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I think I need a nap. I’m not sure, though, mind you, so I could be mistaken. Cynthia (the other volunteer here in Terry’s office) and I helped set up for our supervisor’s daughter’s wedding for most of the afternoon. The setup is going to be quite unconventional, as befits a family with so much vested creativity and technical knowledge. Amy (Terry’s daughter) and John (her fiance, obviously) are going to be married in the gym of their church, but with the walls covered with curtains and a giant cargo parachute hanging from the ceiling with strings of white lights radiating from the center. You really have to see it. I’ll see if I can’t get some pictures tomorrow. We drove up to her church, met everyone, and downed prodigious amounts of Whoppers (the malt balls, not the sandwiches) and mini Twix bars. This is really the sort of day that makes you wish for a convertible :o)

Fireworks last night got rained on, for the most part. I went to one of the standard cookouts, then migrated to a local parking lot with many others who had similar aspirations of blowing things up. We left around 11. The parking lot was a scene I’ll never forget, driving out, with the knee-high layer of smoke surrounding vast quantities of fireworks debris strewn everywhere… It was an Independence Day wasteland.

A lot of people around me are getting married soon. Amy and John on Saturday, Cynthia next month, and John’s friend Joel shortly as well. I feel rather left out. Perhaps I should do something about that. I don’t like feeling left out.

The shadow edges are crisp and razor sharp from the sunlight pouring down on the island. There is a warm breeze, intermittent, which buffets the shrubs at the summit. I reach down and run my hand through the warm, soft earth. It is red clay, dry and crumbly. I pick up a smooth stone and place it in my pocket. Rising, I look around, approach the low wall, and peer out over the vastness of the Mediterranean… And the small rise of land we stand on speaks its insignificance, as it would just disappear into the blue from a higher perspective. Capri. Sorrento. My paradise.

And the emotion… who understands the emotion? I was alone then, even under the watchful eyes of my parents. So alone to witness such a wealth of beauty. So alone to turn a corner around the boulangerie in Vence, catch a fleeting scent of moments past, and have the emotion cascade down upon me again. I can still smell the terracotta tiles baking in the sun on the roofs of the houses, and hear the cacophony of the traffic, making our way to the tabac. I can even recall the feelings of my situation in those moments, when all was well or some obscure worry hung over me.

I need to tell. I am a pulsar of memories, witness to such beauty compressed into five years in the galaxy of my mind. I was in mid-yawn yesterday evening, at the point where your consciousness starts to fade ever so slightly from the yawn before returning, and the first notes of a song played, a song I had played hundreds of times before, but this time, in the passing of that moment, I was in a hotel in Vence again, in mid-January, my face turned towards the wall in my bed, the sounds of the street below barely encroaching on the music coming from my headphones, that same song.

I can’t write about these things. I need pictures; something… just to be there with someone. I don’t know. Expression.

“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”

Watched Blade Runner over the weekend. In spite of some of the more gratuitous moments of the film (which are now fast-forwardable), I’d like to see it again, now that I somewhat understand what’s going on. Watching a movie you don’t understand very readily is like trying to play catch-up, piecing events and dialogue together from the beginning whilst trying to absorb the finale. But movies like that are the best ones anyway. The Usual Suspects, for example.

This past weekend was great fun. D.C. was a blast, even though I spent way too much money (unforseen expenses :o) Elyse’s hospitality was magnanimous. Going to bed early tonight. Right… Like that ever happens :o)

“We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.”

It’s a really long, slow day. Spending time with JP is fun, but taxing, since neither of us generate a whole lot of humor, it’s not as fun as it should be. After cleaning out a lawnmotor motor for a go-cart type vehicle we’re going to fabricate, I made the unfortunate discovery that we don’t have all the parts we need to reassemble it. A foray behind Ace Hardware of Waxhaw proved profitable, though, as we acquired several tires and another motor, hopefully in running condition. We were both too tired/tired of one another to investigate further, though, so we both turned in for the day. My stomach is still full from the pot of yellow rice. I eat a lot of rice. I wonder if that says anything about my ancestry, if it’s a genetic penchant. I doubt it.

If I were a stone or a planet, would I be intimately aware of gravity? Our scope as humans is so limited; we can only comment with any hint of authority on those laws of the universe with which we have a direct affiliation, those that affect us. We can speak about our motivations, tendencies, and ideals because we feel their influence on a daily basis. We can only comment about the outward actions of other entities, rocks, animals, molecules. Perhaps they have some other motivation besides that which excites the physical world; perhaps that is what dooms any attempt to utilize science to derive a “theory of everything.” It’s plausible… We cannot understand their motivations because we are not them. We can only understand what is common to man, whose emotions and motivations go so far beyond the simple mechanics of the universe; it would arrogant of us to assume that the forces which govern the remainder of the universe can be understood through observation, the same arrogance that it would be to imply that another person can be understood and predicted simply through observation of his actions. Which isn’t to suggest that rocks might have feelings, and yet… As C. S. Lewis (who I am paraphrasing) put it, there is a tacit law written in the human heart decribing how we ought to behave, influencing us… Why shouldn’t there be another force influencing the stars, unobservable but nonetheless present?

If wishes were pigeons my mind would be an opal cameo.

Goodnight.

while not completely surrendered to the drams of emotion letting you in, turnaround.
my niece is helping a man she once knew to open the doors
inside her mind. i just wish i knew
what this all meant, and somehow
to come above a simple meaning of prepositions. the selfishness aids me in realizing a plane upon which to portray my elephants, or perhaps mice with tiny suitcases. i need to know
the color of your longing.
if i did, the bleakness of this summer would not be as alone as ice fishing in juneau, wishing i had at least a crisp sheet
to pull around my shoulders. i never knew
why that ray of moonlight swung so low, but now… i can see it in my mind’s spectacles,
a scintillating fragment of perpetuity.
it always sings like a forgotten
island deep into the ocean waters, coral reefs enclosing the solace of a maiden. she may not know who i am; it doesn’t matter.
i can feel
the pressure of her longing surrounding me, and i wince from it. and suddenly the lamplight collapses, and the mist rises into the filament that used to house my hope. if illumination is the one we seek, a brighter
Light awaits us at the end of the street.

Figured I’d actually make an entry in my own journal for once, instead of living my “journal life” vicariously through commenting on others’ activities. :o)

For those of you who don’t know, I’m down in Waxhaw, NC (a little town south of Charlotte) working with JAARS (Jungle Aviation and Radio Services), helping the director of R&D, Terry Heffield, design a crashworthy passenger seat for a new type of aircraft. It’s slow work most of the time with Terry being so busy, but every once in a while I’ll have a flash of insight (which I can only attribute to a higher Source) and come up with a halfway decent idea for a new part of the seat. I’ll post the latest iteration of the seat up here eventually, I suppose (in Mattspeak = in three weeks :o) Just kidding)

In the meantime, I got happy with the hangar’s digital camera. Enjoy:

This is my office. Well, not really mine. It’s where I am most of the time, though. Terry let me have the desk over to the left. It has a schematic of another seat design above it, and I sit in the green chair. Terry’s desk is the one with the computer and the blue chair. The office is on the second floor, right underneath the sloping roof of the hangar, so it would get pretty warm except for the AC in the wall and the fan going all the time. We listen to a Christian station on the radio, too. There’s a computer on the other side of the partition, which is the one I use. It belongs to a man who helps Terry out but only comes in to work on Mondays (he’s retired or something, apparently). So I pretty much have free reign on the computer. I’ll be teaching myself SolidWorks (an engineering modeling program) pretty soon here. There are bunches of sketches on my desk, and a large bookshelf filled with engineering references to the left.

Here is the front half of the hangar. The next picture shows the back half, since it was too big to get in one shot. I’m looking out kind of a door-sized opening facing the door of the office. At night the King Air (the largest and most expensive plane JAARS owns) sits in the open area in the middle there. The plane on the right is a Cessna 310, a plane donated to JAARS that they’re touching up and repairing so they can resell it for around $45K.

The other half of the hangar. The bins on the wall hold little parts, like nuts and bolts. The floatplane hanging from the ceiling was one of JAARS’ first aircraft. It’s a museum piece now, I guess. Evidently it has quite an illustrious history, which I’ll have to inquire about sometime. The plane in the back is a Helio Courier that they’re overhauling. It’s quite
disassembled.

The break room. Not a bad place to relax. There’s a TV and VCR (neither of which work very well), microwave, fridge, etc… Lots of very nice airplane magazines on the wall, too. This is where we have devotion in the morning. There’s a customer waiting area through a door to the left for people who are chartering flights.

The snack area. This is along a wall of the hangar. 35 cents for a pepsi and 30 cents for a munchie ain’t bad. I make frequent use of both these machines, since for some reason (metabolism?) I just can’t go 3-4 hour without eating something.

This Cessna 206 is essentially in better-than-new condition. Completely rebuilt and overhauled by JAARS, it’s absolutely beautiful to behold. Immaculate paint, perfect interior, upgraded instrumentation, etc… JP (another college-age volunteer) and I drool over it whenever we get the chance. They’re still breaking in the engine before they pack it up and ship it overseas (I’m not sure where).

Another shot of the pretty airplane. I closed the door to emphasize the sleek lines :o)

Here’s another view of the 206. They wheeled it out of the hangar to do some engine and avionics tests.

The biggest plane in the JAARS fleet–the Beech King Air. Uses turboprops instead of piston engines. It’s a big plane–I can barely touch the tip of the tailplane standing on my tiptoes. The whistle and whine when it starts up is something else :o)

Here’s the cabin . Notice the JAARS safety brochures in the backs of the seats.

The instrument cluster/cockpit. Isn’t that beautiful? And to think that to operate this aircraft right you have to be well-versed on the operation of every one of those. :o) I can just see myself at the controls…

A Piper Aztec. They mainly use this one to transport people, since the cargo space is so limited.

Here is the tarmac, or apron. There are usually more airplanes than this parked out there. Must have been a slow day. That’s another 206, with a Helio Courier parked behind it. The runway is behind them.

Speaking of the runway, here’s a better shot of it. More hangars, too.

This is the Helio Courier, the airplanes that JAARS’ reputation is based on more than any other. They operate about 20 of these at any one time. Designed back in the late 60’s by a team of MIT grads, it has bizarre short takeoff and landing capabilities. The long landing gear allow for a larger propeller, and the huge wing has many slats and flaps which increase its area by about a third for low-speed operations. It can take off and land within a few hundred feet. This airplane is registered to Peru for South American operations.

“Ol’ No.1” in the hangar. It went looking for cows yesterday. Apparently a cowboy/farmer down in SC “misplaced” his cows, and the aircraft spent most of the day before yesterday scouring the countryside for them. Don’t ask, I don’t know any more than that… :o)

Here’s the existing design for a crew (pilot and copilot) seat. You can see the s-shaped tubes in the front which deform on impact, and the area in the back which crushes. There’s a trapezoidal linkage on the bottom for adjusting the seat height. This seat protected a dummy in 30G crash tests from excessive loads on his spinal column. It’s a crew seat so it’s a lot more adjustable than the passenger seats.

A detail of the bottom.

Making the passenger seats. They’re a lot simpler than the crew seats and fold up much more compact. They attach to the racks running the length of the cabin. To fold up, the legs swing up under and the top folds down, making a pretty compact package.

A very large vacuforming machine used to make replacement and upgrade fiberglass and polymer parts (like fillets and fairings for blending the wing and the wing brace, etc…)

My supervisor, Terry Heffield. A great man with a lot of creative spirit. He used to be a missionary pilot but basically decided it was a “glorified taxi service” (his words). He’s the head of R&D at JAARS now. Quite a hands-on man, he loves to make stuff. I’ve heard quite a few stories.

Here’s JP. He’s even taller than me (about 6’6) and rather larger, too. He drives a ’75 Ford Gran Torino with 62K on it–a stylin’ car :o) He’s from somewhere in southeastern Wisconsin and just finished his first year at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. Great guy.

Wes, another volunteer. Looks high school-age, but I’m not sure. He’s a cut-up, a jokester, and fun to be around. He’s sewing a cargo net together. The reason the picture is so cropped is that I had my finger in front of the lens.

Hope y’all find that little expose edifying in some small way. More to come…

I’m a-goin’. June 12th, to be precise, downto Charlotte (well, just south of the city, actually, in Waxhaw) to volunteer at JAARS until August 1st. I’m excited about it; not only does it provide me with a lot of contacts in the field of missionary aviation, it also has industrial design (my major) clout. I’ll try to keep y’all more updated once I arrive there; chances are I won’t be doing much after-hours. I’ll be rooming with a college-age guy working in the computer department down there. I’m sure he’ll be horrified to discover my preference as far as platforms are concerned. :o)

It turns out the engine-removal epic last Monday was more of a pyrrhic victory, as my dad and I managed to snap one of the input shafts for the transmission in the process (read: very bad). I will thus be removing the transmission tomorrow… *sigh* Those of you who know me might think I’m having the time of my life with this car, but in reality it’s not all fun and games; it certainly wasn’t last Monday after 7 hours under the hood. It’s not an easy engine to remove (read: American), it’s not a fast car, and the engine is just plain ugly. So what keeps me going? The sense of accomplishment I get when the engine is sitting on the floor of the garage, and the expectation of the feeling I will get when the engine starts and delivers power to the wheels again (and the A/C works). The expertise gained in the process plays a part too, but the emotional and visceral appeal of the endeavor is what stands first in my mind and motivations.

My family will be making a trip of its own up to College Park, Maryland, on Saturday for the Odyssey of the Mind World Finals, in which my brother is competing for the fourth year in a row.

That car’s engine was designed by the antichrist. You won’t convince me otherwise. After 7 hours, countless scraped knuckles, a slight sunburn, and being covered with grease pretty much from head to foot, the bad engine is out of the car. Not that it didn’t make every conceivable effort to remain in the vehicle, however. I mean, gosh, where do I start? Long story short, it was an epic battle, and I do mean battle, but the task is complete. Well, half complete. The other engine awaits installation, in the back of the truck. Putting it back in is always easier, though (well, it was last year… but taking it out was infinitely easier too), no sticky bolts or unfamiliarity with the engine bay. *sigh* I have a slight feeling I should buy stock in the Bandaid company before I go out tomorrow… Weird, huh?

Watched a good documentary on General Douglas MacArthur before I had to wash dishes this evening. Was interesting to hear about his occupation of Japan after the war and the programs he implemented, the social and political reforms he carried out. It’s not something I remember reading in my history books in high school. Come to think of it, I miss history. Well, somewhat. I like it when I can identify with a particular personality in a specific period, their actions and the shape of their life and words. Something about being able to view their life in retrospect gives them a larger-than-life image… I idealized a lot of historical figures during my high school years; I probably still would if were studying the subject. Perhaps that’s a cause or a symptom of my own idealism when relating to others, I don’t know.

The days are speeding up… I hadn’t realized it last week since I was so busy, but now I see they are indeed. I hope Tim is doing okay. I wish I was able to talk some sense into him during our time together as roommates this year, but what he needs I can’t give him. That’s another reason I didn’t want him to return to Greenville: It’s a familiar environment for him, which will only make it easier for him to remain stagnant in his old habits. I want to go visit him at least once this summer… The chemistry we had this year was no fluke; he is a good friend, and I enjoy his company.

The wide text fields I get while updating LJ on the PC might be its only redeeming quality. Though, I will volunteer, I’ve not been overly pleased with my mac of late either.

Unpacking today I came across an old journal. Inside I had scribbled a list of habits I wanted to start and habits I wanted to break. Under habits to break, the last entry was “neglecting friendships,” but it was written in such a way that it looked for all the world like “neglecting friends’ hips.”

*sigh*

I need a nap.

So far, so good. Due in no small part to the overwhelming generosity of my professor, I’m getting a B+ in studio. That’s a load off my mind, thank the Lord… If only I knew what was going on with me this summer. My portfolio must be assembled to at least a rudimentary degree; I’m determined. Then I can start hawking it ’round…

I finally discovered what was going wrong with my monitor. Turns out overheating was causing it to flicker on and off annoyingly. I turned the fan on it and it was stable for as long as I needed it for; previously it had begun to flicker after an hour or so, quite disconcerting. I’m conjecturing that dust accumulation inside the plastic shell is hampering its cooling efficiency. I’ll clean it out this summer.

It’s turning into a full-fledged addiction. I’m beginning to think I’m well-nigh obsessed. Yesterday, walking out to my car (Twinkie) in the parking lot, I had this insane urge to pop the hood, get a couple of floodlights, and tear down half of the engine. For no good reason. I think I’m just unstable when it comes to mechanical issues. In more positive news, one of our cars is well on its way to being restored to operational status after suffering a warped head (serious condition requiring a pretty thorough overhaul). Called the friendly folks at Carquest today ordered the parts I need. The car should be back on the road in a few weeks or so… We’ll see.

i wish the world a million times over
to be full of gigantic elephants
and perhaps nine fire hydrants–this
would be splendid
didst see my tempest of the type?
that shall haply inhabit this wit
of telephony–
why if this simple syllogism around again
through the hoops of words i trip
on the plastic stops and
forever dreaming forever
it’s not as hard as youandi think
as we ponder into stone
our actions and
tenets touching a round thing:
perhaps it is metal and perhaps not
what and wherefore and why
is that redundant?
i don’t know/yes i know
no/yes
consanguinious
my pride is crashed and crushed
underneath the airplane of my calamity
it’s wing to be
they shall fly anon, sir
if that thy will shouldst serve
the slats will fall and water shall
cave under a neige
d’etoiles, twinkling
above the always subject
come off it, you are better than this
you and i both know
come back

This is rather entertaining. As long as you don’t take yourself or the Bard too seriously, that is. :o) There. I’ve done the world good by sharing that. I’ll cross that off the list for today…

Awake and alive. Two entries in one day, my my, aren’t you all getting spoiled :o) It’s drizzling outside again. There’s a bed of shrubs right outside my window; it’s rather entertaining to see the leaves randomly twitch as they get hit by falling raindrops. Simple minds, simple pleasures… *sigh* At least the rain washes all the allergens from the atmosphere for a while.

Should I be this calm with less than three weeks left in the semester? Probably not. Whatever the case, I’ll get it done, by sheer force of will if nothing else. Looks like I might be coming up on my semesterly all-nighter pretty soon.

And then I realized that I really don’t have the paper I need in order to do the sketches I want to do… *sigh* Guess I’ll have to get up early tomorrow and snap to it.

After four hours of sleep last night, the extent of my salemanship this evening at GNC was, “This is good for you. Buy it,” and so on… Whereas Brian can talk anyone’s head off about any product for 15 minutes or more, I can barely point people to the correct place in the store for most of the items. ‘Course, he’s been there for 4 years, but I still think after 2 months I should be able to give a good speech about at least a few products. Enough comparing, though.

When the light of the shaded lamp slides around her cheek just right, her eyes glow with the beauty they focus and magnify.

“But ’tis that miracle and queen of gems
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul…”

“Swim like lions through the crest and bathe yourself in zebra flesh…”

The air is never more a friend, a material thing, than on days like this. Note to self: I should send the Elysium something before she comes back. Yeah…

…watched a production of Twelfth Night on video earlier this evening, wading through memories of perfoming it in high school. I still remember most of my lines (I was Orsino) and mouthed them at the more significant junctures in the play.

“like lucrece knife with bloodless stroke my heart doth gore…”

I miss acting. We only did one performance of it, too, which I regret, since I don’t feel I had the opportunity to really work the kinks out of my character… Not that I was professional enough to pull off a decent performance anyway, but I do wish I could have given it another shot.

“I was adored once too…”

Went down to JAARS today. It’s a missionary aviation complex just south of Charlotte where they refurbish and maintain the aircraft that fly in mission fields around the world. I’m helping them design a crash-worthy seat for a new model of aircraft, an endeavor also doubling as the last project of my semester in design studio. It’s rather nice it that respect, as it’s an organization I would most like to affiliate myself with eventually. I ended up talking with the head mechanic for a couple of hours about the project and other things… We just talked grease and pistons for the last half hour… It was great.

What isn’t so great is the drive down there… After a 3-mile run a few minutes ago, my legs are hurting more than normal. I guess that’s what I get for driving a small car (and no, that’s not a thinly-veiled desire for a bigger car; just a faster one). In any case, 6 hours of driving is no fun, especially without cruise control. I left from Chapel Hill around 9, expecting to arrive in Waxhaw (the town where JAARS is based) around 11:30 or so… The catch was, I couldn’t keep my eyes open, having gone to sleep late the previous night. Preferring to be late over dead, I pulled into a gas station and slept for a few minutes before continuing on. I had the most unnerving dreams, though, repeatedly. I reclined the seat in the car and fell asleep, and dreamed several times that I woke up slowly, put my hands on the steering wheel, started the car, and drove off. Thing was, every time I would get so far down the road, I would realize I was dreaming, and “wake up,” peeling another layer off my real dream. These sequences were uncannily realistic, too. The final time, I actually made it onto the highway, and Paul (my younger brother) was in the car for some reason. The car broke down and wouldn’t start, though, so I popped the hood and examined the battery and fuel pump, all in great detail in my dream… After I really woke up, I could only hope it wasn’t a premonitory dream, realistic as it was. All went well, though.

if why and when
because, around, and through
never my semblance of thing past the dreaming shall mistake
for the whetstone reams a leather timepiece
to sit in
and remember a
silver naissance and relevance
twelve clovers, my love
and a shamrock shall make the evening less numbered
with encumbrances and enumerations
types of
carpet soft the field my palms
lie down lie back and breathe the sky
into your lungs the world pulling the stars through
your soul into the infinity that is the other side and
i wish you to collapse with me into these celestial
phenomena
these events so long in reaching our senses, as the
lifting of your eyes bespeaks the gentle gravity of a star
between us. if the globe of my knowing had such a fine frame
it would be simple

Il fait tres chaud dans ma chambre. Je voudrais bien du climatisation, mais je ne donne pas assez d’argent a l’universite pour meriter ca. C’est l’histoire de ma vie… jamais assez d’argent. *soupir*

Long time since the last update; I’ve been busy. Ha… That’s a joke. Slacking is more like it. I wish we sold some herbal remedy for procrastination at GNC; I’d buy it all, even with my budget as limited as it is.

Well, I’ve unsubscribed from the first-generation RX-7 mailing list. Translation: I won’t have 50 emails a day to wade through, and the siren call of another car in my life (an expensive proposition) will be much quieter. Doesn’t stop me from going to MSCCNC meetings and scouring eBay every now and then… Twinkie isn’t in any danger of getting replaced by another red bimbo, though. At least not anytime in the forseeable future… :o)

I’m having trouble reconciling the direction my life is presently taking and the direction it should go. I’ve discovered, though, sometimes I’m more independent when I’m on my own; some sort of survivial instinct kicks in and I start thinking clearly again. This doesn’t happen every time, mind you, only on occasions when other factors (such as tiredness) contribute to my state of mind. It’s a fine line, though, since I need counsel and advice more than anything right now, so others will have to be consulted. I’m confusing even myself, so I’ll end this paragraph now.

Favorite words (in no particular order):

— relish
— prolific
— paradox
— vermillion
— feather
— spigot
— envelop
— trellis
— noodle
— turnip

and more…

I’d be better off in bed at this point. My fingers think differently, though.

i have been so blessed
with marvelous comings of
my bows and ties and shoes
slick apparent the words
return and flow burble but
turn back is that even a word
when i can’t see you will
my knee halt the trembling
cork of knarled and crumbly
performing into exorcism
and my eyes are heavy why
does diligent hide why do
the words come so thought
fully now i wish i knew where
they escaped or perhaps i
escaped them i don’t know
i am bleary and wilted Lord
overrun with the grime of
concerns and false gods
i will escape to You only You
only You and Your Spirit
please come please fall
i need You i need every
attribute you can spare Lord

Philadelphia was excellent. Thirty people went, about two thirds from UNC and one third from State. There were nine men and twenty-one women. We arrived on Saturday and returned home on Friday.

Saturday: All the State folks loaded into an 18-passenger van and headed up to Henderson, where we were to meet the Carolina contingent. We arrived at 8 but had to wait a little while before we left for Philly for reasons that will not be named :o) It took us about 9 hours to get there, with potty stops. Erin and I had neglected to inform the rest of the group of the status of our relationship, so they were understandably surprised at how well we were getting along in the van. As part of the skit team, we worked with a few others on the skits we were to perform, and settled on two we thought were suitable. We arrived in Philly around 5 p.m. We lodged in the Germantown district of the city, in the dorms of what used to be a small college but is now a church. The dorms were nice; comparable to those here in Syme.

That night we ate dinner with a group called Teen Challenge, a drug and alcohol abuse rehabilitation program. It was a house in another part of Germantown, a little old, but nicely kept up by the tenants. The group is called Teen Challenge, but there were a lot of men there in their 30’s and 40’s, all races, many different walks of life. A man shared his testimony before dinner. He had only been a believer for a few years, but exuded such a maturity, optimism, and depth of understanding about the things he spoke of that I think all of our eyes were opened to the irrepressible nature of God’s grace, no matter what anyone has done. From his account, this man had truly experienced the depths to which one can sink, and he found the grace of God waiting for him there, to redeem his life and wash him clean.

For dinner, I had lasagna and some borderline-toxic Gatorade drink. Afterward we put on a short chapel service for the dozen or so men at the house. Erin and I performed our skits, and we had worship, testimonies, and a short talk. I got the feeling none of the men knew the songs we were singing, but they worshipped with abandon and belted the verses out louder than any of us. In our life we pile together so many commitments, obligations, pursuits, interests–these men had nothing but their relationship with Jesus and each other, and He held them, gave them strength, and made them joyful.

Sunday: We had matresses to sleep on, so waking up Sunday morning wasn’t the great dramatic performance it could have been. We had a little extra time to prepare, then headed off to a church in north Philly (the worst part of town) called Spirit and Truth. The congregation was quite diverse, and worship was good. The percussion section of the worship band was notably oversized, and their presence was felt during praise. It was amazingly reassuring to venture to another part of the world and worship the same God, to hear a congregation around you lifting their voices and calling on Jesus.

We ate lunch downstairs in the church (we had bag lunches every day), then loaded up the vans and went on a prayer drive around north Philly. What this constitued was simply driving around the inner city, looking out the windows, and lifting up whatever God put on your heart right then and there.

There was an enormous amount of trash scattered on the sidewalks and streets. Children played outside under makeshift basketball hoops and played chicken running in front of cars (and our van). Two-story apartments lined the streets and alleys. They all had bars on the windows, and many had the porch completely barred-in as well. Most of the cars had “the Club” or some form of protection installed. It was a foreign world, with few attempts at embellishment of the squalid tenements. It was tempting to see the groups of people before you and collect them into a group labeled “residents of north Philly,” the clumps of humanity… but each soul is an individual soul, a soul God loves and sent His Son to save. Each is unique… this just blows my mind.

After we returned we visited Wawa, a sort of gas station quik-e-mart without the gas and with a deli. I wish they had them down here on college campuses, if only for the fact that name of the store is fun to say.

Monday: Adjusting to a “normal” sleep schedule was difficult. We got up and had cereal and fruit for breakfast (well, some of us had fruit, at least). We heard a talk by Bob Emberger, director of Whosoever Gospel Mission, a facility for homeless men in downtown Philadelphia. He spoke on urban theology and offered not a few very practical guidelines concerning ministry to those who are down and out.

They divided our group of 30 up into 3 small groups for the week; Erin and I were both placed in small group 3 (don’t ask me how that worked out). For three of the afternoons, Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, each small group would be assigned to a particular work site, and we would rotate one each successive work day. As small group no.3, assigned to Whosoever Gospel Mission the first day, we had a particular task. We were not only to help out in the thrift store and around the rest of the mission, we were to put on a chapel service for the homeless guys that evening. I think most of the members of our small group (myself included) were somewhat daunted by this assignment. The idea of planning something that would be relevant and uplifting for men whose lives were so different from our own weighed on everyone’s mind that afternoon.

This entry will lengthen shortly.

Why do certain professors feel they have to test us on the last day before spring break? We won’t skip class, really. We promise. Sheesh.

We’ll be leaving for Philadelphia early Saturday morning. Have a wonderful week, everyone.

I just didn’t feel like going to sleep. For anyone interested, this is my first accordion teacher. I highly recommend his recordings if you’re a fan of folk music.

Reeses’ peanut butter cups are the perfect candy. They hover right on the edge of being too sweet for their own good, like certain dark chocolate confections in a Whitman’s sampler or the like, but remain safely within that realm of sweets that can be enjoyed in quantity without an iron stomach. Might just be due to the fact that I’ve been blessed with a high tolerance for elevated levels of candy… I dunno.

I’m still convalescing, slowly decongesting. I was an absolute basket case on Sunday, which unfortunately coincided with our excursion to see Emma’s (Erin’s sister) musical. Needless to say, I was a lump all day, introverted and cranky. I believe I apologized to the appropriate parties before we left, but I was in such a phlegm-laden haze that I could have been talking to a houseplant and not thought anything of it. Zinc, Vitamin C, and a substantial amount of mothering are slowly pulling me back to reality.

Erin and I are going to Philadelphia on Saturday morning with the IV group. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. I suppose the emotional distance is a good thing, since it gives me a chance to focus on the affairs at hand. It’s going to pull me so far out of my comfort zone. I’m looking forward to it in that respect in the same sense that an athlete might look forward to the pain he will experience during a race. He pours his all into the race, but is filled up greater than his former capacity at the end with accolades and the knowledge that he did his best, not to mention the physical benefits. In any case, I’ll have stories to tell.

I have no idea what to write this afternoon, but I feel like writing.

I need design sensitivity. That’s what it’s all about, I’m convinced. It’s the details that separate the truly talented designers from the wannabes. The fairings, the knobs, the levers, the buttons, the transitions, the nuances, the subtle shades of colors and lights that are poured onto a form, these are the things which make you in the design world. Anyone who knows a computer program or their way around a drawing board can throw big swaths of plastic down and call it a form, or the name of whatever they’re trying to create, a dishwasher, a hair dryer, a place setting, or a pencil sharpener. The details are what I grasp for and are what take up the majority of the design process. I want to design a product that’s airtight. No leaks of information, things I don’t know. When I can achieve these things rapidly enough and have enough of them to show, it will be time to go job hunting. Oh, and for my latest stab at conquering the details, here’s a desktop space heater/fan. It’s still very much a work in progress.

The day is winding down amidst deep discussions and gum wrappers on my desk. I’ve unearthed the Baz Luhrmann “Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen” song again… Perhaps it’s a sign of a renewed appriciation for the value of sound advice. I had to go to court on Tuesday to plead not guilty to a traffic violation (it’s a long story–suffice it to say that it was frivolous and unfair). The court date was 9:30 a.m. and due to a complex interaction of circumstances (mostly my negligence) I arrived home (where I was supposed to meet my dad and us both leave) around 7 a.m., by which time he had been gone for a good 15 fifteen minutes. I hadn’t called; I hadn’t given any notice to them as to my wherabouts. My mom was in tears; she was so angry at me. She’s hard to upset too much. I felt 3 inches tall; I deserved every reprimanding word I received. My father was waiting at a hotel; I met up with him and we spent the day in court and on the road. If there’s a shining example of God’s grace in my life, it’s my parents. They’ve given me chance after chance after chance while I’ve abused their favor, been irresponsible and inconsiderate, and hurt them so deeply. The look in my mom’s eyes changed me. Something clicked. I know I’ve said this myriad times before, but the resolution is there. It’s not going away this time. I will not take God’s or their sustenance for granted; not anymore.

My studio professor rocks. Besides giving me another chance, what with all my absences and everything, he’s inspired me to, as he put it, design the s!@# out of this project I have due Friday. I’m thus in the computer lab, modeling away like a fiend. I can put pics up of the design when I’m finished, if any of you folks are at all interested.

Not much to talk about the philosophical side of things. The clicking of the keys interrupts any efforts to delve into the deeper parts of my psyche. That can wait (it usually can).

Learned more than any sane person would want to know about glucosamine sulfate today. The learning curve at GNC is pretty steep. I feel like I’m progressing to the point where I can actually help people out now without humiliating myself too much, which is nice. When I get ladies who insist on talking my ear off about their latest romantic debacle for ten minutes and don’t buy anything, I get slightly frustrated. But it’s a good job. I can’t lodge any serious complaints. I’m not very good at complaining anyway.

Do you ever just stop and contemplate the sky?
Infinitesimal flickers of light
Reaching their beams down upon this lonely earth
As we turn with it, turn our thoughts and times around
Until we become dizzy and fall down
And place our hands on the ground to steady ourselves
Releasing that which binds us and
Cry out.
But the stars remain in their paths
Fixed.
Immovable witnesses of something
And everything is breath
Although they have none their
Silent pulses approach the semblance
The stars are to seem as we are
And they suggest things to our hearts
That we do not hear

“O frabjous day! Calhoo! Calhay! / He chortled in his joy”

Really is unseasonably gorgeous out there… almost makes me want to go play ultimate with the IV folks. I’d get slaughtered, though… I’ll stick to running and just breathing it in.

Things are better than they were last night when I subjected you all to that horribly mangled scrap of poetry. If nothing else, my mood now just goes to show how much of my happiness is tied up in my circumstances. He really is an awesome God, all the time, even when we’ve been dumb and sinful, and even when my monitor again starts flickering annoyingly (almost makes me want a laptop and a bunch of pillows. Nah…)

Falling asleep in the sun is my idea of a perfect Thursday afternoon. Fortunately, I had the chance to at least nod off on the student center steps while waiting for a lunch appointment. The warmth on my shoulder was not overwhelming, but comforting…

Those guys rock. The Bible study puts me at such ease every time I go. I really would like to get Paul involved. Who knew silly songs and insightful discussions could take place within the same hour, with a group of seven college-age guys, no less. It’s not often that I find a group I fit into this easily, and I’m not going to let this one slide.

Many people talk about having a relationship with Jesus as something restrictive, something full of rules and regulations that impairs your freedom and squelches “fun.” I see it differently, though. We were designed, created by God in the beginning as perfect, in His image. We were in constant communication with God; we heard His voice and did His will at all times. Through sin, we strayed away from that; the bond between God and man was broken and we helplessly followed our now inherent sinful desires, corruptions of God’s original design and plan. We were then and are still now in bondage to our desires, incapable of breaking free from them. Each rebellious thing we do isn’t more “freeing,” instead, it’s empty and just reaffirms our slavery to our flesh and the influence of the devil. Beginning a relationship with Jesus, then, rejecting the corruptions of our sinful desires, is true, absolute freedom. It’s freedom to be how we were originally created to be, fellowshipping with Him constantly, hearing from Him, having Him reaffirm our worth and value, and glorifying Him in return. It’s freedom to live the life He created you to experience, guided one step at a time by Him. It’s freedom to experience your destiny, in the truest sense of the word. This freedom is available to anyone who wants it. It’s a gift; nothing we could ever do can restore our broken relationship with God. It’s yours for the taking.

My roommate is such a sellout to pop culture. Something in me just rebels against taking what they hand to us over the radio, through TV, through all the mass media. He’s addicted to Britney Spears, LeAnn Rimes, and every other shallow pop group on the face of the earth. I wouldn’t mind it if it were decent music, but it’s not. It’s commercial and insincere and plasticky. Part of discovering who we are, creating our individual, is figuring out what we like and don’t like, our tastes and preferences. I don’t want culture telling me what to like, what’s good. The other end of the spectrum is the self-conscious counter-culturism so prevalent on liberal university campuses, people who turn up their nose if you don’t know what band they’re talking about at any given moment. *sigh* Why can’t males get their heads out of the sand and think about things besides beer and scantily clad women? I kid you not, in some form or another, that is what the majority of my hallmates discuss most of the time. It’s not a myth. There’s so much to explore, to experience, so much that’s worthwhile in life without getting wasted every weekend. Change isn’t something to be feared.

I’m addicted to cars; I’m convinced. Somehow after the engine swap experience last summer, Twinkie is never going to be enough. I’m seriously contemplating checking this out in a few weekends’ time. It has a lot of advantages:

1. Real back seat
2. Real trunk
3. Decent-looking
4. No need to worry about pesky emissions testing
5. Rotary engine
6. Rear-wheel drive
7. Excellent hot rod and sleeper potential

It guess it depends what “needs resto” means. I’m not intimidated by mechanical issues. It would certainly be a lot more practical than my RX-7 would have been, if I hadn’t sold it after it blew an apex seal (rather critical failure of a rotary engine). We’ll see. I hope so, but it’s going to take some convincing of my parents that my priorties are indeed back in order and it won’t suck up my time and money like the red car did. I wish I could make a living being a mechanic. I really do enjoy it.

Well, I’m going to Philly on the missions trip over Spring break. I don’t think my feelings have settled on the idea of it yet. I’m sure it’ll hit me soon enough.

Friendiness was never something that came naturally to me. I am and always have been more of a straight-shooter, so to speak, less inclined to use finesse and “charm” than to just be straightforward and artless in my initial approaches to people. So much for first impressions. I don’t think the fact that I’m tall and intimidating (so I’ve been told) helps matters either. I’m not overly concerned about these things, though.

A memory from four years ago: Somehow I found my way into the room where the youth group was to take place. Arriving, I was bewildered by new faces and put up my reflex facade of slight aloofness, wandering around the room a bit. People were coagulating into cliques; refreshments were being distributed around me. I was approached by several faces doing their duty to greet the newcomer. They wandered away to mingle after a few minutes. The meeting was about to begin when Sarah walked through the door. I breathed in deeply; she was in my drama group and the first familiar countenance I’d seen. She was another loner, homeschooled too, and very responsible, if not the life of the party. She always laughed, even if softly, at my attempts at humor, and I recognized the beauty of her demeanor almost as soon as I had met her. She sat by me during the whole youth group meeting, looked uncomfortable at the proceedings when I felt it (they were far more charismatic than I was used to), and offered a warm glance every now and then. Afterwards I walked her out to her car. It was cold, and my sleeves have never come all the way down my arms. We stood there, talking perched on the hood of her car, for an hour or so, affirming the similarities of our spirits. She never returned my affections from what I could tell, and departed my sphere of life just as gracefully as she had entered it.

I’m exhausted. Skiing was a blast, enough to make me want to make another trip in a few weeks. I’m not rich, though, so we’ll see.

The record is now 2-1, in my favor. After suffering with the stigma of defeat and the hands of my best friend for two years, the record has been righted, and decisively so. There was no way he could catch me; even his meager excuses fell flat once he witness my blistering speed and poise rocketing down the almightly Tyro (name of the slope).

In all honesty, though, if there was one thing going through my head constantly as I rounded the last bend doing at least 50 mph, it was “I am gonna die.” My outer ski, the one you push on to turn when you’re in a crouching position, was vibrating wildly, and I knew it would catch a snowbank or something and I would perform an impromptu aerial demostration. God protects us even in our adrenaline-fueled stupidity, though, and both Aaron and I came out unscathed from our two races down the Tyro. I think the second time (where I barreled down the slope with nary a hint of braking) was the fastest I had ever been on skis before. It’s a nice sport in the sense that it’s multifaceted; in other words, there’s more than one ideal to strive for. If you don’t feel like speeding down the hill, you can just carve benign swaths across the breadth of the slope, keeping your skis together and parallel like a pro. It all depends what you’re going for. I get a measure of satisfaction either way.

In more mundane news, I didn’t get too sunburnt (just my lips), and the car ride was enjoyable except for the part on the way back when Aaron took off his socks. Good grief.

Went to a nice chinese restaurant earlier this evening with Paige and Aaron, doing the third wheel thing. They’re fun to hang out with; they really are. We had to wait an hour and a half just to get into the place it was so packed out. The atmosphere was nice–low key, noisy, but you could make conversation without yelling. And the food arrived very promptly. If anyone out there reading this cares, remind me not to get in a mustard tasting war with Aaron ever again. After several rounds of seeing who could get the most spicy mustard on their piece of chicken and eat it without adverse reactions, I decided to up the ante by liberally coating the entire surface of the chicken piece with mustard. Now, I suspect everything would have been fine except for the fact that there was a big glob of mustard sitting on top of the piece, which of course rotated downward to make direct contact with my tongue when I put the chicken in my mouth. Let’s just say it was quite a rush. I can understand now how some people pass out from having foods that are insanely spicy. When the spicyness goes up your nose and your eyes start to flood, rational thought becomes quite impossible. Now I know why God gave us reflexes, specifically, the reach-for-the-glass-of-water reflex. I know you’re all familiar with that one.

I’m lonely. Very, very lonely. Paige and Aaron wanted some time alone, which I completely understand. I’d want the same if I were in either of their shoes. They’re working through somethings and need prayer. I know this isn’t a typical situation; usually I have things to do on Friday nights or more worthwhile ways to occupy my time, it’s just now… *sigh* It’s so quiet in here. I’m going to bed soon.

We passed a “Bath and Bodyworks” store in the mall (you know, one of those that a man wouldn’t be caught dead in unaccompanied by a female) which had posters hanging in the windows touting the various emotional benefits of the products in the store, presumably. One was captioned “Feel Relaxed” and was a closeup of a woman’s face while getting a massage. Another was “Feel Peace;” the picture was a group of scented candles. The one that did me in, though, was labeled “Feel Protected,” and accompanied a picture of a woman’s face with her back to a man, with his arms wrapped around her. I must have been silent for the next five minutes or so. I do so want to protect, to provide for, to keep someone safe; I cherish those warm and dry moments when we’re together and not a care can touch us. I want those back, without the undercurrents of sin that we had. I don’t understand these things. How can the sheer differences between the two sides make me fall in love so? Just the sight of a woman in a dress, done up and beautiful, makes my heart cave in. The way they move, their gestures and mannerisms, just the unspeakable female-ness of it stirs something deep within me, something affirming, something right: “This is how it should be.” It frees me to act my role as a man, to love, to dote on, to be strong and considerate, respectful of their independence and convictions. *sigh* I live in a constant state of amazement at the design and purpose with which God has invested everything He has created. We are truly fearfully and wonderfully made.

My coffeehouse bell will be named Michelle, and the next trip I make to the mall will be for a bow tie to sit beside it on the desk.

siempre
para tu
and i don’t even know spanish
i can’t force these things; they must absolve on their own or
with the aid of a greater force than is
encapsulated within my meager conscience.
but oh, the fluff–
volumes contained in my memory witness
our time. was it our time, or is our time to come?
perhaps (thrice)
it was a rehearsal, where players(you and i)
missed cues and used our soliloquies where
we should have not–there is no doubt.

but the audience remains and they have no tomatoes.
can the acts and scenes be restored? only
if He is our muse

Argh. I can’t draw anymore. This is extraordinarily frustrating. I’ll give in another shot in a few minutes, but for now I’m quite discouraged. Dang it. I used to be able to do these light, ethereal sketches, but when I need it… Grrrr. What happened? I can visualize this stuff in my mind; it just won’t project itself onto the page. This is not fun. Excuse the rant.

I have mad air guitar skills. Thank you and good night.

Well, Paige told me she isn’t going skiing. Which means she’ll probably prevail on Aaron not to come. But I’m still going, gosh darn it. This is the third time I’ve tried to do this and it’s just going to get warmer from here. As long as I have one more person to go with, I’m still going. That’s my resolution.

IVCF large group tonight was good. The speaker’s topic was the fear of God, differentiating it from the day-to-day fear we experience in our lives. It was really on target, since fear has been an issue weighing on my heart for a long time. I was thinking about the trip to Philadelphia (which I’m going to turn in my application for tomorrow), and testmonials and accounts of it that I’d heard, and I remember thinking, “That doesn’t sound so bad. I can handle that.” God gently interrupted me, though, saying, “No, you won’t be able to handle it. You need Me, My strength, and My guidance. That’s the only way you’re going to be able to make it.” I have a peace now about things. He will work them out; all I need do is my best. A job, serving Him, school, Erin and I, it’s all in His hands. He is amazing and powerful and knows all that is to come. He has plans for my life; He’s given me these gifts and won’t let them fall by the wayside if I remain faithful and trust in Him, something I’m learning to do more and more.

In other news, the ice cream song is still going through my head.

Your love
is better than ice cream.
Better than anything else that I’ve tried
and your love
is better than ice cream
everyone here knows how to fight

and it’s a long way down
it’s a long way down
it’s a long way
down to the place where we started from.

I can’t keep my eyes open today, which might be an issue during the oceanography test in an hour. *sigh* I need a nap.

Here’s an interesting mental exercise: If there were another copy of you, identical in every way, how would act around them? Would you treat them like a friend? Would you talk to them just like you were thinking? What would you do for fun? Ah, the things that occur to people when they’re about to fall asleep…