maybe together we can get somewhere

¡hola!

2010-08-04T07:57:00.002-04:00

I was really excited to go to Italy, and I will tell you that most of the country lives up to its remarkable reputation. As in, the tower really leans, Rome is a little bit boring, and Florence really does take your breath away. Despite this, I was really anticipating my trip to Barcelona a lot. Not only would I be staying with a friend of a friend, and I would be closer to the ultimate goal of getting to England for the wedding, going to Spain meant that I would be able to showcase my mastery of the Spanish language. After all, all that I know of the language I learned from the best names in Spanish education - Bednardski, Bond, Malkovich. I got stuck in an airport in Rome for ten hours, waiting to fly to Barcelona. During my wait, I rehearsed scenarios in which I proudly approached waiters, beaming, saying ¨Quiero numero tres con papas fritas, por favor.¨ In my daydreams, they would look back at me, stunned, surprised, affirming of my handle on such a complex language.

This did not happen. It did not happen this way because, in reality, my Spanish is terrible.

My hosts are absolutely lovely and generous and hospitable, but we have maybe said about five words to each other. One interaction went like this:

Mr. Arroyo: Obama.
Me: Yes? Barack Obama?
Mr. Arroyo: Obama. Me.
Me: No comprendo.
Mr. Arroyo: Obama. Mujer.
Me: Oh. Michelle Obama?
Mr. Arroyo: Si.

El fin.

Luckily their daughter Paula speaks very good English since she spent time in America with friends of mine in Philadelphia. She has been very nice and able to translate and take me around to see the pretty cathedrals. They are everywhere. I am in Barcelona now, and I can say with all honesty that, somehow, this city is alive. It has a pulse, it breathes, it moves with energy. Several of these buildings look like they are right off the set of a 1990´s Tim Burton film. There is an incredible amount of things to do, sights to see, but I have been a little sick. Since I quit my job in order to make this trip possible, my health care benefits expired as of July 31, and I had been joking that I would probably get sick while overseas. This happened, of course, literally as July 31 turned into August 1. I went to bed a bit after midnight feeling a little scratchy, and woke up on August 1 with no voice. It is now August 4, and I am beginning to mend. Of course, everytime I lay in bed and cough a bit, I hear Mrs. Arroyo, rushing through her sentences with fury about my sickness. I try to tell her I am fine, estoy bien. She nods. She wants so desperately to speak some English for me, almost as much as I wish I could speak fluent Spanish with her. She asked me at dinner yesterday if I believed in Sarah Palin. The wording took me by surprise and I laughed a little bit, to which she tilted her head to the side like a puzzled dog. I simply replied, Si, creo en Sarah Palin. I intentionally uttered a lie in another language to a lovely woman. Oops.

I am here for another day or two, then I will travel to Northern Ireland, which will be a relief in many ways. It is sort of a home away from home, the only country I have visited more than once (this will be my third time). Also, people there speak English. It is a weird English, with bizarre vocabulary words, but it is English nonetheless. I will also be just so close to being in England, the whole point of this trip, to see one of my closest friends get married. I have enjoyed the sunsets in Florence, the bike rides through Chianti, the strolls down La Rambla, but more than anything, I want to sit in a living room with Michelle, Elliott, Kat, MG and Robby, having drinks and touring the small town of Tewkesbury. I won´t do much sightseeing, I will probably sleep a lot. But I will bask in it, enjoy the English, the companionship, the occasion, the understanding that I am almost home, where I will watch 30 Rock, eat chicken wings and try to find a job or something. But until then, adios & pax.

2010-05-06T23:57:00.004-04:00

I think that we all wanna be somebody. I don't think that, at any point, people decide to stop doing things with their life. Looking at some of the things we do to pay the billz, it's easy (for me, at least) to wander off in daydream land and think about the person I could become. If I wrote the script, what would I do? If money wasn't an issue, where would I go? I don't know if you're the same way as me, but if you are, these scenarios oftentimes seem out of reach. I am here to tell you that this is not true, that you can, in fact, be anyone or anything that you want to be. Better news is this - it doesn't have to happy in a daydream land. It will happen in the barbershop chair. There are two reasons I never pay money to get my hair cut by...ok, let's just go ahead and call them professionals. Reason number one: I am cheap/stingy/frugal/smart/want to be able to afford trips to Czech Republic and Italy and Germany and Iceland because I don't pay for stupid crap like matching socks or haircuts. When I graduated from college, my mother gave me the $15 hairclipping kit that she bought in Bed Bath & Beyond when I was in middle school. She would always cut my hair when I was growing up, even though I never tipped her, and quite frankly, I rarely even swept up after myself. The point is this: why pay for something that you can do yourself? If you can't do it, I bet you have a friend who would like to try. Reason number two: I loathe the bizarre and constantly-stalling chit-chat made by the seventeen-year-old who's cutting your hair while chomping on wads of bubble gum, some of the bubbles getting stuck in her swoop bang or pink highlights. Listen, Ashleey: you don't actually care who I am, or what I do for a living. You just want a funky name and a beehive hairdo.

So, on the rare occasion that I go to a real, brick and mortar hair cuttery place, a visit which is usually stemmed by an even more rare visit by a family member who, upon seeing my angled neckline and cringing, gives me a twenty dollar bill and orders me to "let a professional do it, for once." I give in. As soon as I sit down in the swivel chair, as soon as the spray bottle has efficiently wetted my scalp, and immediately after the chomping girl asks me what size guard I want on my hair, I get into character. Actually, this sometime starts before I'm even seen. If I have to physically sign in, I usually write a 90's baby name on the sheet, and I admit to stealing them from my weird residents when I was an resident assistant. "Denton, follow me", she says, and I follow bravely, proudly. I sink in the chair, hands on the armrests like a king in my castle, and the story unwinds. My career choices have been limitless. If you'd ask any of the hairdressers or hairwashers, they'd tell you that I was studying architecture, on a small college music tour, just visiting friends, a new immigrant to the country (which seemed to fail miserably because of my inability to fake an accent [ask me to impersonate an Irish accent] but the questionably-young hairdresser couldn't tell the difference). "Why are you in central Pennsylvania, Mr. DeLuca??", they ask. I was admiring the Capitol rotunda, checking out the local college scene, or simply pretending not to understand her thick, American accent. I have been a car salesman, a food critic for two different local magazines, and a grocery store cashier. It is fun to see their surprised faces, as they snip away behind the ears, or ask me to tilt my earth's axis so that they can reach cross-continental. "Colton, what kind of shampoo do you use?" I tell Brittni that I use whatever's in the shower, or, if I'm the business executive, I am sure to tell them that I separately use shampoo and conditioner, even though they can tell I use the two-in-one bottle. But the words are music to their ears, and they breathe a sigh of relief, thanking me for caring for my follicles so responsibly. I thank them in return, leave a measly tip, hop into my car and tussle my hair, wink in the mirror, and return to my normal, cyclical routine of sleep, work, trying to play and sleep. I may be boring for most of the year, but for an hour every eight months, I am a rock star.

2010-04-18T22:43:00.002-04:00

It's weird to think that I was standing here two days before the smoke. For the first time, I feel like I'm playing a game and winning.

2010-02-24T15:02:00.002-05:00

when your significant other breaks up with you, and/or
when you are working a job that you hate, and/or
when you are without a job at all, and and/or
when you are up all night throwing up, and/or
when your children are up all night throwing up, and/or
when you are feeling lonely, and/or
when the forecast says there is more snow on the way, and/or
when your bank account is looking low, and/or
when death is waiting downstairs, and
when all the evidence points to the contrary,

things will get better.

2010-02-08T10:00:00.005-05:00

Several weeks ago, someone told me to keep an eye out for the Superbowl commercial featuring Tim Tebow, who went from being almost aborted to a champion for homeschooler rights to a champion for the Florida Gators. There were, evidently, swirls of controversy plaguing this commercial - would it be aired? Would it be aired in its original entirety? Would they be pushing their Christian agenda too much? So, I did what I thought anybody else would have done – I googled. I probably researched a dozen articles about the commercial, and they all said the same thing – Tim and his mom, Pam, were going to be featured in a Focus on the Family commercial. According to the CEO of Focus on the Family, the intent of the commercial was to inspire people at a time when “families need to be inspired”. No other details about the commercial were being released.

Then, the articles featured a funny twist when the reporters gave their opinion in regard to the content of the commercial. And, because we live in a generation where stay-at-home moms are glued to Facebook and have constant access to our around-the-clock news cycle, we were now eating chatter and gossip for dinner. And that, my friends, is where the hype and controversy came to be. Rumors from Facebook posts and youth pastor tweets. Rumors from hushed coffeeshop chats and pulpits. Because the Tebow family are active and vocal Christians, most conservatives assumed the commercial would showcase their faith. Most liberals took offense, praying to God or something else that they wouldn’t be granted a commercial during one of the highest-rated broadcasts on television, an offense that started a frenzy of its own. Conservatives then took offense to the liberals' offense, and began to worry that everything would be censored in this world of Sarah Palin’s liberal media elite.

Like most other major networks, CBS has a policy prohibiting advocacy ads, regardless of how explicit or implicit they may be. With that in mind, commercials advocating for anti-abortion policies or equal rights for homosexuals would never have aired during the broadcast. Superbowl night came, and the commercial came. It was a gentle, non-threatening ad “celebrating family, celebrating life”, just like a few level-headed reporters (and Focus on the Family, for that matter) said it would be. The commercial served as a vignette for Focus on the Family, meaning that if you saw that commercial and/or if you knew their story and found it to be inspirational, then Focus on the Family is a resource that aligns very closely with not only the Tebow family, but yours as well. It was an advertisement (an expensive one, too: estimates for a 30-second spot on the Superbowl were $2.7 million) for Focus on the Family, and not meant to be a platform to take sides on a sensitive issue. The story is already public, why would they pay $3 million dollars to tell it to you in thirty seconds?

I and nine other people around the world emerged from the Superbowl having seen the Tim Tebow commercial we had expected to see – a non-controversial ad pointing people in the direction of Focus on the Family. After the broadcast, I’m sure that thousands of people went to Focus on the Family, read up on the inspirational story of Tim Tebow, and probably browsed around the website a bit. Now, the morning after, most people are stunned that it was too soft, or that it was much ado about nothing. And so, readers of my blog, I urge you: before you get in the throngs of a heated argument that has anything to do with faith, policy or commercials, perform your civic duty and do your homework.

Yahoo! Article

Focus on the Family Press Release

NESN.com Article

MediaPost Article

2010-01-07T23:13:00.003-05:00

Ten years ago, I was basking in the reality that we – my family, my school, the world at large – had not suffered the wrath of a mysteriously cataclysmic event. My dad, in his stern humor, warned me that the new millennium may snatch away my ability to drive a car at sixteen. As scary as that was, I was more terrified of not being able to chat on ICQ all day long with people who liked the same musicals as I did. So, it was with great fear and trepidation that we approached New Years’ Eve, and despite news reports proudly showing a not-dark Lima and an illuminated Charles Bridge in Prague, my family left cosmic bowling an hour early, to sit in front of the television to make sure we made it to 12:01. We did. As a result of our newfound freedom, my family sat around in the kitchen the next morning at our home in Maryland, eating all of the canned food and drinking from our water bottles. We still had the generator that we didn’t know what we were going to do with, but those other things certainly didn’t need to go to waste.

Ten years later, today, I’m getting ready to go to another New Years’ Eve party. I am a little taller, I have been trying to grow a beard, and I will be driving a car to the party. I no longer enjoy musicals, even though in five days I will see one with a friend of mine. I have seen Belfast and Munich with my own two feet, not just on CNN on New Years Eve. I have recently taken up bowling again, not in the cosmic sense, just in a normal sense, if you can call my friend having his own bowling ball and shoes and customized embroidered bag ‘normal’. My dad, in his pensive reflection, told me last week over Christmas dinner at their home in North Carolina, over soy milk and baby food for one of his three grandchildren, that the time flies so quickly. “I’m 53, son. I’m practically 60!” And this is how the time flies, I say, when we get ahead of ourselves. My dad is 53 turning 54, and the six years until he is 60 is far enough ahead, not lurking in the shadows around the corner.

I have no idea what is going to happen in the next ten years. Perhaps some of my friends will stop looking at me with blank stares. Perhaps I’ll actually figure out which graduate program I want to apply for, and maybe I’ll actually move to New York or Baltimore or Ireland or Australia like I’ve always wanted to. Maybe there will be peace on earth, and maybe there will be more goodwill towards others, or maybe we’ll stay entrenched in global chaos. Maybe my family will hold on to the family generator for the impending doom that is 2012. Maybe I'll look for love in all the right places, maybe I'll continue not looking at all. In the meantime, here we are, in bold and blue, proclaiming that 2010 will be our year. The general consensus is that 2009 was so awful that 2010 can only improve. In retrospect, I had a fine 2009, and I saved enough sunshine to last through January, February and March. That's as far ahead as I care to look right now.

Favorite Music of 2009.

2009-12-26T14:20:00.004-05:00

I liked a lot of music this year. This really isn't different from most years, except for a lot of the music I fell in love with wasn't new - I am just not on the cutting edge like I used to be. As far as new albums go, here are my favorites of the year.

10) Neko Case - Middle Cyclone. In terms of the lyrics, they are average for Case - good, witty, metaphorical. But what carries this album more than before is her voice, a fantastic instrument that can fill a room without being overwhelming. Only downside: that 30+ minute recording of frogs.
(Songs to check out: The Pharaohs, People Got A Lotta Nerve)

9) The Swell Season - Strict Joy. The world may have moved on to other dreamy musical stories (Susan Boyle), but the surprise musical duo from 2007's 'Once' movie came back with a great album. The Frames' frontman Glen Hansard delivers his usual gritty and passionate vocals, but it's the few selections carried by the second fiddle, Marketa Irglova, that really shine.
(Songs to check out: The Verb, I Have Loved You Wrong)

8) Andrew Bird - Noble Beast. Sometimes I can look at a cover of an album and know I will like it (see #4). Folk singer and violin virtuoso Andrew Bird is back with yet another album, where he waxes poetically and whistles his way through delightful songs that will have you tapping your feet and wishing that you could whistle.
(Songs to check out: Natural Disaster, Tenuousness)

7) Zero 7 - Yeah Ghost. With their lead singers seemingly going through a revolving door, Zero 7 shakes it up a little bit and delivers a pop-centered record that's a huge leap forward from the neutral 'Garden' CD. New singer Eska Mtungwazi brings a soulful touch to Zero 7 that they've never had before.
(Songs to check out: The Road, Sleeper)

6) Maxwell - BLACKsummers'night. It only took him eight years, but Maxwell returns with a soulful album that far outshines the offerings from his R&B contemporaries R. Kelly and Chris Brown. Like always, Maxwell's voice complements fantastic instrumentation, making for quite an enjoyable listen. Hopefully we won't need to wait another eight years.
(Songs to check out: Fistful of Tears, Bad Habits)

5) Alicia Keys - The Element of Freedom. Oh, Alicia Keys. To say that this album is disappointing is inaccurate. But 'Freedom' doesn't come close to showcasing Keys' raw talent, something her past CD's were progressing towards. That being said, even when she's not at her best, she still blows her competition out of the water. Keys has shifted from 70's motown and soul to an 80's synth-pop, meaning she sounds less like Aretha and more like Prince. We'll take it.
(Songs to check out: Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart, This Bed, Love is Blind)

4) The Flaming Lips - Embryonic. Psychedelic rock never sounded so fresh. I'm not terribly familiar with their past efforts, but Embryonic certainly dazzles and emotes unlike anything I have heard this year. Plus, collaborations with MGMT and Karen O can only make things better.
(Songs to check out: Gemini Syringes, Evil, Aquarius Sabotage)

3) Norah Jones - The Fall. We all loved when she crooned Hoagy Carmichael and Tom Waits songs, and we liked her added lyrics to the previously-instrumental Duke Ellington songs. But you have to wonder how long Norah Jones was going to stay behind the piano, doing generally the same, albeit delightful, thing. Her new album isn't so much a departure as it is a logical, progressive step in a great direction. Jones plays Wurlitzer, she plays guitar. Jones recruited indie staples Ryan Adams and Okkervil River and neo-soul keyboardist James Poyser to contribute to a fresh new sound for such a talented musician.
(Songs to check out: It's Gonna Be, Chasing Pirates, You've Ruined Me)

2) Regina Spektor - Far. Some say she sold out, but true fans will quickly point out the dolphin barks, the meat market, the song about a lost wallet, the scenario of God at a cocktail party. Spektor is still very much in control of her crystal clear voice, which bellows and soars in all the right spots. Spektor's music is still quirky and original, but has a new accessibility assisted by a full band, synthesizers and producers from all over the musical spectrum. Plus, Regina truly is at her best when she's performing, and her live adaptations of these songs are a treat.
(Songs to check out: Dance Anthem of the 80's, Two Birds, Genius Next Door, Laughing With, Blue Lips)

1) Brandi Carlile - Give Up The Ghost. I've never heard an incredible song where the singers' voice cracks twice, which only improve the song. Such is 'The Story' from Brandi Carlile, an almost-country, almost-indie guitar rocker, who followed up last year's breakthrough album with 'Give Up The Ghost'. Carlile sings with such emotion and conviction that the sometimes-chiche lyrics are drowned out by the feeling that seeps through the stereo speakers. Carlile is one of the only musicians who can invest equal emotion in an upbeat rocker as she can in an acoustic song about a friend who committed suicide. Plus, she duets with Elton John. There truly are no weak points on this album, its only downside being that it only has 11 songs. Carlile's just making a good thing better.
(Songs to check out: Pride and Joy, Looking Out, Last Year, Before it Breaks, Caroline)

2009-12-20T20:50:00.000-05:00

Sometimes we get the days we need.

I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone.

2009-12-08T01:02:00.006-05:00

I have distinct and vivid memories of riding in the car with my sister, the driver, the wind blowing her long blonde hair out of the window and into her face. We would play 'Fast Car', one of our favorite songs, and she would drive faster, floating along the highway, content that Tracy Chapman was narrating our life as it was unfolding in front of our eyes. The song was a staple on mix CD's we would make for each other, despite our music tastes being hilariously different. I remember one specific time when I was late to work because I was downloading the new version of Lady Marmalade from Christina Aguilera and company. Her CDs for me were full of Goo Goo Dolls and Edwin McCain. Also Tracy Chapman.

The song always crept out of the speakers during meaningful, poignant transitions in my life. For instance, when that sister moved away to college, or when she moved back but got married, or when I went off to college or moved to Pennsylvania, leaving my sister far behind and married in Maryland. The song depicts terribly unfortunate circumstances experienced by the narrator, who is blinded with naivety to think that she can escape her situation, drive off and shrink into the sunset and make a new life. So it is no surprise that the song is playing silently in the chambers of my mind as I am faced with the life I lead. My current life is me pushing, urging others to do something. If it's not doing the most good, it's getting off of the sofa for a few hours to catch a breath of fresh air. If it's not begging people to do things with me, it's me pleading with my 25-year old friends that they don't deserve to be alcoholics, especially not this early in their lives.

As of late, I have been extremely unsteady and unsure of what to do next. The wheels keep turning but I haven't moved an inch, and I find myself dreaming of a time when I can get behind the wheel of a car, loyal friend or sister in tow, on our way to something new and different, attempting to figure it out one mile at a time as we drive aimlessly into city skylines and across state borders. As for now, though, I am left with my daily renewal of hope and the daily letdown, as another day inevitably gets sucked dry by a television screen or a bottle of vermouth. Every day I wake up, set goals for my day, but I meet them by myself. In it all I can still picture my sister's face when we would sing along with the lyrics, knowing that we could escape whenever we needed to. This knowing will get me through today, and tomorrow, and the next day, until the things that I know in my head grow limbs and sit next to me in my car.

A friend of mine named Colin says it best in his poem Coming Home:

"In dreams I have lifted the fabric of this life
and shaken a wave through it all. This house
is fragile, though, and waves more dangerous."

2009-11-19T23:04:00.002-05:00

Life hasn't looked this good in a while. Evidence:

1) Tomorrow is pay day.
2) Tomorrow is Friday.
3) Tomorrow, we travel to Maryland to see the Terps play.
4) On Saturday, I will hang out with old friends all day.
5) On Saturday, I will see the movie Precious, which I've been so fascinated with since a trailer boasting an award-worthy Mo'Nique from the Sundance Film Festival.
6) On Sunday, I will see my friend who has been sailing the ocean blues for the last seven months.
7) Next week is a half work week.
8) Next week, I will meet my sister for dinner.
9) Next week, I will see a friend from Baltimore visiting in Harrisburg.
10) Next week, I will take my roommate from Harrisburg to visit Baltimore.
11) Next week, our friend from Chicago is visiting.
12) Next week, it's our friend Kenny's birthday.
13) Next week, I get to see Over the Rhine play in Philly with an old friend.

Yesssssssssssssssssss.

2009-11-12T23:51:00.002-05:00

This song impeccably describes my mood over the last few weeks. Check it out.

'Missed the Boat' by Modest Mouse

While we're on the subject, could we change the subject now?
I was knocking on your ears - don't worry, you were always out
Looking towards the future, we were begging for the past
Well, we know we had the good things but those never seemed to last
Oh, please just last

Everyone's unhappy, everyone's ashamed
Well we all just got caught looking at somebody else's page
Well, nothing ever went quite exactly as we planned
Our ideas held no water but we used them like a dam

Oh, and we carried it all so well
As if we got a new position
Oh, and I laugh all the way to hell
Saying, "Yes, this is a fine promotion"
Oh, and I laugh all the way to hell

Of course everyone goes crazy over such and such and such
We made ourselves a pillar but we just used it as a crutch
We were certainly uncertain, or at least I'm pretty sure I am
Well, we didn't need the water but we just built that old good dam

Oh, and I know this of myself
I'd assume as much for other people
Oh, and I know this of myself
We've listened more to life's end gong
Than the sound of life's sweet bells

Was it ever worth it? Was there all that much to gain?
Well, we knew we'd missed the boat and we'd already missed the plane
We didn't read the invite, we just danced at our own wake
All our favorites were playing so we could shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

Tiny curtains open and we heard the tiny clap of little hands
A tiny man would tell a little joke and get a tiny laugh from all the folks
Sitting, drifting around in bubbles and thinking it was us that carried them
When we finally got it figured out that we had truly missed the boat

Oh, and we carried it all so well
As if we got a new position
Oh, and we owned all the tools ourselves
But not the skills to make a shelf with
Oh, what useless tools ourselves

i guess we'll just have to adjust.

2009-11-06T01:09:00.005-05:00

It's finally happening. The inevitable consequences of moving near your college town are cozying up next to me, or playing beer pong at some bar in Manhattan. We're all stuck, we all know it but we don't want to talk about it. So we're putting our eggs in other baskets - marriage, England, Iraq, Belize, New Hampshire. People are leaving, some out of choice, others out of necessity. I'm not sure how future Jeff is going to handle all of that, but we'll let future Jeff cross those bridges when he gets there.

It's like my friend told me the other day - to get where you haven't been before, you have to do what you've never done before. Cue the transition music.

You better look out below.

2009-10-12T16:49:00.003-04:00

Three Surprising Things I Have Been Called in The Last Week:

1) A Good Dancer. I went on a cruise last week with five friends to visit a friend of ours who was singing on the ship. I took Cha-Cha lessons that were being offered for free in the main auditorium. I'm not much of a Bojangles, but my friend didn't have a partner, and I felt bad, and I'm a nice gentleman, so I went on stage with her. Because she works on the ship, the instructors knew her and they decided to put us in the front, meaning on the front of the stage. We sashayed and clapped our way through the steps, and we were quite impressive. One of the instructors, who was the sole Hispanic on stage, told me I was doing really well, and that I was a great dancer. I gave a courtesy smile, and accepted my role as Awesome Dancer. Later, during my friends' actual show, when they were searching for volunteers to come dance on stage, they selected me. I practiced the macarena in the aisle with a girl wearing large feathers, and then we made our way to the stage. My next command was to "give some salsa moves to the band", which I obviously did. As our cruise ship navigated its way through and on international waters, there I was, putting my hands to my hips and shaking, flaunting even, my moves to the unsuspecting crowd who either gaped in horror or cheered in amazement.

2) A Yankee. I didn't know people still used this word. However, I was recently on a trip down South, when I stopped for a quick dinner at Subway. When I went to pay, the cashier opened her toothless mouth and mumbled, "craydit or daybit?" as only a Virginian can. "Debit", I told her, which caused her to look at me sideways, like a dog unsure of your commands. She then chuckled, as only a Virginian can, turned around to her kitchen mate and said "Chris, we done got ourselves here a Yankee!". The two of them shared an extended laugh, which fizzled out and transitioned into her asking the next customer what kind of cookies they wanted with their Subway Fresh Meal.

3) An Uncle. When I got to work on Friday, I wasn't sure what my weekend had in store. There was talk of seeing that new Tina Fey movie, or going to a pumpkin festival in Carlisle which promised to have biblical proportions of apple cider. Things changed at lunchtime, when I found out that my oldest sister went into labor 14 weeks early, and had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. Her condition was not immediately known, and the idea of a baby being over three months early caused the Waters family to panic, and rightfully so. I ran home from work, threw a bunch of dirty clothes into my suitcase and took off for Tennessee. Because he was born so prematurely, Anthony doesn't have a lot of fat on his bones, meaning that he looks like a 14 inch long Hercules. He came out kicking and screaming, and also probably flexing, and he will muscle his way through the next few months as he sits in the NICU until he can be brought home around the holidays, where he will probably be doing curls with his older brother.

Let's Get Ethical.

2009-09-13T23:56:00.005-04:00

I, on behalf of People for the Ethical Treatment of Rackets (PETR), would like to extend a hand of congratulations to the United States Tennis Association (USTA) for finally acknowledging obvious tennis racket abuse in the 2009 U.S. Open, a Grand Slam Tournament which takes place every year in New York. This year has seen an unnerving spike in forceful, unnecessary crimes against rackets, and the people in charge finally seem to be catching on. We were given the silent treatment when Roger Federer slammed his racket at the Sony Ericsson back in April. Our voices were muted when Vliegen beat the tar out of his racket at Monte-Carlo. We were stunned when Dinara Safina, currently the number one women's player in the world, strangely tried to eat her racket.

But, at long last, we at PETR have been given a fair shake. Defending U.S. Open champion Serena WIlliams showed very little class when she beat her racket to a purply pulp during her struggles in her showdown with Belgian baby mama wildcard Kim Clijsters. Officials at the U.S. Open served Ms. Williams a $500 fine for racket abuse. We feel that the $500 fine is laughable, and that Ms. Williams will only see it as a slap on the wrist; nevertheless, we are thrilled that important issues are finally being noticed.

We also understand that Ms. Williams later engaged in some sort of explosive, Baltimorean tirade that fell just short of bloodshed, but we will let our colleagues from the People for the Ethical Treatment of Asian Linesjudges (PETAL) speak to that matter.

Dante, a presto.

2009-09-07T13:52:00.008-04:00

(Dante, soon.)

I remember the first time I heard the word gonads, said by my grandfather in a "you should kick him in the gonads next time" sort of way. I don't remember who the "him" was, but once my grandfather suggested it, all I wanted to do was find whoever it was and kick him in the gonads. My grandfather was a prince of a man, a true Italian gentleman and the only person I knew who could walk with a trick leg. I remember eating a lot of Italian food and discussing secret family recipes, kept faithfully between Dante and Tony. My grandfather called me Tony, which came from his favorite joke about Italians being named Tony because they wrote To NY on their hats when they left the homeland of tomatoes and garlic. In a family that hands out nicknames as often as birthday presents, I cherished the only one that ever really stuck with me.

My great grandmother, who we all knew as Jenny Balls and not by her real name of Nancy, lamented one day like we were in the Old Testament. She wailed, cried tears of sorrow and meatballs, and then went back to her families' home outside of Pittsburgh where she deteriorated slowly. "She has tried to copy the sauce, but it simply cannot be done," her daughter Red (legally Nancy) would tell us, desperately, over the phone. "She just hasn't been the same since he died."

As if part of an elaborate magic trick, Jenny Balls just disappeared one day, and I often think of her reunion with her son and how good it must have smelled. I also often think of what they have seen but have missed being a physical part of, like my sisters' weddings, the births of my nephews, my college graduation. I imagine him smiling when I fed a bowl of pasta to my nephew the other day, and I imagine her laughing sweetly each time we continually and purposefully botch the pronunciation of ricotta cheese. We wash the walls, we say the prayers, we look to the sky, hoping to see them in thin air, knowing they are too busy assisting with heavenly feasts.

But in the meantime, we will get by, one bowl of pasta at a time.

2009-08-24T19:59:00.003-04:00

I'm sitting in a very familiar chair. I'm facing the coffee and the glass doors to Market Street, watching the cars go by. I'm using the internet of this local coffeeshop, because my new house is still without the aid of such modern technology. I'm starting over. Jeff 2.0 is being unveiled, and it is entirely exciting and painful for me. Within 24 hours of each other, I bought a new car (yes, I now have functional windshield wipers and a working transmission) and moved. My new house has air conditioning, doors that close, a sweet bathroom floor. It does not have the same roommate makeup, and the difference is very distinct.

It's dark and the sun has set but it's still light enough to see the silhouettes of the cars rushing around Market Street. Driving in my new car with the windows down, the air felt refreshingly crisp and cool, like autumn is in the batter's box. I'm reminded of where we were last year, where I am now, and God only knows where I'll be in one year from today.

One day these posts won't be so reflective and mopey. I am not mopey. Just constantly reflective.

Until next time.

SO MUCH MUSIC.

2009-08-19T18:42:00.003-04:00

It seems as if all of my favorite musicians chose 2009 as the year to put out new music. 2010 is going to be SO boring.

August 25 - Imogen Heap, Ellipse
September 8 - A Fine Frenzy, Bomb in a Birdcage; Zero 7, Yeah Ghost
September 11 - Jay-Z, Blueprint III (collaborations with Alicia Keys and MGMT)
September 22 - Newton Faulkner, Rebuilt By Humans
October 6 - Sufjan Stevems, Run Rabbit Run
October 20 - Sufjan Stevens, The BQE
October 27 - The Swell Season, Strict Joy
November 24 - Norah Jones, Untitled

Plus, unconfirmed dates for new records by Alicia Keys, Coldplay, Erykah Badu, The National, and Brandi Carlile, all to be released by year's end.

There is so much more. I will update this as I remember. This is all just OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD. Impressed, you are.

Chipotle.

2009-08-08T14:45:00.002-04:00

Three or four years ago, during my last summer in Baltimore, I discovered Chipotle. I first heard about it at church, when my pastor detailed his custom Chipotle order for the once-bored-turned-starving churchgoers. It quickly became a personal phenomenon, and I found myself spending so much of my snowball money on double-steak burritos with black beans, sour cream, cheese and mild salsa. After a few months of keeping the business in business, the red-headed, non-Hispanic manager approached me and commented that he saw me there quite frequently. I initially felt weird - am I THAT guy who visits a restaurant so often that you would not only recognize me, but then tell me that? My weird feeling quickly disappeared when he gave me a free burrito and a free Chipotle t-shirt.

When I returned to Pennsylvania for my junior year of college, I was determined to find the nearest Chipotle. As it has a tendency of doing, Pennsylvania fell through the cracks, and somehow managed to avoid the Chipotle ache. But as I was taught in college chapel services, I decided to stop complaining about the problem and start doing something about it. In other (read: Gandhi's) words, I decided to be the change I wished to see in the world. Over the last twelve months, I have sent bi-weekly emails to Chipotle headquarters, pleading and begging that they would expand their delicious tasty goodness to central Pennsylvania. Philadelphia and Pittsburgh had reaped the benefits, but c'mon, what about the capital? I received an email back in March saying that, this fall, they would be opening a Chipotle in this region. I continued with my emails, and was told that it would be in York. I was disappointed, but was willing to buy a car that would consistently take me there.

To my delight, Harrisburg also got a piece of the burrito, and just days ago, we celebrated the Grand Opening of Chipotle in Harrisburg. On Thursday, I spent two hours of my life waiting for their burritos because they were FREE. I went back on Friday, and I got a free burrito coupon AND a free shirt. I went back today and they gave my friend and I free burritos. Just cuz they can. This is the sort of thing that can lift a spirit and send one running for the facilities, but it's so entirely worth it. I can't guarantee that they'll give you anything free at this point, but hey, keep going and trying. Chipotle also uses all naturally raised meat, and uses almost exclusively local food. You can be full of yummy food and support local farmers at the same time. What could be better?

i want to run in fields and paint the kitchen

2009-07-26T20:49:00.003-04:00

I mostly enjoy suspense when I know the time frame that we're working with. At the end of this movie, I will know why the kid sees dead people. I do not enjoy when the mystery is drawn out over an unspecified amount of time. I've already dazzled my way through college, so it's too late to reserve the space to have Life Crisis conversations without sounding whiny, overly emotional, or immature. I get the sense that I am still transitioning, still figuring things out. In the last 24 months, I have changed my address seven times, and I am about to change it again in a month. I am at the point where I would like to know what's happening next, and in the midst of a whirlwind of options and opportunities, I feel comatose, glazed over.

Tomorrow, I will have worked the same job for an entire year, even though it feels much shorter and much longer than that. So little has happened in the last year that it almost seems like I've been too busy. Each day lags but the months slip away. It is helpful knowing that I have other friends who don't have things figured out, but we are becoming the minority. One of my best friends in the entire world is living up to that title by moving to England in a few months. My friends are talking about marriage, which is not frustrating because I'm single, but instead because it showcases a level of planning and structure that has been so elusive for me. It reminds me of eighth grade when the rest of the class flaunted their outlines, notecards and first drafts as I handed Miss Brown my outline with scribbles, two weeks late because I simply couldn't decide on a topic. I'm just a little behind on the preparation, but I'll get there. I think.

2009-07-05T14:19:00.004-04:00

It has come to my attention that there are still people who think Bath Fitter is a good idea. I still firmly believe that it is one of the worst services ever. I mean, I get it. It's cheap to cover up a disgusting tub with a new one that allegedly fits perfectly, but in the long run, is it the most cost effective? What happens when, two years later, the dozens of mold armies join forces and overtake the replacement tub? Do you just keep compounding the tubs until you can't even stand up in one? Perhaps Bath Fitter plans to create props for Tim Burton's upcoming Alice in Wonderland film.

I am sticking to the opinion I expressed in a blog post a year ago. And, apparently I'm not the only one who thinks it's silly. There are scores of websites who are calling party fouls on Bath Fitter. I do realize now that Billy Mays is dead, it'll be a bit more tricky to keep our tubs clean, but I don't think we have to rely on Bath Fitter to do it.

Bring it, Liz.

2009-06-19T17:36:00.003-04:00

An update since my last post: God is currently doodling in the margins of the notebook paper.

2009-06-04T20:52:00.002-04:00

It's been said that if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. I must be boring God to tears.

More Trends.

2009-05-31T20:57:00.006-04:00

1. Moving
Everybody is moving. A few weeks ago, I helped my parents finally move to their beach house. Today I helped my friend Louie move his desk into his new sweet place. Tomorrow, my friend Liz is moving out. A few weeks ago, several friends moved into a house a block away. We're getting ready to move at the end of the summer. You're welcome, U-Haul. My friends and I have kept you in business.

2. Rope Sandals
Two years ago, I spotted my pothead resident wearing rope sandals. I had to have them, so I got online and recently bought them. Most people see the sandals, known as JC sandals, and say "Wow, that's quite the pair of sandals." I actively choose to take that as a compliment. A teenage girl I sat next to on a plane a few weeks ago told me that they were adorable. My dad said they were cute, and I'm sure he was lying. Last week, as I shuffled out of a restaurant after having devoured all of their wings, I passed another hippie wearing my rope sandals. Before you know it, everyone will be wearing 'em. You're welcome, fashion.

3. Responsibilities
Everyone I know is getting more added to their plate, so to speak. My friends who are moving out of the Sycamore House actually have to pay rent now, which is totally a bummer. My friend Aaron just got promoted to head butcher at the local grocery store back at home. My house is not exempt from added tasks and responsibilities, because in three weeks, I will be a legal guardian to two Northern Irish kids who are visiting the states and staying with us. I can already tell that their stay will be stressful, as they have already asked me impossible questions about travelers checks (cheques?) and New York City.

4. Graduate School
Last summer, almost immediately after graduation, I decided that I was absolutely destined to be back in school. I like writing papers, doing research, and eating wraps in a student union. I requested grad school literature over a year ago, and I'm planning to enroll in the spring. My roommate is starting this fall, and today at lunch, all Devin and I could talk about was graduate school. I think my sister is going back to school, although it's impossible for me to keep up. Continued learning is sooo hot right now.

5. Handcakes
Last week, Benny made me a handcake. If you don't get why that's funny, we're probably not friends.

6. Bizarre Pairings.
I saw the Comcast commercial with Ben Stein and Shaquille O'Neal, of "I don't hate, I congratulate" fame. I saw the commercial, and I simply can't believe it. It reminds me of Chemistry for Living, a college class where we watched The Great Warming, a video about global climate change through the eyes of the obvious co-narrators: Alanis Morrisette and Keanu Reeves. It also reminds me of election times (Obama-nation!), when Pat Robertson and Rev. Al Sharpton romantically sat on a couch on the beach while talking about the environment.

2009-05-14T16:59:00.001-04:00

I once had a nemesis named Chris Reed. In the eighth grade, when gel pens were the coolest things since Trapper Keepers, I needed a gold gel pen for a science project I was putting together for Mr. Heller’s class. Chris refused to let me borrow his gold gel pen, thus beginning our two-year period of hating each other. We never spoke to one another from that point on, and we managed to stay out of each other’s way, knowing that any conversation between the two of us would end poorly. And even though the reason was silly, we knew exactly why we were on bad terms.

The not-knowing is what’s difficult.

2009-05-11T17:32:00.003-04:00

In the last fourteen days, I have been in seven different states, gotten in my first car accident, reunited with so many old friends, and have become an uncle again. I am tired, and there is no time to rest. In the next few weeks, I will finally see the fruits of my paid labor pay off by way of our Annual Dinner. I will also celebrate a birthday, play in two more weddings across the east coast, and be at a family reunion on the beach.

Life is grand and I've got pictures to prove it. And to the one person who reads my blog, fret not: I'll update again sooner.

Things That Are Happening In The World Around You

2009-04-16T16:08:00.008-04:00

Susan Boyle
I realize that at this point, I am running helplessly to try and hop on the back of the Susan Boyle train before it’s too late. But how can you resist swooning over a troll with the voice of, well, Elaine Paige? The answer is that you can’t. Susan has been the talk of the town, and I have received at least three emails with a link to the YouTube video of her belting out a Les Miserables tune. I loved the song, and I especially enjoyed her sassy hip gyrations. I’m exposing my damaged childhood, but does anybody else see similarities between Susan and Grizabella, the mangy old woman-cat, not coincidentally played by Elaine Paige, in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s creepy musical ‘Cats’? Regardless, I have made this picture my desktop background at work, so I can gaze into her bushy brows all day long.

Topless Coffee Shops
“Many local residents were irate over the idea of combining coffee and nudity. [Donald] Crabtree, however, saw a profitable business venture.” When something like this appears in the beginning of a news article, you are automatically hooked. (Kudos to you, Laurie Segall, for writing such an enticing and compelling piece.) The coffee shop provides an opportunity for geriatrics to shamelessly flirt with young, topless bare-istas, an opportunity previously unavailable due to restrictive social standards like decency and self-worth. Many of the customers reportedly added the “Happy Ending” feature from the dollar menu to their lattes, and have been leaving huge tips ever since. The shop has proven to be a bit of a recession buster, as most of the servers are averaging $30 per table. The owner said that despite the rocky economy, “it is nice to see people smile again”. Well done.

Elaine Paige
Before Susan Boyle began singing, nobody in the audience knew who Elaine Paige was. Now everybody is sure that Susan Boyle will, at the very least, match Paige’s level of fame. But don’t forget that this is good publicity for the Elaine Paige camp, which has been desperately trying to find a marketing tactic to boost her record sales into the dozens.

Breaking Silences
If you’re like me, you’ve been deafened by the silence of Levi Johnston, the Alaskan hockey player who is responsible for fathering yet another child in the Palin clan with a crazy name. Rejoice, for God heard (and answered) your silent prayers. Levi is sick of the nasty rumors going around (stop it, guys), and recently decided he wanted his side of the story heard. Wisely, Levi chose the perfect medium to break his silence - The Tyra Banks Show. While it was nice to hear Levi’s perspective, I was primarily engaged by the journalist savvy of Tyra Banks, who boldly asked the questions we’re all too nervous to ask, eloquently and relentlessly repeated every one of Levi’s answers, and reminded everyone that The Tyra Banks Show didn’t – or couldn’t – compensate the Johnston family for their appearance. And now the cat is out of the bag – Bristol got pregnant because they weren’t practicing safe sex. Thanks to Tyra, the mystery has been solved! We can all sleep safely at night knowing that Tyra’s got the cajones and the tenacity to continually raise the bar for the endeavors of supermodels.

Pirates
In what is already throwing costume stores and theme parks into a frenzy, pirates are back and they’re worse than ever. I’m really not trying to be insensitive or crass, but I guess I didn’t realize that pirates were still a major threat. As if the economy or Madonna’s adoption woes aren’t enough to make your head spin, now we’ve got pirates on our hands?!? Are you kidding me? Actually, I’m not convinced they are real pirates, mostly because I haven’t seen any photos of peg legs, eyepatches, or Johnny Depp. But immediately after hearing that pirates were killed by snipers, misinformed high school students immediately halted downloading that new Britney Spears song where she cleverly swears in the title, forcing P2P powerhouses like Napster and Limewire to see their shares plummet. Thanks for screwing with our economy, pirates.

2009-04-01T18:21:00.001-04:00

Rebuild, rebuild, rebuild. It is the word slipping off of tongues like dirty secrets, replacing every hippie’s stale buzzwords like community, harmony, peace. But things simply cannot be at rest when things are in shambles, and now we find ourselves thrown into the process of rebuilding. It’s hard to know where to start when everything is desperate for repair, when everyone needs a hug and a band-aid. There are mangled friendships, complicated economies and unhappy marriages, and the house is falling apart by the minute. But we live through each day hoping that yesterday was rock bottom, the worst of the worst, and that just maybe today will begin a new chapter, one worth a second or third read later down the line.

They said the other day in church that it's important to know one's own rhythm, that there are indicators telling you when to clap and when to be still. Even though every day can be different from the one before it, they said there is some sort of big-picture pattern that you can not only know about but prepare for. I am positive that they're correct about the existence of this pattern, but my pattern stresses me out. High, low, low, high, high, low, high. The pastor said that God is aware of the long journeys and the necessity to rest. I heard that, somehow, there is plenty of food and drink for those of us in the desert needing to take a break in the shade, underneath a solitary tree.

To get to Staré Město, you walk out of your front door and go to the right. At the T, you walk a block until Tram 3 approaches on your left. Unlike a lot of European cities, Prague isn’t too kind to tourists, a fact proven by the amount of pick-pocketing and the lack of street signs. But you know that when Tram 3 arrives at Dělnická, you slither up the stairs, repeatedly checking on your wallet. You stay on the tram until the people start clutching their purses and storing their iPods. The cobblestone streets are narrow, and there is an immense feeling of claustrophobia. You feel unworthy and intrusive being surrounded by the brilliant, regal buildings, whispering to you the same greeting they shouted a thousand years ago. It’s tunnel vision the way the good Lord intended it, and the marionette shop on the left and the Bohemian Crystals on your right are the only things you can see until you stumble on a large castle, enormous cathedral, or delicious pub.

I don’t know much, but I know this: it’s not good to run away from your problems. In other words, it’s not healthy to lead a troubled life and completely ignore the junk. But I do know that perhaps the sweetest thing is to momentarily escape the problems, to hold your happiness hostage for just a few days, during which you can temporarily transform into an unshaven nomad who can’t speak the language but can manage to thank the waiter for the bratwursts.

I’m at a critical point in this pattern of mine. I know that now is the time I would typically slink down into the dumps for a few weeks, and knowing that makes all of the difference. Spring has sprung, and the steady rain is delightful because there is no chance it will turn into sleet tonight. I got a pull-through parking spot at the grocery store today. A ten-year-old boy just high-fived me because it’s his birthday. Granted, this isn’t Europe, but it’s good enough for me.

2009-03-04T23:17:00.005-05:00

I get nervous when I'm around someone who is giving themselves a pep talk. This talk will often involve jumping repeatedly, a shrug of the shoulders like a bloody boxer, and some scolding, jagged phrases. "Get yourself together!" "Get your head back in the game!" Or, my personal favorite, "What were you thinking?!?" In an effort to hide my discomfort with the situation, I throw my clenched fists in the air and echo the sentiment with a firm, solid, grunting "Yeah!!!" I also might unclench my hands to allow a high-five, and in rare occasions, might chest bump. I still think it's all pretty silly, you see, but the last thing you want to do is to piss off an underdog who's revving up his engine.

2009-02-12T23:52:00.006-05:00

I will tell you that office romances are no good. Keep in mind that I am not currently in one, and I have no intention on being in one. I will also tell you that I work with an adorable woman who will always chalk up her quirks to her status as a senior citizen, who mutters under her breath, and whose blood pressure skyrockets when somebody hangs the phone up while she is answering it. She is fantastic, and she thinks I am funny and attractive. "Me and the other Mary were talking about you, and we think you're a very handsome young man!"

I will also tell you that in the seven months I've been working there, that is perhaps the only complete sentence I've heard out of her mouth. Most of her thoughts just taper off and finish themselves. She has a lot of confidence - some in herself but most in you that you'll be able to interpret her mumblings and figure out what she's trying to say. Whatever you do, do not ask her to repeat or clarify. A girl I used to like in college recently signed up to babysit for one of our programs, and this did not sit well with Mary, who is very protective and territorial. I calm her nerves by reminding her that she's my one and only. "I only have eyes for you, Mary!"

Like clockwork, we shake hands and swear to never bring it up again, but our apologies are so frequent and so public that someone else will inevitably bring it up again. Mary will go crazy, and threaten not to talk to me, but will still secretly hand me the first Reese's Cup that falls out of the box of candy. She doesn't often think about the things she says, and she recently tried to convince me that the reason I had a headache and the reason I kept bringing Mallory up into our conversations was because I had just acted boldly by shaving off my goatee. I stupidly believed that I'd be able to do anything once my facial hair was gone, but my feeble immune system has been no match for my naked chin, and as Mary predicted, I'm sick. "Now that you got rid of that whatchacallit, you're gonna."

When I'm out with my roommates, and they talk about their girlfriends and the day trips they take and their joint Netflix accounts, I talk about Mary, because I really want to fit in and pretend like I've got things going for me.

Things from 2008 that I will not miss in 2009.

2009-01-22T16:12:00.003-05:00

So we’re in a new year, and most people get all warm and fuzzy while reminiscing about the calendar year that’s behind them. Then most people worry about the upcoming twelve months, even though this New Year will be a thing of the past soon, joining the ranks of all the other New Years that got stale after twelve months. In the spirit of reflection, I have compiled a short list of things I’m thrilled to leave in the vaults of 2008. With some exceptions.

Alter-egos
Like taxes, alter-egos have seemingly been in existence for centuries. The strange case of Jekyll and Hyde would likely top my extensive list of memorable instances of split personalities, and because I deliberately model my life after the posterchild(ren?) of dissociative identity disorder, this new onslaught of alter-egos is bizarre, and I feel a bit robbed. 2008 was a huge year for Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana. Beyonce had another blockbuster year with what is perhaps the strangest single in history: “If I Were A Boy”. Or was that song by Sasha Fierce? I can’t remember! It’s so confusing and I can’t keep track. Plus – and this is true of alter-egos from every year (Chris Gaines/Garth Brooks, Prince/symbol) – nobody really gets it, especially when Beyonce and Sasha sound eerily similar. What’s even worse is that various media are playing into it. Billboard.com’s review of the single “Halo” repeatedly acknowledges the two personalities at war with each other on the double-disc, chalking the ferocity of the single as a win for Ms. Sasha Fierce. Unbelievable. As in, I still lack the capacity to believe it.

Exception: I recently purchased and wore a du rag at a costume party where I did my part to remind people that Slim Shady is coming out with a new album in 2009. I can’t wait, and I’m on pins and needles waiting to hear which celebrities Eminem puts through the blender.

Crazy Alaskan Politicians
My friend Louie recently sent me a mock news release about Sarah Palin, an “area woman” whose Vice Presidential selection was right on par with seeing Les Miserables from the front row during the show’s Arctic tour. Thankfully, she’ll be keeping her child-spanking and moose-killing hands out of national politics in 2009, a concept solidified minutes ago when Barack (Hussein!) Obama was sworn into office. Palin will likely feel slighted by the liberal media elite who managed to exclude her face from the television broadcast of the inauguration ceremony, but we can all rejoice in the fact that Sarah Palin is a person of the past, and will likely still be a person of the past if she decides to run for anything more prestigious than the PTA in 2012.

There’s also Ted Stevens, who you’ve just gotta love.

Exception: My money is on Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston, the out-of-wedlock baby of teenage mother Bristol Palin, who is living proof that abstinence-only education is thriving in America.

Cable Threats
I think I first heard about the rabbit ears’ Armageddon back in 2002, when us mortals were warned that television was going to be completely digital in seven years. They said that “soon, big changes are coming your way.” While ninety-four percent of the country would have a “seamless transition”, the FTC aired terrifying commercials saying that people with television antennas would have to “take swift action” to keep everything in working order. In other words, viewers of “The Price is Right”, “As the World Turns” and those Catholic Mass shows were the target audience. But in 2008, the frequency of these commercials skyrocketed. It seemed as if every few minutes, another thirty-second spot was warning me of impending doom (unless I had Comcast, of course). “Big changes are coming your way. Now!” During almost every show I watched, a little news ticker akin to those on CNBC would fly across my screen, telling me that in February of 2009, it’d all be over, and that Apple stocks were down. Our local news channel has three tests each night, an effort to cover their own asses should Earth implode on February 17. “If you survive the test, your TV will survive the switch.” Ack, ack, ack.

Movies about Dogs
Celebrity canines were fresh and original back in the days of the original “Beethoven” (the Charles Grodin and Bonnie Hunt film, not the composer), and my list of timeless dog movies includes “Old Yeller”, “101 Dalmatians” and “All Dogs Go to Heaven” (a theory that has been disproved by logarithms and The Torah). But in 2008, the poor innocent moviegoer was given an avalanche of unnecessary dog movies. Who knew that the “Beethoven” series was on track to steal the 'longest streak' title from the “The Land Before Time” series? The sixth “Beethoven” film, a straight-to-DVD release, was released over the holidays, and it starred a bunch of nobody's and that guy who played Ned Ryerson in “Groundhog Day”. I hadn’t even heard of “Hotel for Dogs” until I was at the movie theater the other day, and “Marley & Me” sounds outrageously sappy and grammatically incorrect. And don’t even get me started on “Beverly Hills Chihuahua” or “Bride Wars”.

Exception: If they asked me to campaign for a “Lassie Come Home” remake, I’d do it.

Pregnancies
2008 was the year of the ubiqui-fetus! Babies babies everywhere! My oldest sister had a baby. Another sister is about to have a baby, who will compete against its cousin for the title of The Cutest Baby In The World. Everybody at work is preggers, meaning that in 2008, I went to more baby showers (two) than I had ever been to before in my whole life (zero). I also stupidly volunteered for one of those lame games at a work baby shower where I was blindfolded and my coworker shoved processed baby food in my mouth, awaiting my proper identification. I think I only got one right. Nobody likes spinach, green beans and peas mixed together – no babies, no adults, no nobody.

And babies were all over the television commercials too. There is that baby who is e-trading while talking and puking. It’s creepy and filthy.

2009-01-08T15:19:00.007-05:00

It’s no secret that my life goal is to land on the Real World one day. Problem is, though, I don’t fit any of the criteria. First of all, I’m not crazy (well...), I don’t overdose on drugs, and I don't have an eating disorder, so those are naturally working against me. Other things I am not: a token minority, a token meathead, a token gay man, a token Christian who is WWF – which means 'worth waiting for', in the context of sexual purity, for the readers unfamiliar with Christian college nomenclature. In other words, the odds are stacked against me. Instead, I have chosen to live vicariously through the lives of the chronically predictable housemates and their respective baby mama drama. Will the brash personality of the Joe-schmoe Iraq War-veteran be too overpowering in a house that has one openly gay Latino man, one girl who was exclusively a lesbian until her current fling with a dude, and one transgendered girl who likes volunteer work? Will the Christian metrosexual actually come out and admit that he likes men, or will he just keep wearing weird V-neck shirts and shamelessly flirt with the other guys as a form of bizarre machismo? Will the black girl decide to hook up with the gym rat? Will that eccentric girl continue to wear those offbeat hats? There are almost too many histrionic storylines to follow, yet I’m aware that I lead a purpose-driven life and will therefore track the progress of the house and its mates up through their reunion show.

I’m also aware that I could get hooked on anything. OK, maybe not phonics, but everything else is fair game. Like, the ‘How I Met Your Mother’ and ‘The Big Bang Theory’ Mondays, or Wing Night Thursdays. And how could I forget about Jurassic Park January, which requires no action on my part except for printing up the Dinosaur Comics (see right) and posting them on our refrigerator every day. Now that The Real World: Brooklyn has hit the tube, my Wednesday nights are shot and will keep me from volunteering at the overnight shelter with Liz. Sorry, Liz.

Life has recently been defined by television. My family would tell you that I never watched TV as a kid. I did watch a lot of movies (see my last post), because it’s easier for parents to control one unchanging movie than a sitcom that can be hilarious one moment or be both hilarious and raunchy the next. In high school, there were the occasional ‘Best Week Ever’ episodes and some ‘Law & Order: SVU’ marathons I’d watch with my sister, but I was probably too busy playing the piano or doing homework follow anything regularly. In college, I was much more interested in hanging out in some common space talking and debating and laughing than I was in keeping up with television shows. But this has changed, mostly because there’s no more common meeting place except for our basement, which incidentally is home to our rabbit ears.

But I promise you that I’d rather talk in person than watch TV. Except on Wednesdays.

2009-01-01T12:01:00.004-05:00

What you should know is that I met Sarah Palin over Christmas break. I saw her across the way and I knew that together, we would make history. She was in Tennessee with her family, although she forgot to drag along Levi and Bristol and their wildly named newborn, Tripp Easton. Maybe that's because Sarah Palin was only about two months old. You see, after Sarah's birth, her dad revised the birth certificate and used it as an tool for "raising awareness for John McCain", as if McCain was an unknown figure, like Oprah Winfrey or William Shatner.

Names are a strange way of identification. Well, at least they are in my family. This is difficult to explain, and it still throws my head for a loop and for a tilt back in laughter every time I have to explain the stage names my family has given to one another. My parents have names that are not Clark and Ellen or George and Nina. Those are film couples that the Waters children thought personified our parents to a T - Clark W. and Ellen Griswald from Chevy Chase's National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, to be exact, and George and Nina Banks from The Father of the Bride series of the 1990's. My mother is mostly referred to as Mary - again, not her real name - and I know that my sisters started calling her that because of some movie, but I can't remember which.

Continuing in the movie theme, my sisters all go by Kimmy. There are three of them, so it's occasionally difficult to differentiate between the Kimmies. But alas, the problem was solved when we were introduced to Big Kimmy, Kimmy, and Lil' Kim. This nickname stems from the movie My Best Friend's Wedding, and particularly from an obscure scene where a woman repeatedly grunts the name 'Kimmy' while in a dressing room. My mother, whose real name doesn't contain the letter 'i', has the most nicknames. In addition to the aforementioned ones, there's also Pancake and Fina, and probably others. My oldest sister married a guy who goes by the name Fudge. I obviously knew it wasn't the most conventional route, but I forgot how peculiar it sounded to tell my friends about Ali and Fudge. They have a child who goes by his middle name, just like my sister does, but now they call the child Bushel. Or Bush-Bush. Or Bush. My sister who is currently with child had been keeping the name of the future baby a secret, perhaps because she knew that as soon as a name was given, the name would stumble away from her protection and into the hands of a family that will immediately change it or use variations.

I have managed to escape living life as a works cited page, although a few nicknames have been given to me along the way by my dad. Thankfully, these nicknames are exclusively for him to use, and all of my friends know me by my name. At any given moment though, my dad will call me The Namesake and/or The Bloodline, in an effort to remind me that my future children (one of whom has apparently been named for me) will continue the family name and grant immunity from disaster for at least another generation.

Somewhat related, last night we named something, although it wasn't a person. We termed 2009 to be the year of the miraculous and the AWESOME. It started out well as the giant strawberry crept its way down the Hilton, which is a lot more entertaining when there is preparation involved and friends have flasks of Goldschlager handy. 2009 will hand me a new President, a roundtrip ticket to Europe and another nephew. AWESOME.

2008-12-22T19:34:00.003-05:00

I have spent the last several weeks being interested and fascinated in certain things. A pinch of intrigue and a dollop of suspense, sure, but mostly fascination. They are as follows:

1. Living Mermaid Girls. I recently discovered that my roommate is completely in over his head in the sea that is Jon & Kate Plus 8 (see #5 below), and in an effort to be intentional, I watched an episode with him last week. During the commercial break, we saw a preview for a show called "Mermaid Girl", which we later discovered chronicled the life of Shiloh Pepin, an eight-year-old girl who has two legs that are unfortunately fused together, leaving her with a fin-like bottom half. Things she doesn't have: two legs, reproductive system, the ability to run on a treadmill. Things she does have: a wetsuit that accommodates her aquatic appendage, a bizarre TV special, and working kidneys. In a time of year where Daylight Savings is gypping me of sunlight and happiness, and the winter is depriving me of warmth, I shook off three weeks of dust and laughed harder than I have in so so long. That night, I had a dream that I married Shiloh Pepin, and my father was furious because she would be unable to slide out the namesake.

2. Pop Music. Lately, I've tapped back into my love for pop music. Sure, it's mostly just catchy lyrics that you can't stop singing and melodies that make you tap your feet and get stuck in your head. But I mean, why would anyone ever want to suppress their desire to listen to Britney Spears or Rihanna or Pink at every waking moment of the day? It's all too good to be true. Also, while you were busy making fun of Britney Spears for shaving her head or watching Chris Crocker on YouTube, she was busy adding vocals into a computer that talented and manipulative producers inserted alongside great beats.

3. Intentional Comedies. Best in Show is one of the funnier movies I've ever seen, and this clip is obvious evidence. And I just can't stop watching 30 Rock's episode with Oprah, and I find myself quoting it all day. Plus, I like anything that reminds society that Oprah is in fact an eleven-year-old girl. And, anything that Tina Fey does is magic,

4. Alicia Keys' Grammy Snub. According to Billboard.com's Year in Review, Alicia Keys' recent CD was the #1 album of 2008, and put two songs in the top 10 of the year. Plus, the Grammy Association loves her. I'm not sure what happened. Also, sorry that I posted a FOX News article on here.

5. Jon & Kate Plus 8. And here's how everything comes together. A few weekends ago, my roommate and I were on our way to Lancaster on a Saturday morning, the morning after I discovered his obsession with the show. We're driving down the highway, blaring pop gems through the speakers, when lo and behold a Dodge Sprinter appears in our rearview mirror. When they flew by us in an effort to lose us, my roommate caught a glimpse of Jon's face, and our plans changed instantly. Before I knew it, we were in a parking lot of a mall going down separate rows, but still keeping an eye on them. They escape from the car though, and we didn't get to see them outside of the car. (My roommate thinks that their quick escape means they didn't have the 8. So, it was Jon and his brother-in-law, minus 9.)

6. Links in blogs.

2008-12-11T22:41:00.002-05:00

Everything is written in Sharpie. I just want to start over.

as far as i can see, there is no land

2008-12-03T16:49:00.006-05:00

It has come to my attention that people actually read my blog. So, to Mr. Johns and The Lavenbeins - hello, welcome, enjoy your stay. Feel free to comment.

I've been thinking about a lot of things lately. I am trying to come up with a pocket guide to a good life, and everything I think of seems a little dumb. So, a few days ago, I got online to blog, and I really didn't have much to say, so I have about seven saved posts that I never published because I'm basically saying nothing. Not that most of the things I say have lots of substance, but when the author is getting bored reading his work, you know it won't entertain the reader. But I think I've perhaps thought of the first piece of advice for the pocket guide. (Drumroll, please.)

#1: If you sign up for outrageous offers from magazine companies, get scammed, fight back, then win, and if you're sick, you'll get better.

On Tuesday, I left work early because I had come down with a modern-day scarlet fever, so I made a huge bowl of Tomato Soup and went down bundle up on our huge couch, where I prepared to rest. However, I received a phone call from a mysterious number, one that had been trying to reach me for days and I had never been able to catch them. But they didn't anticipate my cat-like reflexes this time, and I grabbed the phone and was told by some rookie girl named Laura and her persuasive boss Nathan that I was selected to win a $1,000 shopping spree from Mastercard. Obviously, I was skeptical, but they had some of my personal information, so I decided to sign up. The only catch - I had to pay $49 to get magazines for 20 months. In my head, paying $50 to get $1,000 is a great exchange worth taking. I called Mastercard to report a potential scam, and they gave me the customer service number for the magazine company, just in case something didn't happen the way it was explained to me.

Before I could call them, I got a restricted phone call from Julie. Julie spoke with rapid-fire speed, and told me to answer 'yes' to all of the questions I'd be asked.

Julie: Is your name Jeffrey M Waters Jr?

Me: Yes.

Julie: Did you talk with Laura and Nathan from the magazine company?

Me: Yes.

Julie: Do you agree to pay $49 per month for the next twenty months in exchange for the magazines?

Me:

Julie is a scammer in every way. No matter what I told her, she would try to twist my words to tell me I had already agreed to pay that fee for the next year and a half. I assured her I would have never signed up for something so silly if I had been told I would have to pay $49 per month, and not just a one-time fee. She would then respond with something like "It is a one-time fee", and I'd ask for clarification. Then she'd say "it's a one-time fee that you'll pay every month." She was also partly robotic, because she sometimes would speak in a monotone computer voice, saying things like "If we billed you all at once, it'd drive you crazy! ! ! Ha! Ha! Ha! (insert html code here)."

A yelling match was next, and of course I sound like my face is swollen because, remember, I'm sick with the plague. Eventually, Julie comes out of left field with a white flag and tells me I'll be reimbursed for the $49 that I had apparently "agreed to pay" earlier, and that they'd erase me from their list. I mumbled something about her manners and protocol, and then I hung up. I followed up with another call to Mastercard, who assured me they'd take care of everything. While I'm sad I won't have the $1,000 to put towards international airfare, I'm also glad I don't have huge bills and dumb magazines lying around, and no more pesky Julies. The rest of the night, in between blowing my nose and popping more pills than Rush Limbaugh, I would mentally pat myself on the back and congratulate myself for not backing down and beating Julie. Jeff: 1, Julie: 0.

I slept in confidence and woke up this morning feeling magical.

there are things that no one knows but everyone knows

2008-11-18T13:39:00.000-05:00

I am paranoid, you see. The flushing sensor on the toilets is actually videotaping you while you pee and people always have it out for you and The Truman Show hit the nail on the head and each of us is the star in our reality show and an actor in someone else’s and we all have a creepy omniscient omnipresent narrator (not God) in our lives like in Stranger than Fiction and Amy Winehouse probably won't live to see her 30th birthday and perhaps the people around us aren’t even real like in A Beautiful Mind.

I am frustrated. My friends’ significant others unintentionally ruin my friends’ lives and people deliberately don’t contribute to the greater good like they should and I have writers’ block for my music and my car is still costing me a lot of money because it broke down all those times and I have inexplicably lost all of my self-confidence and The Office isn’t really that funny anymore and I am always the last person in line and it’s dark at 4:30 now and I forgot to buy cheese for the grilled cheese sandwiches.

I am also fidgety. It’s been 238 days since I’ve been out of the country and 840 hours since I’ve been out of the state and I will overcompensate in the next three weeks and go snooze in West Virginia and go party in New York and give thanks in Maryland and take lots of pictures and have no shame in it and see Tina Fey and other movie stars in an effort to redeem my disappointing trip to the Hamptons, the celebrity no-show hub of the world.

I know what I know and I am who I am and I sing into the night and I hit the ground running and I sing the songs that are always in my head even when it drives people crazy and I drive myself crazy because I try so hard to not drive other people crazy but it typically backfires and I don't care and I care a lot.

I am humored. The locksmith just asked me to unlock the door and this eight-year-old kid just asked his mom to bring him his fancy shoes and my coworker is mumbling profanities and I have played so much twister in the last several days that my body aches from all of the contorting and, well, twisting, and of course I forgot to buy the cheese for the grilled cheese sandwiches last weekend.

I am too worried. My jokes probably aren’t that funny and the world is so terrible and maybe getting better and my stories are more overplayed than Daniel Powter and the economy is so bad that I may lose my job and I’m beating myself up because I forgot the cheese for the grilled cheese sandwiches and the Chinese chicken I just ate probably will give me a parasite and Big Kimmy is about to go through her first winter with a child and Middle Kimmy is trying to go through a winter with a baby inside (i.e. Mary, sans Messiah) and Lil' Kim is trying to unpack her things into her new house and I can't be there to help out.

Although I forget it most of the time, and despite my constant complaining, I’m actually really happy. I am ready and I am fine and I have three roommates who are great and the snow is falling outside like forgiveness and Tracy Chapman is playing in the background and my sisters love me even though we are polar political opposites and I’m about to escape across the border and into the city and visit old friends and finally see what it means to be living.

You can't come into my nook and call me stupid.

2008-11-06T23:47:00.000-05:00

There's a lot being said right now. People from every walk of life are offering their two cents, expecting their opinion to silence all others, and believing they have arrived at the ultimate truth. I am no different, because I can only speak from what I know and what I've experienced. It's striking to me that two people can look at the exact same thing and see two drastically different pictures. It's like that time in your freshman communications class where you look at that weird convoluted black-and-white picture and half of the class sees the bunny and the other half sees the duck (guys, it's a bunny). Similarly, it's excruciatingly fascinating that two people can look at President-Elect Obama and see two completely different things. I am aware that some people see him as the antichrist, and that others (and there's probably some overlap here) believe that he'll secretly want to be sworn in on the Qur'an come January 20. I am aware that people have gone to Obama's rallies and returned different people, crying and hysterical, and one can't tell whether or not they came from a Hillsong concert or a political rally.

Obama has been catapulted to fame in such a short amount of time, and there are people who are angry, bitter, offensive. Don't get me wrong - I'm not suggesting that everyone who doesn't like Obama feels that way. But there seems to be such hatred of this figure, beyond typical partisan politics, and I'm guessing that it's a fear of the unknown. A lot of people don't know a lot about Obama, but I attribute that to a lack of desire to understand and acclimate oneself with him. It's easy to categorize a minority man with a peculiar name and believe that he is somehow, by default, shady. But I don't see it that way. When all you get are silly, childish email forwards, or hear Rush Limbaugh going so crazy that he needs even more drugs, you're naturally going to get a tainted perspective.

November 4 crept up on all of us. It dangled in the near future for so long, and then it was upon us, history in the making. An African-American Presidential candidate on one side, a female Vice Presidential candidate on the other. I, along with 64 million people in this country, believe that we made the right decision, and that America can get better again, that we can build up a country we can be proud of. However, it would be silly to think that we've made it, that the rest will come easily with the left-handed strokes of Obama's signature. I am 21 years old, and most of my cognizant life was under the presidency of George W. Bush. I'm not going to dress it pretty - I can't stand the man. I'm angry at him for getting this country into the mess we're in, and I'm also angry at all of the people who conned me into believing that I had to like him so long ago. My parents and my church had made up my mind for me, had already cast my vote. Going to a college where free-thinking is welcomed, yet most of the student body is still fairly conservative, I was certain to change.

And change I did. I began asking questions, becoming informed, volunteering at local organizations, finding about significant issues other than abortion. I learned that you should be skeptical of anyone who tries to provide easy answers to difficult problems, and I also learned to question the campaign strategy of promising to overturn Roe v. Wade and then never actually trying. No matter what side you come out on (I happen to be pro-life), one must realize the complexity of this issue. I learned that there are other monstrous issues, like the economy, health care, energy efficiency. My friends were getting deployed to fight in the biggest mistake of our lifetime. Whenever I traveled outside of the country, America's terrible reputation reeked like the rotten fruit in my refrigerator. People in my community were homeless, and they wanted to work, but couldn't find a job. I met a mother at an adult rehabilitation home whose son died of asthma. Asthma! They couldn't afford to purchase health care, even at a time where HMO's were making astronomical profits. Our gas prices were rising exponentially by the day, and ExxonMobil was receiving record profits. The local schools were getting shafted by No Child Left Behind - schools that produce better scores are rewarded with additional funding while those with lower scores are punished by getting less, therefore counterintuitively taking away funding from schools who are in desperate need of it. And, despite having a pro-life (read: anti-abortion) President, the percentage of abortions have skyrocketed, because so many people still don't want to believe that so many women choose abortion out of what they believe is a necessity, not a convenience. Our national debt has multiplied effortlessly, and people began spending irresponsibly and selfishly. And, whether you agree with me or not, I attribute all of this to President Bush's America that he made me grow up in.

No matter how you twist it, you cannot force me to be proud of that America, and I wasn't and still am not. Even though there are good citizens doing good things, and America isn't completely down the drain, our politics allow the President to be the spokesperson for our country, and his policies and his America are ones I cannot take pride in. But today, I am proud of America's potential that was squandered before. I am thrilled for what lies ahead and the challenge for us to work together and improve the quality of life for all of the citizens. I am proud to say that I won't utter obligatory apologies when I'm in another country, at least not right now. I am excited to see our economy grow again, to see people get jobs, to see legitimate steps taken towards reducing abortions instead of just telling me that it's wrong. I'm happy that my sister won't have to turn away people in her hospital because they don't have insurance, and I'm hopeful that my friend Matt won't have to get deployed to Iraq. I'm praying that we won't have to help over 3,000 people next year at The Salvation Army during the holidays because they can't scrape enough money together for a toy or coloring book. I'm anticipating driving a better car with better technology for a better environment. I am proud of the America I hope to help create, because I now have a stake in this administration.

But I realize others don't see it that way. The same right that allowed me to be critical of President Bush is extended to anyone who chooses to be critical of President Obama. What is alarming, however, is that during the Bush Administration, when I voiced my shame of all the things I listed above, I was pegged as someone who hated America, an anti-patriot. I was not proud of that America, and don't feel like I should have been. My friends who suggested that it was my duty to be blindly and eternally supportive of President Bush, no matter what kind of shit he got us into, are already calling party fouls on Obama, criticizing America and saying they are fearful and angry at Americans for this. I realize that we will always have our differences, but now we can lay to rest the silly notion of blindly following and accepting your President and calling it true patriotism, because many conservatives will not be proud of the America that Obama will promote. People will disagree with presidents, they always have and they always will, and it's important for us to be able to voice those disagreements safely. But for the first time in such a long time, and maybe ever, I am, without hesitation, proud and thrilled for what is to come. As my friend texted me as soon as Obama gave his acceptance speech at Grant Park: Hallelujah.

Joan Rivers.

2008-10-30T10:38:00.000-04:00

After graduation, I received an invitation to play in my friends’ wedding in East Hampton on Long Island. I’m from Maryland, and the folklore about the Hamptons is widespread. I expected that on a stroll through main street, I’d see high-end B-list celebrities walking around town. I hoped to see Sarah Michelle Gellar getting a doppio at Starbucks, and hoped even more that I might see Cory and Topanga turning the corner, with Shawn the third-wheel in line.

Needless to say, I was thoroughly disappointed.

As my date and I grabbed overly-priced eggwhiches at a local coffee shop, she thought she spotted Mischa Barton. It was a mannequin.

After the wedding was over, we hopped in the rental car, got a gallon of gas for nearly six dollars, and made our way back to our room. But on the way, we decided to have a little fun at the expense of the regular Hampton residents, and perhaps of those who came to do some celebrity sightseeing as well. We circled around a few blocks of the main street, where throngs of people stood outside socializing in front of trendy, expensive stores. It was there that we took out our revenge on The Hamptons with humor reminiscent of a sixth-grader. I will tell you, though, in my defense, I was a bit tipsy, and while I would normally find this both hilarious and immature, the arrows only pointed to ‘hilarious’ that night.

Whenever we were stopped at a stoplight, we would roll down our window and point to an innocent bystander. We shouted out strange things, and then when someone would look at us, we would point (yes, point) and incorrectly identify them as a forgotten celebrity with the least bit of resemblance. For instance, we yelled out for Jonathan Taylor Thomas while pointing at a middle-aged pregnant woman. We also identified Lil’ Kim, Sarah Brightman and Patrick Swayze. Seeing Joan Rivers was my favorite, though, as the teenage boy we selected seemed enormously perplexed. After a half hour of our shenanigans, we decided to quit while we were on top of our game and before we got caught by the Elliott Stabler and Olivia Benson, who were floating along the streets on their patrol bicycles.

Months later, I would recall that evening in The Hamptons as evidence that I do, in fact, have the ability to be the one throwing the comedic punches, that I can be in control of a humorous situation and not be the punchline. That hasn’t been the case too often anymore, and likely won’t be for some time. I’ve created a persona that not only allows but somehow welcomes humorous belittlement and innocent ridicule. Adding insult to injury, I also specialize in self-deprecating humor, a trait that has made everyone else entirely comfortable with poking fun at me. What’s difficult, though, is that most of the time I don’t mind. It’s just that when I’m in certain moods, I can’t handle being the butt of the joke, but it’s hard to communicate that there are things that piss me off, but just sometimes.

It's also not the sort of thing I like talking about, because I know that I sound whiny and emo and what have you. But I've just been glazing over it and ignoring it, but every night I sleep on the elephant in the room, and I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to tolerate it. Even if it’s all in good fun, nobody likes being the punching bag, not even Joan Rivers.

the landslide brought me down

2008-10-21T12:42:00.001-04:00

There's really no room to let anybody or anything be anybody or anything they want to be. For whatever reason, even the hardest things to define cannot escape our necessity to neatly categorize. No one is really a pioneer, nobody truly stands out anymore. Well, at least, you can't stand out anymore without being classified as bizarre or expiremental. We don't let anybody speak for themselves anymore. I'm in no way exempt from my own complaint; whenever somebody asks me to describe any band that I like, I always compare. "She's a more melancholy version of Rosie Thomas" or "If Denison Witmer had a love child with Norah Jones, and that offspring had a pixie voice, you'd have The Innocence Mission". I get the most caught up when I can't define Duke Special. I try to come up with the PERFECT comparison, and I can't get it right, because I won't be able to. Duke Special sounds like Duke Special. And that's just OK. I wish we could stop trying to be versions of each other, that we could all just be ourselves, and that there would be no repercussions for originality and sticking to your guns.

In other news, I'm giving Sarah Palin a run for her money in terms of being qualified to be the Vice President of the United States. I was just asked to be on a local committee, which also gives me a seat on the board of directors for the Harrisburg Midtown District. All I need to do is be on the PTA and I'll be on the fast track for the White House.

I can't believe that this election is winding down. It has consumed the last year and a half of my life. (I read Obama's The Audacity of Hope in June of 2007, and have been a fan ever since.) Once this election is over, I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do. I'm expecting a meltdown of post-Olympic proportions. I'm taking off the day after election day, because I will be helping my parents move. Also, I will have been up all night watching the results, and depending on the results, will either be up all night celebrating or drowning my sorrows, so the next day should be interesting.

In even more news, autumn is in full swing, and soon we'll be setting our clock back an hour so that we can get another hour of nighttime without heat. I recently went to a fall fest with work people, and we went on a hay ride and roasted hot dogs and smores over a bonfire and wore flannel. I've been wearing sweaters and jackets to work, and tonight I'm buying a space heater to put on while I sip my hot chocolate in front of Larry King Live. Soon we will carve pumpkins and watch the birds fly against the 5 o'clock sunset, and we'll have to see our breath in order to know that we are, in fact, alive and well.

i must have somehow slept the whole night

2008-10-17T22:51:00.000-04:00

Blog reader, I encourage you to spend $1 at my recommendation. Please, please, go to iTunes or something and purchase the song "Elephants" by Rachel Yamagata. I know, I know, you are saying "a song named Elephants?!?" "by Rachel Yamagata?!?".

Yes.

If you don't like it, I will give you your dollar back.

this is life on the streets (that's how we're living)

2008-10-15T10:20:00.000-04:00

The hoods is hoppin!

I have reinstituted my love for hip-hop music, mostly because it's the only thing I hear thumping down my street. I have not abandoned the other music I like, but sometimes I find myself listening to Erykah Badu as I pull up to my parking spot, mostly so that my neighbors will identify with me. Yesterday I was at a restaurant for dinner and a Ruff Endz song came over the speakers, and it threw me back to middle school, when I used to hear that song play on B102.7 every morning while getting ready for school. (The song was 'No More', for anyone who has actually heard of Ruff Endz and who really cares about them)

Side note: One of our neighbors is about to sell me a fully-functional record player for $10. I will rejoice and be glad in it, and then I will ask you to give me records because I don't have any. I'm hoping for a Johnny Mathis Christmas record, and ANY legitimate jazz record.

Also, we have neighbors who have some sort of an eternal thrift store on their front porch. They sell knick-knacks and chotskies, and they also have name for their house. No, I don't live next to The Sycamore House, but instead The House of One Accord. The House of One Accord's residents have invited my housemates and I to their Halloween party. I'm mostly excited for it, and slightly nervous. Here's why:

They have a name for their house.
There is a cover charge, which is placed on a sliding scale and is contingent upon their impression of your costume.
It's not even on Halloween.
On the invitation, there is a frightening picture of what looks like Herman Munster carrying a cross (which looks hilariously similar to a video this girl showed on a recent trip to Northern Ireland)
I have visions of this being a prank-the-neighbors sort of deal, where we pay them money and dress up and nobody else is dressed up or broke and we are the laughingstock of the party. (Mean Girls, anyone?)
They have a name for their house.

Also, there is a van on our street with a shattered windshield that is caved in. It is so delicate, like a house of cards, and I fear that if even the wind blows to hard, it will collapse. We convinced our non-English-speaking neighbor that it was a squirrel fell off of the telephone wires and hit it. He initially didn't get it, and then it registered. He laughed a lot.

streams of mercy, never ceasing

2008-10-07T09:18:00.000-04:00

There is so much going on in my mundane life. From a birds-eye view, my life is seemingly routined and patterned. I work, hang out, sleep. Repeat. This is fine with me, and as long as the “hang out” portion gets shaken up a bit every now and then, I can deal. And even though my hanging out typically consists of me watching television and checking Facebook for hours on end, and even though the block of time between 5 and 11 is typically stress-free, I haven’t intentionally taken time to myself in a long time. And I was getting a bit cranky and generally agitated.

So, last night, I took a long bike ride, and it was great. I biked past all of the couples, holding hands and kissing in the cold October breeze. I biked past homeless men, curled up under the trees along the river. I biked past the families, fishing in the Susquehanna River, rollerblading together along the Green Belt, playing bocce ball on the patchy grass. I took my seat by the Market Street Bridge, and I looked out over the water. I sat as the sun blinded my eyes and I sat until it set, as if the sky was a large bowl of water injected with pink and purple ink. I biked back home, past the overzealous runners and the tired pets. It was dark at this point, but the lights from the bridge were mirrored in the river, doubling the light.

And here is where my story turns uncharacteristically bizarre. I went up to my bedroom, lit a candle, put on some Sufjan, Anathallo, and Feist, and said some prayers. I said a prayer for our house, mostly thanking God for it. I said a prayer for my nephew, who’s growing bigger by the hour and I’m not there to see him, and I said a prayer for my sister who is trying to raise him and not pull out her hair. I said a prayer for my parents, who are trying to sell their house and start a new life. I said a prayer for my friends, who are desperately seeking to escape their situations, to start over. I said a prayer for John McCain, and mostly for his heart, and that it wouldn’t quit should he be elected President. I said a prayer for this country, and how I hope that regardless of who’s elected into leadership in four weeks, that we can somehow progress out of the mess we’re in. I also (selfishly) prayed that the American people would not have to rely on John McCain’s feeble health to keep Sarah Palin out of the White House, and that they would just elect Barack Obama instead.

I slept well for the first night in a long time.

i thank the Lord for the people i have found

2008-09-29T13:54:00.000-04:00

Today, I returned to work like I do on most Mondays - a bit disheveled, slightly cranky, and hungry because I didn't eat breakfast. My life is no longer wasted away sitting restlessly in my basement watching CNN. Instead, it is accented by the feasts that my roommates and I create and devour with our friends, the hanging out at restaurants with the cool folk, and reuniting with old friends. If I had to rank some of my favorite things, I would rank Ben's delicious and consistent fresh bread in the top ten. Topping the list, though, is the feeling you get during reunions and the reconnections with people you know you should have kept up with but you didn't. There's a strong combination of pensiveness, nostalgia, and other warm and fuzzies that make you miss what you had.

This weekend was my reunion weekend. I reunited with my student loan consolidation forms, with Panera Bread, with Mill Road, with Cornerstone, and good friends who I haven't seen in so so long. And, when it was all said and done, when everybody left and it was just us again in the house, it felt fine. It's just the way it's supposed to be, I suppose; there are people who leave a very lasting impression on other people and then they go separate ways. You kind of forget about them, a terribly haunting truth we hate to admit. But you always are thrilled at the idea of getting together again, catching up, hearing about new apartments and metropolitan centers, and then waving goodbye, hoping that you'll wind up in each others' paths again. On Saturday night, I was performing Elton John's 'Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters' (recommended by my housemate) at a local coffeeshop, and found myself strangely stirred by the lyrics, how poignant they were at that very instant, as I looked out over my music stand and saw dozens of friendly faces smiling back at me.

Today, I returned to work feeling fulfilled and content, probably for the first time since I've graduated. I feel mentally well, like I'm finally getting back to a good spot. My senior year haywire is over, my funky transition moods are (hopefully) behind me, and now I'm back at work on a Monday afternoon, content with everything. I'll be switching to a really great position at work on Oct. 6. I'm going to Philly this weekend with one of my best friends, I'm going up to NYC next weekend with other best friends to visit other friends. Soon it'll be October, with the chilly days creeping in. I will welcome the crisp mornings with my sweaters and corduroys, biking to work and seeing my breath.

every time you close your eyes (lies, lies)

2008-09-16T13:03:00.000-04:00

(My apologies to people who have been strangely receiving email updates whenever I update my blog. I'm not sure how this happened, but I disabled that feature. But feel free to comment anyway.)

There has been a strange thing going on in my house. You see, things go missing. Not really sure why, but they do. The other night, I went up to my loft and I turned the light switch on, only to find that nothing happened. So, I put my hands up in the light fixture and there was no light bulb! Both of my roommates deny taking the light bulb, and the weird thing is that I believe both of them. I think one of them would have 'fessed up to it by now. But then who took it? My best bet is that Flo has relocated, which is touching. Not only were we great friends and roommates for her, but we did steal some light bulbs, so it would only make sense for her to come back and claim things that were once hers.

Blog reader, I'm getting my life back together, albeit slowly. My life has never been in shambles, and I wouldn't pretend that it was, but it's just been a little scattered, unorganized, lazy, stressful, boring, and crazy. But I'm settling into a routine. I'm going to church again. I'm joining the Y. I'm paying off my credit card debt. I'm telling the truth more often, although not often enough. I'm going to be a Big Brother for Big Brother/Big Sister. I'm writing music again. I have wild amounts of free time, and I normally use it to think and ponder and meditate and figure out just how I can steer myself back towards a healthy way of life. The last several months of my life have been very lethargic and melancholy, and I finally feel like I'm starting to get my bearings back. Finally.

all work and no play makes jack a dull boy

2008-09-08T14:09:00.000-04:00

Last Monday, I truly missed college. Last Monday, I was moving all of my crap from my old house to my new house, and many of my friends were moving all of their crap from their old house to their new dorm room. They were preparing for classes, buying books, watching movies out on the lawn. I miss that. While people are mostly staying up late having birthday parties and going to B-Sides concerts, I'm fading around 10:30 each night and waking up at the ungodly hour or 7:00 each morning.

The thing is, though, that you have so many perks as an adult. Soon, I'll be able to take time off. Also, I get paychecks that are more than 10 hour a week, minimum-wage work-study checks. Now, mix those two together and I think you know where I'm going with this. I don't really have a lot of expenses. As long as my car keeps turning on (which I pray for each night), I'm going to be fine. Because a cheap house is even cheaper split three ways. And gas is not an issue because I'm less than a mile away from work, and I normally walk there anyway.

So, while I used to dream big about traveling all over the place, I always knew it wasn't very likely, mostly because I didn't have the money. And I couldn't go during the school year, and I always worked hard over the summer and couldn't just take time off. But I can now. What's also cool about being an adult is that some of your friends are also adults. So, I'm planning trips. A trip to Chicago to visit Lisa. A trip to California to visit Darin and Stacey. A European trip to Northern Ireland, Iceland, and England in the spring, and hopefully to Australia in the summer. Other homeland destinations include Boston, New Orleans, Johnson City, Charlotte, Topeka, Denver, Boise, Cleveland, Atlanta, Portland, Seattle, and anywhere in Texas.

I already have a Columbus Day weekend trip to New York City planned. This will be great.

does oil count as a charity?

2008-09-02T22:53:00.000-04:00

Anne Lamott has some good things out there. Traveling Mercies, for instance. Loved it, and it's still one of my favorites. I bought my sister Operating Instructions, because in it, Lamott shares the story of her pregnancy and the upbringing of her son, Sam. It seemed like a natural choice for my sister, who recently gave birth to a seamonkey of her own, the adorable Mark. Apparently, this was a good choice, because my sister called me and shared her reactions to some of Lamott's humorous writing. One thing I didn't like about some of Lamott's other works (Plan B & Grace Eventually, to be exact) was how political she got. Traveling Mercies was pre-Bush, pre 9/11. I liked that; and even though I agree with the majority of Lamott's political views, I just thought she was over the top and whiny, playing the part of the wounded and distressed liberal who has been personally drawn and quartered by The Bush Administration.

But I realized something today when I read the article about Bush's people training the new Republican VP candidate on foreign relations. Now, I have never claimed to be an expert on foreign relations, and will likely never be. But the red flags just shot up all around me - do we really want George Bush's peeps to be giving advice about foreign policy? Advice from an administration that has botched the American reputation around the globe, taken us into a war with which three-quarters of Americans disagree? Also, John McCain, who is likely to die of old age while in office if he is elected, is going to pass the torch to someone whose only political experience is being a mayor of an Alaskan town and the governor for less than two years? I understand Anne Lamott's lament, and it didn't make sense to me a long time ago because I have never voted before. But for the first time in my life, I have a voice in a national election, and God help me if Barack Obama doesn't become the next President of the United States. Obama is so compelling, interesting, and thoughtful, and has the charisma and ability to bring this country back together again. Next week, we'll commemorate seven years since September 11, and our country has precipitously fallen from unity to complete chaos. There are just so many problems in this world, and it would just really great for someone to deal with those problems instead of ignore them.

Today, I fixed a problem. I parked my car and saw a lady in the parking lot whose car had a flat tire. I jacked up the car, took off the old, put on the new tire. After I was all done, she rewarded me with $20 and the compliment that I am handy, something I don't think I've ever been called and something I'll certainly brag about to my dad tomorrow. And off I go, to fix the world, one flat tire at a time.

the bus is opening up like a lotus flower

2008-08-25T08:10:00.000-04:00

If you think your car will get you to work tomorrow, think again. It won't. It will break down, not start, get a flat tire, implode, or open up like a lotus flower. I have substantial evidence that your car is not as reliable as you may think. Last Tuesday, when I went to leave work, my car didn't want to. This is the same that happened to me a month ago, right before my first day of work. My roommate's car was having brake trouble, and the cost of the repairs outweighed the car's worth, so he bought a new car. Which broke down on his way back from Indiana. And didn't start yesterday, and he was stranded in the parking lot. And my other friend just bought a new tire for her car, and then she had a flat tire.

Sorry, but your car will likely break down or overheat or something within the next few days. Maybe Flo is angrily trying to get back at us for moving out, or for wanting to contact her through a seance. But soon I expect to hear from you, letting me know of your car's demise, and I will respond with "I told you so." I will not be hearing from Liz, because she doesn't drive. In other news, I have two straight four day work weeks, which thrills me to no end. In between these two work weeks will be a four day weekend at the beach with friends. I'm glad that I'll be moving into my new house every night this week, because I am trying to postpone the inevitable post-Olympics boredom.

walking back downtown when we're surrounded

2008-08-18T09:23:00.000-04:00

Our crazy landlord, who has biblical names, once had a mother who lived in our house before we did. Flo passed away some time ago, yet my housemates and I have been convinced that she still resides in our home, with our basement being the primary residence to the missus of the house. We have evidence – there are doors in our house that are locked and that our landlord won’t give us keys to. Sometimes the record player or the dehumidifier seems to move around in the basement a little bit, and her photo albums are always nearby.

How are we to handle this situation? Easy. Our friend Amy has a coworker who interprets, and not like Nicole Kidman did for the UN during “The Interpreter”. No, no. She reads palms, hangs with the ghosts. She bragged about her success rate to Amy, and offered to conduct a free reading if Amy wanted. So, we’re considering extending an invitation to this lady and seeing if she can contact Flo, just for kicks. We’re fairly sure that she’ll be able to, though, considering that we have had substantial contact, and we’re not even experts.

Once we’re through with that, we’ll finally be moving. Back into the city, back where I belong, back to the opportunity to walk to work. I will live in this new room for the next twelve months, something I haven’t been able to say since I was in high school. I will finally unpack (yes, I’m still living out of my suitcase and laundry baskets), hang up my Northern Ireland flag and my Duke Special poster, set up my recording equipment. We haven’t decided on the rooms yet, but my options are either a huge wraparound room, a room with a porch, or a huge, sweet loft. The odds are in my favor. It’s going to be so great to settle, methinks, to finally have some sense of permanence and ownership of a great place. It’s going to be so great to stop thinking about “the next thing” and catch my breath a bit and live a little bit.
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Currently Listening to:
Lucy Wainwright - Chicago

in our days, we wil live like our ghosts will live

2008-08-11T12:33:00.000-04:00

Allow me to explain what I think is one of the worst scams in all of human history. First, you should remember that I never took any history courses in high school, so the only other scam that I can think of is the cheap price of Alaska, at 1.9 cents per acre. Or something.

When I first saw the commercial for Bath Fitter, I knew it was a Saturday Night Live sketch. It was obviously so outrageous that it had to be a parody of other silly infomercials.

(My favorite infomercial: the damsel in distress at the kitchen sink, working arduously to put the pasta noodles in the colander, but, confused and misinformed, naturally dumps them all over her body instead. It’s a truly unfortunate and sadly common error, so thanks to the stars, we now have the device that will keep our shirts pasta-free.)

But to my continuous surprise, no matter how much I try to deny it, Bath Fitter is real. For reasons unbeknownst to me, there are people who buy the replacement tubs and think they are the invention of a genius. Sometimes, when I’m bored at work, I like to think about the decision-making process one goes through in order to get Bath Fitters installed in your home. I think it probably goes something like this:

Child: Mom, there’s mold in our tub.
Mom: Clean it, damnit. I'm busy getting the linguini out of my shirt.
Child: I tried to clean it, Mom, but it won’t come off. It’s disgusting. Plus, it's hard for me to want to clean a shower with such hideous tile.
Mom: I’ll call Bath Fitter! They're the Perfect Fit! (Dials phone) Hello, Bath Fitter. I have a nasty shower and bathtub. What sort of services do you provide?
Bath Fitter: Well, we can cover it up.
Mom: The day is mine!

Is the American public really being completely dooped? This has got to be the silliest service available to our society. And, I mean, I've thought about other pointless services and gimmicks, and this blows the competition out of the water. I have to wonder if it's just indicative of our lazy culture. If it's broke, by all means, fix it, don't hide it. I think we're starting to see the pattern that our convenient remedies prove to be temporary, and that in the end, it was all a waste of time, money and effort. Sure, it's expensive having to replace a shower and a tub. But it's even more expensive if you have to do it twice, because the quick fix is going to be be a quick break, and the mold and shit will still grow and the scum will still smell and you still won't like the tile.

we are in the wind planting the maples

2008-08-03T18:42:00.000-04:00

I finished and survived my first week at work. I think that, especially after revisiting my last post, it's important for me to admit that the rest of my work week was better than the first day. Mentally, the first day is set up to be difficult, but the added stress of a broken car didn't really help. The rest of my week was fairly enjoyable, and I have a lot of fun with my coworkers, even though they all have military ranks, which is so strange. I ordered office supplies for my desk, set up my new computer, created music playlists to play while I work, and got a good feel for the data entry program.

What's frightening and disappointing though, is how how our conversations have changed here at the house. The transition into the workforce means that at dinner, we talk about our coworkers, sexual harassment videos, lunchbreaks, health insurance. We all start fading around 10:30 or 11:00, and I just want to go to the Union or do late-night scavenger hunts. Being in this zone confirms my formerly inconsistent desire to go back to school. Like I said, I don't mind my job, but I know that I'm not cut out for the 9-5, the dressing up. I want to keep learning. I want to go back to school. I want to try out the music business, and if that doesn't work, I want to snag a few additional degrees and be a college professor for the rest of my life. Subject(s) of interest: World Religions and/or Peacemaking Theology.

How does THAT sound?

When it rains, it pours.

2008-07-28T18:35:00.001-04:00

Today, I miss college. I worked for eight hours. I had to dress up. I had to go through office orientation. My car broke down, and it cost me a grand total of $800 to fix, $800 which I don't have. I won't have it for a while. Rent is due soon, and we're thinking of moving, which is good but also the sort of thing I just don't have the energy to even think about. I wish I had something profound to say, something interesting that I've been pondering over these last several weeks, but I don't. It's just that things are unraveling and a little chaotic, panic-stricken. But my sister just had the most perfect baby, who wraps his tiny fingers around mine and challenges me to staring contests. Plus, a really nice lady let me in front of her in traffic today, and then I got a pull-through spot at Giant. Now I'm re-convinced that good things happen and that order will be restored to the world, that life will balance it out and that I might win the lottery.

just hit the ground running, running, running faster

2008-07-10T12:02:00.000-04:00

On June 7, I officially Grew Up, meaning that I moved out of my parents' house and have to tackle capital-letter problems like Rent and Gas. My first few weeks found me sitting around, doing nothing and drinking plenty of beer with my roommates - you know, to make up for my alcoholic abstinence during college. It kind of reminded me of middle school summers, the summers when you weren't legally old enough to work, so you just sat around and watched television. This is what I've done. But within a week, adulthood has not just nudged me around, but pushed me over the edge. This has come about in two ways: marriages and funerals. I think Kim and Tyler's wedding was the first wedding I've ever attended without family members, or one that wasn't a family friend getting married. As in, I took a date and we took a flight to New York for the wedding. My parents were basking in the sun and the ignorance of my weekend wedding plans.

A few days later, I discovered that a guy I knew from college died. I feel the need to explain this, because I'm tempted to pretend like we were good friends. I want to pretend because I feel the need to grieve his death, even though I didn't know him well. But I know that if I lie and say we were best buds, he'll tell Him, and then I'll lose my gold stars. So, I didn't know Adrian well, but we had many mutual friends, so when I learned of his death, I became sad - for him, his family, our friends. Adrian was in Spain for the summer with my friend Frank doing sustainable agriculture work, and while swimming in the ocean, Adrian passed out and drowned. The people who are paid to revive people weren't able to revive Adrian, and he died there. This is why I grieve, because even though I didn't know him, a life was taken - Adrian existed last week, and no longer does, and that is so bizarre to think about. On Sunday, we survived a church service together and then went to somebody's house to just be with each other and distract each other from everything that we were thinking. I looked around the living room and noticed about a dozen twenty-somethings, all trying to cope with the loss of a friend on our own, without adult supervision. This is how we, how adults handle death - we get together for the wake. We were each others' family, there were no parents and sisters. This is just way past my maturity level, and though I lost Chris, a good friend from childhood, there's nothing that can make you handle this well. Also, I learned today that my Uncle Jimmy, full of spaghetti and great stories, passed away. He's been suffering for a great deal of time, and out of all of the frustration and odd emotions I'm feeling, this is the only redemptive part - he is better, he is relieved, and I'd like to think that he's found Adrian and Chris and is retelling stories of how my great-grandmother torched her car for insurance money.

In the next few weeks, I'll start a job, some sort of job, depending on which I pick. Also, by this time next week, I'll likely have a nephew, meaning I'll be an uncle. This just can't be. Uncles are all fifty-four-year-old alcoholics, right? Well, at least I have one of those down (just kidding, Mom). Everyone said I'd miss college, and I do from time to time, but what I really miss is being eleven years old and playing baseball in my front yard and coming in the house and eating ice cream and watching America's Funniest Home Videos and Orioles games and using our Mason jars to trap lightning bugs, their tails providing light for a time, flickering then fading.

Music to My Ears

2008-07-03T20:55:00.001-04:00

Again, and if for some reason you're just now tuning into my blog, I'm unemployed which means I do a lot of sitting around and watching television. In my recent boredom, and while home alone, I stumbled upon a stupid middle-school blogging survey-thing. But I not-so-secretly loved it and have been working on it for quite some time now, as in for about an hour. I'm an advocate for music lining up to reality, whether you're walking to the beat of the music, or if it starts raining during Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten". So, I present you with My Life Soundtrack. I think you should reciprocate.

Also, for a few, I couldn't just pick one songs. Deal with it.

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Opening Credits: The Cranberries - Dreams

Waking Up: The Lovin' Spoonful - Daydream

Falling in Love: Newton Faulkner - Dream Catch Me

Fight Scene: P!NK - Just Like A Pill

Breaking Up: The Dixie Chicks - Not Ready to Make Nice

Making Up: Alicia Keys - Like You'll Never See Me Again

Secret Love: Amy Winehouse - You Know I'm No Good

Life's OK: Modest Mouse - Float On

Mental Breakdown: Radiohead - Idioteque

Driving Scene: John Mayer - Bigger Than My Body

Flashback: Tracy Chapman - Fast Car; Rosie Thomas - Much Farther to Go

Happy Dance: Duke Special - Everybody Wants A Little Something

Regretting: Patty Griffin - Top of the World

Long Night Alone: Horse in the Sea - Mosquito King; Bird York - In the Deep

Final Battle: Evanescence - Going Under; Phil Collins - In the Air Tonight

Death Scene: Sufjan Stevens - The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out to Get Us!"; Coldplay - The Scientist

Final Ending: Joseph Arthur - In the Sun; Sigur Ros - Glosoli

End Credits: Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea; Iron & Wine - The Trapeze Swinger

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We've been talking a lot about the best covers of pop/hip-hop songs, and, for what it's worth, I'm going to share my favorites:

1) Jonathan Coulton - Baby Got Back (Sir Mix-A-Lot)

2) Obadiah Parker - Hey Ya (Outkast)

3) Jenny Owen Youngs - Hot in Herre (Nelly)

4) Clint & Amy - Umbrella (Rihanna)

5) Yael Naim - Toxic (Britney Spears)

6) KT Tunstall - Get Ur Freak On (Missy Elliott)

7) Damien Rice & Lisa Hannigan - Get The Party Started (P!NK)

8) Alanis Morissette - My Humps (The Black Eyed Peas)

9) Glenn Hansard - Everytime (Britney Spears)

10) Sia - Gimme More (Britney Spears)

Please use imeem.com immediately to listen to these, assuming that they're available.

sing into the night

2008-06-29T17:45:00.000-04:00

There's something to be said for the people who find the good in the bad, the entertaining in the mundane. My life has been recently and unknowingly incorporated with this trait, a trait which I picked up from my roommate Benny. Benny and I sit around all day and watch the Sci-Fi Channel, The Disney Channel, and Wimbledon tennis because we have no jobs. Not too long ago, the thought of unemployment while in the heat of summer would make me fry myself, but I have enjoyed sitting in this crazy living room because Benny thinks our curtains are hilarious and not disgusting, and our weird flower-table-with-a-roped-base is complete with beer bottles and a spit bucket. Also, Benny's car has been steadily deteriorating over the last few years, and the most recent defects are that neither the interior lights nor the car radio works anymore. But instead of freaking out about it, Benny genuinely believes that this adds character to the life of his car, an old Dodge Caravan named El. El is only 1 of 5 in the entire world because she was made with a manual transmission. And it has kickass tie-dye fabric on the ceiling. If this were my car, I'd want to pull the plug on it faster than Clint Eastwood, but to Benny, and now myself, all of the problems and eccentricities are only enjoyable.

Although this is all good stuff I suppose, it's difficult for me to find anything helpful during some genuinely terrible times, especially when they're happening to my friends. A few days ago, while I was playing at a wedding on Long Island, I got a phone call from my best friend who said that his family just learned of his mothers' breast cancer. Although the doctors were hopeful, he was scared. Of course he was scared. That must be so terrifying, being made aware of someone's mortality in such a hostile way and sudden way. It is in these times that I'm just so confused about faith, and why the hell I have it, because it completely defies all of my logic. And then I remember that faith is, by definition, illogical, and I shouldn't be able to explain God in a five-point sermon. This is also where evangelical Christianity leaves us hanging - self-fulfillment and personal spiritual growth are often the basis for our faith, while the human struggles are completely ignored and blamed on a lack of trust or faith or some other cliche term. But sometimes our mothers and childhood friends get cancer and we get frustrated and upset, and I get royally pissed off at God, who then gets my silent treatment. I get it God, I get your schtick - you're mysterious and I just don't feel like figuring out why.

It was on the phone to my friend that I realized that there was no way to craft this conversation and make it positive. I'd be self-compromising if I said "God has a reason" or some shit like that, even though in the barrel of my being I know it's true. No matter how I'd spin it, I still am ultimately powerless, because I can neither cure his mothers' disease nor cure him of his worry. Nothing I would be able to say would be able to make any difference. So I told him "I'll pray for you", something I tell people when I don't actually intend on doing anything. But then I added "...and I mean it." That night, as I drove around Montauk and listened to the crashing waves, I dusted off my prayer lines and asked God what the hell he was doing with my friend's mom. Then I said some sort of a prayer for her, that somehow she'd be better, that my friend would be OK, that their family could pass through it, because things always seem to pass. Shit happens, it rears its ugly head, then it moves on and passes by. Then I got back to the motel, laid on my bed, and unsuccessfully attempted to fall asleep. I didn't like feeling this hurt for my friend while I was in a strange place with strange people. I longed for my house so badly, a place where I feel safe and can fight my battles with confidence.

The dumbest person I've ever met once told me the best truth I've ever known, that it is OK to ask questions as long as we're looking for answers, and it is in these moments that I hear the words resonate in the deepest part of my soul. Not only is it acceptable that I bring all of my baggage to God and complain and whine and let God hear everything, it seems required. If I just brought God the hopeful, fingers-crossed Baptist I was raised to be, I wouldn't be bringing my authentic self. And I also know this to be true: that somehow, our prayers our heard. Don't ask me to tell you how, because I have no guess as to how they work, and they probably don't, but somehow they are heard. Prayer is something primordial and intuitive, or at least that's how it is for me. When a friend is in need, when I realize my jokes won't be funny, and there's no pressure to entertain or to lighten the mood, the only thing I know how to do is to ring God's doorbell, and hand over the burden, hopeful that He or She will know what is best. To me, this is faith: not the warm tinglies during the emotionally-charged praise choruses. It is handing this over and trusting that the powers greater than ourselves will be able to do something miraculous. Here's hoping.

Vacuum

2008-06-03T23:40:00.000-04:00

Vacuums have never been on any lists - not my list of needs, of wants, of unimportant things. I've just absolutely never had deliberate thoughts about having or owning or operating a vacuum. When my dad was nervous he'd never see me again, he took me down to the beach in North Carolina, where the bigots abound and the water is just so nice. My parents are excited to move down here, to get away from the high taxes and bad memories of Maryland, and I'm excited for them.

However, the world stood still momentarily when we discovered we did not have a vacuum in the house. This proved to be dangerous and life-threatening enough that we quickly packed up our belongings and drove the new Mercedes over to Lowe's to pick up a cheap Hoover. As we approached the vacuum aisle, my dad happened to ask me "about how much do these damn things cost?" I told him that I had no frame of reference for pricing vacuums, but I don't think either of us expected to see vacuums in the $500 price range. I was thinking $75 at the most, and if you wanted to go all out and suck up the fleas you could shell out $115.

My dad made the innocent mistake of asking Shelly, the Lowe's customer service lady, about which was the best vacuum. She probably works in the lightbulb section, so she did what any unaware sales person would - she recommended the Dyson, because it "sucks like an ex-husband" and has a warranty. The only problem is that Dyson vacuums, although esteemed, are astronomically high-priced, and my dad obviously declines the offer and asks for something cheaper.

Shelly couldn't handle the rejection and quickly yanked out her cordless phone. She dialed her other friend in the store who came running over with screws falling out of her apron and probably her head too. She proceeded to sell us the vacuum as if it were her newborn or her pet greyhound. My dad and I stood there in disbelief as she vacuumed the aisle floor, took the dirt dispenser and emptied it on the floor, and revacuumed. We then learned that the vacuum is bullet-proof, because "if anybody gets mad at you and wants to shoot your vacuum, that won't phase you!"

We all know that vacuums can suck, but look! Look at it go! The Dyson ducks down under the shelves! It turns its brushes! Watch as the sweeper whips around the floor, eating everything in its path. According to the label, the Dyson is "suction heaven with a crevice wand". Hearing the word 'crevice' in this already hilariously sickening sales pitch was the last straw in this annoying schtick, so I ran to find the shower caddy for our outdoor shower. Upon my return, however, and to my absolute dismay, my dad had purchased the Dyson! What the hell? So many thoughts swirled around through my head. We don't have that kind of money! You do have that kind of money - you should give it to me, your unemployed Commnication-degree-bearing son! You gave into Shelly and that pug-looking friend of hers!

After we came home and assembled the vacuum (yes, it came unassembled, and with one of those overwhelming and utterly confusing illustrated manuals with a lot of arrows and numbers by the crevice wand), my dad and I set back out for the beach. We sat in silence, not because of the vacuum, but because we have nothing to talk about - we never have, and likely never will. He reminded me how beautiful their new beach community is, how I was his son, the namesake, the bloodline. I will carry on the family name. Nobody can talk me out of naming my first son Jeff the Third, no woman, nobody.

I sit silently and look at the waves rhythmically crashing onto the shore, sometimes creeping up closer to our seats. A few yards away, I see two children running frantically towards the ocean with their buckets and shovels. They make it their goal to throw all of the sand back in the ocean, from where it came. Every time a wave receded back into the mammoth ocean, they would shovel, throw; shovel, throw. The waves suck in the sand, but unfortunately for the kids, eventually dumps it back on their feet, and then they began to throw even more into the ocean, fruitlessly and frustratingly.

The beach is a great place to go, but when you actually sit in silence with a parent, staring out into the horizon, you can't help but think about things, about life, about the oldest thing on the planet. At the risk of sounding too parental, people come and people go, and there are but a few constants in this life, and the ocean is one of them, even though our environment is all screwed up. The sea is a personal and constant reminder of mortality, and it has seen so many people who are no longer with us. My childhood friend Chris swam in this very ocean, and died of brain cancer. So has his mother, who died of breast cancer two months before her own son. My dad reminds me that he was my age when his grandparents died, and now he's at the age where his parents are both dead, and that he's the next to go. As depressing as it is, it's truth, one which I am sick of hearing and don't want to hear anymore.

So much shit has happened in my world, yet I'm absolutely still on the sunny side of things. A friend of mine once said "It's okay to ask questions as long as you're looking for the answers", so I am. I am desperately seeking them out. I am throwing up my flares, setting my shovel down, and I have nothing left to throw back at life, yet the tide still sways back and forth, glistens beneath my toes, and for a moment, just a solitary moment, cleans the grunge off of my feet.

all things go, all things go

2008-05-21T23:45:00.000-04:00

Last Thursday, I picked up keys to my new house, which is currently full of a lot of the owners' funky shit curtains and Benny's couches. In other news, I no longer have a major, but instead a degree. I also just turned 21, which means I'm legal. I also have a job interview (!!) next week in Harrisburg. I changed my address on my resume, opened an adult checking account.

Moving twenty-nine couches into our new house frantically halted my anxiety and made me unbelievably aware and thankful for what is ahead - living with the two best guys I know, and still in close proximity to many of my friends. I will miss plenty of people who graduated with me, but I've found peace in the knowledge that God plops people on your path who aren't meant to be permanent. I consider myself blessed by the things I've learned from the people I've met, and I'm crossing my fingers that those things will push me forward into my life where I'll pay off my loans and drink alcohol without looking over my shoulder.

Bring it on, world.

Please remember me and all my uphill clawing

2008-05-09T00:29:00.001-04:00

In the Swinging Bridge, the writers highlighted major events that have happened at Messiah, in our community, in our world since we came here in 2004. Most of the flagged highlights were stupid fashion trends that should never have caught on, or some alumni getting drafted by the MLB or something else irrelevant to my (and most peoples') actual college experience. But I do have a few highlights of my own.

1) My Faith. My faith is both at its weakest and its strongest - weakest because I am still so aware of how far away I've gone from my parents' faith, and I normally mistake cognitive dissonance for conviction; strongest because I feel like it has finally become a part of who I am, the force that steers my life and my decisions, even though I sometimes forget where my Bible is. I'm not quite sure what I expected my faith to be like after being independent and going to a Christian college, but I don't think I expected it to be what it is, and for that I am thankful. As you'll see, each of the following points is somehow tied to the wellspring of my faith.

2) Northern Ireland. I understand that this could be easily and neatly categorized with number one, but this two-year experience has been the most significant tangible event of my time in college. I learned so much about myself while I was there, and as a result of that trip, I've met amazing people both on my team and there in Northern Ireland. My heart simultaneously aches for and celebrates with that country, and I feel like so much of my life is tied to Lurgan.

3) Seek His Face. If you would have told me three years ago that I'd mock Seek His Face one day, I'd probably try to pray the demons out of you by pretending to speak in tongues. I met some characters, held hands and prayed over principalities on campus, attended charismatic churches and played for the spectacle that was the Gospel Choir. This was also, ironically, the most depressing and lonely time of college, and one night in the prayer chapel when I prayed intercessory prayers, God actually swooped me up and saved me from that time of hell in my own life.

4) Good Art. At least, I think so. I've appreciated and enjoyed all of the music Messiah has brought. I've traded in my Simple Plan and 50 Cent (yes, I had both) for Regina Spektor and The National. I've seen movies that I would have hated in high school, and I no longer think Napoleon Dynamite is funny.

5) Residence Life. There is a difference between being a cohesive staff and being a part of a cohesive staff. And I've met some of the craziest and best people through this job that I hate sometimes, and have probably broken more rules than any other RA has. Oops.

6) Adventures. There was Rehobeth Beach where we all got drunk, and White Castle during finals week where they thought I was drunk. There was mudsliding, mischief nights, Sheetz runs, sunsets in Baltimore, intentionally getting lost. There are just too many to mention.

Thank you, Messiah College. Thank you.

turn, turn, turn

2008-04-29T23:53:00.001-04:00

I am always a little hesitant to start talking about God, and the ways in which He or She interacts in my life, mostly because these people also talk about God a lot, and the more I can do to distance myself, the better.

But at the same time, I feel compelled to talk about the faith that makes me who I am, which is to say a little annoying and really neurotic on my best of days. Sometimes I find myself in the middle of something almost divine, like Little Foot who finds himself in the larger-than-life footprints of Sharptooth. And then things get OK, because I realize that I'm not by myself in this mysterious future. I have two awesome roommates. I have an army of friends - some still here at Messiah, a lot scattered all over the world like Chicago and Juneau and Uganda and New Zealand. But if I know anything (something debated by my professors), it is this - we are meant to do these things accompanied by others.

As I'm typing this entry, I can't help but notice the twelve pictures from last years' Northern Ireland trip that are staring right back at me. There's also a drawer full of encouraging letters that I've received, an autographed picture of Benny Staudt addressed to "The One And Only Sugarlips", and a host of other miniature reminders that I am loved and respected. And when it boils down to it, that's all that I really want in this measley little life of mine. And now, I'm just a little stuck between being thrilled to leave college and a little sad about saying goodbye to people. But I'm a firm believer that we bloom where we're planted. I know that my friends who are moving away will find great friends who will sustain them and entertain them and bring meaning to their lives, just like I'm sure I'll meet more people too. It's just a sad reality to encounter.

"For all that has been, thank you. For all that is to come, yes." - Dag Hammarskjold

2008-04-25T01:23:00.000-04:00

Do you ever have one of those days where nothing goes right? I have. There's some really big things, but also many little things that normally wouldn't matter, except on those days when you're in thatmood.

I don't have a job.
I don't have a place to live.
I'm crazy and anxious.
My DVD player isn't working.
My keyboard pedal broke.
The Union Cafe only lets you have three chicken strips on the Mo'Nique.
Nobody is answering their phone.
I'm about to be a college graduate.
I managed to somehow go through four years of college without ever dating.
I didn't get into coffeehouse.
I have no clean laundry.
My pictures of Northern Ireland keep falling off of my wall.
My room is a wreck.
My car is a wreck.
My sister might not graduate.
My good friend is getting kicked out of his apartment at college.

heart of my own heart, whatever befall

2008-04-13T00:45:00.001-04:00

I probably heard the hymn 'Be Thou My Vision' for the first time in middle or high school, and God only knows how many times we've sung it at college. But I've always found the music to be incredibly stirring, and the words always seem to dust the cobwebs out of the deepest parts of my being. But it wasn't until I found myself in Northern Ireland that the pieces of the puzzle fit together. The song was finally taken back home, right where those sorts of things always belong. Singing the song at the top of my lungs with twenty Northern Irish senior citizens welled up an unspeakable and indescribable amount of emotion, because I, along with that song, had finally landed.

I think that there's something to be said for allowing things to be nurtured in their natural environment. When I first became an RA in college, I was given an itsy-bitsy spider plant. Well, actually, I was given a flowerpot of dirt with the promise of a spider plant allegedly buried inside. It was an end-of-the-year tradition for expired RA's to pass on the legacy of that floor by ripping off a piece of their plant and sow their seeds, for better or for worse. Then, as if to say, I've done all I can with it, you hand it off, hoping it will be watered and given enough sunlight. What's fascinating is that this works. The old plants don't die; in fact, they flourish and continue to spread their wings. But the new plants also survive, somehow, on their own, which is an incredible thing in and of itself.

A lot of people, including myself, faithfully water their spider plants, and are often times ready to sing its praises. "They grow so quickly". "They seem to get those little funky things on them!" While this is happening, though, we forget about the original spider plant, the big kahuna. It's still there, believe it or not, even though the newer and younger wannabes have tried to get in the way.

People continue to pass down their spider plants, from generation to generation, but things inevitably get lost in translation. Churches sing that beloved hymn, and they do it well. But if you ask me, which I think you did, the song can truly soar only in the sanctuaries of Northern Ireland. This sort of thing has the ability to shake me up and inspire me like nothing else can. The chords and their accents resounded in the core of my soul, in the most primordial and primitive sort of way. Singing a Celtic hymn in Northern Ireland is possibly the most moving experience of my entire life. It was created there, performed for the first time. And now, hundreds of years later, these skin-covered-bones are bellowing the melody and the harmonies, as if it would save their souls, as if it would save mine.

the world will still be there

2008-04-09T01:41:00.000-04:00

There are things that I do every so often that leave me breathless. This feeling only comes once in a blue moon these days, days filled with apathy and fond memories. Sometimes I aimlessly wander around, going places solely because they remind me of better days. During these tangents, I find myself doing things like walking past the room where I lived last year. When I was driving around by myself, I made a point to drive by the house where I lived last summer. I had no intention of stopping by, I just needed to see it. I needed to remind myself that good things once existed, that there is hope they will exist again.

(Before I continue, I feel the need to also confess to being moderately dramatic about things right now. I don't feel particularly emotional about my circumstances, and in reality, they are all fine. I'm just stuck in a transition that I'm ready to move past. And things get better later on in this post. Scout's honor.)

It's just that I'm a people person. I'm an introverted people person, which doesn't make too much sense. I have lived by myself for two lonely years, and I am at the point where common living space, a pet, a schedule sounds increasingly enticing. I get so consumed with the fact that I am ready for what's next, that my breathless night takes me off guard. I now find myself in an abandoned field with a friend, her cigarette lit, as we paint the skies with our stories. I still have more questions than answers, but for God's sake at least some of the questions are getting dealt with. It was a seamless film, a perfect script. Honesty that makes my blood boil with happiness and relief that someone else gets it.

This is all that I have for now. Good night.

and my song shall ever be

2008-03-26T10:59:00.000-04:00

I have returned from the glory that is Lurgan, Northern Ireland. I am currently mapping out my return in June, along with stops in England, Italy, Greece, Spain, France and Iceland.

It's Easter, and I spent most of it sleeping and recovering from jetlag and dreaming about red-headed children running around babbling with an accent which I still can't really understand but can imitate better than I could last year. That was a long sentence that I should revise, but I won't.

It's been hard for me to be excited about life in this terrible world in which we're living. When I'm not in pockets of glory in Northern Ireland, I'm mostly in a bad spot. This world, me, you, everyone - we've had better days. Anne Lamott says that "We are Easter Christians living in a Good Friday world." I'm hoping for a personal resurrection, to see those around me find the railing with which they can help steady themselves.

I'm at my internship and not doing anything. News.

I'm leaving on a jet plane!

2008-03-14T09:56:00.001-04:00

I'm going home to Northern Ireland. Check out our blog at http://messteam.blogspot.com.

See you all in a few weeks!

Lumbers, swims, rests.

2008-03-04T14:53:00.000-05:00

Once I was cynical. Mind you, I plan on maintaining some level of cynicism until someone buries me and digs up my will. But on Friday night I learned to be hopeful and not cynical. The teacher of this invaluable life lesson is one of the more cynical people I've ever heard, and my decision to try and improve was not this epiphany that I got once I encountered my own. As I listened to her complain and drone, I heard her laughter and her truth. Anne Lamott knows she's cynical, and this knowledge allows her to be neurotic and mentally spastic whenever she wants, because she's in control and can eventually steer herself back onto the road. I've read two of her books and have loved both of them, but it wasn't until I heard her read an excerpt from Ski Patrol, one of my favorite essays from her newest book "Grace (Eventually)", that I began to get my epiphany. In the essay, Lamott says:

"Help is always on the way, a hundred percent of the time. Rumi said, 'Someone fills the cup in front of us.' I know that when I call out, God will be near, and hear, and help eventually. Of course, it is the "eventually" that throws one into despair. For instance, even now, I know that America will be restored again, eventually, although it is hard to envision this at the moment, and it could take a century or more for the nation and the world to recover from the George W. Bush years. But they will.

(Adult monk seals are six and seven feet long. The newest tourists on the beach think they are dying and need to be rescued, but anyone who has been there even a day knows that they come onshore to rest. The first time I came upon one in the sand, I thought it was trying to make eye contact with me - I was its last, best hope of being saved. It had sand around its eyes and lots of shark scars. My guy Rory laughed and explained that the seals are perfectly fine, and when they are rested, they waddle back into the ocean.)

This is how I feel about the world much of the time, when I am not feeling too far gone: Things are how they are supposed to be, all evidence to the contrary. Life swims, lumbers across the sand, rests; lumbers, swims, rests."

This probably isn't new, isn't life-changing to most, but the power of these words picked me up from a three-year spell on the ground eating dirt.

Midnight Rants

2008-02-23T00:16:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I spend stupid time with unimportant people who I used to think were important. Our time is wasted, they seem so ready to catch up. I'm internally snoozing.

This is the worst when these disposable people were recently important. I submit that there's no worse feeling than watching your friendships decrease in importance right before your very eyes, watching them melt, watching them freeze. Not a sudden, unexpected shocker, but the slow death of a relationship that, a month ago, you may have fought for. The interim periods between seeing each other is not only expected, but welcomed, only to become not welcomed, but necessary. These gaps will expand until I snatch a diploma and we can finally lay to rest that which we both have been stupidly trying to keep alive.

In unrelated news, one of the more humiliating things in this life is having your friends try to set you up with somebody. I firmly believe that those who are crossing their fingers have the best intentions, but I felt like a project, some lab experiment. Combine this chemical with this acid and poof! There will be love and romance and passion and rings and eternity. When the allotted time passes by, I'm left to think that I'm plagued, that I can't do this whole love-thing on my own, that I need the fortunate others to guide me along in the process. The sad thing is that I'm starting to believe it.

Handcakes

2008-01-21T19:31:00.000-05:00

One of the most outrageous things in my entire life occurred on Friday night. Upon getting pancakes from the breakfast bar at Lottie, another student approached me. I recognized him as a friend of a friend, but I don't know who he is, and am fairly certain he won't see me posting this story on the internet. For your entertainment, I have scripted the interaction:

Guy: What's at the breakfast bar?
Me: Pancakes.
Guy: What?
Me: Pan-cakes.
Guy: Handcakes?
Me: NO!! PANCAKES!

I think it's important to note that the spell checker on this blog does not recognize the word handcakes as evidenced by the red squiggly line underneath the word 'handcakes'. This further supports my point that there is no such thing as handcakes, and if somebody ever asks you about the contents of the breakfast bar, and the response happens to rhyme with -ANCAKES, the only correct answer can only be pancakes. I'm just saying.

In other news, it's freezing cold but this place is gorgeous in the wintertime.

Hello 2008.

2008-01-08T15:14:00.001-05:00

I certainly rang 2008 in with a bang. It consisted partying in a 5-story house in the Baltimore Inner Harbor for a while then crashing at my sisters' house, then being in a daze for the next five days before I came back to school. And here I am, back at Messiah, back for my last semester of college.

In the next six months, the followings things will/should happen:
- I will have a Bachelor's Degree
- I will have a job
- I will be a (co)homeowner
- I will have traveled back to Northern Ireland
- I will be an uncle
- I will turn 21. Finally.

The first half of my 2008 looks to be incredibly grown-up or something. It's weird to think that this is the year that I'm supposed to morph into being an adult, and I'm actually more excited for it than I expected I'd be. I have some job interviews in the next few weeks around Harrisburg/Hershey, so we'll see what happens with THOSE.

In other news, see 'Juno'. And 'The Kite Runner'. Skip 'I Am Legend'. And 'National Treasure 2'.

Year in Review: Music

2007-12-06T20:57:00.000-05:00

I'm done analyzing the new music I've encountered this year. I realize that not all of this music is exclusive to the year 2007 (although most of it is), but these lists are just of music I've encountered for the first time in 2007.

Albums:
"As I Am" - Alicia Keys
"Back to Black" - Amy Winehouse
"Begin to Hope" - Regina Spektor
"Boxer" - The National
"The End of History" Fionn Regan
"Neon Bible" - Arcade Fire
"Once: Music From the Motion Picture" - Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova
"The Reminder" - Feist
"The Shepherd's Dog" - Iron & Wine
"Songs from the Deep Forest" - Duke Special
"These Friends of Mine" - Rosie Thomas
"The Trumpet Child" - Over the Rhine
"Under the Blacklight" - Rilo Kiley
"We Walked in Song" - The Innocence Mission
"Wincing the Night Away" - The Shins

Songs:
"A Wave is Rolling" - The Innocence Mission
"Australia" The Shins
"Come On, Come Out" - A Fine Frenzy
"Dreamworld" - Rilo Kiley
"Fake Empire" - The National
"Falling Slowly" - Once Soundtrack
"Love, Reign Over Me" - Pearl Jam
"Mosquito King" - Horse in the Sea
"Much Farther to Go" - Rosie Thomas
"Nolita Fairytale" - Vanessa Carlton
"Rebellion (Lies)" - Arcade Fire
"Rosie's Lullaby" - Norah Jones
"Slideshow" - Rufus Wainwright
"Summer in the City", "Us" - Regina Spektor
"Tell You Something", "Like You'll Never See Me Again", "No One", "Prelude to A Kiss", "Lesson Learned" - Alicia Keys
"There Is So Much More" - Brett Dennen
"Wake Up Scarlett" - Duke Special
"We're Gonna Pull Through" - Over the Rhine

there's a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy

2007-11-25T22:37:00.000-05:00

Every single year, the holiday season waits on pins and needles for my mothers' permission to rear its expensive head. Sure, there have been Christmas displays up for several weeks, and Black Friday happened two days ago to ring in the seasons greetings. But until my mother joyfully sings along to her Johnny Mathis Christmas CD, nobody can be sure that Christmas is actually going to come around this year. It's as if the holidays are suspended in mid-air, waiting for mother to cut them some slack so that they can roam around in the world. And boy, let me tell you - only Johnny Mathis can truly bring people out of their funk and into the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny Kaye. Bring on the snow.

Discoveries

2007-11-23T19:50:00.000-05:00

This has been an educational and informative Thanksgiving break.

My elaboration/explanation:

1) Sawdust, a tabby cat given to us by an 84 Lumber employee, disappeared the night before my family was to drive to Disney world in Orlando. Sawdust, however, didn't run away. My parents drove to the middle of nowhere and threw the mangy feline out into an abandoned field. Problem solved.

2) Snowball, a donated rabbit, was snatched up by my dad and put in the crockpot with a white creamy sauce. We kids were blinded by their deceit and ate the "cream of chicken".

3) Black Friday is a STUPID day. Especially when you go to Dick's Sporting Goods at 5 in the morning expecting to receive a free $100 gift card because your sister told you that they were going to give them out, only to realize that that made absolutely no logical sense and of course they're not going to give out free $100 gift cards to the first 250 people who come to the store. It's just clear.

4) I am going to be an uncle.

5) Every visit home cements the fact that I'm not meant to return to Maryland in six months.

6) Six months is unbelievably closer than I thought.

Me: The Greatest Hits (1987-2007)

2007-11-10T20:25:00.000-05:00

Three months ago, sitting in a room full of my peers, a friend of mine raised his hand and said that the reason he's pursuing a particular job at college is because of the example I set last year. This naturally made me uncomfortable, because this poor, delusional kid must not have realized that nothing about myself is original. I pick and choose my favorite things that people do and sometimes refuse to give them credit. If my life were an essay, God would send me to jail for plagiarism.

As a kid, you define yourself by what you do. I'm a baseball player, I'm on the National Honors Society, I play the piano. Maybe it's not the case for most people, but when I came to college, the "who am I?" question begged answers from things other than your hobbies. My beliefs, my jokes, my personality, the posters on my wall, the music I listened to, the movies I bought all defined me more than I had anticipated. So, naturally, instead of just showing the world these things, I decided to start back at square one, Brian McKnight-style. It was only obvious that I would just believe what my friends believed, listen to their music, watch their movies.

Perhaps this a normal course of events for people, but given my inability to stick to the same friends through college, my identity was a revolving door, where the people who walked through it stuck their gum to the railing, or would go around a second or third time. Peer pressure was never "Hey, do you want drugs?", but it was "Do you like this folk music?" or "You're not a Republican, are you?" (The answers to those questions are yes and no, respectively, although they would have been flipped three years ago.) Part of me worries that my current preferences will continue to change, but they seem to be second nature. Part of me feels hypocritical because I have sacrificed who I am for my friends of the month so many times that I'm still reluctant to answer personal questions, like "tell me about yourself".

I recently learned a valuable lesson that proved to be groundbreaking and ultimately healing. I discovered that, for the most part, we're all products of each other. I'm still trying to figure out if this actually does apply to all people, because I'm having a hard time figuring out some people. (I know a girl by the name of Catherine, who unofficially changed her name to John, then to Patches, then to Fern Greenleaf, which she has settled on for about a year. She only wears brown and green, runs around our campus barefoot, has her own personal rainforest in her dorm room, complete with faulty irrigation systems. There's also this guy I know who makes chainmail necklaces, robes, full body armor, and bracelets. He is 19 years old and from a swamp in New Hampshire which I'm pretty sure means he's from Mars. At least it seems that way sometimes.)

But for the rest of us, we've all managed to crosspolinate. We're all hybrids. Alfred Tennyson said "I am a part of all that I have met", and that quote is pasted outside my door. We're all stealing from each others grocery shopping carts and it's okay. I just think people like Fern have decided to do the self-checkout and refused to make the exchange.

I once felt insecure knowing that I was telling my friends' jokes, mimicking another friends' style, listening to music that another friend recommended. I was a follower, not a leader, not a trendsetter. But for better or worse, I feel content being a greatest hits compilation of my friends' favorite personal lullabies. Over the months and years we've paid tribute to each other, from whom we've formed our sense of self. For the first time since I was homeschooled (read: a crazy person), I feel comfortable with myself.

2007-10-29T19:41:00.000-04:00

Despite the plenty of years I've been practicing Christianity and sometimes going to church and even more rarely praying, I've come to the staggering conclusion that so-called experiences with God are hard to come by. Maybe they knock on my locked door often, but once I look through the peephole, I turn down Regina Spektor and convince myself that they're convinced that the now-silent room is empty.

Not that God is predictable or anything, but these days all I know about him is that he likes Wednesdays, which is advantageous for me because I do too. The presence of God seems to dissolve in the pews, but I can always count on him to be lying comfortably on the porch swing - feet up, back horizontal, a book open to page 242 but his eyes closed. There's a sliver in time where shirts deserve to be off and honesty demands attention and thunderstorms fail to disappoint. Sloppy sandwiches seem to go hand-in-hand with free, unbridled laughter, mugs of piping-hot tea with transparency, cozy blankets with dreaming about the possibilities of the unknown.

Wednesdays. A friendly neighborhood reminder that we all have a past, a present and a question mark with lines dying to be colored outside of by our rebellious, hopeful fingers. An indication that love still exists and that everyone has a story they're dying to get off their chest and that I'm dying to be understood. There's still hope.

hard to breathe

2007-06-19T20:58:00.000-04:00

So, I came home for parts of the weekend to celebrate Fathers' Day and to hang out with my family. I drove back to Philly on Sunday night, slept, took my final, then drove back here to Maryland, where I resumed the packing process. I also got in a few hours at my old job which is stupid, but I'll get paid well for it, and at this point, I'm all up for some extra cash. So now, I'm all done packing, and it's Tuesday night, and I'm set to move into Harrisburg early in the morning. Part of me is really excited, I'm going to see a lot of people and I'm really excited to have a summer job that does not consist of me making snowballs in an un-airconditioned building. It'll be different, and it'll be for less than two months, so if I don't like it, it'll be over before I know it.

But part of me is a little hesitant. I really need to move on from this household, and my parents are their crazy selves like they always are. But they're getting lonely, desperate for attention and someone else to talk to. I feel really guilty for dropping in, heading to Philly, dropping in, heading to Harrisburg. Then I'll drop in, and go back for my Senior year. I'll occassionally drop in, then graduate, and then move off somewhere. "Permanently". Then I'll drop back in every now and then. But I will never call this place my home, and that feels very odd. But feelings and emotions aside, I'll get my fourth room key in the last month. Bring it on.

No more church.

2007-06-15T14:40:00.001-04:00

I'm all done working at my field site. I have absolutely enjoyed my time getting to know these guys, and I have such a deep respect for them and for the work that they are doing within their community. Last night as I was giving our presentation, I realized what a deep impact that these people have had on me with their transparent hearts and an obvious desire to love the people around them and be a light to them. They are great people, and I will miss working with them. Yesterday, for our last "hurrah", they took me and my partner out to lunch at this great buffet, and we just sat around this plump booth. We tried to spill out our life stories in between bites of the rice and beans, trying one last time to squeeze all the information that we could out of each other. We talked religion, politics, movies, racism, education, the whole nine yards (not the movie, just meaning that we talked about pretty much everything). Two weeks ago, I wasn't sure how things would work out in this church, with these people, but I have to say that it has been one of the most rewarding experiences that I've ever had. I hope to visit their church a few times within the next semester when I come to visit Philadelphia. I believe that Hunting Park and the surrounding area will forever be etched in my brain and voiced in my prayers.

Oh, I don't know what number I'm at anymore

2007-06-13T17:42:00.001-04:00

So, I'm close to the end of my time here. Part of me is relieved because I know that I have great things coming up after this May Term trip. I know that a lot of students are getting really sick of this trip, and while it's a little taxing, I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here. This week has been a really great week working at the church. In a way, I feel like we haven't done too much, but I know that what we have done has been incredibly helpful. On Friday and Monday, we passed out fliers for a movie night that was going to be held at the church for kids under 12. This was a huge deal for the leadership at the church, because they are aware that almost half of the population in their neighborhood consists of kids 16 and under, and reaching the target audience is crucial to these people at the church. We passed out fliers left and right, and by the time we left on Monday, over 100 had been distributed throughout the neighborhood. We left on Monday afternoon with our fingers crossed, and we found out that the movie night was very successful. Over twenty kids came to the movie night, and that was more than they were expecting. They had a great time getting to know a lot of the kids in the neighborhood through that event, and several of them have been stopping by after school to say hello and read the bible with the pastors. It's so great that they are coming around and getting to know the people in the church now, and I'm so happy that it went well.

On Tuesday, we worked on our final presentation for this class and we showed them how to use Powerpoint and Publisher. They have a lot of great ideas for this church, and it's been really great to show them how to make fliers, business cards, and slideshows. In doing so, they were able to give us a lot of useful information for our presentation. We then helped them plan for a weekend event and come up for activities for the youth. The five of us are starting to see eye-to-eye on this ministry, and we were coming up with so many good ideas. It's so neat to see that we're all thinking alike as far as what can be helpful and useful for this community. I can tell that I'm starting to adopt the "urban mindset" even more than I had in the past. Today we went around and visited a lot of families who come to the church every now and then, but aren't doing so well. A lot of them are battling drug and substance abuse, alcoholism, and poverty. We greeted a young girl who just graduated from high school, and I know now that that's a huge accomplishment for her. She wants to go to college and get her Bachelor's degree. I felt so excited for her, that she was able to "escape" the things of her neighborhood and her life, and she's going to go out there and do great things. She was so proud of her status as a high school graduate, and she asked if we could sign her yearbook. I felt so happy to, but I had just met her today, and while I was signing, I realized how big of a deal that this graduation was to this girl. I couldn't help but feel so proud of her, even though she was basically a stranger to me. I can tell that in a few days, I'm really going to miss this neighborhood. A lot.

Days 6, 7 & 8

2007-06-07T20:37:00.000-04:00

For the last few days, we have continued our door-to-door process. I was initially intimidated by this concept, and while I'm still not a fan of going door-to-door for any reason, I have been consistently shocked with how well this process is going. I think the person who I'm going with is more shocked because she hasn't been shot, because we've been told that this neighborhood is incredibly dangerous. We've been warned so much, so much that our guards have been up since we've arrived, but we've encountered nothing but hospitality in these communities. We've been invited into more homes, met more influential people, and been surprised more and more. I've just been blown away by some of the conversations that we've been having with some of these people. More than one person has told us, in this survey, that they know hundreds of people who have been or are currently in jail.

One lady has stuck out in my mind more than anybody else. I still remember the tired look on her face when she answered the door. She had just arrived at her house from the grocery store, bags in hand, and decided that we could come in and sit down in her house while she put away her groceries, and then continue the survey in her living room. We entered, and sat on whatever furniture she had. She answered all of the questions with confidence, yet it took her quite some time to form her sentences, and we later discovered that this was because she recently suffered from a stroke. She has two sons, both in prison. Her husband died. This lady was thrilled that two people, our experience in the city aside, would want to come in and talk with her, curing her loneliness in a way. She searched through some drawers in a frenzy and retrieved several letters from her sons who are currently serving their time in prison. It hit me then, sitting on her stained carpet that smelled heavily of cat hair, that these people aren't and shouldn't be statistics for some survey. Sure, the information that they give us will surely be helpful when it's all done. But these people are people who have real needs, real problems, and want real solutions. I felt guilty leaving her house just so that we could "finish surveying the block". She said goodbye to us in a way that made it clear that she never wanted to say it in the first place. Goodbyes had never been good for her, and these six caring ears that listened to her story for ten minutes were leaving, and it hit her hard. It hit me hard too.

Another family truly impacted me. They spoke little English, so one of our leaders spoke to them in Spanish, and I was shocked at how much I could understand and interpret mentally. They had a son who was currently in prison, and he had just gone into prison three weeks prior to our visit. It was hard to decipher all that they were saying, but I know that the son had been sent to jail because he assaulted a man who broke into their house. While I'm certainly not a proponent of violence, I'm also not a proponent of robbery, and the way that the "justice" system dealt with this son forced me to confront the problems within our justice system. This son was, by all means, in a good family, and he was, by no means, out of that equation. The family have been active members in their local Catholic church for over thirty years, both of their children graduated from both high school and college - something unheard of in this community. A good family done wrong by the system. I'm sure that their story is likely biased, and that there's more to it. I have no idea what kind of physical contact he had with the burglar, and I don't know how much that he was hurt. But, at face value and with the information that I have to work with currently, this family has real needs and they are truly mourning the "loss" of their son, who won't be back for another 2 to 4 years.

I've been surprised at the number of people who have opened their door and talked with us. We visited plenty of houses where it was obvious people were home but they were ignoring our knocks. However, I know that if people were walking through my safe neighborhood in the suburbs, knocking on doors, they might get one open door. The fact that we got over twenty responses is incredible, and their apparent honesty and transparency is so genuine and is genuinely appreciated. I've really also enjoyed spending time with the leaders of the church, either just sitting around talking about motorcycles, the Bible's response to social justice, or the importance of community in a neighborhood. I've learned so much from talking to people in this neighborhood, both in the church and out on the streets of the community.

Days 5 & 6

2007-06-05T01:01:00.000-04:00

On Sunday, my group went to try and find the church that we were supposed to attend, but the bus never showed up. We waited for over a half hour, but no luck. After taking Dunkin Donuts back to school, we discovered that a bunch of other groups had difficulties finding their church. We found out that on Sundays, the Philadelphia Art Museum was open almost for free - Sundays are student days, and they just want you to donate what you can. I went down with six other people, and we really had a great time seeing a lot of really interesting art and hanging out there. But then it rained a lot, and we couldn't find the bus stop, so we walked all the way back to the subway in the pouring rain, and that was probably over a mile or so. However, we made it back okay, and then we had a Ocean's movie marathon, watching both Ocean's Eleven and Ocean's Twelve in preparation for Ocean's Thirteen that comes out this week. It was really great to just have a day where we could chill, catch our breath, explore some, and just enjoy each others' company. However, I was up until almost three o'clock in the morning as I sat and listened to people try and process the weekend that they really hated, and laughed as they made lists on napkins - lists that contained content I was sure nobody would have the guts to bring up in class, and I was right. But I'll get to that later.

I slept in until 11:00 because I was up so late, and I worked on making some letterheads and some fliers for the church that we're working with. We also typed up the survey, and we went door-to-door today in the community asking questions about prison. Our questions were pretty personal, but plenty of people answered and were fairly candid with us. After we finished one of the blocks, we realized that it was time to come back here, so we did. We came back for our class, and it was somewhat productive but also somewhat frustrating. Many people were voicing their concerns and frustrations about this class in front of everybody, and most of what was discussed was safety. I feel like safety is great, but it's irrelevant to the class, so I brought up some issues about the class and the scheduling that I thought were problematic. After everybody said what was on their minds, we had a guest speaker come in and give a lecture about racial reconciliation, white privilege and the church's response to social justice issues. I thought that she had so many amazing things to say, and I agreed with her on many of the things that she said, but at the end of the class, she rubbed everybody the wrong way by getting incredibly offended and, as she said, "ashamed" by an innocent and honest question asked by a classmate. She immediately got really defensive and contradicted herself many times, and on multiple occassions made it sound like it was our fault for being white. She herself was white. She later said that this wasn't her intention, but I think it was too late for most of us to believe her. Many people are starting to become fed up with the class, and while I have some issues with the way things have been handled, I'm certainly not going to complain about it and be pessimistic about it. We have two weeks left, and we should try to make the best of it.

Days 4 & 5

2007-06-03T00:17:00.000-04:00

On Friday, we did more work at the church and finished painting a few ledges. Afterwards, we came up with questions for a survey that we're going to distribute to the neighborhood sometime next week. We're going to be asking questions related to the judicial system and how many people have relatives that have been/currently are in prison, and other related questions. I've really been enjoying the time that we've been getting to spend with some of the leaders of this church. We sat and discussed theology at Dunkin Donuts, and it was amazing because it was one of the only times so far on this trip that we have experienced air-conditioning. It felt fantastic, and then we were dropped back off to have dinner before we went down to Olde City for First Friday. While we were there, I found a really sweet music store that had thousands of cheap used CD's and even more new CD's. I picked up four, and I've really been enjoying them. First Friday was unlike anything I'd ever seen before - it was a festival at every street corner. People were selling their homemade jewelry, their artwork, and the entire town was open to the public to roam around and enjoy each others' company. After that was over, we went to the infamous Pat's/Gino's to get Philly (yes, the real deal) Cheese Steaks. They were great and it was really interesting to be right in the middle of these two competing businesses. I immediately was drawn to the less-flashy, cheaper Pat's that also lacked discriminatory and offensive signs. Twice I said "Wizwit" and I'm continuing to feel more and more like a Philadelphian.

On Saturday, we woke up pretty early to go help out with a festival down at Kensington & Allegheny, where the streets were blocked off for a giant block party. Again, I had never seen anything like this, and people took advantage of the opportunity and had plenty of stuff to sell down there. I picked up yet another used CD from yet another great used CD store. After blowing up balloons and getting my picture taken with SpongeBob, we had some lunch in the park that consisted of some really great Hispanic food, although I'm not really sure what they're called. Then we did a few little things around town before coming back, including a meet-and-greet with an Hispanic author about his satirical/politically-motivated books. He was pretty bold and outlandish, and a few people think that once he found out that there was a Christian school group in his midst, he became immediately more offensive and used his position as an opportunity to Bush-bash and stuff. I'm still not really sure what the big deal is and people can't stop talking about it, and I'm not quite sure why. We came back and hung out and decided that on this Saturday night, we'd do some more exploring, and we found ourselves down by the Philly stadium around gametime, and a bunch of us hung out around a sports bar and watched the Phillies game from in there over burgers, good times and lots of pictures. I'm really enjoying this city. Tomorrow I'm going to a Latino Catholic church. I'm stoked.

Peeace.

Day 3

2007-06-01T02:41:00.000-04:00

Today at our site, I felt like we were a lot of help the guys there. After we got there, we sat around and talked for a little bit, about school, about Philadelphia, about the community, about Latino culture. Then we were able to help out with odds and ends. They seemed like little tasks to just check off a list of things to do, but it felt good to get some things accomplished, however minor they were. We pained, we cut plywood, we installed insulation, we swept and moved some stuff around in the basement. For the second day in a row, we were cutting it close to the time we needed to be back, so the guys gave us a ride back home. As we rode through the backstreets between the church and our home for three weeks, we saw memorials of recently killed community members. We envied the kids playing around in the water spewing from the fire hydrant, because in the heat of ninety-something degrees, we felt like we could've used that.

After getting a little turned around in the city last night and finding my way back, and going to our work site a few times, I feel like I'm starting to learn my way around the city. I feel like my "tourist" image is starting to fade, and it seems like I'm blending more and more into the city life. Granted, it'll take much longer than three weeks in Philadelphia for to call myself a Philadelphian, but I feel like I'm starting to learn this city. The quirks, the eccentricities, the Chinese-food joints that are open all night long. I'm really starting to enjoy this space. I'm really starting to enjoy the roof of this building. It's been home to plenty of memorable and hilarious conversations, as well as a great view of the city. Tomorrow, I think we're surveying the neighborhood that the church is in, and I feel so much more confident about that than I would have 48 hours ago.

It's currently raining hard in Philadelphia, and the sound is great.

Day 2

2007-05-31T00:24:00.000-04:00

Today I woke up after a semi-restless night of sleep. The heat kept me awake, and I was just too lazy to relocate my fan from my desk in the other room to the end of my bed frame. I "woke up" officially around 9:30, although I kind of feel like I was up all night. I finished up some of my reading assignments and laid low around my room for the morning. I grabbed lunch with the rest of the McPc folks at Temple's dining hall and then Becky and I set off for our first time at our work site. To get to the church that we were working with, we took the subway for a little bit and then caught a bus and drove through town for a bit. Once we arrived at the church, we met two of the church leaders, Pablo and Andy. They gave us a little background information about the church and offered a little insight about where they would like to see it be in the future. Becky and I followed Pablo around town for about an hour, and we would listen as Pablo talked to the people on their porches or passing by in the street. There were two things on Pablo's mind that he wanted people to know about. In Spanish, Pablo told the families about a summer camp program that the church was offering for the entire month of July. Most families seemed to be at least semi-interested, or maybe they were just politely nodding and too bashful to refuse our piece of paper. It surprised me that many of the families spoke fluent Spanish AND English. The families that we talked to knew both perfectly well, and I was immediately impressed. I could understand the Spanish that they were throwing around, but I could never come up with that on our own.

These people live in some of the poorest and most dangerous parts of Philadephia. Most people would assume that these people are uneducated and unintelligent, and maybe they are when it comes to algebraic formulas and naming the bones in the body. But immediately I was struck with the fact that these people has an incredible amount of knowledge that I do not possess. They live in a country, perhaps even a world, where the knowledge of English is helpful. Yet they have not abandoned their heritage, their native language. It really drove home the concept in one of our readings that discussed being a 150% person - 75% your culture, and giving up some of yours in order to learn the other culture, about which you will never know everything. After we finished going around some of the local streets, we met up some of the other groups and went to grab some ice cream. While we ate our ice cream, we were given a tour of that area of Philadelphia by Ryan, one of the coordinators for another group that we met up with. We came back, grabbed some dinner, and had our first night of class, which was pretty informal but also educational. After our class, me and two friends decided to go exploring a little bit and go visit a friend of mine who lives in a different part of the city, but we got turned around a bit and wound up just coming back here. I think that one of the best feelings is finding your way around a new city after you've been lost. I felt a sense of capability and accomplishment that I was able to maneuver myself around this crazy city and eventually find my way back. I've just been hanging out here on the rooftop with some friends and a guitar, and after a cold shower I'm going to go to bed. I will also be taking my fan with me.

Day 1

2007-05-30T00:34:00.001-04:00

So, I've decided that for a project of mine, I'm going to blog as much as I possibly can on my summer experience. Between May 20 and August 22, I will have had five different room keys. Those places, although they may not sound too exciting or different, are Grantham, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Harrisburg, and then back to Grantham. I already turned in my Grantham keys, lived around Baltimore for eight days, and moved to Philadelphia today. Well, because it's 12:37, yesterday. I'm packed in a room with three strangers and no air-conditioning and homework assignments and lots of tunes and the city skyline visible from my rooftop. It's unlike anything I've ever done. Tomorrow, I will start the job that I have for three weeks as a coordinator of promotions at a local, up-and-coming church. That's my community service work, and I think it'll be very interesting and eye-opening.

There's something about the sirens blaring in the lit streets that makes me love the city life, the adrenaline, the rush. I love sitting out on the rooftops with a chilly breeze, talking to old friends while looking at the Philadelphia skyline. Over the last year or so I've become much more laid back and developed a comfort level for quiet living and the slow place style. But I love the city, and all is well.