BoldUlysses.com

It’s ’80s movie week! Well, sort of. Watched Sixteen Candles last night, St. Elmo’s Fire (which I’ve never seen) is slated for tonight, and Thursday I’m going to watch Jaws on the big screen in Cary. Okay, technically, that’s a ’70s movie, but as a Spielberg movie I just kind of lump it in with the rest of the ’80s fare. Regardless, I’m looking forward to that. All the more ’cause it’s free (yay friend with free coupons). I feel like I should grow a mullet and rent some parachute pants just for the occasion. One thing’s for sure–I will be listening to Star 102.9 (my ’80s station) on the way over there.

Good day overall. Productive, but under control, and the sun’s come out! La vie est belle, n’est-ce pas?

The light fabric of the curtains blew inward a touch. It receded into the window again, then cautiously swayed back away from opening it shrouded. I rose from the bed, reached through the curtains, and pulled the windows to, interlocking their edges as they swung closed like double doors. A twist of my hand latched them shut, halting the unseasonably cool breeze.

The room was small, and seemed even more diminutive on account of the slant of the roof bisecting its otherwise rectilinear form. The sleeper window cut into the incline of the ceiling, partially relieving the lack of space. I could hear my brother David’s rhythmic breathing on one of the room’s two beds more distinctly now that the window was shut, though it almost echoed the ebb and flow of the breeze through the curtains. I looked at him. He was the image of peace itself, head turned on the pillow, mouth slightly ajar, covered in a thin brown blanket captured in the slanting rectangles of city light passing through the panes. I moved again. The carpet fibers worked their way around my toes as I padded deliberately, quietly into the restroom, intent on preparing for sleep.

The restroom was even smaller than the previous, covered in glossy auburn tilework, and contained a window the size of the bedroom’s perched above the bathtub, for which there was no showerhead. I resigned myself to a bath, late as it was. The water was loud as burbled and flowed into the basin, and it took me a while to find the right angle for each of the knobs so that the water filled the tub with an agreeable temperature. The tub full, I closed the tap, undressed, and slipped into the basin. It was more than a bit warmer than I had forseen, so I settled in as much as I could and opened the window above me. A cool rush of air fell from the sill onto the surface of the water, quickly cutting through the steam in the small room. I breathed relief and sunk deeper into the water, until only my head and my knees broke the surface. I listened to the sounds of the city outside, now distinct: the grumble of the tires passing over the recently rained-upon cobblestones, the buzz of the scooters in the night, the dissonant symphony of distant horns at intersections, far away from the hotel’s side street, and far below the fourth floor. The breeze washed in again, covering the din with its movement, passing underneath the warm lights flanking the mirror, illluminating the old-world sketch of details that was the room. I rested in that moment for a long time, soaking in the subtleties of a night in Paris.

[venting]

My roommates need serious help with basic household duties. I come in and the dishes still aren’t done from last night, some of which are mine, granted, but not the vast majority of them. They seem to have trouble lifting the lid on the trash can to put things in, and instead of actually getting a paper towel and compressing things a little to make more room, they just perch trash items on top. It has been several months, and John still has not bought a plastic recycle container for his beer bottles sitting on the counter, so it now looks like we’re a bunch of drunks. He got extra trash bags after I instructed him that we were going to need more, but he got the regular kind, with no drawstring, so they’re practically useless. Donald leaves his barbells and his pushup contraption out in the living room, which is just really tacky, and he doesn’t clean the commode or the bathtub when he cleans the bathroom. I’m the only one who actually mops anything and seems to know how to clean the dishes so that the kitchen is really, genuinely clean.

Alright. I think I got that out of my system.

I am going to propose a rule that states that we will not go to bed while there are dirty dishes in the sink. It will go over like a lead balloon, but I gotta do something. This may be a bachelor pad, but it’s not a hovel.

[/venting]

Lunchtime at the Gazette. Cozy. Scott keeps iTunes playing on Susan’s computer when she’s not here (which is every day except Monday and Friday). He’s older, but he’s got pretty progressive musical taste, which is nice. This morning we listened to a trance/house/trip-hop playlist, nothing too dark, just some EBTG, Faithless, and assorted Massive Attack…

Went to the gym last night for the first time since the youth conference a couple of weeks ago. It had been too long, so I just did a basic all-around workout. It’s a great club, but the music in there is alternately amusing and disconcerting. Last night it was the latter. Most nights have a certain “theme” to them, i.e. one night they’ll play Euro-dance music, the next some upbeat R&B, and so on… Last night I swear it had to have been death metal night. The look on the faces of the housewives scurrying about from the water fountain to the elliptical trainers and back again was completely dazed as Korn, NIN, KMFDM, Tool, and what sounded for all the world like Marilyn Manson blared over the loudspeakers. I was going to say something, but the worst of it came on just as I was about to leave, so I just high-tailed it out. Ah well.

Watched Notorious last night. Stellar film, with some of the best camera work I’ve ever seen in a movie, period, especially the long zoom shot that starts high up with a view of the whole room, then closes until it just frames the key that Ingrid Bergman is nervously holding in her hand. Why do you even need dialogue to expose the plot or characters’ motivations when Hitchcock gives us shots like that? It’s one of my all-time favorites.

Much, much better this morning. I went home a little early yesterday, managed to make it into bed, and slept for a solid three hours. I even got into bed last night around 12:30, no mean feat for this night owl. Sunday night (working very late), and Monday evening (playing tennis with Aaron for several hours) had conspired against my energy levels, and last night at least partially recovered them. Another good night and I’ll be set, but at least I don’t feel like I need a nap as soon as I get up.

I’ve always had a bad habit of comparing myself to others. It’s quite ingrained into my personality, since I’ve been doing it for years, to the point where hardly notice it anymore, but I’ve been more consciously aware of it recently. It really hit home yesterday as I was driving back from work. I was thinking about my car, and the hobby that it is, and how my dad thinks that I’m too impulsive with money with regards to upgrading or fixing my car. My natural response, which I caught this time, was, “Yeah, and he’s not impulsive with buying golf equipment or model trains.” But then I thought, “Don’t compare yourself to someone else, compare yourself to the standard of how you should be doing and how you really should be spending your money, not necessarily what you buy, but the attitude with which you do it, and the priorties that reflects.” It wasn’t a guilt trip, just a little twinge of conviction, and I’m glad for it. It’s funny how I always told myself not to compare when I did and I came out (in my mind) behind someone else in some area or another, but when I came out (or so I thought) ahead, I wouldn’t notice that I was comparing myself at all. It’s only in retrospect that I can see that the habit was symbiotic with my personality to a much greater degree than I had known. It’s nice to have my viewpoint realigned, by His grace. It brings life.

This probabaly doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it helps me to write it out sometimes.

I’ll be at the Gazette this afternoon for “Matt’s issue” number 2. Got the insert done yesterday, and they loved it (it’s really nice when a client uses words like “perfect” to describe your design). More later.

I’m not getting enough quality sleep at night, especially after the epic tennis battle with Aaron last night. I beat him for the first time in a long while, probably a year or so. Our respective serves were models of inconsistency, just like they usually are, to the point where, in a set, we’re not breaking each others’ service games, but we’re breaking each others’ returns. Heh. My ground strokes were under control and accurate, though. There was a confidence there, so although I have the height to be a serve-and-volleyer, I was “just” a baseliner last night. ‘Twas good fun. I won the first set 6-3, then being the triathlete that he is (seriously), he kept going while I faltered a bit and won the second set 6-4.

Funny how watching the sport on television (in this case, Wimbledon) inspires me to go out and play a better tennis game. Maybe I’m a visual learner? That’s probably part of it.

Nothing of depth this morning. Maybe after I take my nap this evening…

I am extraordinarily tired this morning. Fortunately there’s an A/C vent right under my desk blowing cold air at me. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, but certainly better for my state of alertness than having warm, cozy, sleepy air blowing at me. Where’s the study that showed naps were beneficial for office productivity? I need that information now. :o)

It’s not as bad as it could be, though. A year (or more than a year, ha) ago in Florida, I came into work at 7 in the morning every day, which meant that if I was tired, or even if I wasn’t, I would have to make it 5 hours before my next possibility for a power nap. Never happened. Not once. But still, starting at 8 is the way to go if you’re trying to decide–maybe I’ll feel differently when I get older or suffer a bout of insomnia or the like.

*big stretch*

Okay, different music. Goodbye, Enya. Heh.

And here I sit. At work. At 11. On a Sunday night. Darn my conscience for making me sit here and finish the Gazette insert for Scott tomorrow.

*sigh*

Come visit me. 2 Bolin Heights, Chapel Hill. Knock on the door; I’ll answer.

Went to a Matchbox Twenty concert earlier with a slice of college-age and suburban North Carolina life. I had free tickets, and nothing better to do on a Saturday night, so I went. It was about as good as I expected. American Hi-Fi and Sugar Ray opened. American Hi-Fi was decent, genuine, but Sugar Ray was pretty bad, to the point of having their stage props resemble a Mexican bar, complete with bar and real bartender serving the band drinks while they were playing. It was more than a little tacky. It was apparently ’80s night for the tour, though, so all three bands played covers of selected ’80s songs throughout the night. American Hi-Fi played a Night Ranger song, Sugar Ray played a cover of “Fight for Your Right to Party” (incidentally the highlight of their set), and Matchbox Twenty played a couple, Simple Minds “Don’t You Forget About Me,” (pretty good) and U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name” (not U2, but good taste nonetheless).

Tough crowd. Everybody was resolutely sitting down until halfway through the headliner’s set (except for Sugar Ray’s Beastie Boys cover). A local radio station, G105, was handing out free sampler cds at the concert, and walking in I was accosted by an employee of the station and handed a rather heavy box of the samplers to do with as I liked, since apparently they just had to get rid of them. I continued walking in with the box for a while, then realized what I was doing, and deposited it on a nearby bench, suspicious-looking as it was.

There was a great fireworks show immediately after the concert as well. So I didn’t go a whole fourth of July weekend without seeing fireworks, which was good. If I sound apathetic about the whole experience, it’s partly because it was pretty mediocre overall, minus the time I got to spend with my friends, and partly because I’m dead tired. Need sleep.

I think I like small, more humble bands, and local, more intimate concerts better. And now to go listen to some U2. Just savor the irony.

More pictures uploaded. Photography is a common interest my mom and dad share, so there’s never been a dearth of snapshot-taking in our family.

What was getting to me, looking through especially the early ’80s photos of all of us, was that in ten years or less, I’ll likely be where my dad was then, with a family, holding my newborn children in my arms and being overjoyed with them… There was a poignancy to my mood as I flipped through those pages. Something was moving within me; I felt like an oddly-placed third party, as my vantage point on the memories undergoes the subtle shift from participant as the child, and my life reconciles more closely with my parents situation then… It will be different; I know, but enough will be the same that it gives me reams to think about and conjecture.

Pictures of the brothers. Paul is 21, David just turned 18 in mid-May, and I…well, read my profile and do the math. They called us the Viking men at the wedding in Boston, since Paul, the shortest, is 6’2″. We ran with that idea and I became Bjorn, Paul was Knut, and David adopted the nom de plume Sven for the remainder of the weekend. Yeah, we’re a bunch of geeks.

I raided the photo albums at my parents’ house earlier, hence the pictures. I really need to find some of them, but seeing as how my dad was the one taking all the pictures, photographs of both my parents together are hard to come by. This was just a quick raid, though. I’m sure I can find something with a more extended sortie.

Went running about an hour ago through the dark of the neighborhood across the street (a far cry from running on the beach down in Florida, but I gotta take what I’ve got). It’s been raining quite a bit today, so I was dodging puddles as the water was still running down the storm drains… Going ’round a corner, for a split second, a gurgle from the water sounded just like a particularly ill-tempered dog sneaking rapidly up behind me. I can’t explain exactly how it sounded; it just did. I must have jumped three feet in the air. Didn’t panic; didn’t increase my pace at all, just whirled around to see what it was… But holy cow, during a run isn’t exactly the best time for that sort of thing.

Donald, Paul, and Michael are watching the DVD of The Emperor’s New Groove in French. Just ’cause. Paul can likely understand almost all of it, Donald bits and pieces, major words and phrases, but I’m sure Michael’s bored out of his mind. I’d join them, but between a load in the dryer and cleaning the dishes, I want to get to bed on time, never mind the 11 hours I got last night.

Going to Bullock’s Barbeque tomorrow for lunch with Betty. It’s one of those locally famous places that has every celebrity or semi-celebrity sign a picture as soon as they walk in the door, and then hangs them in the waiting area. Best hushpuppies I’ve ever had, though, and I’ve had a few. It’s our present to ourselves for making it through this week.

What a hellish week, and it’s only Wednesday… Betty and I are the only two designers here this week, and we normally have five, and that’s understaffed; Scott is breathing down my neck about a University Relations webpage; I have a insert for the Gazette due tomorrow that I haven’t started on, my School of Public health clients are being ridiculously anal about paper weights for their brochure (they want 100 pound text, same as last year’s, not 80 pound like I had spec-ed, so I’m having to reprint the whole batch of 3000 at our cost), among many, many, various and sundry other things…

I think I blew a fuse yesterday afternoon. I had been going full bore all day until about 6, and then it was like I just couldn’t think about anything design-related anymore, like running into a mental brick wall. I wandered around the office for about five minutes until I realized what was happening, somehow drove home, ate the rest of my calzone, some pita and hummus, and a powerbar, watched the last few minutes of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, which I had wanted to do on Sunday night, felt sleepy, so I went to take a nap around 8, and didn’t wake up until 7:15 this morning. So I’m alert; that much I can lay claim to. At least I have Friday off.

It’s pouring this morning. I had rainwater toast for breakfast, since I eat it on the way to work, and I don’t have an umbrella, so I carried the plate out to the car in the rain. Didn’t seem to adversely affect the peanut butter spread.

Still raining, a deluge from the eaves…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have five senses
I need thousands more
at least

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

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

And…now…I…am…tired. Nap anyone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surveyage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

an anecdote from last fall

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

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

— Semi-apocalyptic sign outside a local middle school:

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

— Current restroom magnetic poems (among others):

finger
vision
smell
tongue
here

their mother is a meany

smear a symphony like a gift of winter

drool at oversize misting juice apparatus

only eat bitter chocolate all her life

shot putting produces scream

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

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

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

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

And now, randomly:

selected Boston pictures from early March

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

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

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

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

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

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

conversational

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday mess

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