it's 1:30 AM

and I'm going to bed. Sorry. Not taking the time tonight to do a post. Will pick it up tomorrow when I'm more awake. But I survived the last day of the trimester, am done with grading (except for a handful of IEP exams that didn't get to me yet), performed in Beyond Therapy's penultimate show, picked up some wicked cool Pomegranates vinyl and watched a bittersweet concert. But bed is calling and I'm going to try to heed her call and hope she welcomes me with open arms (but not in a Steve Perry/Journey kind of way).

Night.

Æ

the day after

Don't worry. I won't torture you any more with long, third-person accounts. Not today anyway. I will give this brief epilogue to last night's...whatever it was. Warning: not for the weak of stomach.

Exhausted from battling with his demons, Thurman went to bed before 10:00, a rare event indeed. It didn't last long, however. Just before midnight, his stomach gently tugged on his consciousness like a small child needing to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He made his way to the medicine cabinet and popped a handful of antacid before trying to settle down and go back to sleep. After about an hour, he decided the antacid wasn't helping, so he got back up to head downstairs to get a little 7-Up to hopefully settle his stomach. But as he stood up, he coughed, which caused whatever was upsetting his stomach to come flying out of his mouth, all over his hand, his hardwood floor and the dirty clothes lying there. He spent the next half an hour cleaning up the mess and throwing the clothes into the washing machine. By this time, his adrenaline refused to allow him to fall back asleep, so he finished Pride and Prejudice and Zombies before finally drifting off to sleep around 2:30AM.

Contrary to what I wrote yesterday, that was the perfect ending to the perfect day.

Today was better - I at least was able to keep the thoughts at bay, which was somewhat remarkable given my lack of sleep. Probably helped that I felt like I was underwater most of the day - everything seemed distant and swirling. Thanks to those who sent along words of encouragement - they are always appreciated, though please don't get the idea I was fishing for such. I really do write to make sense of my life, not as a passive-aggressive way of getting compliments. At least, I don't think I do. Who knows what my unconscious is doing?

Anyway...exams are half over. Two more tomorrow, during which I hope to grade the essays from today's exams. If all goes well, I should have all the grades done before I leave tomorrow afternoon. I might even have them done before lunch. I am not used to this. I feel like I'm doing something wrong, that I'm forgetting something if I'm this far ahead. Maybe if I ignore it, it won't all come crashing down on top of my head. I'm even mostly ready for the beginning of the trimester next week. I better stop talking now before I jinx it.

Met with Greg and Nathan again today for lunch at the Chinese buffet (probably not the wisest of choices given my recent stomach issues, but other than feeling too queasy to eat dinner, I'm doing OK). We talked about movies and the upcoming Oscars. I even filled out a ballot, though I went with what I wanted to win, not what I thought would win. So what did I put? Here are the highlights:

Best Picture - Inglourious Basterds

Best Director - Quentin Tarantino

Best Actor - Jeff Bridges

Best Actress - Meryl Streep

Best Original Screenplay - Inglourious Basterds

Best Adapted Screenplay - Up in the Air (though I almost put In the Loop)

I get the feeling I'm going to be very, very disappointed on Sunday night.

Which reminds me, I need to make sure I tape the Independent Spirit Awards this weekend. Much better options.

Tomorrow night begins the final weekend of Beyond Therapy. It is also the Pomegranates vinyl release party at Southgate. Hopefully it doesn't sell out before I get there this time. Don't think there's much of a chance for that since it's in the ballroom, but it's been that kind of week.

Time to go watch The Office birth.

Æ

one of those days

DISCLAIMER: The following is the author's attempt to make sense of the day he has had. It is not to be taken too seriously, or too lightly for that matter. But the day perplexes, and writing, hopefully, will help to sort out the tangles. Hopefully. Also, please note: it is officially Talk in Third Person Day (3/3).

Thurman awoke to the jarring sound of his cell phone's death rattle shaking him from somewhere this side of actual rest. Unlike previous mornings, when he had horribly abused his snooze button, Thurman jumped immediately from bed. He knew he had promises to keep and miles to go before...well, you know.

Prep and travel to school was uneventful, if a bit out of the ordinary - a quick stop at Speedway for some caffeine, then on to Kroger to reward a class for a competition won months ago, finally stopping at the dreaded Arches for a sandwich and a yogurt parfait. Thurman still pulled into the parking lot before 6AM and was busy grading journals and furiously late homework assignments as students entered the building. He felt accomplished, knowing his day required little more than asking for final questions and hitting play for the Mockingbird DVD.

On days like this, it's hard to pinpoint the exact moment when it all starts to spiral out of control. Perhaps when his class refused to shut the fuck up while the movie was playing. Perhaps while watching Tom Robinson wrongfully declared guilty for the nine-hundred and ninety-ninth time. Perhaps while grading reflections lacking any kind of depth or intellectual rigor. Or perhaps it was the cumulation of a thousand little things, each stealing a little bit of his soul away.

By lunch time, the darkness had taken hold. Thurman's humor took on an edge - a short jab here, a snide remark there. Luckily he was done with students for the day and the only person who might have noticed was his partner in lunch-time crime, Andy. Did he sense the change? Could he tell his friend was preparing to step off into the abyss? Could anyone?

Thurman returned to his room after lunch, photocopied his final and dove head first into the pile of journals still waiting for his red pen of doom. No joy filled his heart as he read his student's words and made comments on their thoughts. Only a desire to be done with it all and go home. But no, that wasn't going to happen any time soon. First he had to go discuss the dreaded summer reading assignment with his fellow sophomore cogs in the wheel. Thurman hated summer reading, thought it a waste of time for everyone involved. The email pointing out its benefits and its importance only increased his hatred for it. And then, after beating his head against that wall, he had to stay so a student could take her exam early because of a soccer tournament in Tennessee.

A thousand little things.

He didn't hear the final bell ring, only saw the hallways flood with students and knew it was time to go. He finished the last of bell two's journals, printed off the hated email and made his way to his friend Kurt's room. He talked with Kurt about the open department head position, saying he would vote for him in a second, especially if it meant keeping other people out. He even joked that honestly, anyone who wants to be the department head should be automatically disqualified, following Douglas Adams's logic on those seeking power.* It was then that Kurt mentioned he'd already talked to Jenny about applying to be department head.

Another bit of soul.

Luckily Thurman's embarrassment didn't last long as the rest of his comrades came in. They allayed his fears that they would have to revamp their entire assignment to fit within the confines of the email, so they moved on to other issues, namely how lit circles had gone this trimester. He expressed his frustrations with using the Wikispace and with the activities in general and told of his plans to revamp what he'd done to make it more student and teacher friendly. Then he heard how the unit had gone in other classes. Amazing. The students loved it. The work they turned in was reflective and accomplished. The grading was a snap. One of the best parts of the trimester.

Thurman's head began to buzz. Conversation continued, but he checked out, not wanting to be reminded of his incompetency, his lack of proper planning skills, his worthlessness as a teacher. Everyone was laughing, discussing classes and students, but he sat there hiding behind a benign smile, wanting to leave but afraid to miss something important. Eventually the clock helped move him from his indecisiveness: his student was waiting to take her exam. He excused himself, found said student and walked with her back to his room. While she bubbled and scribbled on the scantron, Thurman tried to shake the all-too-familiar feeling bubbling up inside him.

On days like this, logic goes out for a drive and it never comes back. No amount of mental gymnastics will stop the barrage of negative thoughts. You're the worst teacher ever to collect a paycheck. Your students would be better off with a trained monkey passing out worksheets. You are emotionally incapable of being in any kind of relationship, not that anyone would want to be in a relationship with someone so physically unattractive. You have 40 more years left on a life filled with loneliness and destined for worthlessness (25 years if you're lucky). You could disappear from the face of the earth and no one would even notice...or care.

On days like this, thinking positive thoughts is impossible. Most days you can ignore the temptation to compare yourself to everyone else around you. Not today. There's always an "er" standing by to crush your soul. There's always someone better, smarter, funnier, cuter, richer, happier, sexier, kinder, friendlier, braver. More successful, more attractive, more confident, more desirable, each thought stepping on the heels of the one before it, stampeding through your brain until all you can think to do is find some way to remove your brain from your head, preferably with a heavy metal object and an explosion.

These were the thoughts torturing Thurman as he drove in silence toward his house. He'd felt this way before and he knew from experience these weren't the kind of thoughts to simply go away. He couldn't fill his head with happy thoughts because, well, he couldn't think of any. He tried to bury his thoughts in escapist television, but only succeeded in making the world seem sadder. Even a trip to his favorite Mexican restaurant couldn't cheer him up. He ended up feeling bloated and even uglier than he had before. To make matters worse, a five-minute sneezing fit assailed him on the drive home, only to be topped when he stopped at Kroger for a sugar fix and stepped in some poor child's pastel-colored vomit in the Easter candy aisle. The perfect ending to the perfect day.

Not wanting to be around people anymore, Thurman made his way home and did the only thing he thought might save him from his scorching case of ennui: he flipped on the computer screen, laid the keyboard in his lap, and typed and typed and typed into the night...Æ

*"It is a well-known fact that those people who must want to rule people are, ipso facto, those least suited to do it... anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job."

obsessions

10:08 PM and I most desperately want to be doing something else, but know I need to do this first. So we'll throw some words against the screen, see which ones stick, and then go do what I want to do. It will make it that much sweeter, right? I hope so.

For the uninitiated: I have a bit of a thing for Lauren Graham. I think I've gone as far as to call her my future wife, though since that sounds a bit on the stalkerish side, I've taken to referring to her as my Alternate Universe Wife ('cause, you know, that's far less creepy). When people ask me what I'm looking for in a woman, hers is the first picture that comes to mind. Of course, I've never actually met her (though I tried my darndest to last spring break) and from the hearsay of friends, I hear she's not nearly as interesting in real life as she is on the screen. But hey, it's my obsession (I prefer the word fascination) and I get to make up the rules. Honestly, I'm more interested in Lorelei Gilmore than Lauren Graham, but that could change I suppose. We'll see what Parenthood is like tonight. I know I'm dooming it to an early death by watching it, but I'm willing to take my chances. Here's hoping it works out.

What is it about her that I like? Physically, she has the characteristics I like - not waiflike, dark hair, eyes to get lost in. But it's more the intelligence she projects. Now that may simply be her character(s), but the ability to drop pop culture references and connect every day events to obscure facts is a turn on. Blame the geek in me. You know that Friends episode where they make up their "freebie" list? Yeah, she'd be at the top for me.

OK, before we permanently move into the creeper zone...

Finished the basic recording for our demo tonight at band rehearsal. We laid down Bon Jovi's "Dead or Alive." Ironically, it's Jon Bon Jovi's birthday today. Appropriate, no? Thus ends my first recording experience. I have to say, not nearly as much fun as I thought it might be. Lots of sitting around while others record their parts. And playing along with headphones isn't nearly as much fun as practicing with the band. But it's a necessity if we want to play anywhere outside of John's basement. Be glad to get back to normal rehearsals next week and begin putting together a set. Been trying to think of songs we could play but there's a big difference between songs I want to play and songs our audiences would enjoy. I think you can find a balance, but if we want to play out, we need to think of audience first, our own tastes second. Feel free to offer suggestions if you have any.

Last teaching day tomorrow - not that I'm doing much teaching. We're watching To Kill a Mockingbird, looking for differences between it and the book. Also serves as a bit of a review for the book while giving me a chance to make sure I have all their grading done, though I rarely get as much done as I'd hoped. Too many distractions during the school day. I'm always a bit frustrated because I figure this would be something they would enjoy. But they tend to get distracted during the film. Guess I overestimate the attention spans of high schoolers. You'd think I'd get this by now.

Dangit - just remembered I'm supposed to bring in some snack/reward for one of my classes tomorrow. Was going to stop on the way home but, well, I forgot. Could run out now, but will probably wait until tomorrow morning on the way to school. No snooze for me tomorrow.

Walter Bruggemann is doing a special Lenten series at Redeemer on Wednesday nights during Lent (duh). Debating on whether I want to go over and listen or not. His book The Prophetic Imagination was significant during my seminary days. I guess he lives here in Cincinnati somewhere which for whatever reason seems odd to me. Of course, tomorrow might be my only chance to go depending on what the rehearsal schedule for The Wedding Singer is like. Will find that out on Sunday. Will probably keep the 'stache through the meet and greet, see if it's something that will fit in the show. Will not be keeping it until May, however; I know if I get creeped out looking at myself in the mirror, it must be worse for others. Excited to get started, though it will steal lots of my time here soon.

Wow. That's a horribly constructed paragraph. And how does one move from Walter Bruggemann to The Wedding Singer? It's a gift. Or a curse. Take your pick.

Five minutes before I can go watch Lauren again. *sigh*

I watched Oprah today. I'm not proud of the fact, but Roger Ebert was on and after reading the Esquire piece, I was curious to see what he had to "say." The voice technology using his actual voice was fascinating. I cannot imagine going through what he's going through, much less having such a positive outlook on life. Though I have to say, I hope his Oscar predictions don't come true. Sandra Bullock, best actress? The Hurt Locker best picture? I really think I'm going to hate the Oscars this year, no matter who wins. Not that this is anything new. I so rarely agree with the Academy any more. I'm not even excited about the screen writing awards this year, which is normally where I find my favorite films.

OK, time to turn on my DVR and watch Parenthood and hope it turns out well (and no, it didn't take me five minutes to write the above paragraph. I had a whole other paragraph started and then decided I wanted to talk about Ebert). Æ

the lull

Monday night. No rehearsal. And, oddly enough, considering exams are only three days away, no grading. Finished everything they'd turned in today. Will have to start grading their journals tomorrow, but for now, I'm all caught up. Must say, quite a pleasant feeling.

Went on an adventure tonight for dinner. For months friends have been raving about Terry's Turf Club, known for their burgers. I was feeling like a burger, and nothing else was pressing, so I did a quick Google search, got directions and headed down. After missing the initial exit (why must I always get lost on Linwood Avenue?), I made my way. Nice eclectic outside - good match for what was inside. I sat at the bar since I was alone and the bartender was friendly and helpful. I looked at the (very) simple menu and decided to keep it simple with my order - a burger with American cheese, lettuce, tomato and grilled onions, a half order of fries and a Sprite. The verdict: definitely has potential, but I think I might have to change my order next time. I forgot to tell them (they forgot to ask) how I wanted it cooked and so I got what appeared to be a medium rare to really rare burger. Much of it looked barely cooked. Also, I'll forgo the onions next time. The taste was great, but the burger wouldn't stay on the bun. First bite sent it flying out the back. Not good. Plus the onions made it a messy, messy, messy meal. Killed at least one tree's worth of napkins. And $11.50 seemed a bit steep for what I got (especially the $2 for a can of Sprite). I'm not willing to declare it a total loss - will try at least once more. Kind of like Five Guys - I think I was overdone by the hype.

Been pondering Saturday's ArtWalk some more. We talked at lunch how our image of the 70s is "ugly." Hard to get away from that image looking at the photos. Some of it is the color processing of the time - the colors seem a little off. But definitely of the period. But even the subject matter chosen painted a picture of a time that seemed to have little beauty. Maybe that's my own biases coming in to play. I mean, how could an entire decade be ugly. But honestly, even looking at what these artist chose as beautiful, I couldn't help but thinking how...well, ugly everything was. I really can't make sense of it. Is it the fashion of the time? The design? What is it about that decade that will always look a little dull and yellowed?

And again I'm lost on the surface of things, judging based on the superficial, not on what lies underneath. But isn't that what makes good photography so compelling - it's ability to capture something beyond just its subject matter? That's what draws me to a good photo - that what is found within the frame is much more than the sum of its composition and subject matter. Sometimes I feel guilty for liking photography so much. I mean, photos are everywhere in our world. Heck, I take them myself. But it's the ones I know I could never do myself that I find most impressive. I think that's the crux of my art appreciation - it needs to look like something I couldn't do. Which is probably why I'm not drawn so much to modern art - I feel like I could do what they've done. But with some photographers, I realize that though we use similar tools, there is an art to what they do that I will never be able to match. So maybe I should embrace my love of photography and finally put my pieces up on my wall.

Whoa Thurm. Don't want to get too crazy.

Crap, just remembered I was in the middle of doing laundry. Completely zoned. For some reason, my whites always get the short end of the stick. I usually do them last and by the time they're ready to come out of the dryer, I've already used up all my laundry energy, so they sit there. Then they end up wrinkled, so I have to take a wet towel and throw it into the dryer and redry them. Hopefully they're done and the clothes I washed aren't all wrinkled, or I'll have to start all over. I know. Stupid. It's amazing I've survived on my own this long.

Still haven't hit my Lenten groove yet. The silence in the morning and afternoon are good, but I find it difficult to focus. I'm hoping once next week begins and I have 1st bell plan, then it might be a bit of a richer experience. Hope springs eternal.

Currently listening to The Stone Roses. Their self-titled first album is one of my "perfect" records. Picked up their album of B-sides off eMusic this month. Great stuff. So sad they crashed and burned so brightly with their second album. Not sure how the wheels could come off so quickly, but it's not an unusual story. So much potential unrealized. And crappy bands put out album after album. Sad.

Funny: last night I went out to The Comet with my friend Colin to catch the Comet Bluegrass Allstars. Great, great show. I tweeted "If my high school self knew I spent my Sunday night listening to bluegrass, he'd probably fling himself off something tall." I realized last night that bluegrass is the opposite of American Idol. The focus is on the music and the talent, not the show. They play their own instruments. They sing without the help of studio tricks. It's everything music should be and in this day and age so rarely is. My tastes have broadened quite a bit since those heady high school days, but one thing has remained true - I've always been drawn to artists with passion, who cared more about the music than about the scene or making a ton of money. Not that some of them haven't been popular or made money (U2 anyone?), but it's not what keeps them going.

OK, enough for tonight. Must go get the laundry before I have to dry my whites a 3rd time.

Æ

2nd Intermission

In the middle of watching the USA vs Canada gold medal hockey game. USA is losing 2-1. They haven't trailed the entire Olympics until I decided to watch. Coincidence? I think not.

Been a relaxing day. Spent the morning at Redeemer. Decided to go old school instead of taking in the more contemporary service. Stepped into the other service, but felt like I was in the halls at Mason High, so figured I should go hang out with the adults. The sermon was on Jesus's lament over Jerusalem and how little we as a church and particularly a society don't lament. We cut the laments from our liturgy. We mask our funerals as celebrations of the life. But we need to no that lamenting is part of life. Two related quotes stood out to me. First, we cannot begin again until we weep first (or something like that - I didn't take notes). Too often we try to move on without taking time to experience the loss. The last quote ended the sermon: lamenting isn't a death rattle; it's a birth cry. How would our lives change if we took the time to lament - to feel sadness over the loss of life in an earthquake, the ending of relationships, the opportunities missed. Not to dwell on them and get lost in the sadness we feel (which is what I'm too often guilty of doing) but so our hearts don't become hardened to the suffering around us.

Lunch was spent at City Barbeque enjoying some brisket (and chocolate cake) and grading reading reflections. Hard to believe the trimester ends on Friday. I've got my exam set (which I need to remember to send off to my support educators tomorrow), but still have lots of grading to get through, namely the journals they've been keeping all trimester. Wish I was disciplined enough to grade more than once during the trimester but I haven't done that. Time consuming more than anything else. Not sure if the students have understood Mockingbird or not - actually had one student say his favorite thing about the chapters was when Tom Robinson was found not guilty. Oy to the vey!

Game has restarted, but I still have about 15 minutes left of typing. But I figured I'd better get this done now since I might not feel like it tonight. Am heading to The Comet for the first time in a long time - no Thinplace, so I'm meeting Colin for some burritos and bluegrass. Haven't seen Colin since the past summer - looking forward to catching up, seeing how his time at the friary is going. Hopefully we'll actually have the time to talk - and it isn't too crowded, though I'm guessing that's wishful thinking on my part. Probably won't stay the whole time - I do have to be up early in the morning - but wanted the freedom to stay if I need to.

Last night I actually was home in time to type some more, but decided to watch A Serious Man instead. Tried to get into the Pop Empire gig, but it was sold out. Never had that happen before. Too bad I didn't know that before I walked all the way down. Wishing the movie was better. I like the Cohen Brothers, but couldn't get into this one. Like with many of the Oscar pics this year, I can appreciate the performances, but the movies as a whole have been underwhelming. Can 't say I really have one I'm rooting for. Of the ones with the best chance to win, I'm pulling for Inglorius Basterds. Get the feeling I'll be disappointed no matter what happens. Like I said, none of them seem worthy. I've listened to the arguments for The Hurt Locker, but I still don't get all the hype. Obviously I missed something. And don't get me started on Avatar. An enjoyable film? Yes. Best picture? No way.

OK, the game is getting too intense to try and type at the same time. Here's hoping Team USA is able to overcome my curse. If not, my apologies Team USA. Æ