BoldUlysses.com

Note to self: Do not listen to Chicane album on the way to work when operating on 4-odd hours of sleep the night before, no thanks to the interminable dryer in the apartment complex’s laundry building. This whole sleep fiasco is a strong argument for getting a washer and dryer for the apartment itself, someplace I could just throw the clothes after I get home from work and not have to budget out time beforehand. But yeah, the album nearly put me to sleep… Gosh.

Have you ever thought about your life on a multi-dimensional level? That is to say, according to the theory of multiple realities, that our choices determine which worldline we follow, and an infinite number of realities actually exist for all the decisions we could have made, or everyone could have made that affected us. It’s the thought that the alternate path you decided against years ago you actually did take in a coexisting reality, along with all the other choices we make on a daily basis. So in parallel worldlines, there are versions of me that only differ slightly from my present state, and there are some that exhibit qualities diametrically opposed to those I possess now. It’s a small step from recalling one’s choices and thinking, “What if I had done so-and-so?” to ruminating on the fact that “I actually did do that, and in an alternate worldline I’m actually walking around (or not) having made that decision that way.” It gives all those thoughts that sweep across my mind for a split second a more tangible kind of perverse reality, to know that in an extra-dimensional sense, those possibilities weren’t dismissed, but acted on. It’s more than my choices, even–those small (and large) things beyond my control, the cascading effect of minutiae that overlapped into my life… Realities exist for every one of those as well.

Okay. Enough of that tripe. To work with me.

Listened to the original Leonard Cohen version of “Hallelujah” earlier. I respect the man’s songwriting skills, but it sounded for all the world like a bad Johnny Cash cover band crossed with an airport hotel lounge act… Pretty bad. I much, much prefer the late Mr. Buckley’s rendition of the song.

The trip last week to Albuquerque was good and bad. It was good in the sense that my presentation went extremely well, praise God, and that the seat design effort is looking to become a more-or-less long-term association. That’ll help with the rent a little bit, I think. The real praise was how well I hit it off with the two men I’m directly responsible to. See, the aircraft is made by a company called Eclipse. The folks at Eclipse subcontracted the seat design out to another company, called Seamech (no idea where the name comes from). I’m technically a contract worker for Seamech, and responsible to Blaine (the owner of the company) and Todd (the project director in charge of the seat design). It so happens that Blaine is an avid Audi enthusiast (he owns a late-model A8), and not only is my current automotive project getting my Audi running, the seat designs I presented all bore striking resemblances to Audi seats–clean, comfortable, supportive-looking, but not overbearing. When we talked on the phone last week in preparation for the meeting, we spent more than half the time discussing Audi lore, homebrew fixes and the like. So we have an amazing common ground in that respect. As for Todd and me, we have close to the same sense of humor (a boon) and after meeting him at the airport, we talked about anything from baseball to the progress of powerplant technology immediately following the second World War, and everything in between, with an amazing easyness. Not only that, but he’s one of the few engineers I’ve met who doesn’t immediately wince when a designer walks in the room, thinking that he’s not going to present anything even remotely realistic from an engineering standpoint. He respects industrial design and is fully conscious of the fact that the seat has to look attractive, and is willing to revise his design to suit aesthetic and ergonomic needs. This attitude from an engineer was a revelation to me after my experiences at Luhrs in early ’02, and all I could do after the meeting and on the way home was to praise God for the way He’s worked everything out. Amazing, really. I couldn’t be more pleased with the nature of my association with the men at this company.

The bad part was that my flight back to RDU was canceled Thursday afternoon. In retrospect, I might have exhibited a bit of hubris in thinking that I could fly out to New Mexico on Thursday morning, attend the meeting, and fly back that night, but the prospect of losing two days of work at my day job wasn’t appealing. Turns out I almost did, thanks to (reportedly) golf-ball sized hail at DFW, my connection through to RDU. From the terminal at the airport, the pilot appeared at the mike and delayed the flight two and a half hours before finally cancelling it. Wasn’t too bad, though. I got to witness a New Mexico sky at dusk from the hotel environs, ate at JB’s (not-so-glorified Denny’s next to the hotel–no car), watched a couple episodes of ATHF and caught up a bit more on my reading.

Apparently they don’t serve meals anymore on airplane flights. Used to be whenever you were up in the air for more than an hour or so they’d feed you, but all I got on my two and a half hour lunchtime flight from DFW to RDU were two bags of pretzels, and the second one only because the lady next to me didn’t want hers. Ah well. Cost-cutting rears its ugly head.

Donald and I planned a tentative Europe itinerary last night. Without detailed knowledge of the friends we have there, and whether we’ll be able to stay with them and when, I bought a road map of Europe and we hashed things out. There was a bit of a shift in the nature of the trip, too–instead of making our way from London down to Nice as quickly as possible and branching out from there, the progress down to Nice IS going to be the event. So it’s turning out to be a 12-day European road trip. w00t. Tentative dotted line runs as follows, with overnight stops at the cities/towns indicated: Arrival in London. London to Paris by train. A few days in Paris. From there by car to Frankfurt/Heidelburg/Stuttgart. From Germany south into Switzerland (Bern, probably), then to northern Italy (lake country–Como). After that, down the Italian peninsula a bit to Florence, then doubling back to Nice, where we’ll be for a few days, relaxing, before we fly one-way to London and then back here to the states. Doesn’t look likely that it’ll be a very soothing, relaxing vacation, but we’re mobile and energetic, and we’ll make it fine. I want to get everything settled by the end of the month, but who knows whether that’ll happen. We’ll see.

“I just feel like sitting down right here,” she said matter-of-factly. Her husband smiled, but arched his eyebrows slightly as she slid down the wall and sat softly on the floor.

“I didn’t think you were really gonna do it,” he smiled. He placed the baby carrier next to her as they rested in the jetbridge between the terminal building and the airplane. They were last in line, and the quietness of the morning and relief at making the flight comforted their expressions. She looked at her baby, who must have been less than six months old, and tucked in his blanket a bit more.

The line wasn’t moving, but a sense of purpose filled the air; everyone seemed to know that everything would work out, the pieces would fall in the right places, and the queue was silent.

“I really want to see Troy,” she said, eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

“You like war movies?” he asked.

“I like big movies. Epics, you know…”

“And Brad Pitt.”

“Well yeah, that too…”

“I heard he’s bare-assed in that movie.”

“I heard that too. I don’t like him so much with long hair…”

Their exchange continued unabated as I looked forward from my spot just in front of them in the line to board the plane. It was moving again, and I picked up my bag, scooting it forward another few feet until the line stopped.

I loved the quality of that conversation. It didn’t have the crackling chemistry of a movie exchange; it wasn’t packed with information like the meeting I had attended the day before in Albuquerque, but to me it was everything wrapped up into one: Everything I had seen in the expanse of the desert sky the night before, just after dusk when the planets scouted the way for the stars to follow, attached to the hemisphere overhead just above the deepening yellow, as the color took a smooth turn into the perfect blue of the zenith. It was everything that swept over me as I stepped alone onto a moving walkway in between terminals, catching a connecting flight, everything I held inside me as I quietly fell in love with the back of a young lady’s head on an airplane, peering around the edge of the aisle seat every chance I got to see if she would turn her head.

she tied you to her kitchen chair
she broke your throne and she cut your hair
and from your lips she drew the hallelujah

Musing around on the internet, I watched a small, rough trailer of The English Patient… I saw the sandstorms and the textures, people moving their fingers softly across undulating skin, gazing at each other with a palpable intensity.

We sat inches apart, facing one another over a folding couch and mugs of tea. I recall the raindrops running down the screen just outside the closed windows. I looked at her with a regard that worked double time, searching between the sentences for the smallest nuance of attraction, for the tiniest foothold for my emotions… I would have reached out and taken her hand, alternately clasping it, fingers intertwined, and tracing the contours of her palm as we spoke. But no signal appeared, at least not from my vantage point, and the most I mustered during the rest of our encounter was to cant my feet towards her, perched on the coffee table in front of us. There were times, many times, when I couldn’t help but think there was more in the air between us than breath and conversation.

I used to be bold. Years ago I sat on a low, red couch in design studio late one early December night, talking to her, head in hand, elbow on the backrest. And during a lapse in conversation, through our gaze, I reached out with my other hand, placed it on her cheek and drew our lips together. In a whirl we were caught up for the rest of the night, remaining in it entirely against our better judgment… She wasn’t initially attracted to me, even, but through outings to plays, trips to bagel stores, and glowing encounters in her room over hot chocolate and Billie Holiday, she unfolded more of herself. Or, more precisely, I saw the inner workings of her emotions with greater clarity. She said I was the only one who tried to understand her. But I knew, as much as I did know, her heart was full of another, the one to whom understanding came intuitively, the real kindred spirit… I could offer the fervent desire to understand, but she deserved the consummation of that need for understanding from the beginning. If only I hadn’t lost her trust later than year, never through infidelity, but through shared experiences, who knows where we might still be.

baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
but love is not a victory march
it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah

Went for a run earlier–I feel much better. I was moping around a bit; I had a headache and felt generally lethargic, even after 10-odd hours of sleep the night before. Maybe it was something about getting my circulation up? Who knows, but somehow my thought life seems to gain new perspective through the runs as well… I worry less and things settle.

Watched Pulp Fiction before the run. I liked it, and it wasn’t as violent as I had anticipated, although it certainly was full of rather sordid elements. The dialogue was the best part for me. I’ve seen the chronology jumps done many times before, and the multiple plot lines converging and diverging, so those didn’t really faze me, but the script… wow. It’s a new perspective on the act of filmmaking, since Tarantino uses the dialogue not primarily to advance the plot, like virtually every other film, but to deepen the characters, and many times just for its own sake, and trusts the other elements of the film to move things along. It’s like a human using more than 10% of their brain (10% being the measly capacity we’re reputed to make use of on a regular basis)–we have so much more at our disposal that we don’t take advantage of. The same is true of the director, who makes the actor’s physical expressions, acting, and the cinematography advance the plot, as opposed to the dialogue. It makes the actors more than cardboard plot devices, it challenges the cinematography, and stretches us as viewers to search any given frame for everything the director invests in it. Maybe that’s why the movie seems so random at times–it operates on a different level, with a different visual vocabulary than we’re used to. I was impressed. I’ve always admired films that take advantage of and comment on the full capabilities of their medium–it seems like movies of that strain aren’t “dumbed down” for mass consumption, but are rich and full and more satisfying to watch.

And yeah, I’ll be flying to Albuquerque on Thursday. The sketches are coming along well and I’ve got some good concepts, but still… Le sigh.

As usual, my nervousness surrounding the get-together last night was completely unmerited. Great group, very approachable, friendly and inclusive. It was a great Bible study in that the discussion consisted of everyone just sharing their reactions to the passage we read (Romans 12 in this case), instead of cloaking our responses in church-isms and patent responses with no obvious bearing on reality. There was a real effort to decipher the relevance of the passage to us individually, in a what-does-it-mean-to-you sense. I liked it.

It’s amazing how refreshing getting together with people can be every once in a while. On many occasions I’ve walked into a youth leaders’ meeting or some other gathering feeling like the entire weight the day (or week) was pressing down on my shoulders, and left refueled and bright-eyed. I don’t exactly understand how it works, since I don’t feel the change until afterwards, but I shan’t overanalyze it.

Seamech wants me to fly out to Albuquerque next Tuesday to present concepts for the seat design… *sigh* I think I should have asked for more money. Ah well.

I’m visiting Aaron’s small group tonight. He’s invited me several times and this is the first I’ve committed to going. The thought of a large group of people, all but one of whom I don’t know or haven’t seen in ages, makes me really, really uncomfortable. I can feel myself retreating back into solitude, which I don’t really want to do, but I hate feeling as uneasy as I do in large groups. I don’t know what to do about it. I could spend more time in groups, but it hasn’t gotten better in a while, in fact from my vantage point it almost seems like it’s gotten worse. But I’m going to ignore my feelings and go, for the sake of social interaction. I’ll adopt the mindset put forth in P&P in an exchange between Darcy and Elizabeth when she’s at the piano:

– “I have not that talent which some possess of conversing easily with strangers.”
– “I do not play this instrument so well as I would wish to, but I have always supposed that to be my own fault because I would not take the trouble of practicing.”

We shall see. I shouldn’t be this nervous about it… I feel like I’m taking a test, almost, one I haven’t studied for, at that. Erg.

just hear this and then I’ll go
you gave me more to live for
more than you’ll ever know

Somehow everything converged yesterday around 5:30 p.m. I returned home a little early from work in the afternoon of a misty, drizzly day, to a messy apartment. I decided to load the dishwasher and mop the kitchen floor (not as infrequent an activity as you might imagine), and as we all know I need music if I’m going to do any kitchen work. On a whim I put in some Jeff Buckley, and between the zen-like monotony of the mopping, the ebb and flow of the music, the quality of the light at that point in the evening, and gray, drippy chill I knew existed outside, everything fit perfectly together. No sweeping observations–it was just a transcendent moment, is all.

It was almost as cold this morning. My hands still are.

Just finished watching Twelve Monkeys. The movie sits uneasily with me on a Sunday night, although I doubt its effects would have been much different any other night. It’s a similar reaction as the ones I had to Gattaca or Blade Runner or my reading of 1984 (the latter being far and away the most disturbing). Cracked visions of a dystopian future, some anti-paradise where our appetites are all we have left and the divergences between tiers of humanity are split down the seams, in plain view… And to top it all off with underlying commentaries about the nature of reality, the sanity we take for granted, time, love, all of it… I really need to cut back my consumption of so much brainy sci-fi.

It was a good movie, though. If nothing else I relish the production design in these films, the nuggets of the world they create for our minds to embrace. The amazing thing is the coherence of the sets–every detail supports the mood of the scene perfectly, and on a higher level, the film’s themes. It’s not realistic, even the sets that supposedly portray the present are more run-down than could be credible, but that’s the luxury of film. But what do I know. I imagine there are places out there where the squalor is even more abject than I could get my mind around. The movie is an update of La Jetée, a French film made in the early ’60s that we watched a few weeks ago, and somehow I liked the earlier film better than its remake. It’s not just the notion that all remakes are dillutions of the originals, but somehow the more thought-provoking elements are more pure, more unadulterated by the trappings of style than the later film. Less is more in this case.

Now for that hot shower, then bed. It’s been raining all day today, and I’ve walked out in it too much…

I got a second job yesterday. Monday, pretty much out of the blue, I got a phone call from Terry, my supervisor when I volunteered at JAARS during the summer of ’01. He’s the R&D director there, and does a bit of engineering work on the side for outside projects in addition to his support of the organization. One of the projects he had been working on was assisting with seat design for a new model of microjet, or small private jet plane. While he was able to help with the technical aspects of the seat, and its crashworthiness, the firm in charge of design needed some help on the styling end of things. So he recommended me to them, and they gave me a call, and yesterday in effect hired me to do industrial design for the aircraft seats of this plane. 10-15 hours a week and it pays really well. Wow, thanks God :)

And now for car group… It’s a bit drizzly and dreary outside. Ah well.

Voice-overs at the beginning of R&B songs kill me. I don’t know what it is, but every time I hear one I laugh. A Boyz II Men song came on the radio earlier and I was useless for its duration. It was hilarious.

Thank GOD for the Durham County DMV. After going to the Chapel Hill DMV and getting turned away again (sixth time) for a title for the Audi, on unbelievably trival grounds, I stumbled out in a haze of frustration and decided to drive over to Durham and try their DMV office, as much as I didn’t want to explain the whole scenario again. But by the grace of God, some of the red mist had faded by the time I reached the branch office in the Durham, and I calmly explained the situation, appealing to their sympathy. I was severely tempted to make up stuff or slip the lady a $20, but she ran it through. If it comes back I’ll be notified about what to do from there (in writing! Ye gods!), but in the meantime I have registration and a tag for the Audi so I can drive it around and get out of the ‘rentmobile. w00t.

how could i
i wouldn’t know

daily drivel

it’s a long way from my thoughts to what I’ll say

God, just let me make it through this day.

all that’s in my head is in Your hands

I want to do so much more than just make it.

stop to think of all the time I’ve lost /
start to think of all the bridges that I’ve burned that must be crossed

I can’t do this any more.

take me over

And the rain is off… Washing the pollen down the storm drains after the grey monotony that took up residence overhead this morning.

I despise and loathe the Freshman Advising Guide. This is quite possibly the single most monotonous thing I’ve had to put together here… Thirty-odd pages of dry, bland formatting. It’s enough to drive one insane after just a few hours, hence the periodic breaks.

I don’t know what to write in here anymore. It’s all a bunch of bunk. I can never formulate my thoughts into what I’m trying to say anymore, it seems. A part of me wants to go on and expound about how I feel, how the weekend was, and especially about Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which I saw on a whim with friends on Friday night, but… Another part of me, stronger at the moment, is repelled by the thought of more sappy drivel, more self-indulgent prose that makes it sound like I know what I’m talking about. I think about things; sure, but it’s all bloody academic. I could expostulate on the worldviews of this or that, or the symbolism behind such-and-such, but…I don’t know. I heated up some pita bread during that last ellipsis and I lost my train of thought.

In any case, in spite of everything, I’ll still keep writing in here. It’s just, well, come back, muse… Heh. Actually what the issue probably touches on is that I’ve just been so tired of my own inaction lately in the face of things I should be doing, accomplishing, addressing–and recording the mudane events of my daily life in here only serves to reinforce my stagnation to myself, to throw it back in my face, something I’m obviously not overeager to do. Maybe when things quiet down, start moving, get done, I’ll have more substance. In the meantime… Hands through hair, exhale… No words.

That was a remarkably pleasant, expeditious courtroom experience. When I went to court a couple of years ago for a traffic violation up in Halifax county, they ran me through the ringer, keeping me there literally all day. But in Chapel Hill this morning, I waited in a line for about ten minutes, explained my situation and the offence (driving with expired tags back in February), and they said that if I got the registration situation squared away and returned on the 18th of May, they’d waive it. I said thank you very much, thank you God, and got out of there and to work. So my fitful sleep last night and stress pangs were completely unjustified… Granted, I didn’t worry too much about it, but given my financial outlook at this point, a hefty fine would have really put a stranglehold on my budget.

It’s been a pretty good day so far. The sunshine helps, as does some instrumental Over the Rhine playing in the car on the way to lunch. It’s the kind of convergence of factors that precipitates thoughts about anything and everything, and dwelling a bit too much on some, like relationships, but I have faith God will sort everything out.

I finally addressed the prayer support letters last night. They all have stamps on them, just waiting to be sent out. It’s amazing how much time just fifteen addresses takes–I can see now how the process of writing and sending support letters is so time-consuming for missionaries, and why for example Luis and Michelle (when they were here) were so eager for our (the college group’s) help in addressing and stuffing envelopes. Next step: Send in transcript to PBC and figure out a tentative course plan so I can figure out what to take by correspondance in the fall. I feel like the act of making people in our local church body and family friends aware of God’s vision for my life commits me to the endeavor in ways that affect my motivation. Perhaps knowing that people are going to ask me about it spurs me on? I’m not sure, but I know that things are going to progress more quickly from here on out.

I used to know that song. I had a vision of things and the way I used to dream across a few summers. Strings of lights, contrails separated at the hilt as the origins diverged, moving towards me. Movements in an inverted light, ghostly outlines of clouds against a black sky. I used to dream about shape and form and color. Their metaphors were splayed on the surface, though, given equal resonance with the more conventional aspects and conformities of the dream.

there’s beauty in the breakdown

Donald, John, and I had a good half-hour discussion of the economic system of our lovely country last night in the aftermath of tax return preparation. I got screwed over pretty royally by a previous employer, who withheld a whopping $79 for the federal government for three months worth of work. Ah well. It’s not like I won’t be able to eat for the rest of the month, but the Bulls game on Friday evening is going to be the last superfluous expense for a while, I think. I’m definitely keeping an eye on that category on my check stubs from now on.

I haven’t felt like writing in here lately, and when I do it’s all mudanity and gibberish. Maybe I should take a break.

Just got off the phone with Jim at printing… Looks like the books are going to be able to be printed Friday, assuming I get him everything by this evening, which WILL happen–so that’s a big relief. I think I should have called him before I started, though, since 4-color is going to cost relatively the same for duotones + black, which is what I’m designing, given the short printing run. Ah well. But it’s good to know they can do it in time.

Weekend was lovely. I ate too much candy yesterday, but other than having to work the day was pleasant. Got a chance to talk to Jamie at church for a bit, just to see how he and Andrea are doing–hadn’t talked to him in a while.

Saturday I went to Carowinds with Jenn and her friend Dave, in honor of our mutual friend Flora’s birthday. She had invited a smattering of friends and folks from their church, so we had a sizable group. I had never been before (I’ve not been to an amusement park in the US), and three roller coasters I rode were exactly three more than I had ridden before I went (Space Mountain at Disneyworld doesn’t really count–it’s kind of a dinky ride). I rode the Borg Assimilator, Top Gun, and Thunder Road. I’ve never been much of a roller coaster fiend in the past, and granted, I did have to remind myself to breathe on a couple of occasions, but overall they were very fun.

Okay, Randi just came by again to check on progress, and it turns out that they want these things hardcover. By Friday. Real nice. I hate these people.

I really love being at work at 6 on a Sunday evening. Good times.

I won’t complain about the job that’s got me here right now. It won’t avail me anything and I don’t want to talk about it.

I want a real conversation with someone. Something authentic. No pretense. No facades. No hiding behind smiles or trite responses or fake laughter, just two people being who they are in each others’ company. As I get older I being to realize just how extraordinarily rare it is to find someone who you truly connect with on a deep level. I don’t think I perceived things the same way when I was younger, perhaps because my personality wasn’t as fully-formed as it is now (though it’s always under development), so it was easier to delude myself into thinking I had a real underlying connection with those I spent time with, when really it was something else, the nature of which I can’t really put my finger on at the moment. Maybe it was all erroneous self-talk. Maybe it was some conversational reflex all too eager to find expression that fell on a spirit eager to respond in kind. Maybe there WAS something real about that. Maybe it doesn’t matter now anyway, since I’m here.

I think all this tarted-up drivel is just an overwrought way of saying I’m lonely. I’ve found myself repeating, “There’s only one of me,” more than once in the past few days in response to the pressures I’ve been faced with. But it’s not a general loneliness, wanting anyone. And it’s not a more directed longing for a romantic relationship, even. It’s the kind of loneliness that comes over me when I listen to a song I enjoy immensely, the strings build, and I think about how wonderful it would be to listen to it with someone who hears the same strains in the music, who notices that I’ve got different-colored socks on today, all those mannerisms I’m not aware of, and when I run my hands through my hair like this, face down, expressionless, exhaling a bit laboriously, elbows on the table, that I’m feeling something deeply of some nature, among countless other things, most of which I don’t know. I want to be able to be described in terms of details by someone.

I don’t know. I had another paragraph written, but all the sentences seemed to cancel each other out. I should do what I’m going to do tonight so I can head home and make my to-do list for tomorrow.

Edit: I want to see this movie.

Just had to share this little Easter gem.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled mornings. Or afternoons. Or evenings. Although if “evenings” applies to you, you should probably get up sooner, you bum.

1. I found this article highly inventive and amusing.

2. My enjoyment of a sunny day will not hinge on the issue of whether or not I have a convertible, or even a car with a sunroof, to drive around in. I can roll down the windows on the ‘rentmobile and still sing along and enjoy the breeze, gosh darn it.

3. This is the biggest animated gif I have ever come across. Slightly pointless, but cool (warning: ~700K).

4. I put together a spreadsheet this morning to help me keep track of hours worked on jobs, lessening my mind’s workload in that area considerably. Go me.

5. I have $2.26 in change on my desk here at work. I just empty my pockets when I come back from lunch and forget to take it home to my change jar. I guess it’s a good thing we don’t have a soda machine in the office.

6. This occurred to me on the way back from lunch: over-caffeinated nonsense

I don’t want to be here late again, but I have this Burch Fellowship commemorative booklet hanging over me, and it’s due next Friday. They only told me they needed it a week or so ago, so the expediency the job requires, given its complexity, it a bit unreasonable. But I’ll get it done for them, one way or another. I always do. It’s just uncomfortable under the pressure of the moment (stress?).

Our apartment sprung a leak last night. More precisely, the ceiling started dripping (flowing?) water at a prodigious rate in the washer/dryer closet, which is (fortunately) washer/dryer-less. It was coming down in John’s closet as well, to the point where it completely filled up the plastic covering for the overhead light. The carpet was sopping wet, completely saturating any paper towel placed on it. John moved all his stuff out into the living area at 1 or so in the morning and I called the main office and left a message. I think the residents above us must have busted a water line to the washing machine or something. I’ll find out when I return home, in any case.

Do you ever remember what it felt like to have absolutely nothing to do? I used to know… Some summers during high school I had completed everything required of me during the day, I had no school, work was through, and there was nothing I could have been initiating or getting ahead with. The feeling was altogether unfamiliar, and if by some miracle the same convergence of circumstances occurred today, I probably wouldn’t even recognize it, since my mind would subconsciously respond to the vacuum of responsibility and quickly seize onto some new thing. Somehow I feel like that isn’t the way it should be, though–not that I should never have nothing to do, but my mind feels overburdened and overwhelmed not because of the mental weight of my responsibilities, most of which are mundane things, but because of the double task of prioritizing and maintaining everything. It’s a strong argument for implementation of some organization in my life. It would shore up a lot of issues. I want to quell the neverending assault of “should-be-doings” in my mind. Sometimes I think about my habits at work and my way of dealing with clients, and I can stand outside myself and imagine what I would be like to work with from their perspective–a good designer, but scheduling is always unsure. So the missing element is reliability in matters of time. I know what I need, but it’s helpful to solidify things in writing–if nothing else it’s one less thing running around upstairs.

So I’m still here at work. It’s not so bad, though–the solitude is somewhat nice. I just need to finish up these dumb billing sheets and then I should be out of here. It reminds me of studio a bit–late nights perched behind the computer screen or over the drawing/cutting board. I do miss the people coming in and out at odd hours, though, the late-night runs to Miami Subs or the C-Store, the music, the interaction, watching Weird Science on the roll-cart TV and VCR the night before the final crit, just…going through the ringer together, as it were. There was something to that. That and having a definite goal to look forward to, at least in the near term–the completion of college, an end at least one quadrant of our lives could be structured around. That was nice.

Argh. Okay–just a few more odds and ends.

Epic dreams last night. I can’t remember all of them, since I was in and out of sleep several times and every re-entry was a new episode, a new chapter. I honestly don’t know where my mind gets everything it does… My subconscious must be absorbing so much more than I know.

So I can only remember bits and pieces. An early “chapter” saw me walking through a series of underground passageways not unlike the walkways through an uncommonly big subway station in a large city. Evidently I was en route to a sporting event of sorts, since at one point I remember feeling I was almost at my destination, and I was surrounded by very British-looking football (that’s “soccer” to us yanks) fans, all carrying on with cockney accents and whatnot… I encountered several people on my travels through the underground tunnels, and the whole affair took on a tone similar to one in a tragic art film involving aimless twentysomethings. We gamboled around, we disturbed the mechandise of the shops along the way, laughed and ran around, but I knew it all had to end sometime, and it did.

Later on, in another lapse of a dream, I was driving parallel to the coast on a four-lane parkway of sorts, early on in some sort of run-down sedan, but later in a white sports coupe (I can tell you what kind if you really want to know–heh). I was in the middle of a gridlock traffic jam, and the drivers around me were getting irritated. Eventually the obstruction causing the traffic jam was circumvented, and the drivers around me gunned it in order to get back up to speed. I did too, and found myself in front. But there was a sharp bend up ahead, and while my car made it around, tires squealing at the limits of adhesion, most of the vehicles behind me weren’t so fortunate, most ending up perched over the guardrail, and one, whose driver I apparently knew, punching clean through the guardrail and sailing off the edge, down the cliff, and into the water below. I slammed on the brakes, stopped the car, and got out. I rushed over to the edge and looked down into the water, but didn’t see so much as a ripple. I climbed down the rocks and crags, hollow and jagged from the churning of the waves, down to a small ledge just at the edge of the water. I took off my shoes and jacket, turned on my flashlight, and jumped in. I didn’t find it too hard to hold my breath as I swam around in the dark water, flashlight beam darting about. I only saw debris from the crash, items that had been in the car, until I swam deeper, though a few successive cavities in the ocean’s floor. I saw more debris, bigger chunks, and then I finally spotted my friend, draped lifeless over an outcropping. I grabbed hold of them, and swam as best I could through the intervening caves and openings up to the surface. Once there I hoisted them onto the ledge and started giving mouth-to-mouth, when it occurred to me to take a pulse. It was there, but very faint and erratic. I continued my efforts at resuscitation, and by and by they came to, sputtering water, hacking and coughing. I don’t remember much after that.

What’s unique about dreams is that they can have a mood altogether unrelated to the familiarity or complete strangeness of the environment at hand. It’s almost like I become someone else in each dream–or not even that; that I remain myself, but I’m in a different state of life, with different concerns and priorities, some aspects of my personality magnified, some inhibitions gone, and some present to a greater degree. I’m in an altered state. The obvious result of this inevitability is that it becomes impossible to communicate afterwards the overwhelming mood present in each dream… It’s like trying to describe with words how chocolate tastes different than, say, spaghetti. The best that can be hoped for is a mediocre approximation. But I want to remember, though I may not know why…

Went home last night for a few trivialities and ended up bringing my accordion back to the apartment to play. It’s been a long time since I’d played last (10 years?), so I needed to lengthen the straps a bit, but I found my music stand, all my old music, and the songs were coming back to me, albeit slowly. I’ve decided I want to take the instrument back up again. I’m encouraged in my endeavor by the knowledge that my first accordion teacher had a similar lapse in his attention towards the instrument, only to pick it back up many years later and master it. So compared to him, I’m getting a head start, though admittedly I probably wasn’t as good at fifteen as he was at twelve. But who knows. If I can play “Bianche Marguerite” and “Occhi Scuri” with feeling by the summer I’ll be happy. Just a little every day…

Turns out the whole “victory” last week as far as the Supra was concerned (where it was running and driving around) was a false one. After innumerable frustrations, the wiring harness is off the car again and winging its way towards the Netherlands, where it will be picked over and corrected by someone whose wiring expertise is much greater than mine. So perhaps in a few weeks we should have a running car? *sigh*

Gazette day today. Looking forward to raiding the M&M dispenser again :o)

“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”

Bought another Aphex Twin album last night… I love it so far. It’s beautiful ambient electronica, and the way the soundscapes are so sparse and, just, alien… Which isn’t to say it’s overly synthetic, either; somehow it manages to maintain a certain warmth in spite of the music’s means of creation. Thumbs up.

Rien d’autre ce matin. Débrouillez vous-mêmes sans moi. Et maintenant, au déjeuner…

Tired today. My eyes can feel it.

Funny how life’s frustrations work. It seems like oftentimes it takes more effort to get rid of things that hinder than it does to strive under them. As if change weren’t hard enough… Case in point–the neverending car situation. It’s almost more trouble to sell one or more of the cars than it is to put forth the effort to fix them and slog through. But I need to get rid of one, and I think it’s going to be the Supra. I had been on that fence a while back, waffling between the two stances, but lately I’ve really set my mind on selling it. I feel a sense of peace about it, too. It’s standing between me and my future; I can feel it. Sure, the guys won’t want me to sell it because it’s fast and cool, and I feel a resistance myself because it’s not running at 100% yet, and I have a strong instinct not to “quit” before it’s completely done. But it needs to go. I can’t pour any more resources into something of that nature, financial or time-wise. So I might lose some cool points with the guys, and I may not feel as cool just driving the Audi around, not to mention the loss of the extremely appealing turn of speed the Supra exhibited when I drove it around last week, but the questions it came down to were, “What am I willing to sacrifice to allow God to set His vision for my life in motion? What’s standing between me and that? What do I tell myself, ‘I’ll just finish this; then I’ll get to it.’?” And I know, it’s that car. Everything binding me to it is a pride issue. It’s not inherently a bad thing, but it’s holding me back. I suppose the whole situation is a strong argument for careful consideration of the possibilities before making a decision.

The DMV continues to frustrate me. The latest episode occurred today, when I got the Audi’s title signed and notarized correctly thanks to the mobile nature of a notary friend of mine (thanks Jenn!) I went back to the DMV again (this would be the, oh, fifth time), and guess what? They tell me that, wonder of wonders, the notary’s explanation of what happened on the top half the title, the profusion of signatures and whatnot, has to be on a separate piece of paper. Oh yes. Nevermind that she explained it well on the title itself and notarized it to boot. The separate piece of paper thing is evidently essential. The hoops I jump through… Maybe the sixth time will be the charm.

Maybe if I get this out I won’t keeping thinking about it all the time? Probably not, but oh well…

Ramblings about Katie

Somersaults through the Sunday’s fading light… Everyone’s gone to bed or not here. I’m commandeering John’s laptop in the living room. The only lights are the string that circumnavigates the deck windows and the little desktop halogen at my shoulder. Il n’y a que de la paix ici. Rien d’autre.

Rented Diva and La Jetée last night and watched them both. The French have a concept, a lens through which they view romance, that is utterly different that our sometimes formulaic and pragmatic approach here. That was the common thread that tied the two movies together for me, which otherwise really couldn’t be more different–one’s a neon, self-conscious multi-genre novel adaptation full of visual narratives about the characters, as bright as the colors in the movie, and the other is a taut sci-fi masterpiece about time travel in the aftermath of the third world war, a film that completely transcends its medium and works on so many levels it makes one’s head spin.

But the romance thing. I really can’t quite put my finger on it–I know it affects me at the subconscious level, since witnessing it onscreen produces a different emotional set for me, but describing it is another matter. There just seems to be something more subtle, more nuanced, more invested in the details of romance for their own sake in the French approach to the matter. Perhaps it’s a product of their culture. The concept of time is different there, to the great consternation of foreigners who deal with them on any number of levels. It’s more fluid, more variable, more elastic, more subject to the weight of the moment, which of course is a subjective thing, a quality which produces inevitable interpersonal conflicts of interest, an obvious scenario if you follow out the line of reasoning. The French culture itself is older as well–perhaps in a few more centuries we’ll have rehashed the standard romantic formula enough to have a reactionary desire to seek out the more essential elements–the moments invested with meaning, the monumentally simple gestures, the times completely in the middle of an ordinary conversation, with unmoved countenance, you’re overcome with the apparition of a fleeting emotion, and everything changes…everything changes.

I don’t know. They’re experiences… They draw from our memories. Maybe it’s just a Sunday night thing.

Doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep soon tonight… Lot on my mind. Not to mention that three-hour nap I took earlier in the evening. That won’t help matters–not as far as falling asleep, at least.

I’ve been addicted to solo piano music lately, mainly by George Winston, and his Summer album. Something about the weather recently coupled with my prevailing mood these days seems to agree with it. Actually, not just piano music, but instrumental music in general. I think perhaps it gives me a chance to think a bit more when I’m driving in the car? I was at the office this afternoon until 6 or so, but I had to get out earlier, just to clear my head, so I went for a drive down to the grocery store and back, the long way, around 3. Didn’t seem to help matters much, but it was a pleasant drive through the sunshine.

There is too much stress in my life.

It’s just a lunch date!

Why am I so nervous? Gaaah. Okay, breathe.

Had a great time with Scott last night. He’s one of my 9th grade guys from youth group… Amazingly mature for his age. I mean, the guy’s a better conversationalist than I am (doesn’t take much of course) and he’s 10 years younger. He’s got a good bead on relationships, and he’s sensitive to what’s going on with the guys around him. We played some one-on-one b-ball and went to B&J’s for ice cream; I brought him back to the apartment for a minute and showed him the Supra, and we listened to all sorts of music on the drive to and from his house (way out in the country, mind you). Great kid. A real leader in the wings.

I will be glad for tomorrow. Or just tonight, even, sometime when I can just do nothing for a little bit.

waking up this morning…

Ever been hungry, tired, excited, nervous, motivated, and wistful at the same time? It’s an interesting experience, let me tell you… I think it’s the emotional equivalent of burping, hiccuping, sneezing, and farting simultaneously, only in a more protracted sense, since the feelings last longer than an instant. Oh yeah. Lovely metaphor, no?

Gottadoitgottadoitgottadoitgottasortitoutyeah… w00t.

One of my cars started last night. This is a big deal. It was the white Supra, which has now been christened Sam on account of its alleged resemblance to an eagle (in car form, of course). Sam the Supra. Yep. Still got a few kinks to work out, but I might be driving something besides the ‘rentmobile to work before the week is through. Whatever happens, it’s certainly closer than it’s ever been to being done–since last August, at least, when it first went under the knife, automotively speaking. It’s nice that the one car out of my three that’s the closest to being done is the one I want to drive most, too, and that the weather is warming up just in time for me to drive around with the targa top off (that’s not my car, by the way–mine is white).

Okay. Enough about the cars. I talk to John too much about them anyway… We were up waaay too late last night discussing the stratification of the gearhead subculture and the prevailing mindsets and attitudes when it comes to performance modifications, among other things. Yep.

I’m working on nine projects simultaneously here at work. Anybody want to help?

It is a glorious day. The transparency of the air reminds me of family excursions into the mountains, on either this continent or the one across the pond, and forays up switchbacked roads through acres of evergreens. Clear. Pure. Breathe. Squint. Feel the infinitesimally nearer sun warm your forearms rapidly before a crisp gust snatches the heat away, ruffling your hair with a starkness befitting the increasingly rocky landscape…

I should find those pictures. But not this week… Heh :o)

Was reading some long-past entries in my journal… It’s amazing the ever-shifting landscape of our relationships over the years. Who comes and who goes, who I talk to every day and who I’ve not spoken to in years after all’s said and done, to this point. The grid, the network of names and faces, talks and listens, suggestions, advice, time spent, places visited, experiences shared… It’s like an epic tapestry in motion, horizontal and undulating with waves of time.

There’s only so much of me. I look at everything, I remember people in turn as I flip aimlessly through days condensed into a few short paragraphs like a can of alphabet noodles; my outlook comes back at I piece the moments together again–I remember how it felt.

Contrary to what you might think, it doesn’t overwhelm me with nostalgia or a gripping desire to relive those days and people, but only provokes a quiet reflection–it brings my current sphere of experience into sharper focus; I understand why I act certain ways; I see trends, things I’d like to break, and things I’d like to maintain or resurrect.

I know I’m talking in abstracts again, but I can’t offer specifics anyhow, because I simply don’t know. I don’t know. I have plans and dreams and visions (to invest in), but only He knows how the relationships around me will converge and diverge around this pathway I punch through time.

Speaking of… Wanna read something that will freak you out? Here. You’ve been warned :o)

Onward to the Gazette office, iTunes, Scott and Gary, and the crispy M&M dispenser…

my first ‘date’ in over a year

Had an (all too rare) moment of insight last night while working on the Supra.

Replaced the water pump yesterday. This is one of the (few) aspects of Toyota engineering I’m not too fond of, and I’m sure they had their reasons, but in order to replace the water pump on a JZ-series engine, the front pulley, timing belt, and even the timing belt tensioner must be removed–the pump just tucks in behind everything on the front of the engine. So last night I was bolting everything back together, and the time came to torque the main pulley bolt something fierce–the spec is somewhere around 175 ft-lbs. I have my trusty 1/2 in. drive torque wrench for this and other suspension-related fasteners, but the trick as far as the front pulley is blocking the engine in order to be able to torque the bolt down. In most cases I would just remove the starter and wedge a hefty screwdriver in the flywheel teeth, but in this case the starter was inaccessible. The car is awaiting installation of the diff (4.10 Torsen LSD–yay), so the driveshaft is hanging free, and I decided to block the driveshaft yoke against the underside of the car to prevent it from turning. Problem was, every time I tried to put any sort of torque on the front bolt, the bar blocking the driveshaft would work its way loose. I had the car in first gear, and then it occured to me–the torque I put on the pulley bolt is being multiplied through the tranny, causing substantially more force on the driveshaft block than I’m applying. So I hopped in, put the car in fifth so there would be a torque reduction through the tranny (overdrive), and clicked the bolt down to 175 ft-lbs without breaking a sweat.

Finished rewiring the harness (again). Should start this afternoon if all goes well. Wish me luck.

Originally posted here.

I am the champion.

That’s all.

Today is…

A bit dreary. Challenging. Hectic. At least I have money in my checking account again, so that point of stressitude is lessened. The jobs here at work keep piling up, though… To the point where I really should be working on them instead of updating this thing, but bah humbug to that.

Was listening to the local jazz station over lunch today, and on my way to pay the electric bill, a low-tempo, breathy version of an old jazz standard came on (the name escapes me now). It evoked images and visions of a cosmopolitan romance…Nights out, streetlights substituting for the stars, the old-world tone of the surroundings giving the romance a note as singleminded as any foray into an open field, and yet casual at the same time, easy, light, and unpretentious. A decided attraction sprung as much from a meeting of minds and a convergence of manners as any physical chemistry that might be present. Amazing how much emotion can sweep over you when you’re stopped a red light, hands on the steering wheel, eyes focused just enough to perform their task, lost in the music for 30 seconds or so…

I want to…

Be somewhere. There. Among enclaves, outcroppings, remnants of a world foreign but at the same tangent to my life at more points than I know, enough that I’m surprised by my responses to moments sometimes. It always reawakens the knowledge that there’s more, much more, and not in this world either…

Got home about an hour and a half ago. Worked from 7:30 til 6:30, with only minor breaks in between. Okay, so maybe I took an hour and a half for lunch… But working til 6:30 on a Friday? Ça ne se fait pas.

Fun fun fun.

‘Til her daddy took the T-bird away, of course. Or the T-bird caught on fire, ha.

In other news, it was inexpressibly nice to be able to commute around in a vehicle with some vestige of a stereo system today. Didn’t realize how much I had missed that or how much it can affect one’s mood while driving. Alleviated a measure of the stress just to be able to turn on WCPE during the drive home, or NPR (I prefer the BBC, but oh well) in the morning…

Rice pilaf, nap, run, work on wiring harness, shower, read book, bed.

…I don’t know what I’ll do.

Sadly, Mazda has been the worst offender recently. Whatever happened to cars looking like, I dunno, cars? There seems to be a spate of anthropomorphic styling of late, for reasons unknown… But then do most trends ever really have a reason? Come back, pop-up headlights. Come back, cars that don’t look like video games on wheels.

*sigh*

/rant

Originally posted here.

Hi, my name is Matt. I’m growing sideburns, I snicker when I hear the word “tomfoolery,” and my car caught on fire today. How are you?

Things have settled somewhat. I borrowed one of my parents’ cars just after lunch to get to and from work, and I’ll be borrowing it tomorrow as well. Donald will return Saturday and reimburse me for the rent I spotted him last Friday, so that will be an influx of money, and tomorrow I’ll be able to write checks that won’t go through until at least Monday, by which point there will be money in my account.

I came home, walked in the door, emptied my pockets into the box where I stash everything, dropped my bag, and breathed. I was still intact and healthy, I still had a roof over me and a good job. I may be broke and carless, but those are peripheral to the essentials, I realized.

Thank you for the support, guys, and for the advice about asking my parents for assistance. I’m borrowing the car, but have managed not to ask for money yet. I told my mom, though, as I picked up their car just after lunch, that if it really, really came down to the wire and I couldn’t see a way out, I’d ask them. So the offer was tended and conditionally accepted, just not acted on…

[car geek]

I worked on the Datsun for several hours after I got home, and it’s still not running quite right. I think the half-mile I drove it with no oil pressure caused it to spin a bearing or crack a ring or something. I tuned it up quite thoroughly (new plugs, points, timing, carb baseline and synch, everything except valve clearancing, pretty much), and it ran better–amazing what an ignition overhaul will do for the top end of the rev range, especially with a breaker point distributor, where float is a real issue at high rpms–but it didn’t run well enough to drive. It’s really acting like it’s got a dead cylinder or two, since anything under 2K rpm is problematic *sigh* I’ve got to get the Supra running, and soon.

[/car geek]

Pray for me, guys. I had an engine fire in the Datsun on the way to lunch today–long story. But God protected me and the car and we made it home somehow, though not before some other ordeals. I have about $1.65 in my checking account at present and I need to make it through the end of the week. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, going around in circles with my finances and these stupid cars. I have to sell one or two soon–I NEED something reliable. And I’m trying to make it myself. My parents would be more than happy to help, but I don’t want to ask them. I have to make it, somehow. I’m really trusting God here–I’m out on a limb in a big way.

Pray for me.

[car geek]

Had a minor emergency in the Datsun on the way to lunch today (What does the Datsun look like? Like this except blue and with crummier paint). I drove down the grocery store to pick up a few things, and on the way down the hill, noticed the ammeter on the dash spiking abnormally whenever I would go over a bump or inadvertently hit a shallow pothole. Thought it was odd, but didn’t think any more of it until the car cut out on me rounding the bend into the shopping center complex… It’s a manual, so I immediately pushed the clutch in, put it in second, and let the clutch out, which started the engine again. The ammeter was completely pegged on +45 amps by this point, and I immediately suspected the alternator, which the faint smoke coming from the vents seemed to confirm. I’ve smelled electrical fires before, and this was one. I pulled into a parking space, stopped the engine, and popped the hood, ready for an emergency in the alternator vicinity, but it looked fine. The battery, however, was a different story. I replaced the battery last week, and the new one was significantly smaller in size than the old one, such that the metal bracket/tie-down didn’t fit over it properly, but I had secured it around so that the battery wouldn’t move around TOO much. Turns out the bracket had contacted the positive terminal of the battery, providing a path to ground, and the full electrical load of the battery was being poured through said bracket and the ground strap that attaches to the negative terminal. Needless to say, the bracket, which was already rusty, was completely burnt in half by the current, and the ground strap had most of the insulation melted off. That’s what caused the ammeter spikes–at that point the bracket was hitting the positive terminal and the alternator was the only thing running the car. Fortunately the ground strap was still intact, so I pried the bracket from the terminal (they were fused together) and drove off, and here I am.

I’d like to have a chat with the engineer who decided the positive terminal of the battery should be so close to the frame, though. Ah well. Thanks God :o)

[/car geek]

Finished Pride & Prejudice last night… That movie’s a marathon, but a pleasant one. The acting and chemistry between the actors are just top-notch. Can’t fault it. Oh, and have I mentioned I want to inherit Pemberly at some point in my life? Now for my hummus (“with 40 spices!”) and whole-wheat pita bread lunch. Yum.

Well.

I had a nice long entry written, and then my computer locked up… I remember endorsing Macs at some point in the past… Remind me why?

Anyway. The jist:

1. I watched Reality Bites over the weekend, and while not overly impressed by the movie, I did enjoy the inclusion on the soundtrack of U2’s “All I Want Is You,” a typically sweeping, gradiose, anthemic love song. I want to buy Rattle and Hum now.
2. The flight exhibit at the NCMA was stellar. Some breathtakingly beautiful pieces were on display.
3. Revisiting the museum after a hiatus of several years brought back lots of memories of the period when I went there every week for an art history class, and the pastel drawing and block printing classes I took, and greatly enjoyed.
4. I had a good run last night. 7:15-7:30 miles. I was trucking. I might sign up for a local 5K soon.
5. I need to do laundry. Badly.
6. I dug up the 6-hour version of Pride & Prejudice from my parents’ house yesterday afternoon, brought it back to the apartment, and made it about halfway through before I decided to go for that run. Such a good film–I’ll finish it tonight.

Exhausted, even though I got a good amount of sleep last night. Tonight was the youth group’s periodic “fun night,” and we decided to do sort of a multi-game olympiad, with the parents, no less. Most of the chairs were cleared out of the sanctuary and we set up games in there as well as in the foyer. We had chair soccer, the shoe relay, and the spoon and string game (where the team members line up next to one another and have to pull a spoon with a string attached through an article of their clothing as fast as they can, so that all members of a team are strung together in the end). We also had the marshmallow blow, where team members are given points commensurate to how far they can blow a little marshmallow out of their nose, the creamed whistle (where you have to dig a whistle out of a plate of whipped cream and blow it), and my personal brainchild, the rat race–a collection of tables arranged so as to form two juxtaposed mazes, covered with plastic sheeting, and that the contestants had to navigate on their hands and knees blindfolded. I think it was a success. I was helped out with chair soccer, chasing down the ball and tossing in back into the field of play. It was an incredibly active game, and it got vicious at times–the competitive juices were definitely flowing and some of the parents (really even more so than most of the kids) really got into it. But it was fun. And now for bed.

Anybody want to go to the exhibit on the art of flight at the NC Museum of Art tomorrow afternoon? It’s the last day and I have two tickets. We can get Krispy Kreme donuts afterwards downtown or go record shopping at Schoolkids. Anyone?