But not really. Otherwise, I'd be more like a hobbit. But taller, and with more weapons. And not as much hair on my feet. Sometimes I wish I'd grown up in a much-too-large house where it rained all the time. Sometimes not. Sometimes I wish both.
6.9.10
Kite Runner
I read The Kite Runner a couple weeks ago. It was a good story. I got the movie from the library a few days ago. But I didn't finish it. I liked the images I had in my head already better than the ones on screen. That's never happened before.
I flew a Hannah Montana kite from the dollar store with my brother on Sabbath. It was super windy here in Berrien Springs for a couple days. We had a good time. We even made the string longer with some blue yarn. The kite couldn't hold up all the weight though or something, so we had fun for a while and eventually went inside. I guess that's a dumb thing to say. Obviously we'll stop sometime and go inside. Anyway, it was fun. I like my brother a lot. And flying kites is somehow really fun, too.
3.9.10
The Clarion and Pancakes in Sandusky
I drove home on Wednesday. Well, that's when I started. Things in Maine wrapped up quickly and I was on my way around noon. I drove for six hours straight before stopping for supper. That's the longest non-stop stretch for me so far. Then I drove until midnight, with a stop for gas somewhere in their. Mom called and asked if I would call back and let them know where I was staying for the night. I told her I'd be stopping in Jamestown, New York, but I sneakily avoided mentioning the hotel.
When I got there, I pulled into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. When I parked, my headlights shown on a couple guys enjoying a smoke in the woods. They were wearing nice clothes, but they'd seen me. I didn't want witnesses. After a moment, I pulled out and headed across the street to the Clarion Hotel parking lot. I parked in the back and peed behind a big trailer truck that was parked across like ten parking spaces. Then I grabbed my pillow and jackets from the trunk and got comfortable in the front seat of my luxurious, spacious, and somehow affordable Elantra. Five hours of decent sleep and then I even got a free breakfast in the morning from the bag in my back seat.
When I called Mom at 6, she asked if maybe we could meet up later for breakfast. My parents were driving down to Maryland. It turns out we were passing each other right around Sandusky, Ohio, a little coastal city that has a Cracker Barrel just a few miles from the highway. We met for pancakes. My dad ordered Wild Maine Blueberry pancakes. I did, too. Because I had just ben in Wild Maine and wanted to see what their blueberries tasted like. I think their taste gets lost somewhere between Wild Maine and Sandusky, Ohio. Cracker Barrel seemed to cover that up by making sure to include plenty of oil in their pancakes. I didn't even finish them, and that's saying something, if you know what I mean.
When Mom asked which hotel I eventually stayed at and how it was, I told her I stayed at a Clarion and it was... nice. Free, I said. Free?? She was confused. I slept in the parking lot, I said. She laughed. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, in some cases. Or however that saying goes. I was driving mostly on non-toll roads back, too, so I figured I'd be saving at least $50 of my parents money since they had offered to pay for the hotel and probably would've paid for the tolls too if I'd asked. They figured it was more like $80. Great. Even better. I think some people take me as someone who is afraid to enjoy things if I have to pay for them. That's okay. It's not my fault that we don't all understand everything. Plus, sometimes it's true. But I just have to say this: I paid $2.49 for some lemon-drops and candy sticks (?) for my brother, sister, and I to enjoy when I got home. And, Mom and Dad and other critics, I didn't sleep too bad either and would've relished the hotel's comfort under other circumstances. Okay, that's all.
Except, Mom's hashbrowns were really greasy too. I'm just glad we didn't order anything fried.
I got home Thursday at 2:15. My brother and sister and I enjoyed our candy while watching a movie from the library called Riverworld. What a joke. The movie, that is. But we knew it would be, don't worry.
And that's the story of Clarion and Pancakes in Sandusky.
________
Also, could you please check this out. It may be my life's purpose to own one of these shops.
When I got there, I pulled into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. When I parked, my headlights shown on a couple guys enjoying a smoke in the woods. They were wearing nice clothes, but they'd seen me. I didn't want witnesses. After a moment, I pulled out and headed across the street to the Clarion Hotel parking lot. I parked in the back and peed behind a big trailer truck that was parked across like ten parking spaces. Then I grabbed my pillow and jackets from the trunk and got comfortable in the front seat of my luxurious, spacious, and somehow affordable Elantra. Five hours of decent sleep and then I even got a free breakfast in the morning from the bag in my back seat.
When I called Mom at 6, she asked if maybe we could meet up later for breakfast. My parents were driving down to Maryland. It turns out we were passing each other right around Sandusky, Ohio, a little coastal city that has a Cracker Barrel just a few miles from the highway. We met for pancakes. My dad ordered Wild Maine Blueberry pancakes. I did, too. Because I had just ben in Wild Maine and wanted to see what their blueberries tasted like. I think their taste gets lost somewhere between Wild Maine and Sandusky, Ohio. Cracker Barrel seemed to cover that up by making sure to include plenty of oil in their pancakes. I didn't even finish them, and that's saying something, if you know what I mean.
When Mom asked which hotel I eventually stayed at and how it was, I told her I stayed at a Clarion and it was... nice. Free, I said. Free?? She was confused. I slept in the parking lot, I said. She laughed. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, in some cases. Or however that saying goes. I was driving mostly on non-toll roads back, too, so I figured I'd be saving at least $50 of my parents money since they had offered to pay for the hotel and probably would've paid for the tolls too if I'd asked. They figured it was more like $80. Great. Even better. I think some people take me as someone who is afraid to enjoy things if I have to pay for them. That's okay. It's not my fault that we don't all understand everything. Plus, sometimes it's true. But I just have to say this: I paid $2.49 for some lemon-drops and candy sticks (?) for my brother, sister, and I to enjoy when I got home. And, Mom and Dad and other critics, I didn't sleep too bad either and would've relished the hotel's comfort under other circumstances. Okay, that's all.
Except, Mom's hashbrowns were really greasy too. I'm just glad we didn't order anything fried.
And that's the story of Clarion and Pancakes in Sandusky.
________
Also, could you please check this out. It may be my life's purpose to own one of these shops.
30.8.10
OMG
Mumford & Sons!!!!! AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
Anyway...
*Update:
Besides loving the cd...
I texted my sister randomly this evening while making some food. I asked if she'd heard of Mumford & Sons. Her reply? Yes, I got their cd last night. Oh Dang! We both bought the cd within an hour of each other without knowing at all. Super cool sibling stuff. (Well, probably the only time it's ever or will ever happen. But still.)
Anyway...
*Update:
Besides loving the cd...
I texted my sister randomly this evening while making some food. I asked if she'd heard of Mumford & Sons. Her reply? Yes, I got their cd last night. Oh Dang! We both bought the cd within an hour of each other without knowing at all. Super cool sibling stuff. (Well, probably the only time it's ever or will ever happen. But still.)
29.8.10
Lunch! Lunch for everyone!
Sometimes you give without meaning to at all. I did this past Saturday and it wasn't super rewarding or anything, but at least I find it funny.
After church Ben and I got our peas and spaghetti all made up and we went and sat down at the tables in the church basement (really, it's like a fellowship hall, only downstairs). Someone came in and started talking with Ben. And then these boys were running around. One of them spotted the frozen brownies that I'd left on the counter to thaw for a bit while we ate lunch. I ended up giving them to the boys, figured they'd enjoy it. I said they could eat them after they ate lunch. Little did I know...
Their dad came in and caught the tail end of my instructions. He must've thought I was the man or something because right away he introduced himself as Tim. Tim is 28 and is married to his wife. Go figure. She's 35. They have four boys. Tim's shy, he says. He doesn't normally talk like this. But for the next three hours he basically talked non-stop. I'm a sucker. I let him do it and didn't do anything to try and stop him. Not even very many nonverbal signals or anything. Our "conversation" went from the kitchen to outside where it was quieter (and much hotter), to the shade nearby, to back in the basement in a children's sabbath school room. Meanwhile, the wife and kids help themselves to spaghetti of Ben's and mine, my peas, and most of my popsicles and juice. I just watched them running around eating my popsicles the whole time I "talked" to Tim.
In the end, Ben came and rescued me, I suppose, and I learned that I need to always have something to do next so that when the next Tim comes along I can peace out before hour two. Also, that I should always make enough spaghetti and peas for four growing boys and a super-patient mom (you wouldn't even believe...).
And that's how I shared with a whole family and none of us even knew it. At first.
After church Ben and I got our peas and spaghetti all made up and we went and sat down at the tables in the church basement (really, it's like a fellowship hall, only downstairs). Someone came in and started talking with Ben. And then these boys were running around. One of them spotted the frozen brownies that I'd left on the counter to thaw for a bit while we ate lunch. I ended up giving them to the boys, figured they'd enjoy it. I said they could eat them after they ate lunch. Little did I know...
Their dad came in and caught the tail end of my instructions. He must've thought I was the man or something because right away he introduced himself as Tim. Tim is 28 and is married to his wife. Go figure. She's 35. They have four boys. Tim's shy, he says. He doesn't normally talk like this. But for the next three hours he basically talked non-stop. I'm a sucker. I let him do it and didn't do anything to try and stop him. Not even very many nonverbal signals or anything. Our "conversation" went from the kitchen to outside where it was quieter (and much hotter), to the shade nearby, to back in the basement in a children's sabbath school room. Meanwhile, the wife and kids help themselves to spaghetti of Ben's and mine, my peas, and most of my popsicles and juice. I just watched them running around eating my popsicles the whole time I "talked" to Tim.
In the end, Ben came and rescued me, I suppose, and I learned that I need to always have something to do next so that when the next Tim comes along I can peace out before hour two. Also, that I should always make enough spaghetti and peas for four growing boys and a super-patient mom (you wouldn't even believe...).
And that's how I shared with a whole family and none of us even knew it. At first.
26.8.10
The Library
I went to the Portland library today with Ben. It wasn't a date. He had to help someone talk with a lawyer. (It was successful.) But we had fun putting coins in the meter before going in.
I found a couple books on Peru for my research paper. And the ladies downstairs where the "real" books are helped me figure out that I can find country studies done by the government online via links at their website. That's pretty cool, I thought. I also spent some time in their catalogue and on my sister's facebook page where she had asked for people to put some book recommendations up. It was a great resource for books that have been on people's minds recently. I thus spent some time at the fiction section because many of the suggestions turned out to be fiction. I guess I have to admit that I like fiction as well. I've never read too much non-fiction. It's a fact that I let myself feel guilty about. And frankly, I think I should feel guilty about. Don't worry about letting me know how you think either way. I won't like it no matter what, and right now I don't care, either.
I like libraries. And I like books. Is it Inkheart where the dad is a book repairer guy? Well, I thought that would be a neat job. Of course, I've always wanted to be a blacksmith, too. Neither will ever happen. I still like books though. I will write one someday. It will probably have some notable sentences, maybe a neat thought or two intermingled. But I think the best part will just be the feeling of having organized thoughts and creativity into something that someone can call a book. That, I imagine, is a decent feeling.
It was nice to go to the library today. Incidentally, the job of librarian has also intrigued me for a time. They seem like they work in a good place.
I found a couple books on Peru for my research paper. And the ladies downstairs where the "real" books are helped me figure out that I can find country studies done by the government online via links at their website. That's pretty cool, I thought. I also spent some time in their catalogue and on my sister's facebook page where she had asked for people to put some book recommendations up. It was a great resource for books that have been on people's minds recently. I thus spent some time at the fiction section because many of the suggestions turned out to be fiction. I guess I have to admit that I like fiction as well. I've never read too much non-fiction. It's a fact that I let myself feel guilty about. And frankly, I think I should feel guilty about. Don't worry about letting me know how you think either way. I won't like it no matter what, and right now I don't care, either.
I like libraries. And I like books. Is it Inkheart where the dad is a book repairer guy? Well, I thought that would be a neat job. Of course, I've always wanted to be a blacksmith, too. Neither will ever happen. I still like books though. I will write one someday. It will probably have some notable sentences, maybe a neat thought or two intermingled. But I think the best part will just be the feeling of having organized thoughts and creativity into something that someone can call a book. That, I imagine, is a decent feeling.
It was nice to go to the library today. Incidentally, the job of librarian has also intrigued me for a time. They seem like they work in a good place.
25.8.10
backward and forward, always the same
splashing patterns of rain
kissing the earth
covering my steps
underneath the weeping trees
silver clouds
echoing thunder
forgetting the sun
i drift away
leaving myself alone
yesterdays of warmth
memories of his
24.8.10
Yer In For the Day
Yes, urine for the day. I was forced out of bed by a beneficent bladder this morning. I got my clothes on, grabbed my backpack, and walked bleary-eyed toward the church. I put my stuff down on the table by the kitchen. I had to walk funny down the hallway toward the bathroom to keep from causing an accident. Then, relief.
I just thought I should share. How did you wake up today?
I just thought I should share. How did you wake up today?
17.8.10
Shepherds
I'm comfortable with pastors all around me. It's how I grew up. It's what I've always known. I'm comfortable as long as they keep their distance and let me keep mine. It's okay if they just hang out and talk and argue and discuss and yell with each other during a game of horseshoe. It's okay if they go play golf all afternoon or make jokes about being vegetarian. I'm fine with them all wearing polos and short-sleeve button-ups with their pleated pants. Shirt tucked in. Average brown belt to keep it all sharp. It's great that they go to bed early and wake up early. It's fine that even they get bored during their meetings and start shuffling their feet and clearing their throats. I don't even mind them saying things that I don't understand or that I find myself not really feeling comfortable with. Maybe even if that means I disagree with them, even if I don't understand or couldn't give any reasons for my disagreement. I'm fine with all that. With these pastors. It's how I've grown up.
And they're all suckers.
They don't know me and I don't know them. And we're all happy about it. Now, if they get too close we have a problem. If they start getting on my case for anything, with the ruse of caring, of course, then I'm suddenly a shadow behind the wall that's immediately gone up between us. But don't worry, Pastors, I'm a good kid. I do what's right. I do what you expect. I do what the Bible seems to ask. Most of the time.
For the rest of the time, I'm in the shadows. You and your friendly handshakes can keep on being fooled by my wily facade. And even if you, dear reader, end up being one of those pastors, or one of those people who knows one of those pastors, and you read this, and it leaves you with questions, and you wonder why I'm being so shadowy right here, then just know that those questions will probably never be answered nor the reasons for them completely understood. Not by yourself, and certainly not ever by me. And that's the way it goes for now. I suppose if it changes I'll let you know. Until then, smile on my dears.
(In case it wasn't obvious, this is a bit satirical or cynical or whatever. I'm not always happy [refer here], nor do I feel that my joy is complete. But I'm also not the Judge. If you, precious reader, really believe what you preach, and if you're genuinely past where I'm at in this walk, then I suppose it's your solemn duty to keep praying for the Me-s in our church. It is your duty, not to coddle us nor enforce religious practices, but to trust in Him in whom you believe, to let Him care for us, to let us be responsible now for our own steps [for you have done your part] and then demonstrate the spirituality of old so that we may see it from farther away than inside a strangling love embrace, to stop trying to impress us with the church or your ideas or what you "really want for us," to stop arguing with us, to stop feeding our delight in the ease of life. It is time that we struggle. Satan has afforded us enough escapes from life to last our lifetime. In the brief pauses in between these escapes, simply turn your face to the Father. We only need His reflection to blind our eyes. Only then will we stop persecuting our own church. Thank you. And that's all for tonight.
God bless.)
And they're all suckers.
They don't know me and I don't know them. And we're all happy about it. Now, if they get too close we have a problem. If they start getting on my case for anything, with the ruse of caring, of course, then I'm suddenly a shadow behind the wall that's immediately gone up between us. But don't worry, Pastors, I'm a good kid. I do what's right. I do what you expect. I do what the Bible seems to ask. Most of the time.
For the rest of the time, I'm in the shadows. You and your friendly handshakes can keep on being fooled by my wily facade. And even if you, dear reader, end up being one of those pastors, or one of those people who knows one of those pastors, and you read this, and it leaves you with questions, and you wonder why I'm being so shadowy right here, then just know that those questions will probably never be answered nor the reasons for them completely understood. Not by yourself, and certainly not ever by me. And that's the way it goes for now. I suppose if it changes I'll let you know. Until then, smile on my dears.
(In case it wasn't obvious, this is a bit satirical or cynical or whatever. I'm not always happy [refer here], nor do I feel that my joy is complete. But I'm also not the Judge. If you, precious reader, really believe what you preach, and if you're genuinely past where I'm at in this walk, then I suppose it's your solemn duty to keep praying for the Me-s in our church. It is your duty, not to coddle us nor enforce religious practices, but to trust in Him in whom you believe, to let Him care for us, to let us be responsible now for our own steps [for you have done your part] and then demonstrate the spirituality of old so that we may see it from farther away than inside a strangling love embrace, to stop trying to impress us with the church or your ideas or what you "really want for us," to stop arguing with us, to stop feeding our delight in the ease of life. It is time that we struggle. Satan has afforded us enough escapes from life to last our lifetime. In the brief pauses in between these escapes, simply turn your face to the Father. We only need His reflection to blind our eyes. Only then will we stop persecuting our own church. Thank you. And that's all for tonight.
God bless.)
1.7.10
It's already basically July.
Things at this camp have been weird sometimes. I still feel like I'm just easing into something even though it's been almost four weeks that I've been here now. It's like I'm getting into something that is going to last a long, long time. Is that an indication of the work I'll get into in the future?
This week has been interesting, a story of its own. These Japanese kids are so, so neat. I got emotional a couple mornings ago when I was praying for them during my run. They are so happy, and yet so easily hurt. Today a couple of them got homesick and just cried for a while. I wish I could hug them and tell them that we are doing super fun things tomorrow or that God will make it all better soon. But I have a problem doing that. I personally don't always think that the things they do here at camp are really all that fun. And even if they are for the kids, they aren't usually for me (at least as much), so if I'm telling them it's super fun, then I feel like I'm straight up lying to them somehow. I don't think many others would agree with me and I don't blame them. I also have a hard time with the God making it better soon part. First of all, none of these kids are Christian. Not one. So there's the first and most obvious difficulty. The second is that I have a hard time telling someone that such and such will happen to them if it hasn't really happened to me first. And frankly, God doesn't always seem to make things better, but to understand that that is okay takes many years of life and experience and growth and these kids only have a few hours with me. What to do? Tonight I just sat on the floor with them and let them talk to me. It was nice to finally have kids talk to me. I'm horrible at letting them do that. Yujin blabbered away. Takumi put tons of bandaids on himself. Daiki and Hadetaka quietly watched and seemed to scheme about whatever it is they scheme about. Koki sat hunched over, missing Mom and looking up with his little teary eyes once in a while. Yosuke talked in his fragmented, speedy, lispy sentences while spurting around the room doing random things. Yuto sat on his top bunk, probably folding all his clothes and putting thing away the whole time. Aksute just somehow spent an hour getting absolutely nothing done, and then was willing to trade beds with Koki so that Koki could sleep closer to his buddy Yuto. And meanwhile, Shahaar, the Israeli kid, lays quietly in bed for the first time all week, probably feeling a little left out amongst all the far-Eastern kids. I guess being middle-Eastern just isn't quite cutting it anymore. I feel for him.
I'm already burning myself out on pictures. Stupid. I'm too lazy and weirded out to go up front and try to take pictures of the kids during the worships and not getting many more original photos already is making things seem redundant or something. Plus, teaching a class and having a cabin leave less time for pictures period. It's been so interesting. I'm coming to the point where I'm doubting that I will have much "internship" experience during these two months. But I don't regret coming here. Yet. :)
My eyes feel as dry as Daiki said his lips were and the bugs are being really obnoxious. I'm going to go take a shower and maybe shave. Kristina might be fro-ing (?) my hair tomorrow. Oh hurray.
This week has been interesting, a story of its own. These Japanese kids are so, so neat. I got emotional a couple mornings ago when I was praying for them during my run. They are so happy, and yet so easily hurt. Today a couple of them got homesick and just cried for a while. I wish I could hug them and tell them that we are doing super fun things tomorrow or that God will make it all better soon. But I have a problem doing that. I personally don't always think that the things they do here at camp are really all that fun. And even if they are for the kids, they aren't usually for me (at least as much), so if I'm telling them it's super fun, then I feel like I'm straight up lying to them somehow. I don't think many others would agree with me and I don't blame them. I also have a hard time with the God making it better soon part. First of all, none of these kids are Christian. Not one. So there's the first and most obvious difficulty. The second is that I have a hard time telling someone that such and such will happen to them if it hasn't really happened to me first. And frankly, God doesn't always seem to make things better, but to understand that that is okay takes many years of life and experience and growth and these kids only have a few hours with me. What to do? Tonight I just sat on the floor with them and let them talk to me. It was nice to finally have kids talk to me. I'm horrible at letting them do that. Yujin blabbered away. Takumi put tons of bandaids on himself. Daiki and Hadetaka quietly watched and seemed to scheme about whatever it is they scheme about. Koki sat hunched over, missing Mom and looking up with his little teary eyes once in a while. Yosuke talked in his fragmented, speedy, lispy sentences while spurting around the room doing random things. Yuto sat on his top bunk, probably folding all his clothes and putting thing away the whole time. Aksute just somehow spent an hour getting absolutely nothing done, and then was willing to trade beds with Koki so that Koki could sleep closer to his buddy Yuto. And meanwhile, Shahaar, the Israeli kid, lays quietly in bed for the first time all week, probably feeling a little left out amongst all the far-Eastern kids. I guess being middle-Eastern just isn't quite cutting it anymore. I feel for him.
I'm already burning myself out on pictures. Stupid. I'm too lazy and weirded out to go up front and try to take pictures of the kids during the worships and not getting many more original photos already is making things seem redundant or something. Plus, teaching a class and having a cabin leave less time for pictures period. It's been so interesting. I'm coming to the point where I'm doubting that I will have much "internship" experience during these two months. But I don't regret coming here. Yet. :)
My eyes feel as dry as Daiki said his lips were and the bugs are being really obnoxious. I'm going to go take a shower and maybe shave. Kristina might be fro-ing (?) my hair tomorrow. Oh hurray.
13.6.10
It's June 13.
That means that Gabriel gets here today. And it also means that everyone else is getting here today. It means that my job really starts today. It means that my nerves have to find boldness somehow today. It means that from now on I am likely to be getting even less sleep. It means that I will probably be seeing people less and less. It means that things get busy.
It's easy to survive things, but to thrive is a different story. I'm hoping for the latter, and in fact, I don't think I will be very satisfied with the former. Anthony said to count the cost. I haven't sat down to do it yet. But I think it might be high. But, you get what you pay for, right? I think so.
It's easy to survive things, but to thrive is a different story. I'm hoping for the latter, and in fact, I don't think I will be very satisfied with the former. Anthony said to count the cost. I haven't sat down to do it yet. But I think it might be high. But, you get what you pay for, right? I think so.
8.6.10
Mountains
And trees and stars and streams. My what a lovely place.
I got here to Camp Wawona after about 17 hours of total traveling. That doesn't sound like a lot, but it felt like quite a bit. I ate some tortilla chips, a banana, and some almonds before my flights, and then a tiny bag of chips and a Snapple at the Atlanta airport, and a little can of Pringles at the Los Angeles airport. Oh, and two Tylenol gel tablets. My headache was the worst part of the trip. Fortunately, the Tylenol started helping after a while and it "filled me up" by making me less stressed and in pain. And getting to Fresno and seeing Anthony suddenly behind me was a relief as well. Anthony, Jessi, and Chelsea were kind enough to let me stop at Target to get some supplies, including some bagels and honeybuns. I would like to inform you (who is that?? I guess I write for an audience...) that I ate the whole bag of 6 bagels. It was a dare. After I basically dared Anthony to dare me. He did. And I ate them. Oh, except for about 1/4 of one that he ate. I'll have to make it an official 6 some other time. that was nearly 1,500 calories, by the way.
Breakfast is at 8 tomorrow morning. I don't know fully what I'm getting myself into, but everyone here seems to believe that it's the greatest thing on earth. I suppose my pessimism will keep me from enjoying it as much as they do, but I think there's a lot of potential here for a great two months. It's still hard to believe I'm actually here. In fact, I still don't really. I haven't given anyone my signed contract, so I suppose by morning they could've hired someone else. I think I'll just go to sleep and hope for the best. The only good thing (no wait, that's not necessarily true) about going home tomorrow would be that I might have a better chance of watching the World Cup games. But maybe that's not even true.
I'm getting cold. (yeeesssssssss)
I got here to Camp Wawona after about 17 hours of total traveling. That doesn't sound like a lot, but it felt like quite a bit. I ate some tortilla chips, a banana, and some almonds before my flights, and then a tiny bag of chips and a Snapple at the Atlanta airport, and a little can of Pringles at the Los Angeles airport. Oh, and two Tylenol gel tablets. My headache was the worst part of the trip. Fortunately, the Tylenol started helping after a while and it "filled me up" by making me less stressed and in pain. And getting to Fresno and seeing Anthony suddenly behind me was a relief as well. Anthony, Jessi, and Chelsea were kind enough to let me stop at Target to get some supplies, including some bagels and honeybuns. I would like to inform you (who is that?? I guess I write for an audience...) that I ate the whole bag of 6 bagels. It was a dare. After I basically dared Anthony to dare me. He did. And I ate them. Oh, except for about 1/4 of one that he ate. I'll have to make it an official 6 some other time. that was nearly 1,500 calories, by the way.
Breakfast is at 8 tomorrow morning. I don't know fully what I'm getting myself into, but everyone here seems to believe that it's the greatest thing on earth. I suppose my pessimism will keep me from enjoying it as much as they do, but I think there's a lot of potential here for a great two months. It's still hard to believe I'm actually here. In fact, I still don't really. I haven't given anyone my signed contract, so I suppose by morning they could've hired someone else. I think I'll just go to sleep and hope for the best. The only good thing (no wait, that's not necessarily true) about going home tomorrow would be that I might have a better chance of watching the World Cup games. But maybe that's not even true.
I'm getting cold. (yeeesssssssss)
3.6.10
I've been at home with my mom now for several days. Just me and her. Then she left this evening to go be with Dad in Chicago. Just me now. I sat at home thinking about supper and suddenly felt very alone. I didn't know that I had already adapted to being fine with just mom and me. Now I know. The house is very lonely. Michigan is not my home. People I love are my home.
I was cutting out magazine articles today
from my old Outsides and National Geographic Travelers. Mom came over and said something about how Dad had already tried that a long time ago. And now he has an entire file cabinet full of magazine articles and other assortments that he drags from house to house as he moves. It was a loving warning.
I had just thought of it the night before, I think. I had been thinking about all the stuff I had piled near the storage room doors downstairs and how I had to go through and try to organize and store it all before I left. Then I realized that most, if not all of that crap, was just stuff that I'm saving. I'm just saving it. For the future. For something in the future, but I don't know what. When I realized that I have no idea what I'm saving it all for, it occurred to me that I'm really just saving it all for the sake of saving it. But a lot of it really is not serving any purpose for me. Every time I've "moved" for the past few years, whether it's into my grandma's house for a few days, to camp for several weeks, or to a dorm room for several months, I always end up living simply--simply off the stuff that I can see around me. When I put something in a weird spot, or put it away to "save it" for another day, a "just in case" moment, I never think about it again. Until the next time I move and happen to see it.
It's not grown much, but that night's thoughts, plus my Mom's comments, sparked a small feeling--desire--to try and live more intentionally with only the things that I need more readily at the moment. I like to be resourceful and efficient, so if I'm ever in need of something that I don't really have on hand, I enjoy the challenge of making something new. Or I often can just do something else. Or something. But I am also one who tends to be cautious. I don't want to get rid of anything or waste anything. So learning the mindset of only keeping what I need will be difficult. But maybe I'll make it.
I just wanted to share. Maybe I'm not the only one with such a predicament.
I had just thought of it the night before, I think. I had been thinking about all the stuff I had piled near the storage room doors downstairs and how I had to go through and try to organize and store it all before I left. Then I realized that most, if not all of that crap, was just stuff that I'm saving. I'm just saving it. For the future. For something in the future, but I don't know what. When I realized that I have no idea what I'm saving it all for, it occurred to me that I'm really just saving it all for the sake of saving it. But a lot of it really is not serving any purpose for me. Every time I've "moved" for the past few years, whether it's into my grandma's house for a few days, to camp for several weeks, or to a dorm room for several months, I always end up living simply--simply off the stuff that I can see around me. When I put something in a weird spot, or put it away to "save it" for another day, a "just in case" moment, I never think about it again. Until the next time I move and happen to see it.
It's not grown much, but that night's thoughts, plus my Mom's comments, sparked a small feeling--desire--to try and live more intentionally with only the things that I need more readily at the moment. I like to be resourceful and efficient, so if I'm ever in need of something that I don't really have on hand, I enjoy the challenge of making something new. Or I often can just do something else. Or something. But I am also one who tends to be cautious. I don't want to get rid of anything or waste anything. So learning the mindset of only keeping what I need will be difficult. But maybe I'll make it.
I just wanted to share. Maybe I'm not the only one with such a predicament.
2.6.10
A Neat Story [to me]
SHORT VERSION:
Two Tuesdays ago: planned to leave for Maine in a week.
A week goes by.
This past Tuesday: bought ticket for Fresno, California.
MEDIUM VERSION:
Tuesday morning, about nine days ago, I told Anthony I wouldn't be able to make it to camp. Tuesday afternoon he texted me and asked if I wanted to be the photographer (Alli can't? Why??). We agreed I'd let him know by Friday at noon his time.
I try and try to contact Maine and see how big of a problem it would be if I went to camp and then tried to make it to Maine in August. I couldn't reach them. I called Anthony just past noon his time. He said I could have a few more days so I could talk with Maine. I got a message Friday night: "Go for it." I talked with them in person on Monday to be sure. Monday night I called Anthony. No answer. Tuesday morning I called Anthony. Answer. I bought ticket Tuesday afternoon.
_________________________________________
Two Tuesdays ago: planned to leave for Maine in a week.
A week goes by.
This past Tuesday: bought ticket for Fresno, California.
MEDIUM VERSION:
Tuesday morning, about nine days ago, I told Anthony I wouldn't be able to make it to camp. Tuesday afternoon he texted me and asked if I wanted to be the photographer (Alli can't? Why??). We agreed I'd let him know by Friday at noon his time.
I try and try to contact Maine and see how big of a problem it would be if I went to camp and then tried to make it to Maine in August. I couldn't reach them. I called Anthony just past noon his time. He said I could have a few more days so I could talk with Maine. I got a message Friday night: "Go for it." I talked with them in person on Monday to be sure. Monday night I called Anthony. No answer. Tuesday morning I called Anthony. Answer. I bought ticket Tuesday afternoon.
LONG VERSION:
Just kidding. (But seriously.)
_________________________________________
I still don't want to get my hopes up. For some reason there is a medium-weight pessimistic feeling inside me that wonders if I'll actually work at Wawona this summer. I am not even sure it's a good idea to be posting this. I don't think I'm going to really believe it until I am there. And even then, who knows? Something could go wrong.
But for now, I can at least say confidently that those are my plans. I like the plans, anyway. They are good.
24.5.10
Boy's memories
I’m leaving home
These hills and trees
Sweet songs and loves
Boy’s memories
Steal salty drops
With Glosoli
Night's summer sun
Smiles down on me
With quaking fists
And battered heart
This pilgrim yearns
To stay life's start
Life here is done
To ever be
Just one small part
Boy’s memories
20.5.10
I ate an orange for breakfast
When I sat down at the table this morning, I was still trying to stay quiet so my grandma wouldn't notice I was out there starting breakfast. I had gotten just the right amount of food that I wanted. To no avail. Do you want me to cut an orange for you? Do you want me to warm up some bread? Do you want a yogurt? Do you want an apple? In spite of repeating No several times--twice for the apple--I still ended up with bread and chicken spread next to me on the table. And an apple. Ok, thanks, grandma.
I was already moody that morning and it wasn't even nine o'clock. The days have been busy, at least in my mind. Decisions wear me out. I have been trying to be a better person these days, too. It's rough.
I sliced up my orange. I ate it, piece by piece, until only canoe-shaped peels were left on the plate. I ate my honey bunches of oats--two bowls. I ate my ten almonds. I ate my strawberry yogurt. And I looked out the window. The sky was blue. The trees were bright and summery green. Even the neighbor's new grass was poking up past the hay he had put down the other day. My damp hair was cool on my neck. My fuzzy slippers were comfy. The kitchen was quiet.
I kept looking out the window. And for some reason, this morning I realized something that, for the first time in a long time, kept coming to mind all day:
I had confused ease for happiness all my life.
I was already moody that morning and it wasn't even nine o'clock. The days have been busy, at least in my mind. Decisions wear me out. I have been trying to be a better person these days, too. It's rough.
I sliced up my orange. I ate it, piece by piece, until only canoe-shaped peels were left on the plate. I ate my honey bunches of oats--two bowls. I ate my ten almonds. I ate my strawberry yogurt. And I looked out the window. The sky was blue. The trees were bright and summery green. Even the neighbor's new grass was poking up past the hay he had put down the other day. My damp hair was cool on my neck. My fuzzy slippers were comfy. The kitchen was quiet.
I kept looking out the window. And for some reason, this morning I realized something that, for the first time in a long time, kept coming to mind all day:
I had confused ease for happiness all my life.
13.5.10
8.5.10
Solomon was on to something.
Then I went home and ate a big lunch. (Thank you, Grandma.)
After that it was time for the big chore. So Kiko and I loaded up the lawn mower into my trunk and I head to my former home on Sunkist Terrace. For the next two hours I mowed that yard good. And even though I had to take breaks once in a while to cool my body temperature down and grab water to keep salivating, and even though the sun was hot on my bare shoulders and the grass made my ankles itch, and the sweat got in my eyes, and even the branches raked across my face and the thorns scratched my feet, it felt good to work again. Maybe because of all those things.
I don't feel like it, but I must be growing up a little, slowly but surely. I enjoyed the feeling of getting something accomplished like that on my own, of taking responsibility for something, of putting effort and a bit of sacrifice into it. It was a strange satisfaction.
I hope I keep finding it. Maybe it will help make life meaningful somehow.
3.5.10
I shouldn't have, but I did.
I watched A Beautiful Mind tonight while I "packed." (I actually did get a tiny bit done, but not very much it's true.) I enjoy this movie very much. It makes me wish I was a genius or had autism or something that made me more unique. And I think that Russell Crowe does an amazing job. I also like Paul Bettany.
This movie is about a mathematical genius who struggles with schizophrenia. It's about perseverance and trials and commitment and frustration and craziness. But I realized at the end that it's mainly about love. In his acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize at the end of the movie, Nash (the genius) says a few things and then begins to address his wife. He says he has always believed in numbers, in logic and reason. Then he says his question is what truly is logic and who decides reason. He says his quest took him through much, and then, as he continues, he looks down at his wife from the podium. He says the most important discovery of his career, and life, was that it was only in the mysterious equations of love that any logical reasons could be found. Then, looking his wife in the eye and speaking to her as if no one else was in the giant room, he finishes his speech: "I am only here tonight because of you. You are the reason I am. You are all my reasons. Thank you."
Now, this portrayal is much more effective in the movie itself, and it is completely fictional as far as I know. It was made by Hollywood to make bank. But, and maybe I'm exposing myself too much here, I think it's beautiful. A man whose logical, rational mind was exceptional discovered that love was the only reason he existed. In the movie, his wife suffers with him and stays with him and teaches him to accept her love and find his own heart. This movie isn't about math, it's about love.
Is the portrayal of love in this movie too ideal? Is it only nice because it's a short movie, simplified and edited and written to contain the most important parts and move an audience and make a point? I don't know. Probably. Maybe. But I hope it's not too ideal.
This movie is about a mathematical genius who struggles with schizophrenia. It's about perseverance and trials and commitment and frustration and craziness. But I realized at the end that it's mainly about love. In his acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize at the end of the movie, Nash (the genius) says a few things and then begins to address his wife. He says he has always believed in numbers, in logic and reason. Then he says his question is what truly is logic and who decides reason. He says his quest took him through much, and then, as he continues, he looks down at his wife from the podium. He says the most important discovery of his career, and life, was that it was only in the mysterious equations of love that any logical reasons could be found. Then, looking his wife in the eye and speaking to her as if no one else was in the giant room, he finishes his speech: "I am only here tonight because of you. You are the reason I am. You are all my reasons. Thank you."
Now, this portrayal is much more effective in the movie itself, and it is completely fictional as far as I know. It was made by Hollywood to make bank. But, and maybe I'm exposing myself too much here, I think it's beautiful. A man whose logical, rational mind was exceptional discovered that love was the only reason he existed. In the movie, his wife suffers with him and stays with him and teaches him to accept her love and find his own heart. This movie isn't about math, it's about love.
Is the portrayal of love in this movie too ideal? Is it only nice because it's a short movie, simplified and edited and written to contain the most important parts and move an audience and make a point? I don't know. Probably. Maybe. But I hope it's not too ideal.
29.4.10
I think this is the most tired
I've been in a while. Physically I feel great. Not being able to use my leg has really kept me from getting tired from running too much, for example. But my eyes are prickly and slow and my forehead is all scrunched up in tension. It's kind of fun. Today I felt a little like what being drunk might feel like if what people say about being super tired is true. Things didn't seem to faze me as quickly or effectively.
I have to go grade tomorrow. Boo. I'm going to bed now. Yeah!
26.4.10
25.4.10
Well, here we go everyone!
This is my 100th post. I was hoping it'd be something more epic. But I guess this time in my life is probably one of the most epic times so far. This week is transition week. I transition from being a full-time student, surrounded by people I know and am comfortable with, with hundreds of Seventh-day Adventists, near a track, trails, and a nice gym, able to know where I'm going to eat and lay my head down at night and go to work in the morning. Next week, I may not have or be able to do any of those things.
I just read Barry's blog; he said he's a wanderer. I wish I could say that sometimes. I'm more of a stayerer. But in some ways, I'm ready for next week. Driving last night under the highway lights, under a dark sky, 78 mph, with the steady drone of passing miles under the tire--it made me want to go travel. Spending a few minutes under the huge buildings made me think of Buenos Aires and Singapore and... somewhere else. Even hearing the library person at ten 'til eleven invite us to leave over the loudspeaker makes me want to be in an airplane again. I think it's time.
I've lived in Collegedale for more than 17 years now. I don't really want to leave. But I do. I just wish everyone was coming with me.
I just read Barry's blog; he said he's a wanderer. I wish I could say that sometimes. I'm more of a stayerer. But in some ways, I'm ready for next week. Driving last night under the highway lights, under a dark sky, 78 mph, with the steady drone of passing miles under the tire--it made me want to go travel. Spending a few minutes under the huge buildings made me think of Buenos Aires and Singapore and... somewhere else. Even hearing the library person at ten 'til eleven invite us to leave over the loudspeaker makes me want to be in an airplane again. I think it's time.
23.4.10
I just talked with a conductor.
I have to write three articles for my Advanced Reporting class final project and I just got done speaking with Maestro Bernhardt of the CSO. I got the email from their marketing director with his phone number in it earlier this afternoon and had to work up to calling him. I went over some articles and bios that I'd printed and tried to write out an outline of what the article about him might look like so I would have an idea of questions to ask. Well, after eating a little food for sustenance and to stall a little longer, I finally dragged my computer, recorder, notes, and phone over to my desk.
I interviewed him without my shirt on. But over the phone, who cares!? It was great. The first time I called him I dove into my introduction and "I'm not sure if Mrs. Wilson told you I was calling, but..." and he said he knew, but could we talk in 10 minutes when he gets to his office. So he actually called me back after I agonized once again over what I was going to ask him (oh, because he mentioned being able to talk for ten or fifteen minutes, which for a Chris Clouzet interview is basically just getting passed hellos.). Turns out he was quite easy to talk to and I think my little preparation time was actually helpful. Basically: it was very helpful and it was rather fun to speak with him. He talked with me for 29 minutes.
At the end he even said to tell my teacher that I asked good questions. Finally! Some real commendation. And I'm not as reluctant to believe him--even though he probably wasn't expecting much since I'm a student and probably was being generous--because he's been interviewed quite a lot as the head of the CSO and a guy who said he's guest conducted at 60-70 orchestras, maybe more. So pretty much I appreciated that experience. Ironically, although it was probably one of the most well-known people I've ever interviewed (besides Mark Finley), it was probably the most comfortable I've been in an interview. It might even rival interviewing David Macias.
I'm sending my resume to the Kentucky-Tennessee communications director for a possible internship.
19.4.10
:Music Monday: 12.4.10 - 19.4.10
Devin Castro puts up a picture of his most-listened-to songs of the past week every Monday. I love looking at "statistics" like that so I'm going to do it, too. At least for this week.
I listened to a lot of K'naan earlier in the week. Toward the end I had transitioned to Sigur Ros. I listened to a lot of different music while I graded for several hours over the weekend. Hurray. Oh, and Jonsi's Go cd should be coming in the mail soon.
14.4.10
Icy Hot
Tara and I recently enjoyed ourselves by lamenting over some of our experiences in classes. I think I could say that "icy" could describe the way we've been treated sometimes, and "hot" could be the way we felt afterward.
And that's all I'll say about that.
I enjoyed writing an article again just now. I've been quite burned out for a while, but tonight was kind of fun. I've been sitting here for close to three hours working on a little article for the communicator. It's kind of a dinky little thing about an adjunct photojournalism professor who went and presented in another photography class. Doesn't sound too exciting, does it? And maybe it's not. On the outside. But there is always more to a story and the characters in it. And I enjoyed trying to frame that tonight. That is, I'm satisfied with my efforts. I'm sure part of that is because I'm really tired and ready for bed (I mean, the article may suck, but I'm "drunk" enough with sleepiness to not realize it...), but I guess it's not necessarily the words themselves that are particularly good, but the act of trying to choose the best ones and place them in the best order was somewhat fulfilling after a day of discouragements. I know I'd never make a good journalist, (I mean, it took me well over three hours total to write this story, not including the reporting time and thinking time) but I hope that I will retain my sense of satisfaction over writing long enough to produce something decent one day.
And that's all I'll say about that.
My calf is meeeeessed up. It happened during our soccer game last night, but I have no idea what did it. I hadn't slept much the night before and didn't really get a good lunch or supper, so my body wasn't in the best shape for an hour of sprints. But I had eaten three bananas that day, which made it weird that my calf seemed to have tightened up for no good reason early in the game. I had heard before that bananas help avoid cramps (which is one of the many reasons they're good for triathlon days!). So at halftime and during my subbing time, I was stretching that little cow like crazy. I kept trying to run hard on it the rest of the game, too. Unfortunately, we lost. But I didn't like the feelings coming from that calf for the rest of the night. It was extremely tender, too, and I had to be careful not to hit it even in bed. Come morning, it was shamelessly sore, stiff and sensitive. After sitting in classes today, I'd have to stand up for a while and slowly stretch it out before I felt comfortable walking on it. And when I walked, I couldn't really extend my leg straight all the way because when the knee gets close to being fully extended, it starts to pull on my calf. So I walked all day with a bent leg. I think I tore the muscle somehow. It happened to my biceps in high school, (yes, in weight lifting class I somehow overdid my curls and had swollen, unstraightenable arms for several days. I know. Me, overdoing it: hard to imagine.) which su-hucked. Krista gave me her Icy Hot to use tonight. I rubbed some in before I started working on that article three hours ago, and my calf still feels all cozy. And so I bring the story to a full circle with the bookend reference to Icy Hot. It's amazing what you can amuse yourself with at 2:22 in the morning.
And that's all I'll say about that.
And that's all I'll say about that.
I enjoyed writing an article again just now. I've been quite burned out for a while, but tonight was kind of fun. I've been sitting here for close to three hours working on a little article for the communicator. It's kind of a dinky little thing about an adjunct photojournalism professor who went and presented in another photography class. Doesn't sound too exciting, does it? And maybe it's not. On the outside. But there is always more to a story and the characters in it. And I enjoyed trying to frame that tonight. That is, I'm satisfied with my efforts. I'm sure part of that is because I'm really tired and ready for bed (I mean, the article may suck, but I'm "drunk" enough with sleepiness to not realize it...), but I guess it's not necessarily the words themselves that are particularly good, but the act of trying to choose the best ones and place them in the best order was somewhat fulfilling after a day of discouragements. I know I'd never make a good journalist, (I mean, it took me well over three hours total to write this story, not including the reporting time and thinking time) but I hope that I will retain my sense of satisfaction over writing long enough to produce something decent one day.
And that's all I'll say about that.
My calf is meeeeessed up. It happened during our soccer game last night, but I have no idea what did it. I hadn't slept much the night before and didn't really get a good lunch or supper, so my body wasn't in the best shape for an hour of sprints. But I had eaten three bananas that day, which made it weird that my calf seemed to have tightened up for no good reason early in the game. I had heard before that bananas help avoid cramps (which is one of the many reasons they're good for triathlon days!). So at halftime and during my subbing time, I was stretching that little cow like crazy. I kept trying to run hard on it the rest of the game, too. Unfortunately, we lost. But I didn't like the feelings coming from that calf for the rest of the night. It was extremely tender, too, and I had to be careful not to hit it even in bed. Come morning, it was shamelessly sore, stiff and sensitive. After sitting in classes today, I'd have to stand up for a while and slowly stretch it out before I felt comfortable walking on it. And when I walked, I couldn't really extend my leg straight all the way because when the knee gets close to being fully extended, it starts to pull on my calf. So I walked all day with a bent leg. I think I tore the muscle somehow. It happened to my biceps in high school, (yes, in weight lifting class I somehow overdid my curls and had swollen, unstraightenable arms for several days. I know. Me, overdoing it: hard to imagine.) which su-hucked. Krista gave me her Icy Hot to use tonight. I rubbed some in before I started working on that article three hours ago, and my calf still feels all cozy. And so I bring the story to a full circle with the bookend reference to Icy Hot. It's amazing what you can amuse yourself with at 2:22 in the morning.
And that's all I'll say about that.
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