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I wonder if the true measure of good music for us, personally, is that which describes or accompanies particularly well whatever we’re experiencing at a given period of our life, even more than the actual artistic merits of the music… I guess that’s a given. Granted, there is some music that is just good music, but even that, which could be appreciated on its own terms, gains more depth as we go through experiences which mirror a particular song’s emotional core… And we relive the songs years later, breathing color back into our sometimes faded memories.

Listening to the first few songs of The Joshua Tree on the stereo… It’s amazing. The soundscape is just larger than life, to the point where I don’t realize anymore that I’m listening to U2, or even a band, just…the music, the organ, Edge’s quickly picked guitar and Bono’s voice swirling around each other into the distance, and leveling out like a horizon in my mind just before the sounds trail off.

Made chicken fajitas earlier–they came out quite well, albeit spicy, between the sauce I used and the salsa on the tortilla shell when everything was assembled… I had two and a half–there was just enough meat. If John hadn’t drunk all the milk I wouldn’t have noticed the spiciness as much. But that’s what late night shopping trips to HT are for. Thank goodness for stores that are open 24/7.

I had to come home over lunch today since my car, which I changed the oil in yesterday, was hemorrhaging all over the pavement, leaving little oily offerings/marking its territory wherever we went. I had forgot to put the oil drain plug gasket on after it had fallen off, and really didn’t feel like draining all the oil back out again last night just to replace the gasket. Mistake. At least I still had the gasket, which I found as we were pouring the old oil back into the bottles yesterday. It would have been easier if I my car wasn’t lowered since last weekend–the floor jack barely fits underneath the side sill. Draining hot oil from the pan in the middle of the day in my work clothes wasn’t fun, though. Made me feel a bit medieval (“Pour the hot oil from the ramparts!”), but my clothes came through unsoiled thanks to the magic of the Sunday newspaper spread on on the ground. Yeah, we’re good.

I just wanted a quiet evening last night… Rented The Grifters since I was in a John Cusack mood (not to mention the fact that I hadn’t seen the movie before). But practically the whole youth group leadership team shows up within a few minutes of my arriving home. Not that I don’t enjoy having people over at the apartment, but, well, it was Sunday night. We played cards and talked; I had a good time, but immediately after they left, I announced, perhaps a bit too forcefully, “I am now going to lie on the floor in front of stereo and listen to Jeff Buckley turned up loud without any interruptions,” to which Donald and John responded, in so many words, “O-kay…” But it was nice to have my few minutes.

side note: Nobody seems to like that cd (Jeff Buckley’s Grace, purchased last Friday). I think it’s absolutely brilliant, but whenever I put it on, I invariably get that question, “What are we listening to?” with the tone of, “Can we put on something else?” It’s weird.

Oat bran pitas don’t toast quite as well as whole wheat or plain pitas for some reason. They don’t maintain their pliability as they toast, something which is essential for easy spreading afterwards, but instead they become hard and crispy, which also makes eating them in the car on the way to work all the more challenging. Oat bran pitas do, on the other hand, retain heat well when microwaved in preparation for a pita-bread-and-hummus-snack, which is desirable, so it’s conflicting. Ah well. I think the other thing I’ve established is there’s no such thing as a perfect pita.

I love the smell of a new cd. Newly pressed, fresh ink, the flawless underside of the disc and its sharp click as it pops out of the case for the first time since the factory. I love the minted treasure of the cd liner and the whole-wheat texture of the paper… This is going to be bad for my finances, I can tell.

allmusic.com + Barnes & Noble (where you can listen to the cd before you buy it) + newfound financial solvency = tricky situation.

I have five senses
I need thousands more
at least

Back in the office after a phenomenal most-of-week up in Murfreesboro (near Roanoke Rapids) helping out with our church’s annual youth retreat (if you could call it a retreat–it certainly isn’t one in the “relaxing” sense). It went incredibly well… Amazing if you consider that it was held on a small college campus with no fences or other restraints to keep the kids from wandering off, and also the fact that Isaac and I were in charge of a group of eight 7-8 grade boys, which is always challenging, and it was, especially getting them up in the mornings for breakfast and the morning meeting (“C’mon Andrew; sit up; I need to see you vertical, buddy.”) But all the challenges were worth it many, many times over. God showed up in a big way during the small group meetings before bed, when the guys were so eager to pray for one another that we had to cut it short a couple of times in the wee hours of the morning so Isaac and I could get some sleep. We worshipped for hours at a time… There’s something about seeing 400 kids jumping up and down in unison to the music to the glory of God that just blows you away… …but not as much as the incredible depth of expression and self-knowledge that the guys displayed during the small group times. They opened up; they shared what God was doing in their hearts with a maturity that would have shamed a 40-year-old. People go to therapy for years to discover the insights the guys had about themselves and each other that God was revealing to them in just a few short days. I was totally unprepared for anything like it, and was immeasurably blessed through it.

The week wasn’t without its small hangups, though. One in particular was getting the guys to check in with Isaac and me at the designated times so we could make sure everybody was still around and tracking… I think I finally figured it out on Wednesday night/Thursday morning: Appeal to what motivates them in order to provide positive reinforcement. And, being middle school guys, what motivates them are basically girls and gross bodily functions. I used that knowledge to my advantage, and it worked; everybody showed up at 8 a.m. on the dot after I promised them that I would show them this website, using one of the computers Donald had hooked up in the video room. They thought it was a greatest thing ever.

And…now…I…am…tired. Nap anyone?

Wow… ’80s music overload. Thanks to the wonder of internet radio at work, I’ve now (in addition to being productive), positively identified and downloaded the following:

Crowded House – Don’t Dream It’s Over (the original and still the best)
Falco – Rock Me Amadeus (this song RULES)
Sade – The Sweetest Taboo
The Cure – Just Like Heaven
Level 42 – Something About You
Roxette – Dangerous
Peter Schilling – Major Tom
Erasure – A Little Respect (how had I not heard this one before? It’s awesome)
Thomas Dolby – She Blinded Me With Science
Nu Shooz – I Can’t Wait
A-Ha – Take On Me
Harold Faltermeyer – Axel F (the song that started it all)

Among others… Is there a better way to wait for one’s laundry to finish? Well, yeah, there is, but this is all I’ve got on a lonely Friday night. Dig it.

1. “Stories I Tell” by TTWS has got to have one of the best bridges ever in a song, when the music and Glen Phillips launch into “Do we ever wonder / Do you ever care…” Come to think of it, I like the bridges in a lot of songs, U2’s “…Wild Horses” being another example. Almost enough to start a community (bridgelovers), but not quite. Heh.

2. Made a lunch run to Cosmic on behalf of the office today… I should have gotten reimbursed for having to put up with the Gestapo-ish parking here at UNC. But I’m alive to tell the tale, and my car is intact and unscathed, so it couldn’t have been that bad.

3. Leaving for Murfreesboro on Sunday to help out with the annual youth retreat. I will be co-leading the 7-8 grade boys group. Pray for Isaac and me. On the positive side, I’ll be in the tennis activity group, so that’ll be fun. I think I’m going to buy a ball hopper and lots of balls so I can give mini-lessons and we can play games.

4. It’s always the most conservative designs that the clients want. It’s depressing. Julie was ranting the other day about how we “un-design” for the clients; how we don’t really do anything terribly creative. I think one of my goals will be to slip something a little avant-garde through the defences of conservativeness here at the university. Yeah. Either that or I’ll go stir crazy from repressed creativity and go on an avant-garde graffiti rampage throughout campus one night in protest of it all. Which would actually be really fun.

Green light, Seven Eleven
You stop in for a pack of cigarettes
You don’t smoke, don’t even want to
Hey now, check your change

Slow night. I’m a bit overwhelmed by little things, but I’m downing them one at a time (this entry really isn’t one of them, but I needed a break). It’s raining quite hard now. I wish the laundry building was closer so I could sprint over there with a load without getting soaked. I really need to do a load of laundry, and I think we all know what that means in terms of what I have that’s clean versus what’s not.

Made hummus earlier. Didn’t come out too well in the blender (a food processor works much better), and it’s a tad on the salty side, but it’s still good, and way more economical than buying those little plastic bowls at Harris Teeter. It’ll be better after I leave it in the fridge for a little bit.

Going to clean the room, take care of some finances, then watch Persuasion. I’m reading the book, so I felt like watching the movie too. Care to join me?

Back from our four-day trip to Boston for my cousin Jessica’s wedding. It’s a long drive, around twelve hours. I went with the rest of my family, seeing as how they’re a short drive down the road and it would save me hotel and gas money. We got there Thursday evening, crashed, woke up Friday, went to an extended family breakfast prepared by my aunt Lucy (my mom’s sister) at her house in Framingham, and whittled away the rest of the day going to the gym next to the hotel (they got free passes for my brothers and me), and watching the NBA game. Friday we visited the science museum in downtown Boston again, then attended a dinner party thrown by the groom’s family, who live in a rather idyllic, Gatsby-esque home in neighboring Hatfield (another suburb of Boston). Sunday afternoon was the wedding in King’s Chapel in downtown Boston, a huge, ornate affair, followed by a reception at an adjacent hotel, Maison Robert. We stayed late, got up early this morning, and drove back, arriving around six.

This weekend, while generally pleasant, established several things for me:

1. The next time a member of my family (extended or otherwise) decides to participate in one of the major offices of life (getting married, dying, etc), and I’m invited to the ceremony, I need to go on my own terms. I love my family, and our roadtrips always go smoothly and calmly, but there’s something about functioning as my own unit, walking into the party and being my own entity, not an accessory to my family, that is facilitated by making the preparations independently. I just need to.

2. The first realization and the second are connected. I don’t do large groups of unknown people well, but this is in large part my own fault for resigning myself to be an adjunct of my family instead of venturing out to the other tables on my own, something I very well could have done, and don’t know why I didn’t do other than from sheer apathy. Regardless, I don’t know how many times I repeated the phrase, “I graduated from NC State in 2001, and now I’m working for UNC as a graphic designer.” Small talk OD.

3. I really suck at dancing. I’ll get out there, but holy cow… My brother David, on the other hand, can cut a mean rug. Maybe it’s genetic? (meaning: he got the gene; I didn’t)

4. I shouldn’t watch Masterpiece Theater reruns til 2 a.m. Saturday night, especially when I have to be quite alert far into the evening the next day. But you watch it and tell me it isn’t addictive.

5. I don’t want a big, big wedding. Just a small affair, leaving lots of money left over for the honeymoon :o)

6. It was difficult being so near New Hampshire again. Many miles of driving were spent gazing, out of focus, at the landscape spinning by…

Wow, internet radio, um, rules? This is awesome… Talk about an introduction to new and good music–53 electronica streams (stations), 12 ambient streams, and even 13 ’80s pop streams :o) There are no ads. And it announces the title and artist of every song. I have the headphones perched on my head, with my right ear covered and my left open to the office so I don’t completely tune everything out. Been keeping a little list, too, of songs that I like. iTunes is my hero.

The Gazette came out very well, I thought. We should be receiving the June 11 issue today (“my” issue). Looking forward to that.

Leaving for Boston tomorrow for my cousin’s wedding. Should be interesting meeting relatives I haven’t talked to in years. Lots of small talk to wade through, but I’ll survive. Going to a Red Sox game on Saturday, which will undoubtedly be the highlight of the weekend. Besides being happy for my cousin, I’m pretty apathetic about the whole ordeal, as you can probably tell. Roadtrip, yes, but it doesn’t really count since it’s with family. It’ll give me a chance to catch up with my reading. I’ve been letting that slide lately. Yeah, there’s something to look forward to.

You never give me your money
You only give me your funny paper
and in the middle of negotiations
you break down

I never give you my number
I only give you my situation
and in the middle of investigation
I break down

She was an approachable flower, with shoulder-length strands of blond hair and uncommonly beautiful features. She reminded me of someone; she contained fragments of real life, of Kara, of Elizabeth, between whom I think I’ve spoken five words, if that. But that’s what gives them access to the dreams–that position on the perimeter of my consciousness, not having been thought about for weeks, months, on end, only to come cascading back like they had been on the forefront of my mind all along. But it really isn’t about real life. I don’t associate those recognizable bits and pieces of the dream with the people I know here on this side of sleep; the dream will be the dream and is taken in itself.

And after all that posturing, it’s fading quickly now. I was carrying several large duffel bags as we were going on a trip somewhere; I don’t know where, just away, we were going to be by ourselves and it was going to be an adventure; that impression I remember. We weren’t officially together, though. There were unspoken things in the air between us, things that I wanted to say and do–there was no reason I could foresee for our status apart. We were in the airport near a collection of low couches, standing, waiting, talking, and I bent down and kissed her… I remember the quality of the kiss, the movement of it. She was home, and we were departing for adventures together. I didn’t want to wake this morning. Not like I ever do–somedays I do; I’ll take it back–but this morning was particularly acute.

Wow. Long day. I’m wiped out–should be in bed, but that’s something I tell myself every night, so why break the trend now? I’m going for the record, the goal, the gusto, the sauce, the toejam, the autographed pipe organ, the reciprocating carrot, the sheer and utter randomness that alienates me from the rest of humanity and makes them think I’m smoking something when they’re not looking. Well, this entry started off well…

Youth group tonight was just a fun night, a night where we play games with the youth. I originally thought we were going to be relegated to boring inside stuff when it starting raining, as it has been wont to do all weekend, but Paul and I were dead-set on doing something outside regardless of whether it started coming down, and we did. Turns out we had an awesome game of ultimate with most of the guys in the youth group (I think there were about half a dozen to a team); everyone participated, made some good grabs, and played serious D. Then Paul and co. decided to turn the middle of the field in front of the church (which was already pretty far gone) into a giant mud pit by using the hose and having sliding contests. I pitched the frisbee in there so they could do layout contents (kinda like the slam dunk of ultimate), but getting soaked to the skin and up to my waist in mud is where I drew the line. I’ll save picking mud out of my ears three days later for another time.

The guys came over again for their (almost nightly now) game of loser, eating chips, listening to music, and just hanging out. It’s really fun (especially when everyone takes showers after the ultimate game).

The car group caught a matinee of 2 Fast 2 Furious. It was…entertaining. Crappy dialogue, wooden acting, no chemistry, horribly miscast, but somehow it was…alright. It’s a bit mystifying. The cars perhaps?

I haven’t really talked to anyone today. I haven’t really talked to anyone in a long while. Friends gets bits and pieces, but no one gets a complete image, much less an idea of trends and movements of my life. But that’s how it is. Sometimes I wonder that I should be giving as much away as I am, and I downshift into question mode and no one’s the wiser… I don’t really have a best friend at the moment, someone who gets excited about the things I get excited about, who laughs when I do so I don’t stand there and notice that I’m still smiling when the din of amusement subsides… I repsond to attributes from all my friends to satisfy the social needs that I have in the niches of my personality, and when (and even before) they’ve satisfied that want to connect that I have, we move on to other things. That’s not entirely true, but it feels that way tonight. Hmm.

I want cookie dough ice cream. I can’t believe we don’t have anything sweet in this apartment *sigh* To Harris Teeter with me.

What a horrid dream last night… I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say that the dream itself was quite detailed and set a bad precedent as far as my mood this morning. Not fun. Guess that’s what I get for sleeping on the couch… Donald was taking a shower, so I couldn’t get ready for bed until he was done with the bathroom, and I was just dog-tired, so I laid down on the couch and just didn’t get up until this morning. Eck.

Today’s my first day designing the Gazette. I go over there at 2… Wish me luck!

1. The Pearl’s Girl EP by Underworld is an absolutely brilliant slice of music.

2. Moving into a new office tomorrow, one that’s closer to everyone else in the office, so hopefully my social isolation will lessen as I will be able to participate in intra-office discussions by yelling and having people actually hear me.

3. I am the Lord of the Scanner. All who dare oppose me will find the probability of my abdication about as likely as aerodynamic pork.

4. I need to call Jay Marks Toyota and order new door hinge bushings, rear hatch bump stops, and price a new hatch carpet after the number the battery acid did on mine (the carpet fibers literally melted).

5. I don’t know if I’ll ever like beer. Probably not.

6. A computer malfunction on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.

7. I have a feeling my restroom magnetic poetry is underappreciated. Probably because I don’t sign my work.

8. The best veal I’ve ever eaten was at my graduation/farewell party at Café Luna in Raleigh. Come to think of it, everything I ate at that restaurant was top-notch. The veal was the best, though.

9. The next time I’m at the gym, I’m going to lasso a spotter and try 225 on the bench. I’m going to try for three. It’s doable.

Had my first dream about work last night. Not good or bad, just…there. I woke up and then went back to sleep, which unfortunately erased any memory of the dream, but I remember the geneal tone, the surreal-ness of it all.

I felt weird yesterday at the end of work. I think it might have been something I had for lunch (Mexican Monday), but I felt dizzy and disoriented. I managed to make it back to the apartment, to take off my work clothes and put on a t-shirt and shorts, and to navigate myself into bed, where I slept for a solid three hours, from 5 until 8, when I woke up, afraid I was going to be late for work… It was evening, of course, but I had been so out of it that I thought it was the next morning. Or something. Regardless, I felt better. I can only take naps for three hours, it seems. Wake me up with less than that and I will be incomparably grumpy, but I will awake of my own accord three hours later on the dot. It’s uncanny. So I cooked some ravioli, returned Matt’s silicone hoses (trying not to disturb his dinner with his family), hit the gym, reassembled the futon and cleaned the apartment a bit, ordered new rear speakers for my car, and went to bed once again. Yes, it’s the exciting life of a graphic designer.

Dar Williams put on one of the best concerts I’ve honestly ever been to… Kinda “cozy,” since it was at the Cradle, and I’ll admit I did snicker a bit on the inside when she announced she was going to “rock us” at the beginning of the show, but any reservations I might have had were completely unfounded. It was musically and acoustically perfect; you could hear everything she sang and spoke, which is important given the nature of her music, and her band was perfect. It was just…so good. She had a way with the audience and stories in between songs that were spot-on, not just rambling, but related to the music in a poignant way that made the song that much deeper. I’m going to have to start buying cds again, I think. It’s important to have that artistic statement instead of doing the piecemeal thing via Kazaa (not to mention the fact that my car’s cd player has real issues with burned cds… But oh well).

And now I have a tiredness headache. The Krispy Kreme doughnuts eaten in Raleigh after the concert served their purpose of a sugar high, but now I’m crashing. ‘Night all.

surveyage

I will take a nap when I get home from work, no matter how energetic I feel (knowing that if I just sit down for five minutes the tiredness will come rushing back), but in the meantime…

I feel good this morning. Inexplicably. It’s weird, but I’m gonna run with it.

My brother David graduated from Jordan HS last night. I’m so proud of him… 26th in a very competitive class of 370. He was probably the tallest guy down on the floor, being 6’2″ or so and having the shaggy hair made him easy to spot. Went out to eat at Macaroni Grill afterwards… Talking with my mom I could see a little of the pending empty-nest look in her face. I think the whole event was a bit bittersweet for her. Donald and Leslie came too.

And now back to designing the UNC Graduate School Orientation manual… Funnage.

I hate it when I change myself for others. I can feel myself doing it, subconsciously agreeing with more than I should be, not holding firm about what I really think as much as I could. Conversely, I hate people changing for me as well. One of things I look for when I formulate my ideal is someone with a strong enough sense of identity that she’s not two different people depending on the situation. Granted, there is something to be said for adapting to situations, and no one has everything figured out, but she needs to at least know how she responds to certain scenarios, how to make decisions, and just to have well-formed opinions about things.

And I want to be able to just longingly gaze at her and admire her beauty. Openly, to lose myself in her eyes, without a twinge in the back of my mind that says, “Do I really mean this?” That’s one of the best parts about being with someone–you can look at them in silence, and they back at you, for minutes on end without turning your eyes away. It’s one of the world’s great emotions.

Alana’s leaving in about a week for sunny California. We treated her to lunch at the Carolina Inn today (got back around 2, but oh well). The conversation was going swimmingly, I thought, until the six women I’m with start chatting about wigs, breast-feeding, and plastic surgery (not all in the same conversation) *sigh* The gourmet roast beef sandwich I had was good :o)

Played tennis last night with Aaron. We weren’t there five minutes before Steve Ramsey shows up, who I hadn’t seen since college, and certainly not spent any appreciable time with since sophomore year. He’s a good tennis player, so we all played doubles for a bit. It was good to see him. I don’t know a better storyteller; he has exactly the right cadence–he doesn’t rush the stories and leave out facts, but doesn’t drag things out either. And he’s from Moyock, North Carolina, a tiny town in the northeastern corner of the state where there really wasn’t much to do except goof off, so he’s got lots of material to draw from as well. We lost horrendously, but half of tennis is the social aspect so at least the outing itself was a victory. Had fun with Aaron too. We’ve known each other for so long and so well that when we’re both in the right mood, the most ordinary conversation in the world can have us in stitches… There’s something complimentary about senses of humor that align and great friendships. Wish he lived less than half an hour away. Then we’d play tennis and run and tinker with our cars and watch movies and hang out more often. I have a hunch he’ll be in the area after he graduates in December, though.

an anecdote from last fall

Hey little girl keep dancing
Hey little girl keep dancing alone
‘Cause there’s not enough time in your day
To keep you here

It moves on with the cadence of the ocean, and exudes the same scent, the same salt-laden murmur. There are worlds upon worlds held in the shape of the water’s foray onto the sands, and even more in the quickly flickering tendril of the fire. Turn down your eyes and dream. Watch the sun in your mind’s eye, pulling its length over the western seas, the weight of it becoming watery through the lingering clouds. Feel through the moment, just once; speak his name, if you know. The faceless architect of the places in your dreams where you fear and hope to go as you pull the blanket upon you. Something in the safety, something in the closed arms curling around you, something in the agonizing morning light. The night breaks; dreams flee; sentences change with the landscape. We surrender ourselves for half the day on tenuous altars and speak with borrowed words. The countenances have an affectation ripped from the screens and magazines. But that enclave remains. Who will know? You hold the answer in the quiet moments.

— Semi-apocalyptic sign outside a local middle school:

The end of school is near
But there’s still lots to do here!

— Current restroom magnetic poems (among others):

finger
vision
smell
tongue
here

their mother is a meany

smear a symphony like a gift of winter

drool at oversize misting juice apparatus

only eat bitter chocolate all her life

shot putting produces scream

— One cool point for Matt on Monday after the beach:

Kelli (looking at reflection in car window): My hair looks terrible! I had no idea. How come you guys didn’t notice?
Matt (deadpan): I didn’t notice because I thought it looked great.

No tan from Monday. Oh well. At least I didn’t get horribly lobsterized either, just in various spots where I forgot to reapply, and reapply, and reapply sunscreen. Aloe is my friend. Otherwise had a grand time, bodysurfing, playing frisbee, seafood-ing for dinner.

Anyone want to come to Paris with me for a week in late summer or the fall? Fares are low right now. We’ll stay on the top floor of the Hotel du Midi near the Gare de Lyon. We’ll eat pain-au-chocolat and tartes frambroises for breakfast and visit the Musee d’Orsay and Montmartre. Any takers?

And now, randomly:

selected Boston pictures from early March

What can express the thrill of running headlong into the rushing wind, utterly starless sky wide open overhead, flashing with heat lightning… It was darkly beautiful, and the little (or greater, some would argue) portion of my senses undistracted by my exertion was overflowing with everything it could take in; my mind was racing to capture the words flowing through, but not wanting to pause to remember a word lest the stream be interrupted and the phrases lost. It was incomparable.

What a weekend. Friday night was the youth group senior party (thrown for the graduating seniors). The theme was “tacky prom,” so all the kids and leaders raided their parents’ closets in seach of horrendously mismatching outfits. The turnout was amazing, to say nothing of the gusto with which these kids went for their crazy outfits. For example, Ben, who won the “Tackiest Guy” award, was decked out in pastel-colored ’70s golf pants, white wingtips, a thin belt with a huge gaudy buckle, plain sportjacket, red clip-on suspenders, eye-burning patterns for his shirt and tie, a tweed-like fedora, green-colored, square sunglasses, and a homemade cane (fabricated from a dowel and a ball of aluminum foil). He was great. I just wore some old sneakers, my yellow ’70s corduroy pants, a “farmer-John” pattern button down shirt, a blue tie (loosely tied), turned-up collar, green knit vest, and the huge Mad Hatter hat I bought at Disneyworld. I think the hat is what most people noticed about the outfit, even more since I’m 6’4″ and the hat adds a good foot and a half to my height. I can acquire pictures if anyone wants to see :o) Paul and Will grilled hamburgers, we watched a great little video some of the leaders put together honoring the seniors (and slightly lampooning them at the same time–tricky, but they pulled it off and it was a big hit), and then we prayed over the seniors and danced a bit. My electric slide is so rusty… A bunch of guys came over to the apartment afterward and we played the best game of Apples to Apples yet, I think. Our apartment is really becoming something of a hangout, which is really cool.

Saturday morning eight of us drove up to VIR to shell out entirely too much money to watch the very cool, but considerably shortened (by the intermittent rain) motorcycle race. Michael got some fantastic pictures with his digital camera, which I shall post as soon as get them and find some space to post. The whole event was a lot of fun, but would have been more so if I had had enough money to eat lunch. I was rather hungry until the ride home and the pit stop at a gas station where they take debit/credit cards. Oh well. C’est dommage quand même.

Had a wonderful dinner-and-a-movie evening with Leslie, whom I hadn’t really talked to in a bit. Had pizza at Amate’s and went to see the Matrix again to see if we could figure it out this time. I definitely have a theory. Ask and ye shall receive (that’s not the theory).

Church was good, came home for Sunday lunch, ate turkey (my mom’s subliminal attempt to get me to take a nap Sunday afternoon and rest up), and gave the car a thorough wash and its biannual wax. It is a pearl-white bolide and one fine-looking automobile. One piece of advice for my gentle readers: Pay somebody to wax your car. Holy cow. I don’t think my arms and I were on speaking terms for a few hours after I finished. And if you must do it yourself (as I must, apparently), budget a whole afternoon for it. Wow.

Had a wonderful (though far too short) conversation with a great friend earlier, an event about which much more could be written given the topics discussed, but I’m absolutely wiped out and I need more carbs since I’m back from my run, so I will go raid the pantry, take a shower, and go to bed. Have a great day tomorrow, everybody. I’m going to the beach! Maybe I’ll actually get a tan this year (this has never once happened before). Who knows…

conversational

I feel like I drew to much attention to her… Part of the beauty of the music is its humility, the reclusiveness of the artist, the shaded, enclosed-palm nature of the confessions. There’s a secret to it, one that can only be unlocked by an innate kinship or patience, seasons passed, experiences lived listening to the strains, but no other way. It’s undeniably feminine in that regard. I’m drawn to it.

It was a better day. The morning was rough, but the pieces are being put back together, and lessons learned. The afternoon was good. I made progress with my organization, which makes everything else seem that much less daunting. Now I’m quiet. The music helps.

If I part the blinds I can see the raindrops softly crashing in pools… It’s been that way all day, muted, but not overbearing. To the blankets with me…

I did not have a good day at work today. A few things were later than they should have been, and I’m working on the graduate school’s orientation manual, an utter waste of creativity and completely tedious, not to mention a few hundred pages long… I just have to flow new text in, and make changes to certain sections, and, and… It’s just one of those things.

Had lunch at Ham’s on Franklin St. with my officemates, which nearly redeemed that part of the day, since the cajun chicken sandwich I had was really good, but somehow it didn’t quite do it. Conversation was great, but all surface, as was to be expected.

I feel so paranoid at work sometimes. I thought that getting another job would erase anything residual from getting let go last summer, but it’s only by the grace of God that I had what I had then, and now. There’s just so much…in my mind, in my life, on my plate. I get, I get…overwhelmed. Quickly and easily. And the feeling creeps in that if I make one mistake, my position will be in jeopardy. Everybody has bad days, right? Bad weeks, even?

exploring all the likely …destinations
slowly wears away a place inside my heart.
but I’ll know exactly when the wandering’s over,
because you’ll fit so well with me.

I came to a realization last week: I am not cool. I’ve felt it in the weeks before, but only pinpointed the nature of the sensation last week. If you’ve seen Almost Famous you’ll know what I’m talking about. I’m a definite William Miller type. Several of the twentysomething guys in our church put together a band, Mali, and a really good band at that (i.e. they’re on the verge of being signed by a major label in Nashville). I know all the members of the band, Nathan, Jamie, and both Justins, and it’s probably just me, but every time I talk to them I feel like… an outsider? I’m not sure how to explain it. They have a cachet, a cool, a way of dressing and talking, that I’ll probably never have. If I let myself I can get a little bogged down in it, feeling like I wish I had that certain quality, but I know who I am, I know what I’m good at and how I relate to people and I’m secure in that, so the notion doesn’t affect me beyond the point of curiosity.

I felt it last week too, when I emailed Tess to tell her how much I enjoyed her music. She’s not hugely popular yet, so I imagine she doesn’t have acres of emails to wade through, so I received a couple of personal replies, which was really sweet. I wanted to reply and say something that I thought would mean something to her, but I thought, “What do I really have to offer?” I mean, compliments are a dime a dozen when you’re a musician, and I listen to her music, her personal expression, and I have my journal, and my thoughts, but c’mon, what could I really say beyond, “Hey, I think you’re great.” Nothing, really. She’s in that plane of cool, and I’m in my world, and she’s got enough friends already, and enough philosophical repartees in her life… I dunno. I feel like it’s that age-old struggle; I’m the nerdy freshman trying to elbow my way into another clique. It’s probably all my mind, though. We’ll see.

i feel like the more i know you,
the more i’m who i want to be.
but i’m caught in a willingness
to be however you might want me.

Friday mess

If you catch me later on tonight at some point, I will be in a mood of unprecedented openness and truthfulness (not that I’ve consciously lied about anything, but y’know). If you’ve ever wondered about anything it’d be a good night to ask. It’s been a sad morning and I’m feeling especially disgruntled with the world, etc. Maybe I’ll post more details, maybe I won’t. I don’t know.

Saw the new Matrix film last night. Without spoiling anything for anyone, it was an amazing film, really. Completely engrossing, and great music as well. Of course, much of that might have had to do with the fact that Donald, Paul, and I were sitting in the center of the back row of the front section, pretty much at the convergence, the nexus of the bass waves, so that every time a boom or a deep note would resound it would vibrate through us. I suppose I’ll talk about it more when more people have seen it. It’s only a few days old. One thing, though: Awesome bike in the movie. Ducati 996, black, stylish, and rocket-sled fast. I enjoyed that bit particularly.

I can’t wake up this morning. I had a few bouts of vigorous agreement with the computer screen (i.e. nodding) about half an hour after I arrived, so I had to get up and walk around a bit. I would ingest something caffeinated, but nothing’s available (no coffee machine in the office, and I’m not a coffee drinker anyway). Perhaps I should invest in some soda to keep in the fridge. The fathomless depth of the ponderings that emanate from my grey matter astounds me. Yeah. I’ll write more when I’m more awake.

Rain is pending, or it’s already arrived. The mosquito screens make it hard to see if something’s really coming down or not. I got a few splotches on my car’s windshield on the way to and from the grocery store for lunch today. It’s been a while since I’ve played in the rain, splashed through puddles and the like… I used to have so much fun running through the grassy backyard at Euclid road on a rainy day. Well, before my mom lassoed me and dragged me inside, that is. But then she would wrap a towel around me and I could sit and listen to the din resounding off the skylight in the kitchen, bare feet in puddles on the linoleum floor.

I cried when I was eleven. I cried because I could sense my carefree days coming to an end. I had more responsibility at school and at home, and although I only pinpointed the source of the feelings later while talking with my parents, I could feel my obligations encroaching on my whims… The sensations so immediate to that environment, or any in which we lived, didn’t disappear from my consciousness, though, and they never really have. It’s just a simple matter of slowing down and taking stock… I remember walking gingerly across the prickly gumballs on the dirt path leading to the neighbor’s house, collapsing in the yellow, sun-parched grass in Mrs. Donnelly’s front yard next door, and the sound the plexiglass roof on the tree house made when I hit my head against it. It’s no wonder I love smells above all as a source of memory, since if I caught a whiff of something resembling the smell of the freshly painted green shelves in my bedroom, everything would come tumbling back, immediate. Maybe I cried because I thought these things would disappear? No, it was a selfish thing, a simple matter of being able to dictate my own schedule, which meant having no set agenda at all, in fact. But the change is what I want to remember, the turning point. Taking note of those gives me a clearer bead on why I respond to things in ways that confuse me sometimes, and illuminates the path ahead ever so slightly.

Why does it seem like the better I am at answering emails, at getting back to people quickly, the fewer emails I seem to get overall? It’s a mystery. Well, maybe. I think the fact that I’m better about answering the emails has to do with checking my email more frequently, which would make it seem like I’m receiving fewer emails per check. Yeah, that makes sense. Nevermind…

Good workout last night. I’ve been mixing up sets and routines so I’m not doing the same thing all the time like I had been. It’s good for my physique, and just for my own personal entertainment as well–it gives things some variety. My arms are really starting to fill out an XL t-shirt’s sleeves quite nicely (this is good from an ex-Mr. Rail). Well, my Embry-Riddle t-shirt, at least. Dunno how representative that particular one is of the t-shirt population at large, but hey…

I had something else to write. I’ll think of it in a bit.

So maybe I’m taking advantage of the situation a little bit… I used one of the service passes we have available here at the office so I could park in the reserved spot behind Cosmic Cantina and grab a quesadilla. At least I got it to go… In any case, I figure I’ve paid more than enough to the UNC parking system during my undergraduate years anyway (in parking tickets. I’m a State alum).

Sleepy. I want an afternoon in black and white, grainy and flickering, but with great conversation. Atmosphere. I love the way her mouth moves when she says the word “something.” Delicate.

warmer than
any summer noon in june
it’s the comfort in
the moment right before you fall asleep
watch my eyes; I’m speechless otherwise
inside I’m tongue-tied by something sweet and real

The air is clear today. The blue sky sends me a crystalline wink through the window panes, beckoning me again across the warm leaves. It’s a simple day. Thoughts come and go, floating, never resting on one strand but strolling with light footfalls across my mind. I want to nap in the green lawn. I want to experience that moment of utter contentment before my eyes close with an easy fall, sending my smile into graceful turns of flight, spiralling away into the sunlight.

The air is pure today. My body swells and diminishes in rhythm, breathing with the cool movement of a sloop across a placid lake. My eyes close. Peacefulness is my haven; my mind is held in Hands bigger than the day, more complete than the sky, and infinitely more gentle than even the processions of sleepy clouds.

The air is wonderful today. Just to think that these masterpieces exist is a testimony of love. Thank You.

I’m goofing off far too much today. But hey–I’m holed up in my little office in the back of the building, while the rest of the office populace carries on lively conversations in the front lobby area. Well, not today, but most days they do. It’s no excuse, though. I need to get these files to Printing Services before I head home.

It’s a downright St. Augustinian day outside–beautiful, sunny, breezy, and perfect. The adjective “perfect” actually sort of encompasses beautiful, sunny, and breezy, but I decided to add it for emphasis. It’s gorgeous (the day, not the word).

In other news, I want to marry a woman who looks just like Tess.

your only ever smile
is a maybe sunray
and my winking does you turns in days
moving through a sea which is yours again
to only pause inside a fragment
of your reflection
and my leans back a new piece of
splashing ripples
moving down
and under
and into
many and the how sweetness ways
another moment of you is tranquil
exhaling every azure feeling

Track day was great. John, David, Joel, and I went to VIR to watch a few groups race. I hadn’t been there before, but a guy from my local car club was racing a spec-class RX-7. His front left shock absorber was shot but he still made a good showing. It was nice to meet up with somebody who could recommend a good place to sit and spectate, not to mention showing us around his little encampment and showing off his car. We watched the spec-7s, the IT (improved touring) class which included faster sports cars, and the GT-1 classes, in which was the really big iron, the Corvettes and Vipers and NSXs and such. It was great fun, loud, noisy, stinky (if you don’t like the smell of race fuel) but awesome. The guys had a great time too, in between the expensive french fries and not bringing any sunglasses (or shades. Does anyone besides me call them shades?). I’m going to post a full writeup on the community, so go there if you want more details.

Rented The Crow and Notting Hill tonight after leaving youth group. Donald returned and reinstalled the DVD player. We couldn’t decide which one to watch, so we flipped a coin and went with Notting Hill. It’s a chick flick, yes, but one uniquely configured so that it appeals to the male psyche, since it provides us with a scenario in which our starry-eyed fantasy of marrying that beautiful (and of course perfect in every other way) movie star could occur. Not to mention the fact that I identify somewhat with Hugh Grant (minus the British accent thing); he’s tall, a little gawky, and self-effacing to a fault. I’m not even a huge Julia Roberts fan; I just like the movie–the dialogue is a notch or two above standard fare, and it is replete with moments when the characters say or do the perfect thing in the perfect way. And I knew this would happen. I knew I’d feel this way as soon as I put my finger on the DVD in the store to pull it off the shelf. I told myself it was bad news. As least I’m not obsessed about it, just a little caught up for tonight is all.

Goodnight, everyone.

So tired… And I have to drive the guys to the track tomorrow. Please pray for safety, while we’re there and for the drive too. It’s not too far, but you never know. I’m looking forward to it, though. It’s going to be so much fun.

I got it all done today, by the grace of God. Everything at work, actually had dinner, hit the gym, played tennis with Fatos and Ben, and went to the play this evening.

The play was incredible. Aaron called me earlier in the day letting me know about it and wanting to know if I’d to accompany him, since he had an extra ticket and his younger sister was in it, not to mention his brother Matt would be playing violin. We arrived a bit late, but still got the jist of the plot within the first five minutes. It was a production of Once Upon a Mattress put on by a homeschooler theatrical group. I was in the second production that group ever did, way back in 1997, a performance of Twelfth Night, and they’ve done a Shakespeare play every year since, until this year, since it was a musical. This wasn’t your typical high school production, though; they’ve all been in the group for years, they’ve developed an amazingly slick and professional system for running the plays, and it went off without a hitch. Not only that, but the acting was top notch, the casting was absolutely perfect (everyone looked exactly right for their role), and they actually sang, and sang well, not a sullen squeaking along, but harmonizing and choreography. I was blown away. It was a great show. They’ll be performing tomorrow night at the Durham Arts Council if you’re in the area and you’d like to see it. It’s worth it.

my morning

tuesday
after a reckless and used day
i was running and running
without a chance
to stop and chat at the sky

It was during the in-between years.

Ten Bands/Artists You Couldn’t Live Without:
[01] BT
[02] Beth Orton
[03] Simon & Garfunkel
[04] Toad the Wet Sprocket
[05] Jars of Clay
[06] U2
[07] The Beatles
[08] George Winston
[09] Sixpence None the Richer
[10] Sarah Masen

Nine Albums That Are Important to You:
[1] Achtung Baby – U2
[2] Colours – Adam F
[3] Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, & Thyme – S&G
[4] Movement in Still Life – BT
[5] Tickets for a Prayer Wheel – Sixpence
[6] Fear – Toad
[7] Running on Ice – Vertical Horizon
[8] Sarah Masen (self-titled)
[9] Duncan Sheik (self-titled)

Eight Movies You’d Watch Over and Over:
[1] Joe Versus the Volcano
[2] Say Anything
[3] Independence Day
[4] Mansfield Park
[5] Almost Famous
[6] Run Lola Run
[7] Sleepless in Seattle
[8] X-Men 2

Seven Things That Annoy You:
[1] Being tired
[2] When something’s not right with my car
[3] Saying goodbye over the phone
[4] Heck, just talking on the phone (although there can be exceptions)
[5] Dirty dishes
[6] Disorganization (although I swim in a sea of it)
[7] Emotionally draining people

Six of Your Favorite Songs:
[1] “Life in Mono” – Mono
[2] “How Can We See That Far” – Amy Grant
[3] “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses” – U2
[4] “Gypsy” – Suzanne Vega
[5] “The Promise” – Tracy Chapman
[6] “Art in Me” – Jars of Clay

Five TV Shows You Watch Regularly:
[1] Don’t watch
[2] TV regularly.
[3] If anything,
[4] Weekend Update
[5] on SNL

Four of Your All-Time Favorite Books:
[1] Great Expectations – Charles Dickens
[2] Araby – James Joyce (short story but oh well)
[3] Appalachia – Charles Wright
[4] Borgel – Daniel Pinkwater

Three Albums You’ve Bought Recently:
[1] Kazaa +
[2] CD burner =
[3] No cash outlay

Two Musicians/Actors You Would Like to Do the NASTY with:
[1] I’m going to edit this to “Have a cup of coffee with.” Yeah. In that case: Franka Potente
[2] Cate Blanchett

One Band Whose Music Would be Described as Writing the Soundtrack of Your Life:
[1] Album: Both Sides (Phil Collins) + Candycoatedwaterdrops (Plumb)

This is the first time I’ve noticed that it’s affected my outlook and productivity. Normally, these things only register as a speedbump in my daily routine and I can cruise right through them. But this week, I feel down. I felt an extreme lack of motivation yesterday (last night notwithstanding), and today is worse. In my moments alone, I’ve felt pensive, and quiet, and introspective, and even a bit melancholy. There’s a soft beauty to the feeling, but for extended periods of time it’s not fun, especially when my muse has gone and I can’t take advantage of the moments and divulge them into poetry. I honestly think I need to buy a roll of register tape and a crappy pen. I think I wrote more poetry in the past two months than I had in all the previous months combined. This is a lot for me. We’ll see. I just feel weary, and worn, and tired. It’s a self-reinforcing state, too, since my lack of motivation means that things sometimes pile up, and I get behind, and then I feel more stressed, augmenting the weariness, and so on and so forth. I don’t like it at all.

Prayers appreciated.

Patience, Matt