a final haiku

i will not be sad
to see this year disappear
leaving hope behind
Æ

Christmas Eve musings

Not sure how much musing will actually go on, but it is Christmas Eve and I am actually sitting down to type up something similar to musings. Probably won't provoke too many thoughts - not even provoking my own thoughts at the moment. But it seems like I ought to at least say something...

Ought. There's a word that's been haunting me lately.

Not feeling much like Christmas today. Rain and miserably warm temperatures definitely part of that. Didn't help that my scheduled trip to heaven turned out less than ideal. To quote a wise man from the north, "My head looks like something Picasso painted." I know it's the day before Christmas and all, but did you not hear me when I said, "Please leave the front longer?" Too busy worried about getting to the myriad of Christmas Eve events planned for after work I guess. I know. Hair grows. There are far worse problems. But my hair has never been this short. Never. A friend of mine broke into laughter upon seeing me. I don't blame them. At least I'll bring a little joy to people's lives this Christmas.

A friend (not the one who laughed at me) has been feeling a bit blue this Christmas and asked how I fought the blues. And I realized I don't fight them. Takes too much energy and you end up feeling worse. Better to give in and become friends with them, take them down to the local pub and buy them a drink or invite them over to watch some sad movie or sit in the dark and listen to some melancholy music. Love your enemies, the Bible says and I find myself doing that, befriending the blues. Not sure it works for everyone, but it works for me (though I'm sure some would say it doesn't work so well...).

If it hasn't become obvious yet, been a fairly low-key Christmas break so far. Started off well - three Over the Rhine shows, a fairly clean house full of guests, good times spent with friends, Christmas tree finally up. Still, been struggling with my usual nemesis this time of year - to quote the poet, "The worst kind of lonely/Is alone in December." All the gatherings, the concerts, the parties, the services, reminded me how much my heart longs to share them with someone. Not to sell my friends short, which I probably am (and for that I'm sorry), but sometimes you long for a hand to hold, to make the darkness seem not so dark because their heart brightens the hidden parts of you.

Of course, I had a hand to hold last year during Christmas and I can't say it made it any brighter. Oh wait, I'm not allowed to talk about that. Moving on...

Christmas Eve service tonight at 11:00. Mom and dad talked about coming down, but with the gross weather, they decided to stay in Dayton. I don't blame them - I wouldn't have wanted to drive all the way here, either. I'm looking forward to being quiet for a bit, listening to the stillness of the night, trying to remember why it is we actually celebrate this season. Phyllis reminded us at the conference that this season is all about the Incarnation - God becoming man, entering into our world and thereby transforming it, showing us what we could become, what we were created for. Forget the stars and the angels and the shepherds and the myth of a silent night (seriously, it was noisy in and around that manger). God became flesh. God became us. Us, with our weaknesses and our selfishness and our tendency to forget what is truly important. And by doing so, He showed us what we could be, reminded us of what it means to be in the image of God. And we've been trying to live up to that for 2000 years. As well we should.

Enough for now. Not sure when I'll be back- been less than inspired lately. We'll see how it goes.
Æ

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Now playing: Prince - Another Lonely Christmas (12")
via FoxyTunes

is re-posting the same as re-gifting?

I'm sure this is something I've posted before. But last night at Thinspace we chatted about Luke 2, the inspiration for this poem. It's one of the pieces I'm proud of because it turned out much like it was in my head when I thought of it. I now have a companion piece I'm working on, after our discussion last night. Here's hoping I find time to work on it. In the meantime, enjoy.

ποιμένας

abiding here in shadow-swept darkness
surrounded by the keep of my watch
ever searching the frozen horizon for signs
a glimpse of reflected fire in an unwelcome eye
the subsensular growl upon a midnight clear
i wait as always in the glooming mist
the stars alone my singular companions

the mind it drifts like winter here
thoughts dispersed upon the breeze
condensed to droplets, a veil before my eyes
distorting what little light remains
reflected from the city below me lying
life is lived within its walls
warmth and passion i only know
through frosted window pane
the swirling smoke from a well-loved hearth
like prayers raised to a God of love
and grace and truth and beauty and hope and
i wonder why my little fire
lights and warms only me

and suddenly she happens
shredding the darkness round about
peeling back my night-stained world
to leave her only in the wake
i stand beauty-struck dumb
my heart a feral beast bound
blindly seeking space without
the first Adam’s cage
like my thoughts i scramble backwards
(as i always seem to do)
only to fall down, sore afraid

fear not! she cries in such a voice
compliance tends impossible
her presence enough to send me
clambering to the night for
i fear to taste the love she pours
from fingertips stretched to cool my raging tongue
i fear to touch such suppleness
and lose myself within her open grace
i fear the fragrance of her invading all i am
‘til truth alone remains
i fear to see her severe beauty reminding me
this other Life by life obscured
but most of all i fear to hear the siren-song of hope
crouched hiding ‘neath her tidings of joy

for unto me is born this day in her
salvation long-expected, long-forgotten
wrapped in rags of radiant splendor
and lying in a bed
somewhere in the teeming city
dimmed by glory flinging
hallelujahs in the night
it comes to pass when she is gone
my eyes mere pinpricks growing wide
i rise with haste to seek
peace, good will, hope newborn
lying still there in the dark

and all these things shall i keep kept
to ponder in my desert heart
Æ

Facebook is ruining my blogging

Thurman wishes he had the time to write out the thoughts he had during last week's The Great Emergence conference but finds no time to do so.
Æ

advent goodness from Uncle Fred

Because this stuff is too good to keep to oneself. And because I've been quite aware of the darkness lately.

Give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which thy son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility: that in the last day, when he shall come again in hi glorious majesty, to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal.

All the paradoxical themes of Advent are compressed into that handful of words: Christ coming at Christmas time in great humility and again at the end of time in glorious majesty - Christ coming as a child to save us and as a king to judge us - mortal life, immortal life. They clatter against each other like shutters in the wind with all their points and counterpoints. They all but deafen us with their message at one and the same time of sin and grace, justice and mercy, comfort and challenge. "Cast away the works of darkness," they say, and put on "the armor of light." Maybe those are the words that best sum up the paradox of who we are and where we are. Somewhere between the darkness and the light. That is where we are as Christians. And not just at Advent time, but at all times. Somewhere between the fact of darkness and the hope of light. That is who we are.

"Advent" means "coming" of course, and the promise of Advent is that what is coming is an unimaginable invasion. The mythology of our age has to do with flying saucers and invasions from outer space, and that i s unimaginable enough. But what is upon us now is even more so - a close encounter not of the third kind but of a different kind altogether. An invasion of holiness. That is what Advent is about.

What is coming upon the world is the Light of the World. It is Christ. That is the comfort of it. The challenge of it is that it has not come yet. Only the hope for it has come, only the longing for it. In the meantime we are in the dark, and the dark, God knows, is also in us. We watch and wait for a holiness to heal us and hallow us, to liberate us from the dark. Advent is like the hush in a theater just before the curtain rises. It is like the hazy ring around the winter moon that means the coming of snow which will turn the night to silver. Soon. But for the time being, our time, darkness is where we are.

The Clown in the Belfry
Frederick Buechner

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Now playing: Sufjan Stevens - O Come, O Come Emmanuel
via FoxyTunes

a little holiday levity

1. Put your iPod on shuffle. (Or you can write whatever comes on the radio.)
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!


WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Love is Blindness - Cassandra Wilson

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Hanging on to You - Jay Farrar

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Tear Off Your Own Head (It's a Doll Revolution) - Elvis Costello

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Eric's Trip - Sonic Youth

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Do You Love Me? - Clem Snide

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Brown Eyes - Red House Painters

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Things That Disappear - Rhett Miller

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Lie Still, Little Bottle - They Might Be Giants

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Slow and Steady - Pedro the Lion

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Wild Blue - The 77s

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Well OK - Altar Boys

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Another Song - Sam Phillips

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Ticket to Ride - The Beatles

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
A Girl in Port - Okkervil River

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Be Still My Beating Heart - Sting

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Faded Flowers - Shriekback

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Gone - U2

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Do Or Die - Dropkick Murphys

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
The Little Cowboy- Erin McKeown

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Out of Control - U2

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Excuse Me While I Break My Own Heart - Whiskeytown

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Shaker - Yo La Tengo

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Hotwax - Beck

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Flugufrelsarinn - Sigur Ros

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Bad - U2

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Now playing: U2 - Bad
via FoxyTunes

getting what we deserve

This is always a goofy week. Two days of classes, with a good 15-20% of students already gone for the holidays. It's only school - why bother having my student show up? Anyway, today was easy - two bells of lab time, two bells of test taking. I even covered for Kurt who fell to the projectile vomiting his offspring passed along to him. The joys of childrearing.

As we enter this holiday season (and notice I said enter, as in not yet - holiday season doesn't start until Thanksgiving, ads and displays in grocery stores be damned), I'm feeling much like one of George Romero's creations - gruesome and slow with a desire to feed off the living. In other words, business as usual around ths blog. Hard to believe only a year ago I was anxiously anticipating the holiday season and the joys it would bring. Of course, this is before it all went spectacularly wrong.

Been pondering the word deserve lately from a multitude of sides. Rob brought this up during Thinspace a couple of weeks ago, how we're paralyzed by this word. Many of us think we haven't gotten what we deserve, that this world, our God, owes us. Health. Love. Wealth. Our hearts' desire. Many of us think we have gotten something we didn't deserve - a broken relationship, a shattered dream, a raw deal. And then there are those of us who believe we don't deserve anything - not comfort, not security, not success, not love. Where do these ideas come from? How is this concept of what we deserve formed within us? How do we come to such differing conclusion on what it is we deserve?

It will come as no surprise to my regular reader that my struggle is with the last of this unholy trinity - I've come to believe that I don't deserve anything. Check that - I don't deserve anything good in my life. My martyr complex is well-documented and this is part of that, I suppose - we are created for suffering, not for pleasure; we should meet suffering with the same joy we meet blessing; we should not be surprised or saddened when disappointment enters our lives. While I know intellectually this is a steaming pile of feces, emotionally it continues to cripple me. It's difficult to live passionately when you not only expect life to suck, but believe that's the way life is supposed to be. It's hard to hold on to the things you love when you don't believe they're truly yours.

Strangely enough, my view on this works the other way for other people. I see my friends suffering through illness and job anxiety and divorce and believe they don't deserve to be going through all that. And even when the suffering comes from their own choices, I find myself wishing the consequences away, asking for God's grace to step in, to bring them joy. Why can I not do this for myself? Why is God's grace good enough for them but not for me?

Too often we reduce grace to this idea of what we deserve - we all deserve to be punished for our sins and shortcomings, but God gives grace and takes away the punishment. He's the great executioner deciding not to drop the axe on our deserving necks. But this makes grace no more than a means to an end - a way to avoid what should happen to us. But I don't believe God desires this utilitarian view of grace. Grace isn't ultimately about us - it's ultimately about how God interacts with His creation, fallen as it may be. God doesn't just extend grace to us - He is grace to us.

I pray I can remember that this holiday season. I pray we all can remember that.
Æ

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Now playing: Neko Case - Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis
via FoxyTunes

respice

Respice

begging in the darkness alone
hearing the movement
the excitement all around
wondering what all the chaos is about
they tell me what it is
why the crowds clamor
why the joy, the surge of hope
but my eyes
my damned eyes
will not open
i want but cannot see
i know Him
i know who He is
what He can do

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner!"

the voices in my head attempt to drown me out
be quiet!
your crying drowns out our joy
don't drag us down
let us praise Him!
let us sing!
how dare you ruin on our parade
how dare you steal this moment

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner!"

i've been silent too long
content to let others experience His presence
willing to sit on the sidelines
happy just to know such joy exists
even if i cannot see it myself
what good is dancing if i cannot see my partner?
what good is hoping when only darkness lies ahead?
and so i scream from my darkness, hoping beyond hope

"LORD JESUS CHRIST, SON OF GOD, HAVE MERCY ON ME, A SINNER!"

and all

becomes

still

something has changed around me
the sweet chaos of the moment fades
into an otherworldly silence. no longer
do the voices condemn. no longer
do the crowds distract. no longer
am i lost in the midst of what i cannot have
all is stripped away
leaving only me in darkness
Him in stillness
nothing moves
nothing stirs
and from this space of unimaginable peace
i hear the question that haunts

"What do you want Me to do for you?"

all creation belongs to Him
His is not an empty offer
i know within me He will
give me whatever i ask
my mind spins
the stillness of the moment is shattered
by the swirling of my wants and desires
all shouting for supremacy
all seeking to be the answer

ask for wealth!
ask for wisdom!
ask for peace!
ask for love!

yet at the center of this holy moment
a whisper rises within my soul
until it can no longer be ignored
and in a cracked and raspy voice
i lay my deepest desire at His feet

"Lord, let me see again
let me know Your presence
let this darkness blinding me
be swept away. save me from relying
on second-hand experience, living vicariously through
what others see
what others experience
i once tasted this life
i remember the glory of the sky
the splendor of the earth
the wonder of a smile
the devastation of a tear
the burn of a stare
help me, Lord, remember them again
help me, Lord, recover what i've lost
help me, Lord, not only to see
but to live again"

the crowd, still silent
the air anticipatory
all creation lingers, fingers crossed
as i wait with outstretched arms
nothing left to lose
all the world to gain
and in that holy silence
i hear Him draw a breath
as He did at the beginning of time
ready to transform
this sightless lump of clay once again
to bring me back to life
back to the love and life and joy i once knew
He exhales and i feel him breathe into my darkness
the words i've longed to hear...

receive
your
sight...
Æ

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Now playing: Death Cab For Cutie - This Temporary Life
via FoxyTunes

it's pronounced doo-MAHS

The story so far: due to his inability to accurately judge the amount of time necessary to adequately grade all the work he assigned over the trimester, our intrepid hero found himself entering the final week of class buried under a cavalcade of ungraded papers and assignments that threatened to drive what remains of his tenuous sanity into the nether regions of hell itself. Every new day brought frustrations and tortures galore as the piles seemed unchanged, perhaps even growing slightly. But as he woke on this final day, a flicker of light danced in the distance, through the remaining papers and essays, and for the first time in weeks he began to believe all was not lost.

Our hero is monumentally stupid, as will soon be proven.

After a few snatches of sleep, this beleaguered man stumbled into his waiting chariot and made his way to the school to finish off the final stack waiting for him there. Finish these, he thought, and only the final essays will stand between me and sweet freedom. He finished a good chunk of them in the stillness before the first exam. He fought through distractions during first bell and entered the final exam period on his schedule needing only to finish a smattering of research papers. As his second bell students finished his far-too-easy final, he scribbled furiously, scratching the scores down on a makeshift grade sheet until, just before the bell rang, only two papers remained. He passed back his student's work, impressed with his grading acumen, and gathered the remaining flotsam and jetsam scattered on his desk to deal with during his planning period. He felt the weight lift from his shoulders. A sense of peace waited for him, only minutes away, in the office he shared with his fellow teachers.

It was there, in that cramped, windowless polygon of brick that it all began to fall apart. As our exhausted champion sifted through the pile of miscellaneous detritus he brought with him, he could not locate the makeshift score sheet he had used to record the grades. Thinking he had left it back in his classroom, he made a trek through the empty halls back to the third floor to retrieve it from his desk.

Of course, it was not there.

Panic setting in, he cast about, searching every inch of his room, every nook and cranny where such an important piece of paper could hide, trying not to disturb the students taking their final exam and giving him concerned looks. He thrust his hands into the recycling box, hoping to find the elusive artifact amidst the discarded student work callously dumped there after his charges had noted their grade. Nothing. He retraced his steps back to the office, scanning the floor for any sign, any glimpse of his red marks next to student's names, to no avail. From the depths of his soul came a dark rush of nausea, colliding with the ominous cloud of despair, forming a swirling maelstrom of impending madness somewhere in the vicinity of his suddenly impotent brain. His world turned black. The grades he had so diligently finished were gone, vanished forever, never to be seen again.

The questions came crashing in. What had happened to it? What would he do? What could he do? What would happen to the final grades he had to turn in that weekend? Could he remember what they had earned? Could he reconstruct the morning's efforts? What if he made a mistake? He wandered the halls, clenching and unclenching his useless hands, imagining nightmare scenarios involving parent complaints, administration censure, loss of employment and managing a Wendy's franchise.

Eventually the students were freed from the farce of finals, leaving him alone in his ransacked room, wondering what to do next. He stared at the empty spaces in his gradebook, knowing not how they would ever be filled now. The darkness of the situation continued to haunt him, leaving him hopeless, directionless, useless. Slowly it became clear what he must do - he must face up to his error and reach out to the ones he had let down through his own irresponsibility and negligence. With a deep breath to quiet the storm in his head, he grabbed the keyboard lying on the desk and typed up an email to all those affected by his asininity, students and parents alike, asking for their forgiveness and their final grade, if they had not already carelessly trashed them.

So now he waits, saddened by the evidence of his own incompetence, hoping tomorrow finds his inbox filled with the redemption needed to put this horrible experience behind him and to enter the new trimester with the opportunity and determination not to screw up this stupendously ever, ever again.

Good luck with that, dumbass.
Æ

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Now playing: Extreme - Comfortably Dumb
via FoxyTunes

"This is our moment. This is our time."

Barack Obama is the President-elect of the United States of America.

Just in case you didn't hear.

I'm looking forward to what happens next, to see if Obama can prove to be a different politician. If he can do even half of what he spoke of in his victory speech, his will be a memorable administration. At the very least, I won't be cringing every time the president speaks to the nation and the world anymore.

The best part of this whole thing: as I was reminded again tonight, Obama's not truly in control. God is. And even if the worst fears of the far right come true or Obama proves to be less than I hope him to be, I know my call is the same - to love God with all my heart, mind, soul and strength and my neighbor as myself. That never changes - and this call is the one thing I have some semblance of control over. I can't control what happens next in our country, but I can find a way to show love to all those around me. And that is something we as Americans can all agree on, no matter the color of our state. Æ

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Now playing: Okkervil River - Calling And Not Calling My Ex
via FoxyTunes

Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself

Other people's words, from Uncle Fred again. Read this last night. Can I believe both last night's post and this one? I believe I can...Æ

After centuries of handling and mishandling, most religious words have become so shopworn nobody's much interested any more. Not so with grace, for some reason. Mysteriously, even derivatives like gracious and graceful still have some of the bloom left.

Grace is something you can never get but only be given. There's no way to earn it or deserve it or bring it about any more than you can deserve the taste of raspberries and cream or earn good looks or bring about your own birth.

A good sleep is grace and so are good dreams. Most tears are grace. The smell of rain is grace. Somebody loving you is grace. Loving somebody is grace. Have you ever tried to love somebody?

A crucial eccentricity of the Christian faith is the assertion that people are saved by grace There's nothing you have to do. There's nothing you have to do. There's nothing you have to do.

The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you.

There's only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it.

Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.

Wishful Thinking

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Now playing: Okkervil River - Calling And Not Calling My Ex
via FoxyTunes

do not read this

More words from other people, this time from Doug. It's how I'm feeling tonight. Tomorrow, probably not so much.

"Loneliness is my curse - our species' curse - it's the gun that shoots the bullets that make us dance on a saloon floor and humiliate ourselves in front of strangers.
"Where does loneliness come from?...Maybe you think fate is only for others. Maybe you're ashamed to be reading about loneliness - maybe someone will catch you and then they'll know your secret stain. And then maybe you're not even very sure what loneliness is - that's common. We cripple our children for life by not telling them what loneliness is, all of its shades and tones and implications. When it clubs us on the head, usually just after we leave home, we're blindsided. We have no idea what hit us. We think we're diseased, schizoid, bipolar, monstrous and lacking in dietary chromium. It takes us until thirty to figure out what it was that sucked the joy from our youth, that made our brains shriek and burn on the inside, even while our exteriors made us seem as confident and bronzed as Qantas pilots. Loneliness."

Eleanor Rigby

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Now playing: Two Cow Garage - Not Your Friends
via FoxyTunes

loss for words

Been silent here a while. My usual blather/banter hasn't seemed particularly relevant or important or significant to share with the world at large. And I find myself inundated with opinions and arguments and accusations and rationalizations, a swirling maelstrom of mangled language meant to convince me of one side's superiority over the other's, but succeeds only in convincing me to stop listening at all.

And maybe that's a good thing. I wonder sometimes if our need to fill up the silence with whatever pops into our heads keeps us from truly communicating. I don't speak or write to connect with anyone else, but only so I don't have to deal with the uncomfortableness silence brings. Or listen to what the silence says.

Maybe it's time to listen more to the silence than to the noise.

Yet here I am, filling up cyber-silence with my own blog noise. I am nothing without my contradictions.

Been reading Peterson's The Contemplative Pastor and this morning read his chapter on Annie Dillard and realized I'd been missing her and her ability to, as Peterson puts it, exegete the world around her with eyes wide open. I've found my eyes squinted shut too much lately. I should pry them open by revisiting some of Dillard's thoughts. Need something deeper to challenge me. Been skimming the surface for too long.

Methinks illness is wreaking havoc on my brain. Too tired to think anything or write anything coherent. Silence sounds like a good option (or listening to my new emusic downloads - ah, contradictions).
Æ

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Now playing: Crooked Fingers - Cannibals
via FoxyTunes

thoughts from Uncle Fred

Because I can't think of anything to say myself tonight...Æ

Most of the old restraints are gone or going. Such purely practical restraints as the fear of pregnancy and venereal disease have been all but eliminated by the ingenuity of modern science. Pornography is available to anybody who has the money to buy it at the newsstand. As much as you can generalize about such matters, in the realm of sexual behavior the word seems to be increasingly, "Anything goes," or, among the more responsible, "Anything goes as long as nobody gets hurt," the trouble with which how can anybody know in advance, in any complex human relationship, sexual or otherwise, who is going to get hurt psychologically, emotionally, spiritually? Or the word is, "Anything goes as long as you love each other," the trouble with which is that love here is likely to mean a highly romanticized, sentimental sort of enterprise that comes and goes like the pink haze it is.

What makes this a tragic situation, I believe, is not so much that by one set of standards or another it is morally wrong, but that in terms of the way human life is, it just does not work very well. Our society is filled with people for whom the sexual relationship is one where body meets body but where person fails to meet person; where the immediate need for sexual gratification i satisfied but where the deeper need for companionship and understanding is left untouched. The result is that the relationship leads not to fulfillment but to a half-conscious sense of incompleteness, of inner loneliness, which is so much the sickness of our time. The desire to know another's nakedness is really the desire to know the other fully as a person. It is the desire to know and to be known, not just sexually but as a total human being. It is the desire for a relationship where each gives not just of his body but of his self, body and spirit both, for the other's gladness.

The Hungering Dark

homecoming

For those wondering: I did indeed survive my first ever excursion into chaperoning. But not without consequence - I ended up feeling ill Monday morning and called in sick today to stay home and rest with the hopes of staving off a more serious illness. We'll see over the next couple of days whether I was successful or not.

As for the dance itself, it wasn't nearly as bad as I imagined it might be. Of course, as I told a friend, I had anticipated scenes from a post-apocalyptic world where all morals had been discarded, so there was no where to go but up. Maybe I'm not as easily shocked as others. Maybe I simply didn't see the decadence going on. But of the 2100 (!) students attending the dance, only a handful of them seemed intent on reenacting acts meant for the bedroom.

Now I don't have great experience with school dances, having grown up in a pre-enlightened Church of the Nazarene where pre-marital sex was frowned upon because it might lead to dancing. My church went so far as to provide homecoming and prom "alternatives." For the uninitiated, these were similar to school dances in that they involved finding a date, buying a corsage, dressing up, going to a fancy dinner and staying out until the wee hours of the morning. The only thing missing was the dancing. We even had our share of drama (we were teenagers, after all).

So being a good Nazarene, I never set foot at an official high school dance (at least, until after I graduated from high school, but I mentioned that already). Most of my non-Nazarene friends had difficulty grasping the problem - heck, even some of my Nazarene friends had a hard time understanding it. Looking back, it does seem a bit ridiculous to call dancing sinful, especially since it's mentioned so many times in the Bible, most of the time in a positive manner. But being a member of the Nazarene church, I felt it was my responsibility to live up to the standards they had set forth in the Bible...er...Manual. Even if I didn't agree with them.

But the truth was, dancing was never a huge temptation for me. Rare was the time I found myself with the burning desire to "get my groove on," so to speak. Some of that was due to my religious upbringing (I say religious because I don't remember my parents ever telling me it was wrong to dance). Some of that was due to my lack of confidence with girls. Some of that was due to my uncomfortableness with my body. But I was reminded Saturday night the main reason I did not go to dances...

The music is abysmal.

Seriously. Made me want to grab a random corsage and jam the pin into my ear to stop the madness. Most of the "songs" (and I use that term loosely) were stunning in their boringness. Didn't help that during the four hours of the dance, they only played three songs I have on my iPod (for the curious: Journey's "Don't Stop Believing;" Michael Jackson's "Thriller;" and Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me"). The rest were unremarkable, minus two absolute travesties: "Cotton-Eyed Joe: remix" and a dance medley of hairband hits (imagine AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Guns 'n Roses over a dance beat. Trust me, it's worse than you can imagine).

Other than that, my first dance as a chaperone was, for the most part, a positive experience. I could have done without the oppressive humidity in the arena (was so bad, it started to drip from the ceiling. I'll let your stomach churn over that image). And standing for over five hours made me long for my comfy chair. But it was actually fun seeing my students dressed up. You could see the adults they will become in a few years lurking just below the surface. And it was an ego boost to see them get excited over seeing you there. Yet what I'll probably remember most, and what I most regret from not going to dances in high school, was the sense of joy that permeated the event. When the songs everyone knew (everyone but me, of course) came on, teenagers came from every corner to fill the dance floor, throw their troubles into the humid gym air and lose themselves in an expression of joy. Or to sway quietly in the darkened arena, aware only of the arms draped about your neck, the eyes staring into yours. We all need to do that sometimes. If onlythey would play some decent music to go along with it...Æ

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Now playing: Big Star - Back of a Car
via FoxyTunes

Ah Friday, how we love you

Friday night. Feeling exhausted. Brain probably shouldn't be out this late trying to write. Should be in bed, preparing for a Saturday filled with students - Saturday school in the morning, homecoming dance in the evening, with a few hours in between to wonder what I've gotten myself into.

Spirit week at Mason - The homecoming theme is "A Night in Wonderland" - a little bit of Lewis Carroll, but not so cartoony. Monday was Mad Hatter day, Tuesday Tweedledee/Tweedledum day (twins), Wednesday was Crazy day, Thursday was Character day and Friday Spirit day. Here's me on Character day. See if you can guess who I was:


I couldn't tell which students I was more disappointed with - the ones that knew who I was or the ones who didn't (the most common guess - hobo. Seriously? It's Character day!). OK, that's not exactly true - it was the latter. Not sure they're the best movies for most high school students - something I might have thought about before dressing up as a notorious imaginary drug dealer.

I'm a bit trepidatious about tomorrow night - my hope is I'm not haunted by images of my students doing things I have no desire to see. I asked them to try and spare me watching their vertical expression of a horizontal idea, but I don't think that's actually going to happen.

Been glorious sleeping weather here the last couple of nights - breezy enough I can curl up under my comforter, the crisp autumn air cool on my face. Actually felt a little chilly a couple of times. For those of whose bodies tend to burst into spontaneous fountains of perspiration, these cooler days are a Godsend. Plus, besides the physiological benefits, my mind feels clearer, a little brighter, a little happier. Even with my recent bouts of nostalgia, they've been pleasant remembrances, not the horrible "my life was so much better then" type. I fondly remember those times, but they only shine the light on my life now and show me how blessed I am. They remind me I would not be the person I am today without them. And I certainly wouldn't want to be the person I was then now.

Follow up to my last entry: got an email from my friend Brad, who reminded me Cindy had had an impact on his life as well, something I had forgotten. He shared a bit of his story and it was interesting to see how the two meshed together. I told him if anything comes of my "google trap" that I'll let him know. BTW, it's her birthday today, so happy birthday Cindy, wherever you are.

That's enough of that.

My favorite show from last year started up again - Pushing Daisies. I love these characters and their world. Here's hoping enough other people do too so it stays on the air. They've shaken things up a bit, which is good and they did a good job of introducing new viewers to the world. And regardless of what EW says, Chi McBride is brilliant as Emerson Cod and perhaps my favorite character on the show.

OK, need to start winding down so I can get up early tomorrow and do Saturday school. Here's hoping I'm disciplined enough to get my grading done. Night. Æ

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Now playing: Brian K. Reese - Big Rock Happy Endings Mix
via FoxyTunes

wandering down amnesia lane

Occasionally, when we get through what I have planned in my classes, I pull out one of my books filled with questions and begin asking random students random questions. Things like "What's your favorite candy" or "If you were in the jungle with your dad and your best friend and they both fell into a pit of poisonous vipers and you only had enough venom antidote to save one of them, who would you save?" This past week in one of my classes, one of the questions was, "What one person from your past that you've lost touch with would you like to reconnect with?" Being teenagers, many of them didn't have a response. Had they bothered to ask, however, I knew who mine was.

Cindy Rogers.

20 years ago I received a letter in my mailbox at MVNC, written in response to a letter I had written and handed to Cindy the weekend before. It was my first trip home after starting college and I had written the letter to express my attraction to this girl who had started attending our youth group. We had hung out a bit at the end of the summer and then I had left for Mount Vernon (ah, blessed timing). But I couldn't get her out of my head. So in a rare burst of courage, I told her how I felt (yeah, I know, it was in a letter, but that was quite the step for me - come to think of it, it still is). And then I waited, not knowing what, if anything, would come of it.

Amazingly enough, I discovered she felt the same way, that when she had seen me that weekend, she had wanted to run up and give me a hug, but didn't. I also discovered she was seeing someone else (Tony, who I had met at her house), but that she was breaking it off because it was me she wanted. I was flabbergasted. Wow! It worked! Of course, there were difficulties: she still lived Beavercreek, two hours away. I didn't have a car. She was still in high school and (gasp!) 2 1/2 years younger than me. But none of that mattered - she liked me. That was enough.

So that fall we did the whole long distance things - phone calls, letters, trips home, visits to the school. She came up at least twice - once to see the one acts I was in and once with the church group who came for a visit. And I went home when I could, including one trip to attend my very first homecoming dance. We spent as much time as we could together in those short bursts and watched our hearts break when it was time to leave. She was the second girl I'd officially dated and looking back, I was quite naive, embarrassingly so probably. But I was saved because, well, I was in college and she was in high school and all her friends were impressed she was dating a college guy. Even her parents liked me; in fact, she usually had a curfew, unless she was out with me. Then she could stay out as long as she wanted.

But eventually, as happens often with long distance relationships, it became harder and harder to keep things going. I was making new friends at college. She had her friends back in Beavercreek. All seemed to be going OK at Thanksgiving when I was home (a whole five days!). She gave me a mix tape of songs that became the beginning of my conversion from classic rock guy to indie elitist. But then cold December rolled around and I started to get the sense all was not well. Our conversations were shorter, our letters less ecstatic. By the time winter break came around, you could feel the end in the air. She was sick the weekend I got home, and when I called on Tuesday to see how she was doing, she mentioned wanting to talk. Uh oh. I asked her what was wrong and she said not over the phone, but I knew what was coming and forced her hand. So that's how we broke up - over the phone. I saw her the next Sunday at church and she gave me back my class ring. My heart was broken, but I held on to the idea that we could remain friends.

Silly rabbit.

See, all my other "relationships" had ended with me staying friends with the girl. I went out of my way to make sure we could still talk, still be in one another's lives. But Cindy wasn't comfortable with that. We shared a foggy dinner after New Year's (seriously, driving to meet her, the fog was so thick people were pulling off the side of the road) and exchanged Christmas cards and gifts (I can't remember what I gave her - a sweater perhaps? - but she gave me a gift certificate to Dingleberry's Records to buy some music). And that was it. I'd call occasionally, trying to keep communication open, but she wouldn't talk to me and eventually told me to stop bothering (stalking?) her. She claimed we had nothing in common, so even a friendship was fruitless.

That winter/spring was rough as I realized not all relationships ended well. She stopped going to my church and I lost contact with mutual friends and got involved in college life and eventually she disappeared off my radar. I'd hear occasional rumors of where she was and what she was doing, but I never saw her again.

So why is she the one that I'd like to reconnect with? Curiosity, I suppose. I wonder what became of her. I wonder what her life is like. I wonder if she even remembers me. And perhaps a bit of vanity - she's the only girl I ever dated I haven't kept in touch with (well, at least she was...) and part of me doesn't like my blemished record. But mostly I'd like to thank her for helping my transition from high school to college not be so horrible. And for giving me the gift of music. I wore out the mixtape she gave me and the bands on it - Midnight Oil, The Cure, Depeche Mode, INXS, OMD, Shriekback - drew me away from the Christian rock and hairbands of high school and into, as WOXY used to call it, the future of rock and roll. Because of her I bought my first "secular" album - INXS's Kick - and I can't imagine what my life would have been like had she not enlightened me to the joys left of the dial. I'd probably still be languishing in the Christian ghetto or celebrating the reunion tours of well-past-dead bands (I'm looking at you, Van Halen).

I've done some searching here on the internet to no avail. It's much easier for girls to find old boyfriends because, well, their names don't change. A little trickier when they don't still go by their maiden names. So I thought I'd write this post not only to indulge in a little nostalgia, but hoping that by typing her name, Cindy Rogers, I just might catch someone googling her (maybe even Cindy herself) who might pass along my post or, at the very least, let her know that our brief dalliance 20 years ago still reverberates today.

Thanks for joining me on this trip in the way back machine. I hope it wasn't too painful. We'll return to my present life, um, er, presently, including my take on Southeast Engine's set at Midpoint. I'm telling you - y'all missed it. Night. Æ

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Now playing: The Cure - Pictures Of You
via FoxyTunes

an eternal day lies ahead

I should be heading off to sleep, what with independent novel project presentations all day tomorrow and Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure for film club and three hours of parent/teacher conferences and a line rehearsal I will most likely not make, yet here I am, checking in to make sure you, my faithful readers, know I haven't abandoned you.

Wow, that is quite the convoluted sentence. Is it any wonder I didn't excel in my journalism classes?

Updates: Tartuffe went well this weekend. I stumbled a bit opening night, but the other nights went smoothly. As for the rest of the show, I only know we're moving at a brisk pace and everyone seems happy with how it's going. I can't personally vouch for the show since I've never actually seen it, but I'll take their word for it. If you like Moliere or French farce, it's a great way to spend an evening. Come on out. Enjoy.

My talk on Sunday went well again. I am consistently amazed at God's ability to take control and do what He wants with my words. The title was "The Unexpected Characteristics of God" and it seemed to hit a lot of people yet again. I know I shouldn't be surprised by God's working - it's what He does, after all. It's humbling, that's all. I think I might try to flesh it out, get it down on paper (more than the brief outline I typed up Sunday morning). I'd like to do some more thinking on some of the points that came up, especially the ones I didn't intend.

Mom and dad came down Sunday. Good to see them again, as always. I should have warned them we would be on VC time - they arrived about 9:40, which means they were at the church 20 minutes before anyone else graced the doorway. After the service, we went out with Gina and Julie and Emma to Jalepenos - which turned out to be a good thing since they're closing! I know! Was there last night for house church (don't ask) and they had a sign saying they'd lost their lease. This was my goto place for food. I have no idea what I'll do now, though Cici's and Chipotle opening within walking distance might take some of the edge off (please know I'm not comparing Jalepenos to those two places, only pondering my inability to decide what I want to eat sometimes).

I'd meant to come and indulge in some more nostalgia tonight, but I never seem to get to the computer before 11:00, and by then I'm lucky to type anything coherent at all. 'Twas 20 years ago this week I took a chance and told a girl I liked her and, miracle of miracles, discovered she liked me back. Definitely an odd relationship for many reasons, but it sticks in my memory for two reasons. One, she was the first girl I dated who wanted nothing to do with me once we broke up. And more importantly, I credit her for saving me from my hairband/classic rock ways and showing me the joys of music left of the dial. It's amazing the changes we'll make in the name of love (or what we think is love anyway).

I have more to say on this, but not now. Now is the time for sleeping and trying not to be angry at mother nature for not realizing it's fall and she should stop sending 80+ degree days our ways. I want my crisp autumn air now, thankyouverymuch. Monday was the first day - time to turn the page.

Sorry. The heat makes me grumpy (insert own joke here). Night.
Æ

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Now playing: New Order - Ceremony
via FoxyTunes

thoughts from a picnic table, part 2

23 hours later. Same table. Different noises. Feeling a bit stretched tonight - odd week catching up with me finally. Crashed hard after school today - Friday night hard - and woke with a start, disoriented. At first I thought the clock said 6:15, which would have meant I was screwed. But it said 5:15, so I snagged a quick shower, grabbed a couple of Wendy's spicy chicken wraps (no ranch), fought rush hour traffic and made it to the theater only five minutes late. I even managed to parallel park while talking on my cell phone, a minor miracle.

Hey, it's the little things.

Meant to print out the lectionary today at school so I could work on my talk tonight. Forgot. Will have to wait until tomorrow I suppose. While I'm glad to be doing Tartuffe, it has complicated my schedule a touch. No Wendell Berry Sunday (sad) and I'll probably have to miss The Seedy Seeds instore at Shake It tomorrow night, though I did score permission to not show up until 8 PM, so we'll see.

Sarah called on my way to the theater (hence the parallel parking miracle). We seem to talk at the oddest times. This weekend is Paul and Shannon's post-wedding Philadelphia extravaganza, so they all had been talking about me. Flattered. Somehow (I'll leave it to those wiser than me to figure out how) they were talking about my inability to flirt. Maybe inability is too strong. Reticence, perhaps? Definitely not a skill I practice often or excel at. Opportunity rarely presents itself anymore. I suppose I don't actually mind, though I do wonder occasionally if I developed it if I might not spend so many weekends alone. Though I feel maybe it's like getting your ear pierced - after a certain age, it's too late.

Expectations again - maybe I don't foresee a positive response to flirting, so why bother? Defeatist, definitely, but I can't say my experience has shown me any different. Honestly, not trying to fall in to my usual "woe-is-me." Only trying to make sense of why I act - or do not act - in certain situations. Pavlov wasn't far off - we repeat those actions for which we're rewarded.

I often think I should challenge myself, throw caution to the wind and get my flirt on. But where would I even go to do that? And who would take me seriously? Or even play along? The image from Lewis's The Great Divorce keeps appearing, of the skeletal woman smeared with make up, still attempting to be alluring. Like Cyrano, I fear the laughter behind a woman's eyes.

Hmmm. Didn't come here to talk about this. But it's where I've ended up.

Tomorrow my students turn in their persuasive letters to their parents. Taking a cue from last year, I'm going to have them self-evaluate (not to be confused with self-medicate), force them to look at their own writing and give reason why they give themselves the score they did. Need to set the tone early, help them take it seriously - at least as seriously as they can on a Friday after a crazy week. Not sure how focused I'll be myself tomorrow. Guess I'll find out.

Supposed to karaoke tonight and while I want to join, it seems unwise. We won't be out of here until 10:30-11:00, so by the time our names are called to sing, it will be well after the witching hour. Of course, with my nap this afternoon, I probably won't sleep anyway. We'll see how I feel in two hours.

Time to read some. If I keep writing, I'll never transfer all of it to my blog. Awww...Phil Collins is singing "Groovy Kind of Love" and the nostalgia comes roaring back. More on that later...Æ

thoughts from a picnic table, part 1

The Cure drifts through my headphones - yes, I'm still overdosing on nostalgia - as I sit on an old picnic table behind the Monmouth Theater. Our run through has begun and I'm out here whiling away the time until intermission, when I'll finally put on eye liner and get into costume. No need before then. Plus, I'll be in the way otherwise.

The worst of the power outage is over, though I still know people without. I'd like to think I could go days without power, but in truth I'd go stir crazy. I'm too dependent on my electronic luxuries now. Maybe if I weaned myself off them I could do it, but cold turkey would be too painful. OK, not painful. Uncomfortable. Inconvenient.

Look, I'm out here on a balmy September night, listening to "When Love Comes to Town" and waiting for my nightly cell phone alarm to remind me it's time to go to Compline. I can't even allow myself to sit and listen to the sounds of this almost autumn night. Of course, the smells wafting across are another matter entirely. They sure do smoke a lot of weed down here in Newport. Only way to survive such a hell-hole.

Sorry. Guess I'm still a bit bitter.

Cowboy Junkies are singing "I'm So Lonesome I Could Die." Fits the feeling of the evening better than the revving engines and slamming doors around me. Not because of the lyrics - can't say I'm feeling lonesome at this particular moment. But the soft melancholy feels like autumn. The morning air the past couple days caused a rush of memories, those inextricably tied to the season. Marching bands and harvest moons, fall plays and rustling leaves, love letters and inverted sunsets, whispered rendezvous and river trails. I love the change of the air - crisper, cooler, the last drops of humidity wrung out. The calendar won't know autumn for another five days, but for the atmosphere and my heart, it's already here.

Expectations. It's what I'm speaking on this Sunday. The brilliance of the lectionary shines this week - every passage tells the tale of thwarted expectations. Israelites wishing they'd stayed in Egypt, Jonah watching God forgive the Ninevites, the workers in the vineyard all getting paid the same. How dangerous our expectations can be, blinding us to the love and grace of God because it doesn't fit into our picture of what should be. What we want to be. What we wish. Hope. Expect. Æ

i've dropped trou and bent over. time to take advantage.

Turns out my "violation" on Friday was not for not having a city sticker but for a simple meter violation. Unlike 97% of the cities in America (I'm guessing here), the City of Newport forces you to feed their meters until midnight. Because obviously the increased prices at the stores around this hell-hole they call an entertainment district don't bring in enough revenue. The kind lady at the finance desk said this was a decision forced on the city by the local merchants who felt having the meters expire at say 6:00 PM like most places robbed them of the turnover needed to keep their businesses afloat. And obviously not enough people have been screwed and stopped going to make them change it.

I'd like to believe business and bureaucracies listen to their customers and do what is in the customer's best interest. But my experience has shown me the opposite - if they can line their pockets with money by screwing their customers, it saves them the hassle of being decent and forthright. Institutions, whether they be corporations or municipalities or governments or even churches, exist only to keep the institution alive, no matter the cost. And I have a hard time seeing any way to affect change. My not going to Newport isn't going to get them to change their meters. I doubt a letter to City Hall will be taken seriously either. So I'm left with the choice of going and putting up with their petty robbery or not going at all. But neither choice will change anything.

Feeling sore and violated...Æ

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Now playing: The New Pornographers - Adventures in Solitude
via FoxyTunes

unplugged

Ike sent some nasty wind our way today, wreaking havoc on weak trees and vulnerable power lines. I was down in Newport, helping with the load-in for Tartuffe, watching the winds throw shingles and branches down the street when Amy, the director, decided the chaos was too much to chance and canceled our run through. Strangely enough, the power was still on at the theater, an oasis of electricity surrounded by a desert of lifeless lights and useless electronics. I called the 'Wood and discovered we were sans power as well. I toyed briefly with staying at Monmouth if only for the A/C, but decided I should go home, make sure all was well.

A maelstrom of swirling branches and far too many fallen trees brought visions of my ancient oak lying prostrate over what remained of my house. I needn't have worried - she's a hearty old lady and has seen far worse in her century of life I imagine. I had to pop my garage door opener to get Lorelei out of danger, but other than my trash can and recycling bin trying to escape down my front yard, not much damage I could see. Definitely glad I didn't spend time yesterday doing yard work only to have it obliterated.

Shannon texted me and invited me over to her place for cards by candlelight. Probably should go - haven't spent time with them in far too long (I think I always say that) - plus her beau from Columbus is in town and I could finally meet him. My only options here are reading or writing some more and soon the light will fad too much to do either of those. Luckily, I'm not hungry because I have nothing to eat in my house and no way of getting anything. I'm not sure how the Amish survive. Less than four hours off the grid and I'm bored out of my skull. And I still have my iPod and phone to help keep me occupied. And a car to get around. I wonder if we reach a point of no return, when our lives can no longer be as simple as they once were. Perhaps we're too dependent on our gadgets to live without them for more than hours at a time. We'd lose our minds in such simplicity.

One of the vocab words this past week was nostalgia (which my students continually pronounced noh-stahl-ah-gee-a). Been indulging in a little nostalgia overload lately - listening to my 80s playlist, catching up with old friends. I've even toyed with venturing into the basement to pull out my box of old letters, specifically some special ones from 20 years ago. Yes, I'm one of those who keep everything. Why? Nostalgia, sure. But I also hold these delusions of people sorting through them after I'm dead and piecing together the patterns of my life.

That's probably enough to find myself institutionalized sooner than later.

All that to say, autumn is nearly upon us (even if the weather refuses to agree) and my nostalgia binging will most likely slip into overdrive. And honestly, I'm looking forward to a little backward glancing, as long as I don't get lost down memory lane. We'll see.

Temperature's arising. time to blow this popsicle stand. Here's hoping the power stays out in Mason long enough to cancel school...Æ

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Now playing: The Magnetic Fields - California Girls
via FoxyTunes

it's a small world, but i wouldn't want to paint it

When we last saw our intrepid hero, he was on his way to Below Zero for a little late night karaoke action. He arrived a bit after ten but could not find anyone, so he called Chris. They were hiding in the corner. 'Twas supposed to be a cast bonding for Tartuffe, but turned out to be more of a BATB reunion - Charlie, Sarah and Nicole were there, with Ben and Andy showing up a bit later. The only other Tartuffe member (other than Chris, of course) was Kaitlyn. I didn't feel much like singing, so sat back and watched others show off their talent or extreme lack thereof. Over the caterwauling, Kaitlyn and I began chatting - turns out she went to OU. I then asked where she came from before that. She said a little town in northeast Ohio, about 45 minutes from Pittsburgh, along the Ohio River. East Liverpool. My mouth dropped open and stared impolitely for a second before informing her of my family connections there. Turns out she graduated from Beaver Local, my dad's alma mater and lives down the road from Grandma Allen. Small, tiny, wee world we live in. What are the odds?

The rest of the evening was fun, but I was out far too long, mostly because I wanted to hear Chris sing the Tenacious D class, **** Her Gently. Well worth the wait, though it meant not getting to sleep until 1:30 AM. Made for an interesting Friday, and by interesting, I mean most of my day was spent trying to stay awake. Which I did, only barely, and then crashed hard in the comfy chair when I came home. Which was good, because I had quite the evening ahead of me.

A few weeks back, I found out Tift Merritt was performing at the Southgate House. I immediately put it on my list of things to do (or would have, if I actually kept such a list). I love Tift's voice and enjoyed her Austin City Limits performance (which I no longer have because my DVR died. Bummer). I thought of trying to find someone to go with, but couldn't think of anyone that knew who she was or would be interested. So last night I headed down by myself, arriving around 8:00 to a line out the door. First time I've had that happen at Southgate. But the show itself wasn't overly crowded and I finagled a chair not too far from the stage after finally getting around to changing my voter registration to Norwood (there was a booth). Show started closer to on time than any other Southgate House show I've been to - only a half hour after the posted time. First opening act was Daniel Martin Moore, a singer/songwriter from somewhere near Eastern Kentucky. His first song was his best, but not a bad set. Then came Matthew Ryan vs Silver State. I'd heard good stuff and it was good, straightforward roots rock from Philly. Didn't make me want to run out and buy a CD, but 'twas fun, especially when he worked Elvis and U2 lyrics into his song.

Then came Tift. She's a petite little thing with a lovely smile and a gentle Carolina drawl. She started at the piano and let it rip. Such power in her voice, such energy to performance. The crowd was responsive and she fed off our energy. And unlike many shows, there was little talking going on (I'm sure the ticket price kept those looking to get drunk with only a passing interest in the music upstairs). Her and her band owned the stage, giving one of the better performances I've seen there lately. Didn't hurt that she was so easy on the eyes. Remember the Friends episode when Ross makes a list of celebrities he'd sleep with? Tift Merritt is now on mine.

My favorite moment - the band unplugged and sang "Supposed to Make You Happy" at the front of the stage. Stunning in it's simplicity. Will definitely be downloading her latest CD once my emusic subscription refreshes.

The night ended poorly, however - I got back to my car to discover a ticket on my windshield. I was parked at a meter and the only sign around said you couldn't park there from 8-12 on Saturday. And I'm pretty sure the meters aren't in service at 8PM at night. The ticket itself says No City Sticker. I have no idea what this means. Now I get to drive down to Newport to contest it on Monday. Otherwise, the concert doubled in price. Needless to say, I was not pleased.

Art Walk was today. We started with a passage from Job 38 - "Who is this that darkeneth counsel By words without knowledge? " You know, the passage where sarcastically blasts Job, asking him if he was there when he created the universe and if not, then he should shut the **** up (I'm paraphrasing). With that as my impetus, I decided to visit parts of the museum I don't understand, to try and see past my own ignorance. I meandered through the Asian art and then up stairs to the contemporary. Most contemporary art does nothing other than frustrate me because I a) don't get it or b) don't see what others see (which I guess is the same thing). So I went to the Rothko - one of Rob's favorites - and read the blurb and stepped back. Nothing. So I stepped forward a bit, changing perspective. Nothing. So I stepped back. Nothing yet again. All I see is rectangles of different colors. No heartbeat, no sign of the emotion Rothko speaks of, no tears that others have experienced. I only felt frustration, probably much like Job did. "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?/Tell Me, if you have understanding" No, I wasn't there when Rothko created his piece. And I don't have access to whatever he was experiencing through the act of creation. I'm an agnostic when it comes to contemporary art - I don't dismiss it completely, but I haven't experienced enough to truly believe.

Saw Burn After Reading this afternoon. It was...an occasionally funny mess. The end almost redeemed the film. It's a middling Coen Brothers film - not as bad as Ladykillers, but not as good as Raising Arizona or The Big Lebowski. The individuals were good, but not enough funny all the way through. I think the previews and trailers ruined some of the best moments.

Speaking of trailers, anyone seen the trailer for Towelhead? I'm not so interested in the movie itself (gee, another Alan Ball script about an older man having a relationship with a teenager), but the song during the trailer caught my attention. Anyone know what it is? I did a quick Google search to no avail. Information appreciated.

Finished Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal today, mostly out of necessity since I borrowed it from the library and I couldn't renew it because some put a hold on it. Enjoyable read. Moore walked the fine line between the sacred and the profane well. I kept thinking while I was reading that you'd never see a similar book about Mohammad. I'm sure there are those who would be offended, but as Moore points out in his afterword, "if one's faith can be shaken by stories in a humorous novel, one may have a bit more praying to do." Excellent point.

My, I do go on tonight, don't I? OK, time to catch up on my House backlog. Thanks to USA, I can now catch up on the seasons I've missed. Fun. Tech week starts tomorrow - we'll see what it does to my week. Night. Æ

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Now playing: Son Volt - Caryatid Easy
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This summer, before I ran off to Colorado, a local company was having auditions for Moliere's Tartuffe. I've never done Moliere (though I student directed The Miser in college) and always wanted to, but I couldn't make an early audition work, so I decided 'twasn't to be this time around. Flash forward to a week ago, when Chris from BATB contacted me and asked if I'd be interested in doing a small role in...Tartuffe. A couple of lines, right at the end of the show, but of course I said yes. Been pretty simple so far - my part of rehearsal rarely lasts more than an hour, so I show up at the end or the beginning. Pretty easy. Plus, the short run up for me means it's tech week next week and we go up a week from tomorrow. Crazy. But fun.

Of course, it's also stolen away any spare time I might have to blog or check the 'Book or get stuff ready for school, but I think I can handle a couple weeks of this.

I have no coherent thoughts tonight, only a conglomeration of ideas swirling about. And Chris called and I need to be heading to Below Zero for a little karaoke cast-bonding time, so those thoughts will have to keep on swirling for now.

In the meantime, you can check out Steve's take on our Columbus to Cincinnati bike ride on the CityBeat website. He also posted my account, making sure to let everyone know I blog about my "adventures as a single fellow in Cincinnati." Hasn't helped yet, but hey, there's always a chance.

Off to do a little karaoke. Sorry for the briefness. Æ

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the ride

All summer, my friend Steve had been asking me to join him on a long bike ride between Columbus and Cincinnati. He had discovered the joys of bicycle commuting and wanted to put his re-kindled love for riding to a serious test. None of this tooling around the neighborhood or short jaunts on the bike path. Steve had a dream, and when he dreams, he dreams big.

He is also relentless. At least twice a week he would ask me if I was still up for riding from Columbus to Cincinnati and at least twice a week I would say it sounded great, but I would have to check my schedule, which, while honest, wasn’t exactly the truth. That’s not to say I wasn’t interested; three years ago I had followed my own desire to do a century – riding a 100 miles in a day – and it was one of the most memorable experiences I’ve had recently. But as the summer dragged on, I realized my goal of losing the extra 20 pounds I’d packed on since my last ride remained only a goal and by the time Labor Day rolled around, I hadn’t been on a bike since I’d had my gall bladder removed – in July.

So I looked for ways to get out of it. I hinted at my lack of training. I pointed to the stress of beginning a new school year. I alluded to the logistical problems involved in biking between cities. But Steve would have none of it. He was determined and I had made a promise, and though logically it was stupid for someone as out of shape as I was, I was taking this ride, one way or another.

After crashing in Columbus at the home of two kind and generous souls, the alarm went off at 5:00AM and we loaded up our bikes and hit the streets of Columbus well before the sun began to rise. Riding through the darkened neighborhoods in the cool of the morning got my adrenaline going and by the time we stopped to take a couple of pictures along the river, I was actually looking forward to the rest of the ride. I felt good. I felt rested. I felt ready to conquer the trail and emerge triumphant at the end.

And then the pain set in.

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt the burn of muscles not used to being used, but in many ways it’s similar to eating especially hot salsa – you’re better off if you keep going because when you stop, that’s when the real ache begins. We were just past West Jefferson when my body began to revolt. I had hoped it was temporary, but while Steve moved ahead at a comfortable pace, I was struggling to keep my bike moving forward. This was bad. No, seriously, this was really, really bad.

By the time we coasted into London and found nothing but fast food restaurants open for eating, I was a wreck. Steve could tell I was hurting and so could the bikers (motors, not pedals) who pointed us toward a restaurant in the next town, South Charleston. Hard to hide the fact that your body is ready to curl up into a fetal position until the pain goes away. But in the interest of finding an eatery with local flavor, I agreed to wait to eat until we went a few more miles down the path.

This, too, was a mistake. See, I hadn’t eaten anything all day, other than some trail mix. I figured out later this was why my legs were burning. But those few miles from London to South Charleston was the worst. pain. ever. I kept alternating between cursing and saying the Jesus Prayer over and over again (Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me and my stupid legs). By the time we pulled into the Blue Point Café, I was ready to give in and admit I was too out of shape to go any farther. I’d figured it all out – someone could come and get me and the bike, drive me back to Cincinnati, and I’d be recovering in my bed before the sun set that night.

Luckily, I decided to see how I felt after eating before announcing to Steve my plan to abandon him. The protein from the burger and the pitcher of water I drank soothed the burn in my legs and after a break down by the head of the trail, I felt human enough to pack up and ride again. I popped on my iPod, determined to make it to Xenia before dark. I wasn’t going anywhere fast, and the burn got bad a few times, but I was able to push through the pain and even began to enjoy the ride a bit as the sun beat down on us. Unfortunately, this part of the ride wasn’t so kind to Steve’s bike – he lost three spokes and his back tire wobbled like a drunken clown. So we loaded his panniers on my bike, called ahead to find an open bike shop and took it easy the last few miles to Xenia.

While Steve’s bike was fixed, I called my friend Candice and got the phone number for the Xenia Holiday Inn. The thought of a bed and a pool excited me in ways I wasn’t completely comfortable with. We got one of the last rooms available (stupid soccer tournaments) with no discount, but I probably would have paid any price at that point. We walked the bikes up and I collapsed on the bed while Steve took a shower. Lying there, I was sure there was no way for me to make it any farther. I could be proud of my ride – 65 miles with no training is nothing to be ashamed of. And I knew my parents would be in Beavercreek for church the next morning and could come and get me with little hassle. But again, I kept it to myself because, well, I hate confrontation and I didn’t want to spoil Steve’s mood.

We got on our bikes one last time (much to my chagrin) and headed down to the Mexican restaurant next to the bike shop. After a filling and tasty meal, we went back to the room. We both toyed with hitting the pool, but sleep won out and we crashed – Steve around 8:00, me and my insomnia around 10:00 PM. As usual, I woke up five hours later at 3AM and practiced in my head how I would tell Steve I wasn’t going in the morning. I knew he’d be disappointed, but I also figured he’d understand after my misery of the day before. I had it all worked out – he could take my phone and I would take his extra weight so he could make it back to Norwood quicker than having to wait on me all the time. For me to go on would just be to save my ego and I knew that was a stupid reason to risk serious harm.

But then we walked to Bob Evans for breakfast and it never came up and we got back and the next thing I knew Steve had his bike all loaded and ready to go. It was now or never. I told him I didn’t think I could make it, that I would wait here and my parents would come and pick me up. It was for the best. He looked sad and simply said maybe I was just in a food coma after breakfast and would feel better once we got on the road. That’s all it took – I sucked it up, put on my riding clothes, loaded up my Camelbak and we hit the road for the final 55-60 miles.

Day two was rather uneventful compared to day one. I was far more familiar with this stretch of the path from my earlier rides. Plus I did a much better job of staying hydrated and fed and while I had serious saddle sores, my legs and conditioning did much better. At least until we hopped off the bike path just south of Loveland and headed into Indian Hills. I should have known I was in trouble because of the name. It felt like all we did for the next several miles was climb and climb and climb some more with no downhill on the other side. I think I spent more time walking my bike than I did riding it. It didn’t help that it was the middle of the afternoon and close to 90 degrees. When I started getting chills, I knew we had to stop before heat exhaustion set in. So we stopped at the Kenwood Chipotle where I drank some juice and water and Steve ate a burrito and tried to convince me to get my picture taken with the Red Bull Girls who had walked in. I barely escaped the embarrassment.

Thirty minutes later we pulled into Norwood, and though exhaustion seeped out of every pore of my body, the thrill of having ridden 124.44 miles reminded me that sometimes you can do far more than you ever imagined, though it might mean you have to go through severe moments of pain to get there. And never underestimate the power a friend’s encouragement can give – even if you didn’t want to hear it. Æ

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quite the weekend

Sitting here, waiting for my clothes to dry, exhausted from the weekend and yet no closer to sleep than normal. I had hoped to get all my laundry done earlier, but instead of lying around comatose all day, I decided to keep my promise and head up to Bethany's for a cookout. Certainly am glad I did (more on that later).

Also glad I kept my other obligation for the weekend. Sometime early this summer, Steve began asking me if I would be up for taking a ride over Labor Day weekend from Columbus to Cincinnati. At first I was all for it, thinking I would get the chance to ride plenty over the summer and thus would be in good shape for the ride. Unfortunately, I didn't ride as much as I hoped and the closer we got to Labor Day, the more I began to feel perhaps I had cashed the proverbial check my body couldn't keep. Sure, I had done a century before, but that was three years back after a summer of riding. I hadn't been riding since my trip to Colorado back in July. I probably should have told Steve I wish I could, but my body just isn't up for it. But either ego or fear of confrontation (most likely both) kept me from saying anything.

So there I was, Friday night, after a tasty meal at Buca di Beppo, hitching a ride with our friend Mandy to be dropped off somewhere near the OSU campus to begin our adventure. Trepidatious doesn't begin to describe how I felt. But I had made a promise and I intended to keep it, even if it meant my corpse lying somewhere on the bike path between London and Cincy (I figured I'd make it at least to London, though as it turned out, I was almost wrong). Sleep stayed away, per usual, and even as we got ready at O'Dark Thirty in the morning, I wondered if I'd made a huge mistake.

I'll spare you the details for now, mostly out of respect for Steve (without whom I would have indeed ended up in a fetal position on the path), who is writing an article for CityBeat. But I will say we did indeed make it, 124.44 miles in two days. And other than some excruciating spaces and a brush with heat exhaustion, I had a great, great time. Two thoughts:

1. Just because you could doesn't mean you can; and just because you couldn't doesn't mean you can't.
2. Sometimes life turns out far better than you could have hoped, even if it's quite painful at times.

As for the other promise, I spent the afternoon with some old friends and acquaintances from college at my friend Bethany's in Mount Sterling (yes, I drove all the way back up to the Columbus area. Question my sanity at your leisure). I had every intention of not going - my body ached and I had other things I needed to get done (like laundry and grocery shopping). But when I called to check on the details, I decided I wanted to go. Turns out they were meeting at 11:30 and since I waited to call until 10:00, I was going to be a little late. But turns out, not too much. Arrived around noon, well before food was served. Jonna was there and we all had the chance to reminisce a bit about Dave and laugh. We lived the cliche - we sat around and talked about the old days and how much everything had changed since we were in college (which we had started 20 years ago - oh dear Lord when did we get so old?), but also shared our current lives. 'Twas a wonderful day spent with friends. Big thanks to Bethany for once again being the perfect hostess. We always talk about doing more of this - here's hoping we do more than talk this time.

OK, laundry should be done and then I need to get to sleep. Practice OGT for the students tomorrow - should be really, really, really boring. Maybe I'll jot down my thoughts on the ride for later sharing. Betcha can't wait... Æ

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the first week

The 2008-2009 school year did not start well. There's always some struggle to transition from summer mode to school mode, but this year, when that early alarm went off Monday morning, it took all I had within me to just get out of bed, forget trying to muster up an iota of excitement for the school year.

I started the day with my final trek to morning prayers for the summer (sadness) and then drove up to Mason. First on the agenda - a meeting with the AXA representative from the school. This sounded like a good idea a the time and then I remembered why I tend to avoid those kinds of meetings - my brain implodes whenever I think about financial matters. I know it's important and vital and poor Alex did an excellent job of presenting my options, but about ten minutes in he turned into the teacher from the Charlie Brown cartoon. He attempted to get me to sign up right then, but I told him I had to look it over first, which was true, since I had no grasp whatsoever on what I was signing.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning of my torture via financial planning. My second error of judgment was agreeing to meet my insurance agent that day. You know, get all my meetings out of the way at once. Yet what I thought was going to be a brief look at my coverages turned into two hours of being sold more things I didn't understand. I had hoped to finish the meeting and have about an hour before my next meeting to eat lunch. Instead, I ended up being walking in late and being challenged to find a seat for the next three and a half hours of my life - diversity training.

This I was not looking forward to.

Don't get me wrong - I think diversity is a great thing and I am all for teachers and staff being more sensitive to other staff and teachers. But I usually leave meetings like this crushed under the burden of guilt for what I have done and what I have left undone. Which I suppose is the point, but I've gotten to the place where I've decided life is too short to feel guilty all the time. The "training" went faster than I had thought, which was good and the group presenting did an excellent job outlining the challenges. But after three hours thinking about finances and no lunch as an opening band, I was not a happy camper by the end of the day. And I didn't get to spend nearly enough time getting my room and everything ready. Which meant I had to do it all on Tuesday. I still don't have a firm grasp on just how long it takes to get everything ready for the first day. At least I don't seem to be alone.

Then Wednesday. I was the teacher everyone hates - I gave a writing assignment the first day. 20 sentences on writing - what they thought of it, what they liked, didn't like, etc. It meant for once I didn't spend the first day talking for hours at a time, but it also meant that after day one, I was already behind on my grading.

Day two came- I gave a "pop quiz" over my syllabus to see who had read it. No one got all the answers right. Since I was using it primarily as a means to go over my policies, I gave students full credit if they starred the correct answers for the ones they missed. I still had students who didn't get all the points. This was my fourteen hour day because the powers that be thought we should have Open House the second day of school and it seemed silly to drive all the way home only to turn around and come back. At least I had one parent in each of my classes - that doesn't always happen.

Finally, Friday was the summer reading test (Tuesdays With Morrie). I've decided summer reading is not accomplishing its purpose. We ask them to read to keep their brains from completely atrophying over the summer, but the majority read it the night before the test or not at all, and so I end up with students getting 18/60 on an easy, easy test. My solution? We need year-round school. But I don't see that happening for at least another decade, so a trip to the drawing board is in order methinks.

There's lots of other stuff that happened - Rob Lewin's birthday party, fighting with Old Navy and losing miserably, a spirited talk during house church about the body of Christ, catching up with old friends to name a few - but I've used up all my writing energy for the evening. Here's hoping once school finds it's groove that I'll be able to be a bit more consistent. Night! Æ

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