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
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
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
Now playing: Okkervil River - Calling And Not Calling My Ex
via FoxyTunes
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
Now playing: Okkervil River - Calling And Not Calling My Ex
via FoxyTunes
Thursday, October 30, 2008
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.
Now playing: Two Cow Garage - Not Your Friends
via FoxyTunes
"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
Now playing: Two Cow Garage - Not Your Friends
via FoxyTunes
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
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
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
Saturday, October 18, 2008
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
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
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
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
Friday, October 03, 2008
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
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
Saturday, September 27, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
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
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
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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
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
Monday, September 15, 2008
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
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
Sunday, September 14, 2008
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
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
Saturday, September 13, 2008
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
----------------
Now playing: Son Volt - Caryatid Easy
via FoxyTunes
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
----------------
Now playing: Son Volt - Caryatid Easy
via FoxyTunes
Thursday, September 11, 2008
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
----------------
Now playing: iDEoLA - Hold Back Your Tears
via FoxyTunes
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
----------------
Now playing: iDEoLA - Hold Back Your Tears
via FoxyTunes
Thursday, September 04, 2008
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.
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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Now playing: Two Cow Garage - Come Back to Shelby
via FoxyTunes
Monday, September 01, 2008
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:
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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Now playing: R.E.M. - Radio Free Europe
via FoxyTunes
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:
- Just because you could doesn't mean you can; and just because you couldn't doesn't mean you can't.
- Sometimes life turns out far better than you could have hoped, even if it's quite painful at times.
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
----------------
Now playing: R.E.M. - Radio Free Europe
via FoxyTunes
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
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
----------------
Now playing: Two Cow Garage - All Sins Forgiven
via FoxyTunes
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
----------------
Now playing: Two Cow Garage - All Sins Forgiven
via FoxyTunes
Saturday, August 23, 2008
last days of summer
And I'm wasting it! Why am I here, typing away on a computer when I should be out enjoying the weekend and the break from the mounting work load of school? Why aren't I sucking the marrow out of life? Carpe Diem!
Oh right. Because it's 90+ degrees with 780% humidity out and the second I step outside of my climate-controlled house I will turn into a disgusting, sweaty mess. This does not appeal to me.
I do need to make a library run - Never Let Me Go is nearly past due and my copy of Lamb : the gospel according to Biff, Christ's childhood pal is waiting to take me on a near-blasphemous trip through Christopher Moore's mind. I can't wait. Here's hoping I don't sweat all over the books, warping them and spoiling the reading experience for some future borrower. Maybe I'll walk really, really slow.
Catch up time. The end of summer was marked by several wonderful events, which for the sake of time will only get a cursory mention instead of the in depth treatment they deserve. Again, blame it on school. The King's X/Extreme show rocked. Couldn't have asked for better weather or better friends to share it with. KX put on a great set, a mix of old and new that if there is any justice in the world won them a few more new fans. Doug was in excellent voice and Ty and Jerry played well. They were missing a touch of showmanship, but oh the sound. Definitely helped being only a handful of rows from the front (thanks Brandon!). I'd never seen Extreme before and they put on an excellent show as well. Gary Cherone is an entertaining showman, though he teetered on the line of self-parody at times (and bore an odd resemblance to Ben Stiller with his hair short). Nuno still has fingers stolen from the devil himself and his playing was stellar. I got some pics, but haven't found a place to post them yet. Maybe I'll do that this afternoon while I'm pretending to be agoraphobic.
I got to make a quick trip up to Canton/Stow/Kent the next day. Met Jenna and Courtney at Jen's house and we lounged around the pool for the afternoon and shared tales of the school year past and anticipation for the one upcoming. Adorable rugrats kept us entertained, which is probably how most of our get togethers will go for the next few years. I also was interviewed for someone's doctoral thesis - she's studying second career teachers and how education programs may better serve them. Interesting to revisit the transition again, do a little evaluation of my experience, see how much cross over there actually is between what I do and what I used to do.
I also got to see Candice one last time before our respective worlds blew up with the start of school. We met at Barnes & Noble and shared our vacation stories and then met Aimee at The Chang for dinner. Always good to catch up, especially since I walked away feeling encouraged as usual. Everyone should have friends like that. I hope you do.
Last weekend (geesh, was it only a week ago) was the Garey family reunion up in Columbiana. Dad is still on bedrest, so I drove up early Saturday morning to drive my mom (and her carfull of items for the auction) up to my cousin Elaine's house. Made for a long day - eleven plus hours of driving once I finally got home around 1:30 AM. But worth it. My Aunt Mary (my grandma's sister) was there and shared the history of the family, which was great. I'm hoping to procure a copy so I can keep it somewhere. So much I've never realized. Was great seeing all the cousins and their spouses and kids. Strange to think I'm the same age my parents were when I remember going to reunions. There was talk about passing on the responsibility to "the next generation" and I realized they were talking about us. Wait, I'm not old enough for that yet, right? Right?
Good to spend some quality time with mom, too. Wasn't sure how it would go, but we had a good time on the drive - I even got her to watch Juno on my iPod. We had hoped Jen would join us, but the night before the reunion her next door neighbor pounded on her door at 12:30 AM, accused her of sideswiping her car and then punched her in the face (?!). I am not making this up. She ended up with a black eye and was in court this past Tuesday for it. Only my sister.
Last Sunday I met with the pastoral council of VC to talk about ordination. Not mine specifically, per se, but the idea of ordination and how it fits in this community. Traditionally ordination has been saved for those earning their livelihood by working in the church. However, since VC doesn't pay its leaders, that criteria doesn't really work. Ordination has also been the mark of those ordained by the church to administer the sacraments. But with our house church set up, those are not reserved only for the ordained. So the question has become, "What does ordination mean in this context?" with a side order of "Should we even be ordaining people?" I gave a brief account of my journey and talked about my own feelings and then we discussed some of the issues facing us as a community. Was good to be part of the discussion and though nothing was settled, it's comforting to see us wrestling with this and not rushing in willy-nilly so to speak. More conversation lies ahead and I'm looking forward to seeing what we decide.
Which brings us up to the beginning of the school year, which I believe I will save for a separate post since this one is already on the lengthy side and there are events from this past week I am still trying to sort through. Nothing too terribly serious, just my entire financial future. Even typing that much makes my head throb.
Off to face the heat. If you're walking in Norwood and see a book floating in a hairy puddle of sweat, you'll know my worst fears came true and I have indeed melted away. Be careful where you walk - would hate to ruin your shoes... Æ
----------------
Now playing: King's X - Goldilox
via FoxyTunes
Oh right. Because it's 90+ degrees with 780% humidity out and the second I step outside of my climate-controlled house I will turn into a disgusting, sweaty mess. This does not appeal to me.
I do need to make a library run - Never Let Me Go is nearly past due and my copy of Lamb : the gospel according to Biff, Christ's childhood pal is waiting to take me on a near-blasphemous trip through Christopher Moore's mind. I can't wait. Here's hoping I don't sweat all over the books, warping them and spoiling the reading experience for some future borrower. Maybe I'll walk really, really slow.
Catch up time. The end of summer was marked by several wonderful events, which for the sake of time will only get a cursory mention instead of the in depth treatment they deserve. Again, blame it on school. The King's X/Extreme show rocked. Couldn't have asked for better weather or better friends to share it with. KX put on a great set, a mix of old and new that if there is any justice in the world won them a few more new fans. Doug was in excellent voice and Ty and Jerry played well. They were missing a touch of showmanship, but oh the sound. Definitely helped being only a handful of rows from the front (thanks Brandon!). I'd never seen Extreme before and they put on an excellent show as well. Gary Cherone is an entertaining showman, though he teetered on the line of self-parody at times (and bore an odd resemblance to Ben Stiller with his hair short). Nuno still has fingers stolen from the devil himself and his playing was stellar. I got some pics, but haven't found a place to post them yet. Maybe I'll do that this afternoon while I'm pretending to be agoraphobic.
I got to make a quick trip up to Canton/Stow/Kent the next day. Met Jenna and Courtney at Jen's house and we lounged around the pool for the afternoon and shared tales of the school year past and anticipation for the one upcoming. Adorable rugrats kept us entertained, which is probably how most of our get togethers will go for the next few years. I also was interviewed for someone's doctoral thesis - she's studying second career teachers and how education programs may better serve them. Interesting to revisit the transition again, do a little evaluation of my experience, see how much cross over there actually is between what I do and what I used to do.
I also got to see Candice one last time before our respective worlds blew up with the start of school. We met at Barnes & Noble and shared our vacation stories and then met Aimee at The Chang for dinner. Always good to catch up, especially since I walked away feeling encouraged as usual. Everyone should have friends like that. I hope you do.
Last weekend (geesh, was it only a week ago) was the Garey family reunion up in Columbiana. Dad is still on bedrest, so I drove up early Saturday morning to drive my mom (and her carfull of items for the auction) up to my cousin Elaine's house. Made for a long day - eleven plus hours of driving once I finally got home around 1:30 AM. But worth it. My Aunt Mary (my grandma's sister) was there and shared the history of the family, which was great. I'm hoping to procure a copy so I can keep it somewhere. So much I've never realized. Was great seeing all the cousins and their spouses and kids. Strange to think I'm the same age my parents were when I remember going to reunions. There was talk about passing on the responsibility to "the next generation" and I realized they were talking about us. Wait, I'm not old enough for that yet, right? Right?
Good to spend some quality time with mom, too. Wasn't sure how it would go, but we had a good time on the drive - I even got her to watch Juno on my iPod. We had hoped Jen would join us, but the night before the reunion her next door neighbor pounded on her door at 12:30 AM, accused her of sideswiping her car and then punched her in the face (?!). I am not making this up. She ended up with a black eye and was in court this past Tuesday for it. Only my sister.
Last Sunday I met with the pastoral council of VC to talk about ordination. Not mine specifically, per se, but the idea of ordination and how it fits in this community. Traditionally ordination has been saved for those earning their livelihood by working in the church. However, since VC doesn't pay its leaders, that criteria doesn't really work. Ordination has also been the mark of those ordained by the church to administer the sacraments. But with our house church set up, those are not reserved only for the ordained. So the question has become, "What does ordination mean in this context?" with a side order of "Should we even be ordaining people?" I gave a brief account of my journey and talked about my own feelings and then we discussed some of the issues facing us as a community. Was good to be part of the discussion and though nothing was settled, it's comforting to see us wrestling with this and not rushing in willy-nilly so to speak. More conversation lies ahead and I'm looking forward to seeing what we decide.
Which brings us up to the beginning of the school year, which I believe I will save for a separate post since this one is already on the lengthy side and there are events from this past week I am still trying to sort through. Nothing too terribly serious, just my entire financial future. Even typing that much makes my head throb.
Off to face the heat. If you're walking in Norwood and see a book floating in a hairy puddle of sweat, you'll know my worst fears came true and I have indeed melted away. Be careful where you walk - would hate to ruin your shoes... Æ
----------------
Now playing: King's X - Goldilox
via FoxyTunes
Friday, August 22, 2008
friday afternoon crash
Year six has begun. Three down, one hundred seventy-seven to go. One of the aspects of teaching I always seem to forget is just how exhausted I am come 3:00 Friday afternoon. I got home today and crashed. Hard. No movement from the comfy chair. Woke up around 5:15 completely disoriented. Of course, that means I'll most likely be up 'til the wee small hours of the morning tonight, which is why I've agreed to go see The Dark Knight again. Might as well do something if I can't sleep. Plus I've been meaning to see it a second time, see what I think experiencing it again.
Will try to do a longer post later about the end of summer/beginning of the year, but for now I need to catch up with some Facebook peeps. Just wanted to make sure people who actually come here didn't think I'd completely abandoned them. Blame it on the school year. I know I do.
Æ
----------------
Now playing: Violent Femmes - Black Girls
via FoxyTunes
Will try to do a longer post later about the end of summer/beginning of the year, but for now I need to catch up with some Facebook peeps. Just wanted to make sure people who actually come here didn't think I'd completely abandoned them. Blame it on the school year. I know I do.
Æ
----------------
Now playing: Violent Femmes - Black Girls
via FoxyTunes
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