BoldUlysses.com

I love my little digital camera, but boy does it need help taking low-light pictures. Out of the bunch I took, these were the only reasonably presentable ones.

seas of light

1. The unspeakably pleasant weather outside must be putting everyone in a good mood. Today at Panera the cashier spontaneously decided she’d give me the cookie I was buying for free. It was quite the munificent gesture.

2. I think I’m going to start using my Gmail account as my primary e-mail service. Lycos has been great but after 4-odd years and only 25M of space, it’s reaching the end of its service life. Time to step it up. My Gmail address is the same prefix as my current address with “@gmail.com” tacked on the end. I’ll update all the references I can.

3. Night flight this evening. It will be a break from the routine in not only that aspect, but also in that it will be my first dual time in fully two weeks. Yes, I had that stage check two Mondays ago, but since there was no instruction, only evaluation, I might as well have been solo. I’ll see if I can’t snag some pictures tonight.

4. Obligatory pretentious philosophization: Have you ever thought about the connection between acceptance and understanding, specifically from the standpoint of relationships? This subject ran through my head on the way home from work a week or two ago and Elizabeth and I speculated about it further returning from the ski trip last Saturday.

I arrived at the subject thusly: Pulling out of the parking lot after a particularly long day, I breathed sighs of relief and decompression, and in doing so just muttered random thoughts and phrases as I am wont to do occasionally. Song lyrics, bits of conversation from the day, etc. That particular evening I thought about the concept of understanding, and I said, flatly, “Everybody just wants to be understood.” But as soon as I said that I thought about a similar universally-held desire, acceptance, that I had heard referenced in more contexts than my own mind. In other words, it’s more common knowledge that we all want to be accepted by our family, peers and so on. It’s mentioned in certain circles as a driving force in our social development years and beyond–the shifting of allegiance from our parents to our peer group, the overwhelming desire to fit in, i.e. to be accepted. And it pushes past that–think about your own social motivations. I’d wager much of what you do (and I do) can be traced back to the root desire for acceptance; add whatever trappings you will on top.

So I had these two core social desires, understanding and acceptance. I started to think about the two, and this is where Elizabeth and I hashed over the subject on Saturday evening in the car. We talked about the relative importance of the two, and decided that acceptance is certainly a more universally-recognized desire, but for those of us familiar with the concept of a deep understanding, the latter becomes almost equally important, certainly in a romantic relationship. Could a relationship exist without one or the other? I can certainly think of instances in which acceptance was present without a fundamental understanding. Many heterogeneous friend groups are like that. We recognize each others’ backgrounds but push through those to accept one another. The unconditional love of a parent is like that too. My father doesn’t understand me in lots of ways but I know he loves and accepts me. But can understanding exist without acceptance? Can you understand someone’s drives and desires and not welcome them into your social circle? That’s a fair question and one much harder to procure an example for. Any thoughts?

5. My car really, really really needs a bath. And a tuneup. It’s disgusting. Both. Equally.

I couldn’t be in a bad mood today if I tried to be. Crystal skies, mild temperatures, smooth air all made for a well-nigh perfect flight this morning. I didn’t go anywhere, but tooled around solo in the local area practicing maneuvers in preparation for my license test (“checkride”) in a month or so. The lack of wind made ground reference maneuvers kind of pointless (the idea is to vary one’s rate of turn to take into account the effect of the wind and maintain a consistent course with respect to the ground). I did practice steep turns at 3K ft and did some stalls and slow flight, the latter being particularly satisfying. The second time I entered the maneuver I set the plane up perfectly and didn’t gain any altitude in the process, just hanging in the sky, nose-high, flaps full in, just above stall speed. Did a couple of 90 degree turns in that state. That made the flight.

After all my ranting yesterday about the holiday, I ended up having a fantastic time last night. Although truth be told, the activities could have happened on most any other night of the year and weren’t particularly tied to Valentine’s Day. David and I went to a bar/club downtown and partook of the weekly Latin dance lessons. Meredith, Heather and Chad joined us and we learned how to Merengue, an easy dance. Everybody had a great time. This may become a weekly thing; we’ll see. But if nothing else it was a nice night out on the town.

I hate this “holiday.” Other than the candy. It’s good for that. My disdain for it doesn’t even come from the fact that I’m resolutely single at the moment–even when I’m in a relationship with someone, I won’t indulge in the cutesy gift-giving and all the superficial nonsense that goes on around me today. It isn’t to say I won’t give gifts and such, but they won’t be cheap flimflam; they’ll be meaningful and significant. Maybe that makes me less “romantic” according to the popular notion (which I despise anyway), but so be it.

I would write more, but as I’ve mentioned to several folks, I hate the way I write in here lately. I have ideas to express but I can’t find the right words anymore, and when I try to force it things just end up sounding pretentious and mangled and faux-poetic (which they probably do anyway). I’ve half-written several posts and just kept them private because the expression stalls. And it creates a tension because the idea or notion is still inside of me, needing somewhere to express itself, but it inevitably, at least lately, gets lost in the translation from thought to written word. I think I need a break.

I really have no reason to be this grumpy, and I’m not uniformly ill-tempered; this post is just receiving the brunt of what discontent I do have. Flight is going very well; if the weather holds I’ll have my Private Pilot License by mid-March. They want to keep me on at work indefinitely, beyond the extent of the project I was hired to complete. The roommate situation is stable (except for Don’s personal habits… How do you stay married as long as he has without learning to put the seat down or take out the trash?). And aside from whatever interpersonal drama exists within my Bible study group, which I categorically refuse to get involved in, I’m making friends and having fun. So circumstances are good.

de mes histoires
je n’ai pris que le meilleur
les mots d’un soir
les promesses des voyageurs

The past 48 hours have seen a burst of activity like I’ve rarely had. I was very glad to take a warm shower a few minutes ago and wash off all the dross and residue from Friday and the weekend so far. My eyes are still burning with tiredness but to sleep in my clean soft sheets… Ideal.

Went skiing today with four other folks from the Bible study group at church. We went to Winterplace, about two and a half hour’s drive into West Virginia. It’s a short trip, relatively speaking, but making matters interesting was the constant snowfall that lasted literally all day. In spite of the low general visibility and self-made blizzard of large flakes as we skied down the mountain, the resort was packed and it wasn’t until the beginning of the evening that the lines to the chairlifts thinned out and our runs achieved a comfortable frequency. Elizabeth hadn’t skied before, so Julia and I spent the morning with the pleasant (no sarcasm) task of teaching her the basics. She made good progress and by the end of the morning was head and shoulders above the level where she began. But she opted to spend the afternoon in the car and around the lodge, so Julia, Derek, Joe and I set out on our own. A good side effect of the fresh snow falling was the presence of soft powder on most of the slopes, and it made for excellent skiing, a situation buoyed even more by the fact that all four of us were close to the same skill level. There was thus little waiting, and on the chair lift back up a dissection of a particular slope’s virtues and vices from the point of view of equals, skill-wise. I had a splendid time.

Friday night was my introduction to the burgeoning social scene in Winston-Salem. Meredith and Heather invited me to 6th and Vine, a wine bar/club downtown. I arrived about 10:30, had a pair of Shiner Bocks over great conversation with the two of them before the band started up. They played swing tunes and some Chicago blues with a good deal of gusto. Meredith and I danced for a bit; the place was packed in but tables were cleared out for an impromptu dance floor. I enjoyed it very much, especially the dancing, when I wasn’t overthinking things.

* * * * * *

This book; it’s affecting me. I read a good portion of it on the way home earlier tonight. I’ve almost finished it. It’s completely engrossing, to the point where it impinges on my waking life away from its pages. I experienced the shock of the familiar in reading what could be the crucial passage of the book:

“It took me a long time to realize that I did, but believe me, I did. Do. And it came down to this: In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it’s impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves.”

The point of view expressed is of course aligned with the theme running through the book (one that I don’t necessarily ascribe to in all its implications), but the wielding of that sense of the concept of “understanding,” something very close to my thoughts lately, gave me pause.

And not only that, the depth with which the characters are drawn, Card’s necessary adeptness at communicating thought and conversation intermingled–It’s made me take a step back in my own conversations with friends, teachers and family, and try to pick up on the nonverbal cues that surround their speech, to get out of my own head and wild stabs at approval and be more empathetic:

“So he believed. Believed, but the seed of doubt was there, and it stayed, and every now and then sent out a little root. It changed everything, to have that seed growing. It made Ender listen more carefully to what people meant, instead of what they said. It made him wise.”

* * * * * *

After it all, I feel like I’m trapped in a plume of surreality. There are more things I could say or expound upon but I’ve run them through my head and they’re nothing. It will take a while for everything to sink in.

I’m wiped out. I’m going to skip Bible study tonight and take it easy. The weather in the mornings has been stellar this week and I’ve flown all three of my flight blocks, including this morning.

more flight training babble

I love airports. I feel at home in them.

I was talking with Erin (local Erin) during a snack run to the grocery store right before the Superbowl party on Sunday. She told me about her three years in Korea, a stint from which she returned not too long ago. I talked a little about my time overseas and shared my recent discovery of the term “third culture kid” (see a few posts down), a term she became familiar with during her own time in Asia. She remembered talking with MKs and other expatriates and asking them where they felt most at home. Many of them responded, “Airports,” jokingly but I’m sure with a grain of truth.

And I identified with that. Sure there are delays and overcrowding and construction and all manner of inconveniences, but I think it was always the situation in which I found myself passing through them that impressed upon me–either the outbound mindset, full of anticipation and excitement about upcoming experiences and challenges, or the homecoming mindset, full of relief and longing for my own bed to sleep in. I remember my surroundings in various airports and I remember those feelings.

Or maybe it was the fact that airports have a culture unto themselves, especially international ones. They’re neither here nor there, full of comings and goings, and while some of them have more care invested in their decoration and embellishment, most of them seem to derive their aesthetic from the fact that the people within are just transients. There’s an awareness of the lack of permanence in the decoration and architecture, especially in airports with a degree of construction taking place (which is virtually all of them). That mindset works its way into the atmosphere of the place and the responses of the people there. It creates a kind of “third culture,” for the place, an “airport culture,” one for which I feel a great affection.

* * * * * *

I flew to Shelby today, by myself. I took pictures (which I’m sure you’re all tired of by now). It was the first time I felt completely in control of the whole process, able to stay ahead of the decision-making process and the airplane. More than that, I really had a sense of the machine I was commanding. The experience ceased to become simply managing the view of the outside world as if I were static in the midst of some giant video game–I had a mental conception of the airplane’s extremities, the engine up front, wings to the side, empennage out back and landing gear underneath. It sounds simple but it’s a fundamental shift in perception. And if nothing else, it made for some nice landings :)

It was a good day. My stage check (test) in Flight II this morning went very well. I found Montgomery County Airport on the first try (evidently only about half of the students do–the other 50% go tooling around the vicinity until they happen upon it). Granted, I was nearly on top of it when I did spot it, so I had a few thousand feet to kill, but that’s relatively minor (although something to work on).

David‘s all moved in, though not totally moved into his room. In other words, all his stuff is stashed around the house in some capacity. The good news as far as filling the house is concerned is that he brings with him copious numbers of knick-knacks and framed pictures and posters, items the house had been sorely lacking. He and Harsha are hitting it off well; they’ve been in the kitchen chatting for the past hour or two.

Only observation about the game last night (I will refrain from commenting on the officiating): From what I can tell, the key to the Rolling Stones’ appeal seems to be the fact that everybody knows their songs and can sing along. This also seems to be the key to Jimmy Buffett’s appeal (other than the whole going-to-the-concert-to-get-plastered thing).

random old pictures I found whilst rummaging through the hard drive

Odd sleep last night. I threw off my own circadian rhythms by eating a late but comprehensive dinner last night and then attempting to read soon afterward. I promptly fell asleep and woke up again around 10 p.m. I had set my alarm so I could go for a run, but that didn’t happen and I pulled the covers around my legs again to sleep for another spell. I woke up again around 1:30 a.m., decided to actually get ready for bed and read for another half hour.

I’m reading Ender’s Game, an influential sci-fi novel written in the mid-eighties by Orson Scott Card. The characterizations are sharply drawn, almost Dickensian, except for the lack of physical description, something which pervades the book as a whole, not just the character descriptions. It’s appropriate. It gives the writing an efficiency, a tautness that fits the events and magnifies them. The book wastes no time getting to the thick of the story and fleshing out the main character, Ender, through the events he goes through. I’m halfway finished with the book and I can already tell that while the events are unfolding in a linear, rudimentary fashion that lacks flash and doesn’t immediately cleave to my creative side, it will be the sort of book that I will think about long afterward. It will work its way into my consciousness even if there aren’t any blinding plot twists or revelatory character shifts later on. Certainly if my dreams are any indication the book will do this.

Whatever the case, it’s the kind of writing I strive for all the time, in here and elsewhere. Terse. Structured. Efficient. Metaphors that don’t draw attention to themselves but that are so effectively woven into the fabric of the sentences that they combine, like a spice ground into a piece of meat so thoroughly that the two entities bond chemically. The prose becomes more than prose but a synthesis of poetry and traditional sentences. It achieves a magnificent ambiguity; it reaches the plane between conscious and the greater subconscious where I express more than I know, where I don’t understand what I’m writing but feel a greater catharsis than if I had been consciously striving for it. That’s where I want to be.

And questions. Always questions. I don’t want to preach; I don’t want to sermonize or lecture or even actively teach; I want something more Socratic. I’ve always wanted it, from the days where I first started learning how to make conversation and applied myself to this business of social interaction. I’ve been coming back to this–I think it’s what I strive for in Coffee Theology. I think it’s close, a component maybe, of a vision for the group. Larry says I should take a more “active role” in leading the group, but if in his mind that should mean talking more, expounding my own opinion, it’s the last thing I want. If I can ask a pointed question that unlocks a fifteen-minute discussion in which I don’t say a word but in which people open up and express the issues with which they’re dealing, it would thrill me beyond measure. There was a singular moment of that last Wednesday, after we had exhausted my pithy question sheet and everyone had run out of I thinks. Unprompted by a question, Julia began sharing doubts relating to what she felt God wanted her to do in that place in her life. I could tell by her tone and her expression that it was immediate to her thoughts. I could tell she was grappling with questions, pushing forward, that there were thoughts in her that rose above the day-to-day and saw life from a more external perspective.

That’s the place I want the group to be. Those are the kinds of conversations in which I’ve participated in the past where there’s a connection between people, where there’s an understanding and people come along side each other in search of the answers or at least a peace in those places we’re not meant to understand. And I’m not going to get there by lecturing, by sermonizing. Questions, always questions. At once the shield and the key.

David and Don have been moved in since late Tuesday night. David’s sleeping in my room until Don moves out in six weeks and vacates his room. I’m giving David free rent until then to compensate (though he still has to pay 1/4 utilities). He’s fairly well-situated, but I still feel bad when I wake up early in the morning for a flight and am trying to make as little noise as possible walking across the hardwood floor.

Coffee Theology on Wednesday went reasonably well. Larry attended for the first time and he and I discussed it at length last night during our weekly get-together. He gave me good feedback about it. I greatly appreciate his impressions and advice. I so want this group to succeed, and I expressed that, but we agreed that first of all I have to determine what success is, to sharpen my vision for the group, in other words. We discussed some ideas that I’ll be implementing in the coming weeks.

The front pulley lock tool for the Audi finally came in yesterday. If the ground is dry tomorrow the car’s getting a full tuneup. I have distributor cap, rotor, spark plugs, fresh oil and filter along with a new front main seal. I’m not sure if the seal is the cause of my perennial oil leakage, but between that and a new oil pump gasket I figure I stand a good chance of taking care of it. I just hope I don’t have to drop the engine subframe just to pull off the oil pump. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Here’s an interesting post-mortem by Slate about the recently canceled NBC show Book of Daniel.

first solo cross-country today

Joe: You believe that?
Ann: I do if you do.
Joe: But it’s absurd.
Ann: So is our electoral process. But we still vote.

1. Have I mentioned recently how much I love Rebecca Pidgeon’s character in State and Main?

2. From famine to feast. After months of wondering where all the roommate possibilities were hiding, Don’s moving in tomorrow for six weeks, Derek’s willing to break his current lease to move in as soon as he can, and David got the graphic design job today and is going to live here, moving into Don’s room once the six weeks are up. Please pray for the wisdom to sort all this out and that there wouldn’t be any hurt feelings. All the guys are pretty easygoing, thank goodness. It will be nice to have friends around the house.

3. No flying this morning. The fog was as thick as clam chowder. The Jeffs and I cleaned out 86 Golf and I did some homework while they watched videos in the flight trailer.

4. There’s a new plane in the hangar, a Maule M-5 Rocket we’re leasing from Harvesters International, an organization that supplies missionaries with logistical equipment they need around the world (including aircraft). It’s a hot little airplane.

pictures here

Quick thought this morning: Driving from the airport to work I was listening to the excellent Hem album Rabbit Songs. “Half Acre” played and the following lyrics were sung:

think of every town you’ve lived in
every room you lay your head
and what is it that you remember

I haven’t lived in that many towns in my life (Durham, Chapel Hill, Vence, Tourettes-sur-Loup, Raleigh, St. Augustine and Winston-Salem), but the number of places I’ve “laid my head” is significant. The concept of sleep implies such a vulnerability it’s inevitable that the places we choose to sleep would become more a part of us than those we only visit during the daytime. I hadn’t thought about it that way before. I hadn’t thought about what it felt like to close my eyes to newly familiar surroundings, letting the essence of the room and the place work their way into my subconscious. I think we’re still accumulating sensory information while we sleep, perhaps even more meaningful information. Thinking anew about what it felt like to fall asleep and wake up in those places unlocked a bit of emotional memory.

But it’s probably just my sleepiness this morning causing me to dwell on that sort of thing.

Heather called last night and told me all about her recent adventures (and misadventures) in Paris a few weeks ago. It was great to talk with her, short as the conversation was. I miss my friends in the Triangle.

No pictures today, unfortunately. I’ve been spoiling you lately. That is, unless the pictures aren’t your cup of tea, in which case this post will be a welcome relief. That is, unless you don’t like my writing either, in which case why do you read my journal? :)

Anyway.

The whole aviation program here at the school had a meeting late last night. Mr. Kelly (the director of MAI) treated it essentially as a Q&A session in addition to reassuring the students of the school’s commitment to them in spite of the program phase-out. He also announced that he had been interviewing pilots to replace Mr. Hahn as a third flight instructor. The meeting was a nice gesture of solidarity.

I gotta brag about this. The cross-country went terrifically well. I made a beeline for both airports, found them, got down quickly enough and my pattern work was great too. Granted, the air was cold and smooth and clear too, which made life easier. But at not one point did I get lost. Weather permitting then, Mr. Parrish will sign me off for my first solo cross-country (to Morganton) on Monday. Big fun.

But that’s not what I’m going to brag about (no, really?). My instructor simulated a number of situational hiccups during the flight: no flaps on landing, an obstruction along my flight line (requiring an in-flight course change and recalculation) and two engine-out approaches. The second engine-out happened just as I was beginning my descent from pattern altitude to the runway (“abeam the numbers” in the pilot vernacular). Of course in a situation like that you want to get the plane on the ground as quickly as possible, so I immediately turned toward the runway while trimming the airplane for best glide speed (65 kts) and simulating the engine restart procedure (fuel selector, mixture, carb heat, mags, primer). So instead of a normal squarish approach pattern, I was coming at the end of the runway from a diagonal angle, and I was high. I pitched the nose down while still approaching the runway from the skewed angle. The plane dove for the ground, and just before the beginning of our (short) runway I got on the centerline, rolled wings level and dumped the flaps in. The plane’s descent slowed and I eased it down the few remaining feet onto the runway for a beautiful soft landing (a “greaser”). That felt great. It’s always nice for the last landing of the day to be the best, all the more given the simulated engine-out. What a way to start the weekend.

meet hal

Do you ever feel like you have a finite amount of passion? I felt this very keenly the other day, coming home from work, stopped at a light on Hawthorne. I sensed this overwhelming feeling welling up inside me, unattached to any particular situation or direction or interest. And reflexively my mind turned to thoughts of being overseas, things of that nature, and the familiar longing materialized in that direction. But it was the gap between the beginning of the feeling and its attachment to the longing that got my attention. In retrospect, I almost felt for a second or two that the passion was like a kind of currency, floating, untethered, and I could have thought about almost anything in the moment that followed its genesis and the feeling would have alighted on that area. To use an inelegant example, it was as if the passion were a shopping cart with casters on all four wheels–in that moment it can point any direction. Or perhaps the feeling was more like a coat on a coat hanger–I was poised with the closet door open and had the choice to hang my coat in between whichever two coats on the rack I wished.

It gives credence to the notion that no matter the object, our fundamental passions have an element, some would even say a core, of similarity. Some of us cannot understand how others can take such an avid interest in the things they do–football, cockroaches, online gaming, collecting, fashion, cars, dogs, celebrities–but I would argue that if those passions were examined closely there would be undeniable similarities between them. It’s largely only on what we chose to “hang” our feeling that makes the difference. Look past the surface interest and scrutinize the reactions and expressions, time and money spent, knowledge acquired, view them in a more objective light, and the common areas stand out.

I would even go farther than that, though. I would put forth that we as humans need to express passion in a particular direction. It’s as if we’re all given a finite ability to be emotionally wrapped up in an interest, and what we choose to do with that “currency” varies. Granted, it ebbs and flows, comes and goes, replenishes and dries up, but I see it almost as raw material to be shaped and cast in a specific direction. I recall the days when I owned multiple cars–my enthusiasm for one would grow at the expense of my interest in the others. I would be passionately motivated to drive and tinker on one and think of the others as little more than paperweights, driveway sculptures. The object of my directed interest would vary from month to month depending on a number of factors. Through it all, though, it was as if I had a limited amount of “car passion” to spend and when I used it up it was gone.

And it had to be spent. I think it’s like that with most folks. I visualize an orb in our cupped hands, a crystalline reservoir of feeling, to be extended, arms forward, in a specific direction. Whether it be going nuts at a sports game, spending hours poring over catalogs and eBay listings of coins, getting completely drawn into an online RPG, thumbing through fashion magazines or more altruistic directions like parenthood or a community outreach, we direct our passion every day. I want to use that knowledge and guide mine wisely, with His direction and grace.

1. The gas bill for last month was over $300. I replaced the filter. I have the thermostat set to 67°. Ouch.

2. My roommate whistles whenever he’s walking around the house. He doesn’t whistle a tune. He just whistles a few random notes, stops, then another few notes, and so on and so forth. I don’t know why he does it. Is it just to make his presence in the house known? Is it some bizarre compulsive-whistler psychological disorder? I haven’t the foggiest. Regardless, it drives me crazy.

3. My birthday this weekend was wonderful. Thank you for all the well-wishes. David (friend, not brother) and I hung out Saturday night, scoping out a new pub with some friends before going to a midnight movie viewing. David graciously picked up the tab for everything. I had a great time. Sunday lunch was spent with the family. My mom cooked veal, rice, asparagus and provided an excellent white wine to complement the meal. She baked Aunt Lena’s No-Fail Chocolate Pound Cake (affectionately known as “the Boat Anchor”) for dessert, my favorite. I opened presents, conked out for a little while and watched the Panthers get steamrolled by the Seahawks (go Steelers!) before heading back here to Winston-Salem. I felt loved, appreciated and every other good adjective you can think of.

here are some pictures

I have an innate aversion to labels and categories and cubbyholes of description. I’m aware of the fact that it’s somewhat hypocritical given my strong predilection for describing and organizing the world around me in terms of systems, a penchant which necessarily involves a degree of generalization and thus labeling and categorization. But in terms of self-expression, when it comes to describing my own personality, I eschew almost all attempts to synthesize an overarching descriptor from a set of attributes or responses. Personality tests, memes, online quizzes… They hold no appeal.

Why this opinion? I fully appreciate the value of being self-aware, of being conscious of my own psychological chemistry. But I feel like the effect of aligning myself with a category would have a disproportionately large effect on my self-perception vis-a-vis life directions. In other words, my decision-making process would be restrained by that self-knowledge, or semblance thereof.

It may happen consciously; for example: I could be hesitating between two major life choices, and recalling the fact that I am an INFP or what-have-you, bring that to bear on my decision. Or it could happen subconsciously, in which case the cumulative effects of a number of personality “tests” would snowball and exert a tacit influence on my choice, pulling me in one direction. Part of my reaction stems from the ubiquity of the tests: The likelihood of any one test’s accuracy is inversely proportional to the number of tests in common usage. I’m sure some people create them for their own sake, but in most cases people create a new test because they’re dissatisfied with some aspect of the previous. So in theory this cottage industry based on self-evaluation should result in a self-perpetuating progression toward an ever more accurate test, but in my opinion we’re far from a truly usefully descriptive evaluation, and I have no inclination to stay abreast of the latest and greatest.

But the larger reason for my aversion is the potential of the tests to create an experiential cage around me. I never want to take initiative or refrain from it based some self-knowledge, subconsciously-suggested or no, gleaned from some test. For example, I don’t want to avoid working with kids because an evaluation suggested my ability to relate to them is not a strong suit of mine. I don’t want to artificially curb a budding interest in, say, quantum physics and higher-level math because I think of myself, based on a test, as a more, right-brained, creative person. I don’t want it even suggested to myself subconsciously that I would bomb a speech because I learned that I’m an introvert and don’t interact well with crowds. It wouldn’t help a thing. And of course it’s no license to do anything and everything; awareness of one’s strengths and abilities is certainly brought to bear, but I want life experiences to supply me with that awareness, not some test.

Where does this aversion come from? Probably something to do with my Gen-X roots :)

However, if I had to choose one category in which to place myself, it would be a third culture kid. Even so, it’s not with the intent of clarifying to myself my own personalty in service of future decisions, but a reflection of the influences that shaped what I’ve always felt inside. I read the description and felt a pang of recognition like I’d never had with another artificial category. It explained why I’ve felt the way I have for such a long span of time. Clinically-meant phrases like, “develop[ing] a sense of belonging everywhere and nowhere,” and, “build[ing] relationships to all of the cultures, while not having full ownership in any,” had the same effect on me as intricately-constructed poetry; they tugged at my heartstrings. But the most eloquent summation of the core of that concept, of what I felt, was written by a friend: “They call us TCK’s, you know–third culture kids, kids who grew up in the wood between worlds, not really a member of any culture but making our own out of the experiences we were handed. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Yeah.

Current favorite song: Over the Rhine’s flawless cover of “My Funny Valentine.” Talk about a song with touch; this song has it in spades. I was listening to the (excellent) album on the way to Bible study earlier this evening, and just as I parked the car the song began.

Does this ever happen to you? You’re driving along, with whatever music blaring, cranked up, feeling good, and you park the car and the engine and stereo turn off simultaneously. In that pause between the end of the car noises and music and stepping out into the day, the silence is palpable. It’s like an audible wave that rushes back in to fill in the void left by the sudden absence of sound. I don’t how to describe it better than this: In that moment, I can hear the silence.

That was the backdrop for my experience of the song earlier. It took my breath away. It was the difference between a timid, landscape pastel watercolor and streaks of thick black ink smeared on flawless white canvas. There was contrast, and it made all the nuances in the music stand out–I heard the confidence of every accent and tonal nudge.

It’s the setting in which I recommend experiencing the song. Unfortunately this means shutting off or finding some way to take the computer out of the scene; even the hard drive’s low hum is unwelcome.

When you’ve got yourself situated in a soundless environment, listen to the way Karin sings “favorite work of art” and the intertwining vocals, piano and bass. Move with the ebb and flow of the song. Amazing stuff.

(more…)

No cross-country flight today. Too windy–20 mph gusting to 35. The maximum crosswind capability of the airplane is about 18 mph, so getting it back down on the ground would have been dicey. Jeff (who hadn’t flown in about a year) and Mr. Kelly flew while I had the night flight briefing in the trailer and Mr. Kelly, who landed the plane, said he wondered whether he had enough rudder to keep the plane straight ’til touchdown. Jeff said they practiced slow flight into the wind and were essentially hovering over one spot on the ground. That’s a stiff wind. Visibility was great, though–the catch-22 of weather. It seems like it’s either cloudy and calm, or windy and clear. Oh well. Hoping for the XC on Friday. I was keyed-up to go today, too: Had the flight all planned and was ready to use my VFR kneeboard.

Another free lunch today. I’m averaging about one a week. Karl, Mike, Bret and I had Mexican. Karl ordered some kind of shrimp kabob dish with guacamole and black beans; it actually looked appetizing. Upon eating the beans, though, he found they tasted very much like diesel fuel. A taste by Mike, Bret and I confirmed this. He beckoned the manager over and got his order renewed–evidently someone had painted the inside of the cooler in the kitchen (?) and somehow a vestige of the paint had made its way into the black beans. Ugh. But the order was corrected, marked down by half, and we all got free ice cream tacos, which were scrumptious. Karl generously paid for everyone. I had a small dinner this evening, though–I was about to pop all afternoon after my lunch burrito, the ice cream taco and ingesting approximately one metric ton of chips and salsa whilst waiting for the order.

Coffee Theology group tonight was fantastic. For those who don’t know, it’s a subgroup of the Bible study that meets on a biweekly basis and talks about practical issues relating to our walk as believers. It’s based on a concept originated by this church in Raleigh (click on “Upcoming Events” and scroll down to “Theology on Tap”), which I was involved in and enjoyed immensely. No jargon, no “Christianese,” just authenticity (as least that’s what I’m hoping for). In past meetings we’ve discussed politics, culture, movies, music and so on. Tonight’s theme was relationships, primarily of the male-female variety. I print out mini-handouts with discussion-starting questions, everybody orders coffee and we go from there. Tonight there were seven of us, a record, and discussion was lively as the theme is something everyone has experience with and opinions about. It’s not where I want it to be, and I know the original model I’m drawing from (the church in Raleigh) isn’t going to work here, just because the people are different. But I want to adapt it to the group as best I can, and besides it’s not up to me to force anything. Tonight was certainly encouraging.

Had lunch with Bret today at Panera. I had half a Frontega Chicken Sandwich, a bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup and a hunk of baguette. And a Chocolate Duet Cookie (with Walnuts). Talk about a filling lunch that just makes you feel ready for the afternoon. After feeling slightly malnourished yesterday and having a headache all evening, today’s lunch hit the spot. Also during conversation, Bret mentioned that he’s been happy with my performance so far. It’s nice to hear that every once in a while.

I am slightly amused that Eclipse decided to use my armrest design for the 500. After designing the seats and giving them at least a dozen different armrest concepts, all of which they vetoed, it would seem, based on this concept image, that they actually went back and decided to use one of my designs. Could have saved me the frustration a year and a half ago and told me one was acceptable, but oh well. It’s water under the bridge, and I’m happy to have my design instincts somewhat vindicated.

What a confidence-booster. I flew today for a little over an hour and found that I had hardly forgotten anything since the last time I was up in the air, a month ago. My instructor, Mr. Parrish, is a little chattier than Mr. Hahn was, but that’s not a bad thing at all since a chatty instructor is usually a relaxed instructor, and when they’re relaxed it’s usually a sign that all is well. We flew around the practice area for a bit, did a couple of stalls, ground reference maneuvers and he pulled the engine on me. I did everything to his satisfaction. He said that if it had been my private pilot checkride the examiner would have been on the fence about whether to pass me, a good sign considering I have several months of practice before that occurs. In short, it felt great.

My first cross-country (XC) flight will be Wednesday morning. We’ll fly down to Anson County airport (just north of the SC border), up and around Charlotte airspace to Hickory, and then back to Sugar Valley. Rick’s flight block with Mr. Parrish is immediately after mine, so the days when Rick flies his XC I’ll be doing solo work (the XC takes essentially the whole morning). I’ll try to sneak a few aerial photos during my next solo. Probably Friday.

on transatlanticism, oughts, global verticals and balrogs

Windy today. Rent clouds scurried across the sky. I went running mid-afternoon and had to fight the gusts during the last uphill stretch. I tell myself that the cold air is more dense so my lungs are getting more oxygen per inhalation, but somehow that doesn’t seem to appease them. They just want more.

I love this song. It brings back strong memories of one of the best concerts I’ve been to–a Dar Williams show at the Cradle in Chapel Hill. Elyse and I went. Standing room only. She stood in front, me behind, and in one near-silent lull between songs she yelled out, “We love you Dar!” which of course precipitated spontaneous and warm cheering from the rest of the audience. I remember singing this song, too–Dar led everyone in a singalong. She played “After All” as well. Oh, it was fantastic. Life was simpler then too. Work and home, treading water.

I met with an older gentleman from my Bible study church group on Thursday night, in the first of what I hope will be many more meetings. His name is Larry, just turned 68, and he lives near downtown Kernersville with his wife Jan, born three years to the day before him. She and Larry have been believers since the late fifties, and have a heart to minister to the “grad & career” singles groups in the church. They take a back seat role, though, not teaching or leading per se, but participating in events and helping out with classes behind the scenes, sending out prayer/praise e-mails every Monday and greeting newcomers on Sunday mornings, among other things.

I’m convinced God’s got in me this place for a reason, and when I meet people like Larry and Jan it builds my faith. Larry and I talked for three hours on Thursday night, chatting about his life in the latter half of the last century, through all the changes and upheavals. He flew airliners for Continental for years and years and has many thousands of hours under his belt. He has stories of flying Twin Otters fifty hours a week in Alaskan winters, times when he and his fellow pilots would fly all day, come back to a one-room apartment, lay out their bedrolls and crash, only to get up at the crack of dawn the following day and fly again. He’s active and doesn’t look a day older than 55, lean and trim. He used to ride dirt bikes (motorcycles) and after he heard I was an avid car mechanic with substantial experience, he spontaneously showed me a glossy brochure for the Triumph motorcycle he’s got his eye on. We talked about the environments in which we’ve had our best conversations, and I shared that some of my most memorable talks were just me and another guy hunched over the engine bay of a car, tinkering. He beckoned me energetically into the garage and showed me his tired Honda XR350R dirt bike. He suspects the front fork is bent and he can’t get it kick started. He’s interested in fixing it up with me. I sat on the seat of the bike, arms folded over the handlebars and he sat on a pile of two-by-fours and he talked a little about how he and Jan found each other in the university in the late fifties. He said he had dated a number of girls before her and been through the whole rigamarole we all go through, thinking about it from every angle, wondering if she’s the one and so on. Then he met Jan, and after just a few encounters he knew. He said he wanted a companion, and he knew he had found one. I wanted to exclaim that I wanted the same thing, all sorts of things that would have been superfluous, useless, unneeded. I wanted…I don’t even know what I wanted. I just smiled.

He showed me old flying textbooks, hand-illustrated instrument license textbooks and others published in 1959, 1963 and so on. They’re priceless. The care taken with each image mirrored the care evident in the word choice–so clear and perfectly allied to the concepts. He brought out props and teaching aids he had made for his students when he was an instructor and stacks of note cards he made for himself to memorize reams of procedures in his airline days. I wish you could have seen it all.

I’m amazed and humbled by the people God puts in my path to befriend. I’m bowled over with silent emotion tonight. Tonight.

Finally got the word today. Mr. Parrish (incidentally my academic advisor) will be my flight instructor for Flight II. My flight blocks will be MWF at 8 a.m., when the winds should be nice and calm and we’ll have the whole morning for cross-country flights, which make up the bulk of this semester. I’m really looking forward to getting back in the air. Something tells me the first time back will have to be mostly a review session, seeing as how I don’t know how much I remember from a month ago. I’ll do some chair flying before the first session on Friday morning (read: sit on the edge of the bed and gesture toward imaginary controls whilst making airplane noises).

There’s something of a baby boom at my place of business. John’s wife is about to have a boy, Bret just learned that his wife is expecting their fourth and Annette is almost due. They and Jeanette (who is childless but with her husband is considering having a baby or adopting) must have talked for an hour and a half in the common area right next to my desk. Children are evidently a big, big common interest when one approaches that age and life situation. I didn’t say much, but just listened while working on a part drawing. At one point Annette did say something to the effect of, “What about you, Matt?” with a smile, to which I responded, “Well, there’s really no interesting answer to that question…” Heh. A million different thoughts swirled around in my head hearing them converse.

They say that leadership is influence. Far removed from the popular paradigm of being visibly in charge or giving orders, true leadership can be distilled to the ability to influence others. Our ability to lead, then, depends on our effectiveness in influencing others. And since most of us frown at the thought of passivity, instead wanting to take initiative, push forward, fulfill our ambitions, lead ourselves first and then others, the whole concept of influence takes on a new level of significance.

Have you ever sat back and thought about the ways others have influenced you? Think about your personal habits, drives, thoughts patterns. A lot of that is derived from more spread-out presences in our lives: parents, old friends, siblings and such who impress upon our lives over the course of many years. But I’d hazard a theory, depending on our individual temperament, that there are key moments in our lives where others have made a difference that changed us permanently. Maybe it was something they said, or a pattern of actions we witnessed, or a consistent response to a particular situation. Whatever the case, in that moment or small series of moments, our life was truly changed. We deal so much in the lofty, ethereal realm of concepts, motivation, platitudes and pep talks; this is where the rubber meets the road, this is influence.

• Colleen: It’s hard to overestimate her influence during the six months or so that we knew each other and the one month that we dated. Freshman year of college, Fall ’97 to Spring ’98. She was a Park Scholar (NCSU’s highest scholarship) and had a depth and emotional intelligence that took me by surprise. I couldn’t point to a specific thing she said or did, but during late nights at studio and in her dorm room, we talked and the questions she asked me, the attitudes she displayed was unlike anything I had experienced. I was fairly self-aware and introspective before then, but conversations we had could have been prefaced with the phrase how deep do you want to go? She was the one under whose auspices I arrived at the whole concept of understanding expounded upon a few entries ago. For the first time I thought about the semantics of the vocabulary I had been throwing around; I thought about relationships on more than a surface level, and more toward the core of true desires and needs. She effected a pattern of thinking in me that extended itself into so many more areas. Talk about emotional intimacy: it started here. Part of me wishes it hadn’t, that I had waited to experience it later in life, but I wasn’t even aware of the concept before it was upon me, so there it is.
• Salaam: Way back in the seventh grade, he simultaneously influenced my notions of “cool” and inspired me to seek out new music for myself instead of just taking what was handed to me on the radio. He was a good friend from our first stint in France and an MK living in Monaco. His dad worked with Trans World Radio and we went to the same church. We were close to the same age and got along well. My family had been back in the States for a couple of years and they were back on furlough, so my parents invited their family over for the evening. I knew what time they were coming over so I had time to “prepare.” How’s that, you ask? In seventh grade my idea of “cool” during a social outing with other homeschoolers was to sit alone playing my Gameboy and hope other kids would wander over and watch. I felt aloof and had the deluded idea that owning a cool electronic gadget would guarantee me some kind of magnetic attractiveness. The whole concept of stepping outside myself and observing the ridiculousness of my attitude with an objective eye was completely beyond me. In any case, the evening Salaam and his family were to visit the ante had been upped; I had recently shelled out a hefty chunk of my savings to purchase an Atari Lynx, the cool new handheld console. Not only that, but I had an Amy Grant tape upstairs I could play on my boombox. The first song I thought was pretty cool, and it had a nice “heavy” guitar solo. I had it all planned out…and everything went perfectly. I cleaned my room, and instead of greeting the family at the door, I staked out a spot in the middle of my futon in my room and waited for them to come upstairs. I listened for their arrival, and when I heard Salaam and his brothers make their way to the stairs I started the tape and plugged in the Lynx. And to a tee, just as they rounded the bend at the top of the stairs, the guitar solo hit and there I was, sitting there, engrossed in my bitchin’ game system, sitting cross-legged on the futon. They were polite; they came over, and I came down off my cloud a little bit, enough to acknowledge their presence and make conversation. They expressed interest in the Lynx and my Lego set. Then I remember asking them what they thought of the music, and Salaam made a single comment that precipitated a major reality check: “It just sounds kind of…I dunno, stupid.” I think I short-circuited. I carried on without missing a beat; we had fun, but that one comment and the ensuing experiences with Salaam and his music started a fundamental shift. Not only was it the beginning of the end in terms of wasting money on video game systems, I started to look at music differently and form my own opinions about what I liked and make my own channels toward new and interesting music. Funny how a little bit of honesty can have that much of an impact.
• Precious: I’ve always maintained that the more attracted I am to someone the worse job I feel I do of appealing to them, and by that principle, in her case I did a very poor job indeed of presenting myself. I wrote her a few letters, we exchanged e-mails and had conversations online. We even attempted a few hesitant phone calls, and the chemistry was strained, to put it kindly. She was serene and a good conversationalist, but I was inadvertently doing my best to completely sabotage things, with constant nervous interjections and random tangents before I burst back onto the subject with a string of apologies for drifting off topic. I was even driving myself crazy, to say nothing of how I’m sure she was feeling on the receiving end of my nonsense. It came to a head one day, and I remember her quietly but insistently saying, “Just…stop being self-conscious.” It floored me. I tapered off and didn’t say anything for at least 30 seconds until I replied with, “Okay… Okay.” It really was that simple. And from then on, while I’ll occasionally have spurts of self-consciousness, it’s much better than it used to be. If you saw any of my writing from the period you’d know. Ellipses galore and endless loopback references calling out something I had said as witty or dumb or anywhere in between. It’s painful to read. And somehow that one little comment changed everything.
• More to come.

After all that, though, here’s the question: Do the people who influence you “implant” something new within you in that moment? Or do they just activate something latent that had always been present? I think in particular about the situation with Colleen–I had written papers before that time demonstrating a kind of exhaustive analysis of a subject, so I think the faculties were there to a degree, just not focused on the things on which she shone a spotlight during our conversations. Food for thought.

Then I drove down to the airport to look at the stars for a little bit. I had to get out of the house after having been inside much of the day. I took the long way there, feeling the texture of the road under the tires and taking note of the little houses on either side, many with just one light on. How amazing to think about the number of lives in this world, especially with how overwhelming my own seems sometimes and how I’m inundated with feelings I don’t understand. In each of the those little one-light houses lives reside, each with their own set of responsibilities, hopes, fears, dreams, relationships. I think about them and I imagine families sitting down to dinner, their chemistry and interpersonal architecture unique to that household, inside jokes, lovers’ quarrels, ambitions deferred, whole life experiences. There may be someone in that house just around the bend who’s lived in Mozambique for a time. Or worked as a stockbroker on Wall Street. Or whose grandfather taught them how to bend wood to make a rocking chair. There’s no telling. I just wonder sometimes if we realize upon meeting new people that there are whole lives in that handshake. They’re standing in front of you and if you could open them up the inside would stretch far, far back into the distance. Every time I think about these things I’m confronted with the same metaphor–we enter each other through small doors.

"The further up and further in you go, the bigger everything gets.  
The inside is larger than the outside."
Lucy looked hard at the garden and saw that it was not really a garden 
at all but a whole world, with its own rivers and woods and sea and 
mountains.  But they were not strange: she knew them all.

I trod softly by the houses adjacent to the airport and parked before I drove onto the unpaved bit. The night was relatively clear and the moon was nearly full in the west. Orion was high and I could see the Pleiades, the Twins and the Big Dog. The Dipper was just above the horizon in the northeast, and I wished it would have been higher. After a few minutes of tracing constellations I tried to look at the stars as an amorphous group of celestial lights, chaotic, without the familiarity they’ve had for years, and I couldn’t. I wondered if I had lost something as I gained the familiarity. I thought about a class I took in college, a class on modern poetry, and how I was always more satisfied with my poetry before I took the class, before I learned what I did, before I gained that familiarity. I wondered if the stars still effected the same sense of awe within me that they used to, but I’ve known them for so long I couldn’t remember what it felt like not to know. Think about a subject or an area about which you’re passionate and have a substantial amount of knowledge. Do you remember what it was like not to know? Can you trace how your attitude toward the subject has changed (it invariably does)? I have a voracious appetite for knowledge but I want to remember what it was like before I understood, the wonder and the mystery. It’s almost impossible to have both the understanding and the wonder; only the very best of men succeed.

I absolutely adore this album. It feels like dreams I’ve had, where the connotation of the words spoken (if indeed I spoke any at all) is entirely at the mercy of the dominant emotions in the dream… The real, the recognizable is either absent or pulls on the emotional atmosphere like a warm sweater. I see a spoon and it feels like happiness, a lampshade and I think about the prime minister of Austria, a long-lost college friend and I suddenly want to rattle off the periodic table or some such… Surreality.

“To Here Knows When” in particular is a masterpiece. In spite of the amplifiers turned up to 12, I can’t imagine a better song to fall asleep to. It feels like the experience itself, teetering on the edge of sleep, ambient noises drifting in and out, at once surprising you and lulling you with sudden undulations of volume. If someone took a cross-section of the moment where waking turned into sleeping and stretched it into a complete song they couldn’t have arrived at a better representation.

The drama with MAI continues. I finally got in touch with my flight instructor today, just to catch up after the break and possibly schedule a night flight lesson or two before the new semester starts up. We had a long conversation before I left for break a month ago, during which I asked him whether we’d have the same instructor (there are four) for Flight II. He said we would–developing a rapport with your instructor during the early phases of training helps fill in the gaps in communication and can build confidence. As I learned today, though, Mr. Hahn (my instructor) accepted the position of head instructor at Liberty University’s aviation program, a few hours down the road in Lynchburg, Virginia. Apparently they made him a good offer, and considering the college’s quasi-abandonment of the missionary aviation program here, it’s completely understandable that he accepted. He’ll be moving up into a program its parent college supports wholeheartedly, among many other advantages. I’d have done the same in his place, but from where I stand now, not quite at the base of the mountain of training ahead, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like people are jumping ship from the program left and right. At least it didn’t happen mid-semester. So I’ll have another instructor in a week, most likely Mr. Wing (who I like very much). So it goes.

I’m off to the gym to fight the hordes… *sigh*

• Driving through downtown Winston-Salem earlier on my way home, the car got me. It had been raining the entire way and I had the music turned up, so the ambient noise was considerable, but over all that, just under the Broad Street overpass, I heard a metallic rattling. I switched off the music and listened. The noise seemed to come from the right side of the car. I immediately suspected the right axle shaft, whose outer CV joint boot I had repacked and replaced not three months ago. I let up off the gas–the car definitely seemed to be making the noise under deceleration, a low-frequency, faint mechanical tapping. I wondered about the oil level in the engine since I have yet to replace the leaky front main seal and oil pump gasket (this coming weekend) and have to top off the oil periodically, but no, I had added a quart before I left. The noise persisted and I was getting a little concerned when I looked down at the passenger seat. My mom had packed me two tins of cookies to bring back to the house, and stacked on top of one another, their position had shifted when I had gone over an expansion joint or something such that they would tap together when I let up off the gas pedal. I unstacked them and the noise ceased, to my relief. Here’s to easy fixes.
• I turn 27 in three weeks. 27. Not a prime number (ideal), but divisible by 1, 3, 9, and 27. Not too bad.
• Leslie and I hung out for a bit last night over at her place. She had been scrapbooking alone most of the day so I provided some actual human interaction. We ended up watching her copy of Girl with a Pearl Earring. It was a quiet film, but good, and beautifully shot. One of the main themes from the movie, that we’re all ultimately searching for innate understanding from those we care about, has been done many times in print and in film, but for some reason last night’s variation on the theme really hit home. Maybe it was the referent of the theme in the movie, artistic perception. Whatever the case, after the movie was finished I felt a very keen longing for that kind of understanding in someone else. Leslie and I talked about it some and came to the conclusion that in the context of a romantic relationship, even the overwhelming desire to understand isn’t enough; the existence, the state of understanding is what we’re after. And of course that’s too much to expect on every level of our personality, and certainly there can’t be an understanding on those parts of us unique to our status as male and female, but on a certain plane, in a certain deep, fundamental part of us, we need to be understood. Whether that understanding in a mate requires an identical set of circumstances to yours depends on the nature of things in you, but in most cases I’d venture to say that’s not necessary. Let’s say you came from a difficult family background and decide you need understanding in those elements of your personality shaped by that situation. I don’t think it follows that your mate will necessarily have to have had that exact same set of circumstances duplicated in his or her own life in order to understand what you’ve been through. So that makes the prospect of finding someone who knows what it’s like a more tenable affair. As for me, I know the corners of who I am that need that innate understanding, and after the film last night, I’m ready to find the person who understands. Really. I’m ready.
• It’s so nice to have a washing machine and a dryer in the house. I will never take that for granted again.
• Heather’s going to Paris for a week tomorrow. She’s never been to Europe before, and I’m ridiculously excited for her (coupled with a fair amount of healthy jealousy of course :)
• I think I’m ready for the week ahead, work, resuming flight training and all of that. Checkbook is balanced, house is clean, dishes are done, laundry is in process, going for a run in a few minutes. We’re set.

So I’m sitting here nursing a Newcastle and munching on Rold Gold Thin Pretzels. It’s late but I got up late today, had a late “lunch” around 4, and have just been snacking since.

I just got back from my church’s singles group New Year’s party. Why do people get together if they’re not going to make an effort to interact? This mystifies me. I’m not the most outgoing person in the world–far from it actually–but when in a group setting I try to pose questions of the group, tell stories, etc. I’m not saying this happened earlier tonight, but on some Sunday lunches after church there would be several minute (or what felt like it) silences around the table, just people quietly chewing and the clink of silverware. I can understand lack of chemistry and all, but surely it’s not that hard to make an effort to interact? It’s like we’re so used to being passively entertained via the television or other screened devices that we’ve lost the ability to take the initiative in getting to know one another. We go to parties and sit back and wait to be entertained. Conversation is reduced to pithy small talk that fits our limited mental maps and is completely adrift when it wanders outside those boundaries. I venture a theory or ask an opinion about something and my conversation partner returns a few filler words. Do people not think critically about the world around them anymore? Granted, it’s not representative of the majority of my conversations, but still… When it does happen, it stays with me.

I dunno. Needless to say this is the major reason going to a movie as a group (or worse yet, on a date) is not the ideal scenario. It’s nice to have people to go to the movies with, but couple it with something interactive…

Anyway. Dick Clark hosted part of his own show earlier but he certainly wasn’t sounding too swift. The end of an era perhaps?

Happy new year, all.

All hail my plumberly (?) skills! The kitchen sink has been clogged since last night (due I think partly to the fact that I sometimes pour cooking oil down the drain. I’m a Bad Person™), a condition I found out about while watching The Bourne Identity in the living room and hearing Harsha run the disposal in the kitchen for like 30 seconds at a time. And today, after judicious application of Drano and a bent coathanger, the drain is now unclogged and I can do dishes again, my favorite thing. Just felt like sharing that little domestic victory.

Contrasting with my usual custom of posting long-winded and overwrought answers to questions no one asks, here are six actual questions asked by an actual person, the lovely . I can sense the shock and amazement on the faces of you, all four of you, my loyal readers.

I will now proceed to answer them

de ses crayons de couleur
ça me suffit
pour dessiner qui je suis
ça me suffit
pour m’inventer d’autres vies

A few months ago I attended a mandatory (yes, mandatory) concert at the college by a pianist who had apparently studied and guest-taught there. It lasted the duration of one chapel session, so it wasn’t long, and the pianist was very skilled. He played a number of pieces he adapted and arranged himself as well as some compositions specifically made to be performed by a piano. I remember sitting in the pew and listening to the music, trying to close my eyes and soak it all in, my mind unencumbered by visual distractions as the pianist’s fingers jumped around the keys and leapt from one chord to the next with dizzying speed. However I tried, though, to relax, to lose myself in the sound, I couldn’t.

There was more at work than the temper or cadence of the pieces he had chosen to play. While I admired his technical proficiency, if I hadn’t been able to see the quasi-athletic quickness with which he played the sequences of notes or had at least a peripheral awareness of the skill it took to wring those chords out of the instrument, I would have thought the whole affair severely lacking in appeal. The music just wasn’t beautiful. In fact, if I had just heard a recording, from my ignorant perspective, I would have honestly thought the pianist was hitting as many wrong notes as right ones.

Call me a philistine, but this mindset made up a large part of my aversion to the classic rock resurgence or even guitar music in general back in the early/mid ’90s. The beauty, the arrangements, the hooks in the music I preferred always trumped the whatever technical prowess was demonstrated by the artists I avoided. Long-winded guitar solos, jam sessions, album-long rock operas… I just didn’t get it. In a lot of ways it didn’t even seem like the music was outwardly focused on communicating anything–the songs seemed like grandiose indulgences or elaborate jokes played on those critics and music buffs who would read into it what they saw fit. In many ways, the appeal for me was in restraint–if an artist could convey more depth of feeling with fewer elements, that was all the more to be admired and appreciated. Less, but beautiful less, was more. Contrast, for example, The Edge’s guitar work on “With or Without You” with any meandering Allman Brothers tune or even Clapton’s musical histrionics. The former had what Bono called “psychotic restraint” in much of his guitar work, serving the beauty and theme of the song at the expense of showmanship, and is to be admired for it, I think.

In some ways my widening understanding of the levels on which music impacts us, and my increasingly attuned ear for the nuances and artistry of initially unappealing arrangements has curbed my aversion. I can feel the ebb and flow of good musical construction now. I can hear a groove, pick up on an undulating bassline or even sense humor sometimes in the juxtaposition of contrasting song segments, all of which was beyond my reach fifteen years ago. On a conscious level really all I heard then was a melody. And what’s more, now I want to understand what makes a piece more technically challenging. When I go to a violin recital, for instance, why do they pick the pieces they do to perform, to demonstrate their skill with the instrument? But after all that, even with the increased emphasis on understanding, you’ll nearly always find me listening to music I love rather than music I simply admire. Travis rather than Radiohead. The Beatles trump the Velvet Underground. Hooverphonic over Portishead. And the list goes on…

* * * * * *

I picked up a book of poetry by Chares Baudelaire at Barnes & Noble last night (I had to get out of the house for a bit). It was called Vingt Poèmes en Prose and it was the only one I could find with the original French poetry on the left page and the (admittedly poor) translation on the right. It was refreshing to read again.

I keep playing with the Leatherman™. I need to put this thing DOWN. Dangit.

Supper time.

In keeping with tradition, may I now present my sixth (!) annual LJ Christmas update, this time with a veritable deluge of pictures. I had a lovely weekend skiing up in the mountains and at home and received far more than I was expecting Sunday morning. People were far, far more generous than I deserve, and I’m beyond grateful.

beech mountain

Home in Chapel Hill for the weekend. Had a wonderful time with Aaron and his family skiing and just spending time together in a log cabin up in the Appalachians. I’ll write more about it when I have access to my camera’s memory card reader, which I left in Winston-Salem. I took more than a few pictures.

We went to Beech Mountain, a ski area a little northwest of the bustling metropolis of Boone (and abustle it was indeed since ASU won the IAA national football title). The resort was small but the runs were decently long and the weather was ideal: clear and mild, but not warm enough to melt and refreeze the snow into ice in the afternoon. It was the first time the rest of Aaron’s family (save his mom) had skied, and it seems like they had a great time.

No injuries to report except for my own–I had a colossal wipeout on the second run of the day down a black diamond slope near the top of the mountain. Coming down, trying to bleed off some speed by slaloming back and forth, I came across a swath of the slope that hadn’t been well-groomed but had more than a few large ice balls strewn across the surface of the snow. In making a left turn to follow the curvature of the slope, one of said obstacles snuck up on me and clipped my upslope ski right near the boot, causing it to fly off with a ping. Needless to say, after that it was all over–I went down, the other ski came off and I slid on my back a good twenty yards into the pad on a chairlift pylon (which probably saved me–the edge of the slope was near). My shirt pulled up while sliding on my back and I ended up with some bad scrapes and a mildly sprained thumb, but nothing broken. I feel very blessed, and yes, I’m going to look into health insurance :)

Em, thank you for the candy, the wonderful Grace Kelly card and the excellent OtR album! I’m listening to it now and I love it. Beautiful :)

Oh, random tidbit: Aaron, his brother Matt and myself read through these while puttering around the internet. We about died. There are also lists for Mr.T and Vin Diesel.

My mental backlog of “stuff to post to LJ” has reached capacity, so… another post.

1. David, check this out. Fascinating technological possibilities and potential stifled by political shortsightedness. Simultaneously compelling and depressing. But just imagine… 0.1c (traveling the distance from the Earth to the Moon in 13 seconds) with off-the-shelf technology, round-trip to Pluto inside of a year, among other things. Just…wow.

2. Andreas’ birthday today, which of course means… more food. Went to the Blue Oyster Bar in Kernersville for lunch. Had a barbeque salmon sandwich with a glass of nice chardonnay and a “Fairytale Brownie” for dessert. Karl’s treat. And I thought I’d have to pack lunches more frequently since I work farther away from home…

3. Modeled multiple configurations of a trash bin today for Ming who’s going back to China tomorrow to visit family and to get quotes from possible suppliers. It’s my best model yet, defining a complex shape in only about half a dozen features with fully-defined geometry that updates dimensions very cleanly between configurations. It’s a far cry from the old model, which was spaghettified and required 20-30 features to achieve the same result.

4. Got an email over the weekend from the head of this company. I made a contact in my church’s small group (Kurt) who works there and he passed my resume on up. They need some freelance help, so we’re having lunch next week to talk things over… I honestly don’t know what to do. Between the job here at PMI, work that they have for me to do at home after hours (instruction sheets in InDesign), this new possibility and school starting back up in a couple of weeks, I’m going to have to make some hard choices about what stays on my schedule. I can’t do it all.

Dare you not to say it to yourself :)

Had a splendid time this weekend back in Chapel Hill. It was one big neverending parade of wine, women and song… Well not really, but it was a welcome parade of get-togethers with old friends.

Saturday was spent attending Stephen and Truly’s wedding, which went off without a hitch and provided an opportunity to spend some time with Donald, Rebekah, David, John, Leslie and crew–the church folks from the area. That evening I had dinner at Maggiano’s (excellent Italian) with the old small group from the Raleigh area. A spinach spread appetizer, a plate of gnocchi in a white vodka sauce, a good chianti and excellent conversation make for a wonderful evening. It’s hard to describe how much I enjoyed it–my reaction surprised me. We talked about movies, the progress of our respective lives and I shared with them Andreas’ imparted tidbits of wisdom (from lunch Friday) concerning how to pick up someone at a club using a foreign accent. We laughed, they told how the church was doing and so on and so forth.

Sunday Susan and Ed, a couple of coworkers from my old graphic design job at UNC, met me for lunch in Cary at Panera. Ed had to leave shortly after he arrived, but not without passing on a wholly unexpected (but immensely appreciated) Christmas gift, a book he enjoyed about the early history of flight called Unlocking the Sky. Susan and I stayed for another couple of hours and chatted about life directions and how the little corner of UNC in which we both operate was doing. We share a similar perspective on a lot of matters and a similarly reflective view of the goings-on in our lives, and she has impeccable taste in music as well, so we get along famously.

And later that day Leslie and I hung out for most of the evening. Her suggestions aided me a great deal with Christmas shopping for my family (while she got the side benefit of being able to “spend someone else’s money”), and we got hot chocolate and drove around for a bit.

I didn’t want to drive back to Winston-Salem that night. As I told my parents, my “cup runnethed over” with social activity, and surprisingly I wasn’t drained a bit, but only eager for more. Perhaps that’s a sign that I share a more meaningful friendship with the people in whose company I was all weekend? Regardless, I loved every minute of it, even if we weren’t “doing” anything. It was something of a revelatory change from the usual pattern of introversion in social situations–meaning, in the process of making friends in this neck of the woods, there’s invariably a point where my reservoir of social initiative is depleted and I feel very keenly that I need time alone. The past two days were an almost unbroken chain of meetings with friends, and not once did I feel the desire to retreat back into my own space and mind for a little bit–on the contrary, I felt a social generosity like I hadn’t felt before, and I loved it. But as far as my embryonic friend group here in W-S, I think it just takes time and familiarity. I’ve felt nothing but potential so far.

Today’s job food: Homemade chocolate chip and mini-M&M cookies, coated Oreos, dipped pretzels and peanut brittle. That last one did me in. I had to cover it up, put it away, hand it off to keep from spontaneously turning around and breaking off a piece.

My situation as far as a new computer purchase is perched right on the cusp between want and need. I acquired my current computer in January 1999. It’s a blue PowerMac G3 tower (desktop) with a whopping 300Mhz processor and a 6Gb hard drive (it was a lot at the time). Its name is Henry. Last year I bought a second hard drive, 80Gb, that I’ve named Henry II, after renaming the original drive Henry the Great. Yes, if the whole computer’s name is Henry the Great then technically one is inside the other, yet ostensibly they’re related on account of the names–don’t ask me to explain it. Anyway, logically, my next computer will be Henry III, with perhaps some attached nickname of appropriate flavor, in the tradition of such monarchs as John Lackland, Bloody Mary, Edward I Longshanks or Richard II Coeur-de-Lion. If I purchase a Mac mini, the cheapest option (it would allow me to still use my existing peripherals like the monitor and keyboard) but still a quantum leap from what I currently have, it would probably be christened Henry III Smallbox. Or Henry III Le-Petit-Ordinateur-Qui-Peut or some such. This is obviously the most important decision when considering a new machine. I’d love an iBook (poss. Henry III The Ambulatory), but the extra $500 the cheapest one costs could be better spent elsewhere, I think. Like flight training. At least I already have all the software I need.

1. So seriously, my job revolves around food. This morning a large (1′ x 1.5′) Christmas tin arrived full of imported goodies from Nürnburg, Germany. Lots of gingerbread cookies, some with chocolate frosting, and these little dark chocolate cubes with marzipan and caramel in their centers… Among other things.

Andreas treated Bret and myself to lunch today at Elizabeth’s, a fantastic little Italian place near Kernersville. Kind of a family operation, and great atmosphere. Allegedly (I heavily doubt this), according to Andreas, the kitchen staff of the restaurant are all genuine Italians that are flown over from Italy for three months and then have to return again when their work visas expire, at which point the restaurant owners fly in another group, and so on. Whatever the case, the food certainly tasted the part. They brought us a free appetizer of sun-dried tomatoes and an assortment of cheeses melted over toasted Italian bread, dipped in olive oil. Sublime. And then I ate what I can honestly describe as the best stromboli I have ever had, bar none, while Bret and Andreas had soups and salads. We were even treated to tiramisu for dessert, which ended up being kind of a hybrid affair, but amazingly good–a sort of cheesecake concoction (though it didn’t have the nasty tang of cheesecake–just its consistency) draped by a more crumbly, chocolate layer and laced with a dark chocolate sauce. I had no words. So good. Needless to say the restaurant definitely earned its way into my mental rolodex as an excellent date location.

2. Funny article from one of the best automotive journalists out there: Jeremy Clarkson. The car under review (a rather tepid Lexus RX300) is really only incidental to Clarkson’s rantings, and this passage (among others) made me laugh aloud:

So why not buy a car instead? It’ll be faster, more comfortable, and will do more than 23mpg. What’s more it’ll be the GS300, which is as cool as they come, the chilliest model in the Lexus line-up. Nirvana for P Diddy, ambrosia for 50 Cent (or 28p, as I call him, to annoy my kids).

3. A great post on biblical inerrancy. The author has a way of making some rather abstract theological concepts seem very lucid and down-to-earth.

4. Did some Christmas shopping earlier. I splurged and bought myself a cd, the first in several months. I purchased the Hooverphonic album The Magnificent Tree. Absolutely brilliant stuff. I’ve never had any hesitation including this band in my top five. Here’s the title track (will be yanked in a day or so). This is their third full-length album, and it shows. The music finally has a overlapping depth miles away from the straightfoward, monothematic (though promising) songs on their first two albums. The musical texture is distinctly European but doesn’t suffer for it–they manage to infuse a welcome amount of warmth into their heavily-processed, synthetic sound without losing the flavor of the cities, the din of the nightlife and the cosmopolitan old-worldness intrinsic to life and love and everything else on that continent.

The lyrics have always appealed to me as well for their ambiguous, free-association nature. Most of the songs contain collections, snippets of sentences and couplets of adjectives and nouns that weave in and out of the musical layers, suggesting images, raw material for your mind to do with as it wants, rather than foisting upon you a fully fledged novella or some self-conscious treatise on “life.” That kind of lyrical postmodernism reinforces the European feel of the music, reflecting the prevailing philosophical mindset, utilizing it for the purposes of conveying musical themes and generating interest without (in my view) overtly endorsing the resultant worldview. It’s a question of scale–to me postmodern art and music is fascinating, and while I realize ideas have consequences in the macrocosm of realms like ethics and politics, if one is discerning enough to keep those ideas relegated to the artistic/academic level, the potential complexity of the concepts and ideas conveyed, to me, is compelling in so many ways. I’m all fine and good with creating my own reality as long as I realize it’s just an exercise.

Ice ice ice. The drive to work this morning was interesting, to say the least. Saw a couple of accidents, and also a few folks who had just scared themselves silly, puttering along the side of the highway after leaving a squirrely trail of skidmarks dangerously close to the center guardrail. My car was encrusted with a nice layer of ice, necessitating some brutish (and quite noisy) scraping action. Tomorrow’s going to be hell if the temperature doesn’t rise above freezing and begin to thaw what freezes overnight.

Saw LW&W last night. My expectations were very high, having read good reviews, not to mention how seminal the books were in my own development. Overall, I enjoyed it very much. A few observations:

• I had to fight hard for at least the first few scenes against subconsciously comparing the film with the excellent Lord of the Rings series. I had to consciously remind myself many times to that Lewis’s mythology was not nearly as developed as Tolkien’s during the writing of the first book, and that he greatly fleshed it out later, especially with The Silver Chair (Ettinsmoor, the Wild Lands of the North and Harfang) and A Horse and His Boy (Calormen and Archenland). It was difficult to evaluate the film on its own terms, though, between the double pressure of my own expectations from the books and the subconscious comparisons with LOTR.
• The score was nicely handled, contrasting (again) with the Celtic feel of LOTR with, instead, more brass and an exotic almost middle-eastern feel. The scene where Mr. Tumnus plays the Narnian lullaby for Lucy in his home typifies the musical tone.
• I particularly enjoyed how the screenwriters must have tried to sneak in a little Lewisian apologetics in the scene with Professor Kirke, Susan and Peter. Susan tries to explain to the Professor how, “logically,” Lucy must have been making up her adventures in the wardrobe. The Professor then asks Susan and Peter if Lucy is crazy, to which they of course respond no. He then asks them whether she is a habitual liar, something they both deny. The Professor then asserts that if she isn’t crazy, and she’s not lying, then logically she must be telling the truth. This is a close paraphrase of C.S. Lewis’s own trilemma, a concept he uses to rationally undergird Christ’s claims of divinity. A big kudos to whoever wrote that into the scene.

I feel like the house is wasted on me. Especially this time of year. Don’t get me wrong–I’m as grateful as I can be for my parents’ assistance in acquiring and fixing up the place, but beyond that… One whole wall in my bedroom is still completely bare after four months. I haven’t made the slightest effort to put up anything Christmasy–no tree, no lights. Why? I just feel like I can’t justify the expense. Heck, my DVD player broke a couple of weeks ago and I can’t even justify the expense of a $25 DVD-ROM drive for my ancient computer (the cheapest option) so I can watch something besides my meager library of VHS tapes again. $25 is half a week’s worth of groceries and lunches. I don’t know. I feel the lack of visual Christmas spirit around the house, but whatever instinct embedded in me that compels me to be frugal overrides almost everything else. The house isn’t a shell…quite. Preventative maintenance and upkeep, but it certainly hasn’t made the transition from house to home. I’ve no idea when, if ever, that change will occur.

I’m commitment-shy. A lot of it ties into a mindset that I have, and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s about compromise, specifically, in terms of life situations and directions. Let me explain. Presently, I’m enrolled in a course of study and headed in a direction that admits very little in the way of compromise. My finances are tightly controlled, my schedule from month to month and semester to semester is wrapped around this rigid academic path I’m following. And even after I’m done, having gotten all my ratings and hours and experience and ready to beat a path to the mission field overseas, life will be much the same as it has been–little foreseeable financial security, possible frequent moves and most likely quite a few highs and lows of spirit along the way. There’s really no other way, at least that I can see, to do things. I’d be happy to be wrong.

And the implications for any long-term relationship I would enter are profound. My hunch is that any sort of career she would endeavor to pursue would have to be very flexible in terms of location, among other things. If, for example, she were a teacher or a nurse or a businessperson tied down to a specific area, matters would be difficult if we had to move suddenly. And it’s a catch-22 in terms of attraction as well, since those women I’m most strongly attracted to are those who do have a vision and direction for their life, even if it’s just over the very near term. But it would be the most difficult situation to mesh and compliment my life to a woman’s with the attribute of a well-formed vision of her own. If there’s a virtue for being direction-less (and this goes for those with underformed personalities as well) it’s that one’s life situation is more malleable and conformable to the eventual partner’s. I want someone who is profoundly individual, then, but in taking that stance I despair of finding someone whose individuality (or at least those parts of it defined by their situation in life) can be maintained while pursuing a relationship.

Even as I’m typing this, I’m aware that those things (compromise, wholesale career shifts) are not uncommon to marriages and other types of relationships. At the same time, though, I’m met with an overwhelming sense that it would be the last thing I could ask her to do. How could I ask her to put her vision for her life, her dreams on hold for the sake of our relationship? How could I ask her to sacrifice her vision so that mine could go forward? Is this an inevitability? Am I clinging too tightly to my own path in life? Is this all just some sort of arrogant presumption or massive double standard? Or is it a legitimate concern?

Clearly, I mull over these things far too much.

"My heart says of you, 'Seek His face!'
Your face, Lord, I will seek.

"I am still confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the Lord."

Psalm 27:8, then 13-14

"For to us a Child is born,
to us a Son is given,
and the government will be on
His shoulders.
And He will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty
God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of
Peace."

Isaiah 9:6

1. Work is stabilizing. I’ve figured out a workflow, am on great working terms with everyone here and was the happy recipient of a free calzone last Friday. Bret, Andreas and crew went to a nice Italian place for lunch and Andreas somehow ended up with a free calzone, which he passed off to Bret. Bret in turn promptly forgot it in the fridge when he left at 4, and called back to offer it to me, not wanting it to sit around over the weekend. They had pity on the token office single guy, I suppose. In any event, it was the best calzone I had ever eaten. Yes, better than Rudino’s, and that’s saying a lot.

2. Observations re:groups of people. After having worked in a design environment for two years and change, being around engineering types is a welcome change of pace. The difference made itself apparent even during the hiring process by virtue of the fact that I was actually selected based on my resume and qualifications and not through an interpersonal avenue (i.e. somebody who knew somebody who knew about the job). Having been in the design environment for as long as I was, my experience was that being selected based on qualifications alone hardly ever happens (Mihali and Karen at UNC Design Services notwithstanding). Networking and knowing folks in the business is vastly more important in order to secure a good design job vs. an engineering job. That isn’t to say it’s not true for the latter, but in a much smaller proportion from what I’ve seen.

Speculations as to why this is are inconclusive. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that design is a more right-brained, subjective, organic endeavor, and one’s impressions of people on a personal level reflect characteristics of the eventual design output? Or maybe it’s tied into the large numbers of freelancers involved in design and the networking that’s essential for their day-to-day? Who knows. Whatever the case, with my current job, I kind of liked being selected based almost entirely on my qualifications for once.

I’ve probably shared this observation before, but another pair of groups between which I’ve found marked differences over the past few months have been folks involved in aviation in some capacity (“plane people”) and car enthusiasts (“car people”). The main difference comes in terms of the criteria by which they evaluate each other as fellow enthusiasts, how they size each other up, in other words. In car circles, knowledge of the industry and the workings of the cars themselves certainly counts for quite a bit, but there’s no objective yardstick by which to compare repositories of knowledge, so it’s a difficult criterion to get a handle on. Driver skill could (and should) play a large role, but we’re so straightjacketed by (rightly so) safety concerns and (more arguably) speed and driving restrictions that skill levels have little opportunity to make themselves evident unless on an open track environment where the limits of the car can be explored. Spending much time in that environment isn’t a realistic proposition for many folks. So by reduction, then, we’re left with one factor by which to evaluate our relative prowess as car buffs: What kind of car we drive. In a lot of respects I feel like it’s superficial and it shouldn’t be the main criterion, but really it’s not all that bad–it says a lot about a car enthusiast’s tastes, knowledge level and automotive penchants in a concise manner.

Aviation enthusiasts, on the other hand, prioritize different things when sizing each other up. Rising operational costs, insurance and outright costs of purchase mean that few pilots actually own their aircraft, and when they do it’s often in the manner of a timeshare piece of real estate–several people are part owners of the same plane, with a certain number of hours allotted to each over the course of a year or so. It drives the costs of flying down, but marginalizes ownership as a criterion. Knowledge is certainly highly-regarded, but just as in automotive circles it’s difficult to gauge. No, in aviation communities, skill is the primary yardstick used to compare pilots. It’s logical, really–flying is at its heart a kinesthetic enterprise, without most of the physical restrictions placed upon the automotive world. So the pilot’s skill has a much larger envelope in which to manifest itself on a routine basis. And the very milestones we live between as pilots, our ratings (instrument, commercial, multiengine, etc), are explicit on the subject of our individual skill level. It’s a convenient and meaningful method of gauging our relative aptitude in the pilot’s seat, and at least on certain levels, gives aviation enthusiasm a more substantial feel than its counterpart in car circles.

3. I’m almost at my limit with my car’s driveshaft center support bearing. Every year when the weather first turns cold it starts alternately making horrible grinding noises and screeching like a banshee in overlapping (but equally grating) tones, depending on the car’s speed. I turn the music up but even so it’s enough to make me go crazy over the space of several days. Last year I had a replacement bearing purchased but didn’t install it because the noise went away by itself in late December. I’m hoping the same will happen this year (the bearing is close to $100 and installation is a bear), but it’s already at the point where it certainly doesn’t reduce my stress levels at the end of a long day, driving home. Ugh.

4. My semester’s officially over. I took my one and only exam this morning, the FAA Written Exam (one of three exams needed to become a private pilot–the other two are the Oral and the Practical, both of which I’ll take in the Spring). Mr. Hahn promised a steak dinner to anyone who scored perfectly on the 60 multiple choice exam questions (selected at random from a pool of about 5-600). I missed one question, so I got a 98%. So close. But I suppose I can live with that.

I am sitting here at my desk at work, eating a genuine imported Bavarian gingerbread cookie. With icing.

Homemade birthday cakes are slated for delivery next Monday.

Bret is currently on the phone ordering a catered lunch for the office crew.

My new job = food?