Captain's Blog

Just...Muggy

2009-06-29T17:20:00.001-05:00

Sultry. It's a sultry day (thank you, "Throw Mama From The Train").

Only that's not true. That's wishful thinking. Sultry would be like listening to Joni Mitchell's album "Both Sides Now". Worn and charactered, mellowed, smooth with a bite you can feel comfortably from the other side of the glass. Sad and pained but wise and alluring.

But that is not today. Today is mostly just...muggy. Moist, humid without all that extra flavor. Not that I'm complaining. It just is. It's Kurt Cobain singing a slow ballad, maybe an old standard, with no musical accompanyment. Just his duldrum voice. It's interesting enough to listen to but I wouldn't put it on repeat.

Break time! (9:30 am)

And we're back. Instantly for you, 20 minutes for me.

You know what? Instead of writing just to write, which is what I am about to do, I think I'll just call it right here.

Shoot. Just found out I was somewhat responsible for the breaking of an expensive part of one of the machines.

Sigh.

Lord, Save Me From Myself

2009-05-28T16:57:00.002-05:00

Jon Foreman - Fall (whole album)

It's a drab, dreary, wet day. Inside and out. after yet another evening of turning in a spoiled day to the head office, I've been reflecting this morning on the desert wasteland that May has been thus far. Only three and a half days left and I haven't much hope for an oasis. My mouth is uncomfortably dry and my soul is so overwhelmed and weighted. I'm no fool, I know it could be far worse, but it's still a trial I wouldn't mind circumventing.

But I know God is shaping me. So, while the heat is at times intense and my natural reaction is to get out quick, I shall be hopeful in Jesus and what He's working out. Heated metal is easier to shape.

Wow. That looks so good on paper, and sitting here on the screen, but, to be honest, I feel like King David in many of his psalms. So conflicted and torn between Heaven and Earth. Between God and myself.

One moment praising God for His grace, mercy and love. For pulling me out of judgment's flames and adopting me as His son while I was still his enemy. The next moment spitting in His face, believing in lies. Conspiring against Him with the enemy. Glorifying His name one minute and making Him out ot be a liar the next.

Beating my chest and grieving my brokenness, crying out to Heaven, "Lord, have mercy! What a wretched sinner I am! Who will save me from this body of death?" Having a heart that is being sanctified, converted, changed to the likeness of Christ, yet a flesh that remains distorted and broken. Mangled and faded from the effects of sin. Death.

Lord, save me from myself. You are trustworthy and faithful. How little I trust myself.

I'm a control freak. A liar. A murderer. I lust, cheat, covet. I'm full of pride and arrogance. I am an idolator, a glutton. I'm self centered and mean.

Thank God for Jesus. Those things, while I continue to struggle with them, do not define my identity. They are not who I am. I am His. Still broken, but being made whole.

Sigh. Check that against God's word; the Bible. If there's a conflict, His word wins.

So tired.

Sustain me, Father, I pray. Without your steady, unfailing hands I would be overcome.

p.s. (Yeah, I know, this isn't a letter...) Jon Foreman, if you ever read this, thank you for an honest, heart felt album. Praise music can seem so unrealistic and trite at times. So, really, thank you.

Perception is Not Reality

2007-12-04T21:55:00.000-05:00

Before beginning this small piece of biographical literature (yes, technically you've already begun), you must know one thing. When I process the word "reality", I equate it with the word "truth", and consequently its finality. Reality's base word, real, gives it that kind of weight. Real, genuine, meaning not fake or fabricated. Truth.

I'm sitting at a lathe in the back of the shop, alone. I have the entire south wing to myself (and Jack on the infrequent occasions he's at the grinder on the far side of the room). Now that we can listen to music while we're working (a change that has been both unexpected and very welcomed), I've been taking full advantage. I try to push myself until at least coffee break (9:30) without music, or at least until 8:30.

I try to make sure any thoughts awaiting process, or prayers on my heart, are first taken care of. Otherwise the music becomes an involuntary distraction and then I get a backlog of thoughts and ideas. That stresses me out. I need time to think. I need time to process the reality of my life. To sort through the distracting emotions and desires, the inconsistensies and curiousities I've projected onto the fray.

And where better to go than the author of the book of truth Himself?

So we talk a lot, Jesus and I. He's that friend that's always with me, so it's not that we're talking about events because He was (is) there and already knows. It's more that I want to know what's really going on and what He's doing with it all.

Because there is truth; an absolute truth and He knows what it is.

My perception is not necessarily the reality of a situation. I was just talking with Alyssa on the phone and she gave me a great example. She has an illustration oriented book filled with all sorts of photographs of facial expressions. One in particular is a woman, who, all observations accounted for, is crying. That is how many would, and Alyssa did, perceive her.

To say that "perception is reality" is to say that reality, or truth, is relative. I might perceive the woman as laughing. Now, it is possible that both Alyssa and I are wrong. But we cannot both be right. Only one of our perceptions can be reality. The woman cannot be simultaneously laughing and crying. Yes, I know, I've laughed to the point of tears but that's not the kind of crying I'm talking about.

The author, who was present for during the photograph, stated that the woman is, in fact, laughing. Was Alyssa's perception unreasonable? Certainly not! The author even admits to it seeming the truth to himself. But was Alyssa's perception reality? No. It was wrong. It wasn't the truth.

There are those who will argue still and say truth is relative; there is no absolute truth. But that right there? That's a contradiction. If it were correct, it would itself be an absolute truth.

The author of Alyssa's book was there for the photograph and, though there are many possible perceptions of it, he conveyed to his readers the absolute truth of the situation. No matter how strongly you perceive her as doing otherwise, it does not change the fact that she is laughing.

One increasingly popular (at least I'm hearing about it more) misconception about God, among others, is that He cannot actually see into the future. That He cannot see around the bend in time. That He has no foreknowledge of things to come. But that's not the truth. It's a false perception.

You see, God is the author of the Bible (2 Timothy 3:16, 2 Peter 1:20-21) and, through it, conveys to us truths about Himself. From a broad perspective, the Old Testament is full of prophetic statements issued publicly by God through a prophet. There are many prophecies regarding Israel's future which all, through events of history, were proven true. God knew. Then there's the major prophetic message of the Old Testament. One is coming who will save and restore Irael (and the world), and who will rule over her: Jesus. The Messiah. Lord of Lords and King of Kings. And guess what? He came. God knew.

When God sent Moses to Pharaoh (Exodus 3:7-10), Moses asks of God, "Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they ask me, 'What is his name?' Then what shall I tell them?" (Exodus 3:13). And God replies, "I am who I am . This is what you are to say to the Israelites: 'I AM has sent me to you.' " (Exodus 3:14). I love this name for God, which first appears here. He had no beginning and will have no end. He simply exists (though, I suppose "simply" is hardly the word). In the past, He is. In the present, He is. In the future, He is.

So thinking He doesn't know the future is a perception that proves to be false. God, the author of the Bible, our tangible source of truth, says otherwise (about Himself, mind you). If I were to ever write something about God that didn't agree with the Bible, I would be wrong. If you feel even God Himself is telling you something but it doesn't coincide with what the Bible, God's Word, teaches us, don't believe it for a second. Read it and know the truth. Know God. Ask and He will reveal Himself through Jesus and the work of the Holy Spirit.

The absolute truth.

Who Stole The Cookie From The Cookie Jar?

2007-11-17T15:09:00.000-05:00

As the children played quietly in the various centers of their first grade room, Mrs. Ingle went over her lessons, perparing herself for the activities of the day. She liked to have materials ready for their fated uses, thereby simultaneously saving time and teaching the children the importance of organization.

She sat at the large, round table in the center of the room where daily lessons and art projects took place. She felt more connected to her students there than she did at her desk in the corner by the door. The table was a sort of apple red, something she always thought odd since it was the only one of its kind in the school; the rest were various faded browns. It was rumored that the teacher whose room it had been previously, and whom no one could now remember, had painted it with her class in a passionate reflection on individualism.

As Mrs. Ingle was thinking over the table's history, Johnathan shuffled into the room with his usual collection of school things.

"Good morning, Mrs. Ingle," he said politely as he transfered his things to his cubby.

"Good morning, Johnathan," she replied.

Johnathan always came in five minutes before class began. Mrs. Ingle enjoyed his consistent nature. She glanced at the clock on the far wall to see that he was right on time. He made his way over to the building blocks, his favorite center, where Sarah, Jackie and Michael were already playing.

One of Mrs. Ingle's joys of the day was watching the children at play. They were so innocent and it seemed the troubles of the world couldn't penetrate these walls. She found herself particularly joyful this morning and, wanting to share her good spirits, she clapped her hands twice to get the attention of the class.

Everyone looked up except Stephen. He was deaf.

Malcom poked Stephen's shoulder and pointed to Mrs. Ingle. Understanding the gesture, he smiled and immediately fixed his eyes upon her, ready to read her lips.

"Let's start with a fun game," said Mrs. Ingle. Chears rang out as the children made their way to the table, where all group games take place. "Does anyone know how to play 'Who Stole The Cookie From The Cookie Jar'?" Jackie's hand was the only response.

"Alright," said Mrs. Ingle, "watch and listen. Jackie and I will show you how to play and you can all join in when you understand."

Stephen was excited. He loved having to follow a conversation by ping-ponging his eyes between two people. And since it was already going to be a game, he was anticipating fun.

"Everyone ready?" asked Mrs. Ingle. Everyone nodded.

"Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?" she began. "Was it you?" She pointed at Jackie.

"But Mrs. Ingle, we don't have a cookie jar," said Sarah.

"Yes, I know, but we-"

"We could play 'Who Stole The Cookie From The Suggestion Box'!" yelled Erik, always trying to help.

"Who put a cookie in there in the first place?" asked Michael, thoroughly confused by such a strange course of action. "And how did they even get it through the paper slot?"

"Children," said Mrs. Ingle, attempting to refocus their attention.

"Maybe they were trying to suggest we have more cookies in the room," said Jessica.

"Or maybe more snack time," added Erik.

"I wish someone would put some new playground balls in the suggestion box," said George.

Mrs. Ingle clapped twice. Everyone stopped and looked at her, except Stephen. He was laughing and flailing his legs around thinking this was a great game. Sarah poked his shoulder. Stephen looked up anticipating the next round.

"Children," said Mrs. Ingle, "this is a game. It's fun and make-believe."

"Sounded real to me," said George.

"I don't see how ruining someone's reputation with accusations of theft is fun," added Jessica.

"I don't think I want Jackie borrowing my pencil anymore," wined Malcom.

Mrs. Ingle tried again. "Just listen to Jackie and I and see if you can catch on. This is only a game."

Stephen was ready.

"Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar? Was it you?" Mrs. Ingle pointed at Jackie again.

"Who, me?"

"She pointed right at you," said George sarcastically.

"Listen, please," said Mrs. Ingle. "Yes, you," she said pointing again at Jackie.

"Couldn't be," said Jackie.

"I can atest to that!" yelled Sarah. "She was with me in building blocks! She couldn't have!"

Mrs. Ingle was not stopping again. "Then who?" she asked Jackie, whose finger immediately pointed to Malcom.

"Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?" asked Mrs. Ingle. "Was it you?" This time the inquiry was directed at Malcom. As soon as she pointed, he looked down at his feet and began to cry. Stephen smiled and poked Malcom's shoulder. This was a new part of the game, he thought.

"Jackie," said Mrs. Ingle, "please pick someone else." Jackie pointed at Johnathan.

"I don't think I should speak without my lawyer present." Johnathan wasn't taking any chances.

Mrs. Ingle was growing impatient. "Was it you?" Her finger was pointed at Michael. He pulled a sandwich bag out from his pocket. Inside was a single oatmeal raisin cookie.

"It's not mine," he said. "I'm just holding it for a friend."

All of the children gasped except Jessica who said, "No, no. The cookie we're looking for is chocolate chip."

"How do you know?" asked George. "Did you steal it?"

"No!" she yelled. "Mrs. Ingle said it was chocolate chip!"

"I said no such thing!" Mrs. Ingle retorted.

Alison, who had been patiently watching the case unfold, pointed at Stephen. "Maybe he stole it!"

Seeing the finger pointed at him, Stephen thought it was his turn. He laughed hysterically, flailed his legs around again and began pointing wildly at the other children, hoping he was winning.

"Oh sure," said George, "blame the deaf kid. Sounds like the desparate act of a guilty conscience."

"She couldn't have stolen it!" yelled Sarah. "She's left handed!"

"How do we know the culprit is right handed?" asked Jessica.

"Maybe that's how they got the cookie in the paper slot!" exclaimed Michael.

"So they took it from the cookie jar and then put it into the suggestion box," said Johnathan. "I think it's starting to make some sense."

"That means we have two thieves," said Jessica. "One stole it from the cookie jar, the other from the suggestion box."

"But the box is locked," said Erik, "and I don't think many people have access to the key. And how would they know the cookie had been placed in there anyway?"

"Sounds like an inside job," said Jessica.

Stephen was still pointing.

"Well someone stole it!" yelled George.

"Was it you, George?" asked Michael.

"No! I brought my own cookies; I don't need to steel the one from the cookie jar!"

The accusations of theft and contaminating the suggestion box continued into the afternoon, with everyone pointing and yelling all over the room. Finally, with no conclusion in sight, they all agreed to drop it.

At least until Johnathan noticed cookie crumbs under Mrs. Ingle's desk.

Post Lunch Anger

2007-10-16T15:47:00.000-05:00

[This was written last week...I don't remember what day]

He moves his muscles in random, graceful directions. Pulling and pushing to extremes while his stomache attempts digestion of the lead weight now present within. Paing crashes against the canvas of a conversation, marking it with indiscernable figures of emotion. Red overtakes. Soaking deep into the woven fabric forming the rest of his day, or at least the next several hours. Work will not be as it was previous to this tension. An opportunity to amend will not present itself for what now seems like days.

You have to go now.

As if my intillect and alertness, generally more keen, were less aware. As if my decision to remain had been overlooked or neglected, or worse: Traded. My attempts to grasp the last bits of a fleeting smile, in hopes of rebuilding before the conclusion of this moment, the only of its kind, thwarted by five words and one punctuational end piece.

Hold on with me instead!

My strength subdued by such a seemingly insignificant grouping of words. A papercut of a sentence! My ice cream pushed out of the cone and onto the ground below. A saddened and withdrawn state I now find myself in. Or is it that I'm choosing to hold back because the line between master and tyrant has become blurred?

Oh, my dear, sweet Jesus! Show me where to step. Give my feet direction and my legs the strength to move them.

My Favorite Chair In The Shop

2007-10-16T15:16:00.000-05:00

To the editor:

I'm sitting on my favorite chair in the shop having coffee and donuts with Jerry the ogre, writing about nothing because the thoughts that I'm thinking aren't ready to be writ.

It's a Friday. Capital F for Freedom; a weekend getaway for two in the lofty spaces and brick encased cubicles until Monday do us part. Lower case m for monotinous. Because not even Jerry likes Mondays.

Although, in its defense, I've grown accustomed to the few expectations that accompany the first of the five day waiting period. Freedom is far off, so little energy is directed toward its approach. I suppose it's that stowed anticipation that brings Monday to a close without much delay.

Moving on.

A heterogeneous compilation of thought in a variety of vocabulary, analogy and spaghetti. The male mind attempting at least a glance of that plate, functionally adorned with sauce and a meatball or two. Follow one strand and you'll inevitably find yourself shaking hands with the whole dish and returning to your first position. Understanding is present but limited.

She cannot even begin to attempt categorization and compartmentalization of the noodly mess. It is far too great a mass to undertake such an eternal project. Each is delicately and inoperably intertwined with the whole.

He cannot interrelate. To do so would be to disregard the organization, to remove the logic. To push his reasoned mind beyond boundaries, resulting in a catastrophic multi-system failure.

For the next portion of the tour, please put on your 3-D glasses, virtual reality gloves and one sock. You choose the foot.

Two birds were sitting on a fence by a railroad track. Both were hit by stray walnuts. Was that fair? One of the birds was blue and the other was ambidextrous. One of the walnuts was actually a Beagle. A few more alterations? The railroad track was trimmed with lace and the fence heard voices. That should do it.

This room was constructed in 1736 and stapled to the main house a month after its completion. It was designed for the soul purpose of housing Mr. Van Wumpit's couches. Being a superstitious man, he didn't want his furniture walking off unkempt for the neighbors to see. Who knows what aristocratic cleaning parties would ensue?

The remainder of this entry has moved.

You may now find it at:

100 East 42nd Street

New York, NY 10017

What Value Hath A Post?

2007-10-15T22:15:00.000-05:00

Alyssa set out at the beginning of this semester to write or draw something in her artistic journal every day. Sometimes she simply puts something creative in that she accomplished during the day. The important part is that it's a daily practice.

I said I'd blog every day with her.

If you just laughed, I'm glad you caught that. No, I haven't been keeping up. But no, I'm not sad about it. To show remorse would mean that I regret not having done this daily, which I don't. It does sadden me that I haven't held to my word, especially as it was to Alyssa, but it does not sadden me to know I've given up some posting nights for other things. A conversation with Alyssa, for example, or a fun night with the guys followed by an immediate need for bed time.

Busy weekends, despite the need to rest, find me away from my laptop (and the internet for that matter). Responsibilities and random happenings of life. You see, as much as I love to write (and consequently, blog), it's not on the top of my priorities list. I would like to hone my skills but losing out on other parts of my day so that this can be accomplished just doesn't seem worth it. I'm not willing to make that kind of sacrifice.

I just don't want to allow blogging to have that much power over my time. To be in dire need of sleep some evening, or to have some responsibilities that must be attended to, but to put them aside to make sure some words are posted here.

Like right now. I'm really tired. I'm posting this because I can copy and paste it (I typed it up a week or two ago and it's been sitting on my desktop awaiting a publishing date). It's an entry that took little effort this evening. That helps me to get to sleep faster.

And that's what I need more tonight.

Lame, I know...

2007-10-02T22:20:00.000-05:00

It's been about two weeks since I've had enough of a machine run time that I could write. It's nice to have a few minutes back.

First thing I did: Read the Bible. Matthew 23, Seven Woes. I want to read about this murder of Zecheriah "between the temple and the altar" (NIV). Most of all, I miss spending time with my God. I want to read his letters and get to know him more. Deeply.

Second thing I did: Called Colleen at the church. I asked if I could borrow the projector and screen. Matt might bring over Halo 3 tonight. Oh yeah. It's Monday. "Guy's Night". I plan on returning it to a spiritual event soon. Koinonia (Acts 2:42, "fellowship"). A little pizza, maybe a beer and Halo 3. Mmm...guy time.

Third thing I did: You just read it.

Another Game of Boom!

2007-09-25T21:44:00.001-05:00

I know I wrote about this subject yesterday, but...

I ran up the stairs with two bags of groceries in my hand, past my brother's door, stopping only for a few seconds to yell, "Matt's here!" then down to my room. I grabbed my shotgun out of the closet as fast as I could then ran the groceries back down the hall and left them in the kitchen. I was so excited, I had carried them the whole way (I have to go by the kitchen to get to my room).

Tonight's game was the best so far.

I crept out the back door, crawling on the kitchen floor so Matt wouldn't see me through the windows in the front. Ben waited inside, hoping he could use the vacant rooms to his advantage. I, silently as I could, made my way around the house's entirety without one sighting. "Maybe he's going around the house the same way I am," I thought. He had seen me with the groceries before I disappeared into the basement, where he eventually snuck in. "Maybe if I stay..."

BOOM!

Ben's down. Now I know Matt's in the house. So I go back into the basement through the garage. The door into the house there is fortunately without obvious creeks. I used that to my advantage. So I waited at the bottom of the stairs, hoping he'd come down. His shadow came across the front door, silhouetted by the kitchen light. All was working to my benefit...until Ben joined him. "Crap," I thought. "Now I've got two of 'em." They conspired, within ear shot, to go outside, choosing the back door as their exit.

"I just might have a chance," I thought.

After I heard them leave, I made my way up to the kitchen where my mom was preparing dinner. I motioned a question, raising two fingers and pointing them both outside. "Are they both out there," I was asking. She peered out the door, under the guise of checking the laundry on the line, and shook her head. The coast was clear.

So out I went. I headed around the north side of the house and heard them in the garage. But if I went that way (north), they'd see me through the window. So I had to try south. I had just come around the corner when Matt popped out of the garage.

BOOM! BOOM!

We both got a shot off. No one's really sure who first. Ben came out after him.

BOOM! BOOM!

I shot first but if Matt had gotten the first shot of all, it wouldn't matter. Of course, Ben was already hit anyway from before so I suppose that doesn't matter in the least.

The game took a total of fifteen minutes (usually it takes two) and it leaked outside, which it's never done before. I'm sure, now that we've explored some previously undiscovered potential, we'll be doing it like this more often. It should be interesting, come winter.

Like I said, best so far.

It's A Toy, Relax

2007-09-24T21:52:00.000-05:00

Yes, I have indeed been neglecting this outlet.

Tonight was fairly uneventful except that I never left work. I mean, I left the building, but work followed me. I had about an hour of chill time between 3:30 (the end of my machining day) and 5:30 (the time I met Jeff and Eric to transport a slate pool table to our church youth room; it's new home). Now, if you're terrible at math and calculating time, you'll pass that sentence without a second thought. But if you're good at those things, or can at least crunch numbers, you'll notice there are, in fact, two hours there as opposed to the aforementioned one.

And well done. For there are indeed two.

But the thing is, there was enough between there that my actual down time was even less than one hour. For instance, I didn't leave the shop until 4:00, at which point my dad and I dropped off the company truck at Jack's house and spent some time looking at his new toy (an ultra-light; it's a hang glider with an engine). Didn't leave there until 4:20, stopped to pick up a sandwich and salad (my dad's with me at this point because the truck is back at Jack's), stopped at the bank, and finally made it home at around 4:45. Fifteen minutes until Matt shows up!

So I pull out my shotgun.

It's a toy, relax. We have this game where when Matt comes over, he tries to sneak up and shoot me before I can do the same to him. His is a toy too, relax. He carries a silenced .45, I carry a stockless pump-action shotgun. He'll come in the house and quietly make his way to wherever Ben or I are, and shoot us (again, pretend...seriously, relax). Or we'll get him first. Tonight, I got him. I knew he was coming in, so I hid in my parents' room while my mom opened the door. By the time he got down the hall and realized I wasn't in my room, I had already snuck up on him. BOOM!

It was pretend, he's still alive, relax!

My brother had called me at work about helping with the pool table. "Oh, and Matt's helping too," I said.

"Oh...can you do me a favor?" he asked.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Can you hide my gun under the stairs to the deck and leave the back door open so I won't make any noise coming in the house? That way I can sneak up on him."

What a great plan! I did as he asked after I got home. My parents were eating out on that same deck when he arrived. He recruited my mom and she came down to my room asking a question she'd already asked me a while earlier. I thought it strange but said nothing. He followed her down the hall so his footsteps would be masked. Nice move. He was behind Matt without betraying his presence. BOOM!

Honestly, I'm done explaining the imagination of this game. If you haven't relaxed at this point, I can't help you.

After moving the pool table, which was fun, though challenging, we all had pizza out (except Jeff who had already eaten). And now I'm home. I want to take a shower.

So I will.

Less Than I'd Like

2007-09-18T20:23:00.000-05:00

I've got so many thoughts and so little energy. I just typed up two medium-sized emails (which for me is four to five paragraphs) and my mind is close to being shut down for the evening. Now that I think about it, I should go get ready for bed. Brush my teeth, put on my pajamas, crawl under the covers.

Alyssa will be calling me soon and I want to be ready when she does. While this week is certainly an improvement over the last (busy, busy schedule with no room for communication), it's still less than I'd like. We've time to talk here and there but still nothing of quality so far, save a shortened conversation over lunch yesterday.

So, no offense, but I'd rather be somewhere else right now.

Smuggling Laughter

2007-09-12T15:08:00.001-05:00

I'm slowly smuggling pens out of the office. So far this week--the only week I've taken up this practice--this is my second pen (the one I'm writing with*). It's an old pen, with "Jensen Machine Compa" (not a typo) inscribed in several different font sizes, styles and colors. I would presume it to be a sample pen from a company looking to make a profit in that niche. Specially designed pens to promote your business to whomever's hands they happen to fall into. I must say, I'm impressed. I think I'll look up this "Jensen Machine Compa" when I get home.

*[I'm writing this down on a graph pad, to be translated into type later, or now (depending on your perspective in time)]^

I'm taking the time to write all this while the jig borer (a Pratt & Whitney, probably from the 1950's or 60's) rhythmically churns out blue, spirally steel chips. But Adam, steel is silver. That's true, but these chips are being pulled away from the bearing hard and fast, which creates lots of friction. Friction creates heat, heat leads to the dark side. I mean heat causes (I don't know how) the chips to change color. Gold chips are pretty hot. But the really hot ones are beautiful. They come out in blues and purples. And the neatest thing is that the change is permanent. They stay that color.

Kind of like the way God changes us through trials. It's hot, but we come out blue abe beautiful. Maybe even a little spirally. Or maybe the chips come off to reveal the beautiful silver underneath (I'm working with heat-treated bearings which are deep red and black, so silver looks great when it appears), and the chips are junk that blocks that beauty. He makes something beautiful out of something ugly.

Which brings me to humor. Actually, not really, but I do want to talk about it.

Yesterday was filled with laughter. There was so much humor in my day, including (and you won't necessarily get it) stories of people getting caught in an updraft (while hang gliding or parachuting) which evolved into whales doing the same (the story, not the people). Then there was Shia Labeouf leaking the title for the new Indiana Jones movie. "Indiana Jones and the Missing Tuba".

I love to laugh. I love it even more so when it's shared. Alyss and I laugh a lot together. We love to play. To make things up or find the humor in something we're doing. We enjoy just being kids together. All be it two kids in love, but still kids. We like games that you play simply for the joy of playing a game. My heart is getting nice and warm thinking about all this. You know, like sitting by a fire under a blanket in the winter. This is a blessing with the weekdays going the way they have. Thirty second phone calls just to say what we're doing and that we have to go. So it's nice to think about laughing together. It's a huge gift from God. Or a small gift that's REALLY meaningful.

I think I'll stop there and hold onto this for a while.

^[Normally, any special notes marked by an asterisk, or that little cross, go at the end of a given piece of literature, like this. I just felt like being different, I guess.]

We're Already Back

2007-09-10T20:50:00.000-05:00

I always seem to be listening to deeper music when I'm feeling pensive. Tonight, for instance, my audible companion is Ben Folds. Right now he's on stage, backed up by John McCrea (of Cake), singing "Fred Jones Part 2". It's a sad song.

And I am sad. Sort of.

I had a rather lengthy conversation with my mom this evening, residual parts of which are still lingering. I won't go into detail over its subject, but it was a conversation over some things I've been pondering for a while. It was good to get them out. But there were also some things that require action, which I plan to take soon.

I also have had patchy conversations with Alyssa throughout the day. I left two voicemails during my morning "coffee break" (I don't drink coffee, I just enjoy a moment to sit and eat a snack or two). We exchanged few words at lunch, she distracted by a friend or two and I by some wild turkeys passing through the lot. Nothing after that until a missed phone call, I presume was placed just before the IVCF (Intervarsity Christian Fellowship) prayer meeting. No voicemail, so I don't know. [correction: There was a voicemail, I didn't notice it until later] Then another word or two when I called after the meeting had ended. Now she's somewhere between the meeting and getting ready for bed. But again, I don't know.

This past weekend was difficult as it left us very little time to connect with each other on that intimate level of communication. Sigh. The week prior had no time for us to connect at all, save a few patchy conversations. And that's where I find us again. At least from my perspective. There are so many things I want to talk to her about, things that happened last week and have already happened this week. Yet I feel that we'll once again find ourselves moving through the week with slight gaps for a word or two, which inevitably end up being business in subject (usually something about an evening's, or the weekend's, plans). Sigh. We're already back to the week.

And so, at 10:04 pm, I find myself alone with Ben Folds.

Can't Think Of A Better Title

2007-09-08T08:38:00.000-05:00

Oops, skipped two days.

Time? Effort? Applesauce? Whatever.

I'm sitting in front of the amazingly wide monitor on Alyssa's home computer. It's the "family" computer but considering each of the "kids" has their own, I consider it Alyssa's father's. So I suppose I'm sitting in front of Alyssa's father's computer. No wait, I am. I AM sitting in front of Alyssa's father's computer. And I'm also in his chair, at his desk, in his house.

Where am I going with this? Let's try something else.

Today I have the privilege of taking Emily's (Alyssa's sister) yearbook and senior photos. She asked me if I would do them, and though I was hesitant from a good chunk of time away from photography, I agreed. It'll be a good experience for me to get back into it and use that good eye God gave me. Yes, he gave me two, it's an expression. Right now I'm waiting for Emily to get ready, Alyssa to be done with her prayer time and breakfast to be eaten. I had some prayer time too but mine was far shorter than Alyssa's.

Perhaps it was that I didn't make myself more available to God so He gave me less to pray about. Or perhaps it was that I needed less time to get right with God (we are in two different relationships with Him after all). I don't know. But either way, she's been downstairs for a while and this is how I've been spending my time in the interim.

And wow is it going to be hot today. Another 90 degree afternoon. UGH!! I cannot WAIT for autumn's weather. Unfortunately, however, the trees have been changing since August. So the exquisite foliage portion of the fall won't be as brilliant as it was last year. But that's okay...I'm looking forward to the cool, crisp New England air.

Yeah, this entry's all over the place.

How about a story?

Two mice fell into a bucket of cream...no wait, that one's been done before. Something else, something else...hmm...Ah, yes...

The...oh shoot, everyone's ready now. Well, another time.

As Yourself

2007-09-05T20:32:00.000-05:00

Wow.

God's really been revealing a lot to me these past few days. I haven't the time or the space to type about them all. That, and I haven't told Alyssa yet. And since she's my #2 (second only to God), she is privy to anything personal before you (anyone reading this publicly available information). One thing, however, not being too personal shall here and now be conveyed.

Treat people the way you want to be treated.

Read it again. That's not what it says.

Treat your neighbor as yourself.

AS yourself. So the question is, how are you treating yourself? Because if you're trying to be perfect, you'll treat your neighbor as if they should be too. If you allow yourself room for error and forgiveness when the time comes, so your neighbor will find the same from you. And I've definitely seen this in action. Normally I expect myself to be a certain way and I find that I hold the same expectations to Alyssa and become upset when she doesn't meet them. Today, I forgave myself for screwing up. I gave myself room to breathe, relax, and just be me. And guess how I treated Alyssa? The same way. Treat your neighbor as yourself.

I learned something valuable today.

Marshmallow & Nutmeg

2007-09-04T20:23:00.000-05:00

I remember thinking something profound over dinner tonight, or perhaps on the way to the restaurant, but presently I can't recall what it was. I might want to carry with me a notebook of some kind, something small, to jot down random thoughts into. I remember it being rather good, too. Sigh.

I acquired two free glasses tonight. Every Tuesday night at Eli's, a brewery comes to sample their beers. If you order something on tap from the "special guest" brewery, and you're there early enough, you get a free glass with your beer (with the brewery's logo on it). This particular evening's brewery was Red Hook. I ordered two glasses of their seasonal (their autumn or harvest, I dont' remember what it's called). It was pretty good. And I got two glasses. A little piece of cool for the night.

Another noteworthy bit about Eli's is their sweet potato fries, which you can substitute for regular frieds for I think a dollar or two extra. And, if you ask, they'll bring you the special sweet dipping sauce with them. It's delicious. I found out it's merely marshmallow and nutmeg. Apparently the marshmallow is boiled, melted or liquified, or something like that, and the nutmeg is added in. WOW is it good. You should try it. Eli Cannon's, Middletown, CT.

I could certainly write more, yes, but I just fell asleep between the end of that previous paragraph and this sentence. So I think I'll go ahead with the plans that Alyssa and I made to get to bed early. Oh, I can't wait!

Just fell asleep again. I'd better go.

One Hundred Six

2007-09-03T19:49:00.000-05:00

106.

What in the world could you categorize with that number? Let's see...well, nothing that I know of. This is my 106th post, so I was hoping to find some uses for that particular three-digit combination. However, it seems that I'll have to find some other topic to foster.

Like my breath. Ugh. I've been eating these nacho chips from Trader Joe's called "...well, I don't know what they're called and I don't feel like getting the bag, so forget about it. But, despite my laziness, my breath still smells. Or at least the inside of my mouth tastes like I've got this salsa-esque film coating on everything. Yuck.

And yet I still eat them. What gives?

All this aside, I really should take my shower. It's my turn (Alyssa just got out). And after that, I've got to transfer some of my unnecessary items from her room to my car where they'll be readily available when I get home from work tomorrow. It's a long arm's reach from my house to here, so driving them home with me seemed like a better idea.

That being said...off I go.

A Jumble

2007-09-02T21:15:00.000-05:00

I'm letting the deep, sober melancholy of Ben Folds ("Not The Same", to shortly be followed by "One Down", off the album "Ben Folds Live") wash over the excitement of what was today. Not the birthday or new-born baby sort of excitement, but just the amount of things going on. Although, compared to previous seasons I've been through, today was rather mild.

I helped Alyssa and her crew move in new students to their various dorm rooms in select buildings. Really just one building, but she's worked in a few so perhaps, vicariously through her, I too did more than one building. Lots of big items to carry in. Boxes, TV's, X-Box 360's (no, not very big but perhaps a bit noteworthy...not that I'm an advocate for video game systems...I actually don't care for them much anymore) and the like.

Blah blah blah, monotonous details of the day. Something more creative, Adam. Please. Come on, you can do this. Seriously, try something better.

Maybe it's that I'm tired or maybe it's that I'm full of bison burger. Which, by the way, tasted a little musty. Like that old, pioneer smell. You know, those rooms that get sectioned off with velvet rope, containing all sorts of artifacts from Lewis and Clark's journey across the Louisiana Purchase, or an exhibit of canvas covers from wagon trains that made it through the West. That smell. Well, it tasted like that smell (at least a little).

Now I'm listening to Bill Frisell's "Coffaro's Theme" from the "Finding Forrester" soundtrack. Clearly, my mind is a jumble of mismatched thought.

Sigh.

A rabbit crossed the room to find himself alone against a backdrop of candlelit tears.

Figure that one out.

About A Paragraph

2007-09-01T22:21:00.000-05:00

If I were to type a paragraph about a paragraph, it might look something like this one. I'd consider speaking about punctuation and grammer, including the use of commas and periods. But I wouldn't get too in depth; certain punctuation probably wouldn't be used. Like a semicolon. It's a rarely pressed key. It's possible that I would also choose to touch on word selection and the importance of at least attempting to be succinct. It's less tedious. Some sentences might be short. Other sentences might be longer and more elaborative (perhaps even using parentheses to contain a quick thought or two). And, of course, these complete thoughts relating to the same general topic would be grouped together to form the paragraph itself.

That is, if I were to type a paragraph about a paragraph.

A Broken Yo-Yo

2007-08-31T23:59:00.000-05:00

As I look out the window to the night, newly fallen on campus, I remember. The trees flatten to fields and the dorms fall back and grow to mountains. A train, somewhere far off, whistles its evening serenade. I feel alone yet comforted by a presence beyond flesh. My Father has joined me in this moment, speaking through the various points of beauty that surround me. The clear night, the cooler air (a nice break from the summer's daylit breath), the lights, the trees, the mountains in shadow and the train, barely making itself known to me, so distant from it. And that smell. That pre-semester dorm room smell. So much more fresh than it was two months ago and so much quieter.

But it's all just a memory. As much as I'm enjoying this moment of nostalgia; a week in Colorado years ago with my youth group, it's still just a memory in pieces. Except the smell. The real, the here, the now, presents itself again wondering where my mind just went to. But I'm back again.

She's down the hall now, busy with things more important. I'm waiting impatiently. She wants to be done by midnight, there are things that will need her attention in the morning. It's 12:04 am now. The fluorescents need to rest too.

Sigh.

A less than expected beginning on my part, I know. But we'll see where tomorrow, and this month, will take us.

Beneath The Shady Limbs

2007-06-25T16:36:00.000-05:00

Oh, how I wish I had the time and thought to post something more exciting than this. I've much on my mind as of late (though, in all honest, when don't I?) and haven't had the time nor the energy to post anything.

Blah blah blah, more complaining, blah blah blah, a shy return to general thought.

I'm sitting in what would probably be considered the center of the University of Hartford. Geographically, it's more on the western side of campus but if that squirrel hopping along the sidewalk doesn't care, then neither do I.

Alyssa's in class. I have the great pleasure of her company for two weeks (one sadly over, this one fortunately remaining) as I am her ride to and from school. An enjoyable break against the humid backdrop of "summer vacation".

And now the guys (Joe and Matt) are here (several yards away in a parking lot, unaware of my presence on this bench beneath the shady limbs of a rather randomly branching Oak). We're off for a short hike to Hublein Tower.

Memories, I suppose.

I Could Hear The Milk

2007-05-10T06:18:00.000-05:00

It's quiet this morning.

So quiet, in fact, that I could hear the milk as it flowed and drained over my cereal to the bottom of the bowl.

My dad left for work about ten minutes ago. I could've gone in with him but I wanted to eat a good breakfast (Honey Bunches of Oats with Cinnamon Clusters), spend some time in prayer (just talking with my God) and simply enjoy the stillness of a quasi empty house. At least for a little while.

Ben, my brother, is in the process of waking up. His alarm, the only thing that interupts the quiet besides my laptop's cooling fan, will go off several times within the next half hour until he gets up with fifteen minutes left until the start of his work-day (it only takes him five minutes to drive in).

My mom's been gone for a little while. She's the only one that enters my room in the morning to ensure my consciousness. My favorite question she asks, as well as my dad when he ventures in on occasion, is, "Are you going to work today?" To me it seems odd. In my head I'm thinking, "Yeah...why wouldn't I?"

Although from my lack of punctuality as of late (by that I mean for the last several months) and my taking a day off here and there, I suppose there's some validity to the question. I'm working on getting in on time (he says, as he types on his laptop, already half an hour late). Being late hurts my Christian witness, I don't make as much money as I could (I'll need it later) and I'm sure Jack, the owner, doesn't appreciate it too much.

My ideal morning is getting up around 6:15 to spend some time in prayer and in the Bible before getting dressed and having breakfast and leaving by 6:45. Although now that summer's almost here, I'd like to start biking in. I'll save gas, my car's life, and my own health. As a bit of a side note, I also want to pay my bills on time. I'm really bad at it and I imagine my credit score to be less than desirable.

There goes Ben's alarm again. I'd better get going anyway, I just finished my last spoonful of the sweet milk left in the bowl after the cereal's mass migration to my stomache. I'm off to the hiss, clatter and rumble of the machine shop. My mind will be just as busy.

It was nice to have quiet for a little while.

Make That Not The Last

2007-03-09T18:23:00.000-05:00

Oh still and empty room
With companions
None but longing

The beauty you held
Aromas and feels
Still dissipating

Inhale and touch its last
With distance growing
And hearts as well

Though here I am
And there you are
He is with you always

And into His hands
I place you
Out of my own

Bless me He did
So unexpectedly
Through simple error

One last embrace
One last kiss
One last love's mention

Both mine and His
Though His prevails
And will keep you through all

Oh please, my God
My Creator, my heart's fulfiller
My sustainer, My provider

You are first
Now and always
But please if it be Your will

Make that not the last

In A Sky Of Tension

2007-02-13T00:27:00.000-05:00

The first of three breathing generations
Straining muscles of the heart
Pulling together a distant family
Its reality reaching you

Today could be final
Tomorrow could be too
But for now the day's events
Intermingle with unknown fate

A penny in the well
To bring my warmth to you
A small comfort
In the here and now (if only)

For now I am
Deaf and mute
In a sky of tension
Born of blind respect

Its very clouds moisten
These keys and bring
To life this expression
Within and without my tongue

No warning sign
Nor audible call to heed
But suddenly I find
Myself in the unknown

The unfamiliar

A sudden change of altitude
Rivets losing grip
Panels farewell the hull
Personal belongings merge with the night

Trust the captain I shall
Though every muscle in
Yearns to force out
And alter this event

I count the turn of the hour
In ticking and beating
And thoughts unceasing
For these are my companions

Were I to know the reason
For this sudden and unexpected
I could at least direct these
Sypanses firing away in the dark

But now I am adhered
To a lack of understanding
And a deep desire to leave
This room and enter yours

Finally it seems
Exhaustion wins out
But full yield unattained
Until peace doth find my soul

For The Lack Of Snow

2007-01-20T17:27:00.000-05:00

Fatboy Slim, "Praise You Like I Should"
previously, Dave Brubeck, "Give A Little Whistle" off of his fantastic album, "Dave Digs Disney"

The gap between entries has been steadily growing. Let's see if I can do something about that.

As I sit here, somewhat in the mood to dictate thoughts to my hands, I look for a subject and seem to be gravitating toward the bizarre weather we've been having here in New England. It's winter here. Well, sort of. Since the turn of the seasons (not the actual turn on December 21st, but the climate turn somewhere between November and December), we've had a week of cold weather, if that.

Most of our days have been at least in the 50's. One day a few weeks ago--a Saturday, I think--it was actually 70 out. Seventy degrees! This is January in New England. It's generally in the single digits by now. We've had a total of maybe an inch and a half of snow and that's only been in the past couple of days.

I had ventured over to the church with my brother to meet up with a few buddies to practice improv on Thursday night. We pulled into the parking lot and exited the car from our respective doors. In the light of the parking...well, light, were big, fat snowflakes silently pattering their way to the ground. I had to stop and simply stair at them for a little while, enjoying that which I had practically lost hope in. I really thought this winter would pass without a single snow.

But, Adam, how does a snowflake silently patter? I mean, if it's silent it doesn't make any noise. But if it "patters" then it does make noise. So what's the deal?

Good question, reader. Good question. You see, snow likes to be payed attention to. It doesn't beautifully drift its way to the ground under threat of melt simply to be ignored. If you're somewhere with lots of distractions, it knows. It will hit the ground without an ounce of audible expression. But, stand at a still and silent point in the universe and you find that...hey, snow does make a sound! It's very gentle though, so you must listen intently and enjoy the simplicity of its unimposing nature.

I really hope we get some more.

A Letter (Re: Letter From Mrs. Stanton)

2006-12-18T20:53:00.000-05:00

To the editor:

Re: Mrs. Stanton's Letter On "Three Small Peaches"

If you wouldn't mind publishing this letter to the public domain, there are a few things I would like to convey to Mrs. Stanton. Perhaps in an effort to defend the priceless and endangered imaginations of her children or at least to correct some of her misunderstandings.

I very much enjoyed the piece in question ("Three Small Peaches"). While I cannot evidentially argue that the author was not witness to any of the events described, I share the opinion with Mrs. Stanton that it is a work of fiction. I do not feel, however, that its fabricated nature should have any bearing on whether or not it is conveyed to children. I believe some of the greatest childrens' stories are fictitious.

"The Ugly Ducklking" for instance, teaches children that true beauty is on the inside. The Berenstein Bears have taught our children(my wife and I have three; two boys and a girl) life lessons on sharing, eating healthy, being responsible and much more. No, bears do not live inside trees with bay windows or dress in sky blue poka-dotted night gowns but the lessons are real.

Even if there is no lesson involved and the story is strictly for entertainment and exercising the imagination, its value is priceless. I cherish dearly the time I have spent reading classic stories with my children. "Alice In Wonderland" and "Treasure Island" are thoroughly enjoyed by our whole family.

I love to see the vibrant imaginations of my children spring forth when they are at play, driven by their favorite stories. It's wonderful to hear them come in from outside and regale us with tales of their many adventures and make-believe places. These same imaginations spawn the dreams that become the future. To stifle or starve them is incomprehensibly detrimental to their hearts, minds and souls.

I shudder to think of the dull, colorless and perfectionistic future you are instilling in your children. I only wish that I could aid them with more than just a letter.

P. Monroe
Tenforth, WA

A Letter (Re: Three Small Peaches)

2006-12-15T16:02:00.000-05:00

To the editor:

Re: "Three Small Peaches"

I recently read your entry about the three peaches on the kitchen table. My husband had read it prior to me and suggested I take a look at it as well. One would think, based on the title, that it would be about common produce or perhaps a recipe. At least that was our first thought. I was appauled to find that it was uninvolved with reality. It was disjointed and precariously lacking both a proper beginning and end.

While I did find it amusing for the first two sentences, to suggest that peaches cannot tell time or that their brown spots are expressions of distasteful inner feelings simply offends me as a self-aware human being. Utter nonsense.

I even felt I could possibly share it with my two boys, based on the title. It's complete fictional nature, however, has caused me to feel strongly otherwise. Were they to hear such stories they would undoubtedly arrive in the kitchen, after getting out of bed, asking how the apples were feeling this morning or why the bananas look so angry. Have you spoken with your grapefruit, mother?

I think not. Such falsities have no place in my home. And to top it all off is the undeniably gruesome end to the main character. To suggest that slicing fruit to eat is equivocable to the murderous act portrayed in your story is beyond my sense of reason.

The next time you write such as tory as this, perhaps you should name it, "A Peach Abandoned By His Two Lazy Companions, Unable to Tell Time, Is Slain." That would be far more apt a title.

Mrs. Joan Stanton
Scramlin, IL

It's What You Do With Them

2006-12-15T00:19:00.000-05:00

It's late and I should be in bed. But I'm thinking (and overly so) and thus cannot find it in myself to let go of consciousness.

So here I lie. Waiting, I think.

You see, getting hurt isn't bad, nor is being angry or frustrated. These things are natural and part of life and to feel them is not only permissable but expected. It's what you do with them that's right or wrong.

For instance, to be hurt by a few words from someone, however insignificant they may seem to anyone else, isn't wrong. Even if that hurt turns to anger, I think you're still in the green. Mind you, these are words that were not intended as they seem. However, when that anger is allowed to fester until you feel resentment and perhaps do not even feel like conversing with this person, that's not so good.

But I did that.

I let my hurt turn into anger, and instead of addressing it right away with a small, "Ouch. That didn't feel so good" or "Whoa, did you really mean that?" I ran. Not the kind of running to get away and cool down before calmly dealing with it, but running away from something. Being hurt causes me to back away. To close up. To shut off from the people (or person) around me. I huddle back into my shell where it's safe and warm and I can't get hurt. It's what's been taught to me over the years (though indirectly and unintended).

So for the entire evening, phone calls were vague and disconnected. I was quick and uninvolved because I didn't want to get hurt again. So I stayed back. "I'm fine" was the image I wanted to convey because "I'm hurt" makes me weak. It makes me vulnerable to further pain.

Of course none of this is valid. It's valid as far as the truth of its explanation but to fear these things around the particular individual in question is just silly. She wouldn't do anything to hurt me or cause me pain. She wants to see me do nothing but succeed and be that man that God created. Not that man, but me. This man.

So why did I fear vulnerability around her?

Because it went beyond the small thing I told you about in the phone call. I think part of it has to do with the fact that the main reason for the hurt was larger than the small bit I conveyed to you on the phone. It was a little biger than that (I realized that later).

But anyway...I'm tired enough that I just woke up to find this entry gone. Fortunately it was one button click away from its never having existed.

I'm not enjoying this lack of conclusion.

Sigh.

Three Small Peaches

2006-12-13T16:52:00.000-05:00

Three small peaches sat on the kitchen table.

One looked around wondering if the tall ones would return soon. They had mentioned something about a party of sorts. He did not recall their exact words but knew they were enjoying themselves. They laughed many times.

He pondered over the subject for several minutes, which is quick for a peach. He did not wish to dwell on such things with no knowledge of what a "party" or a "the Joneses" was. Nor did he concern himself with finding out. His two companions were asleep and not wishing to disturb them in addition to guessing that they most likely did not know either, he moved on.

It had only been a few days since his removal from the produce department at the market down the street but since peaches have never been taught the concept of time, it didn't matter in the slightest. There aren't enough wrinkles on their pit for that sort of information. There are enough wrinkles, however, to understand the concept of distance. And so, while days passed unbeknownst to him, he was aware of the exact distance of 354.6 feet he had travelled to their front door, the 15.8 feet to the table and the 0.2 feet he had moved when the lady tall one had accidentally bumped him with her elbow.

She did it quite by accident and appologised profusely but hadn't the presence to return him to his previous position. He thought it rude and in spite of her thoughtless attitude, and apparent lack of attention to his whereabouts, formed a brown spot just below his stem. "That will show her."

His next thought was not yet fully grasped when the knob on the great brown door creaked clockwise. "They're home," he realized. He looked at the clock to see how long they had been gone but suddenly remembered that leaves are greener during the summer. Peaches, so as not to feel lesser for lack of time awareness, distract themselves with all sorts of thoughts. This time it was leaves. The next time it could be a bowl of pine cones.

He may have continued on with the leaves but their footsteps began to move up the stairs. There were five steps (it wasn't a full staircase), each with its own unique creak which he had learned quickly. At any given moment, he would know exactly where on the stairs they were and whether or not they had remembered to remove their shoes.

The creaks sounded heavier this time. They were ascending with more weight than usual. He thought perhaps it was an extra layer of clothing or another peach or two from the market. "More friends," he thought. Any remote possibility of gaining more friends excites peaches so.

But as she sat the additional weight down on the table, the peach wish he had been asleep with the others. He wished he hadn't been conscious to see the horrible array that had been placed in his direct line of sight. He nearly began oozing juice from anywhere he possibly could. The horror of such a crime. As he struggled to understand exactly what would bring a tall one to commit such acts, he noticed a few words printed atop its structure.

"it Pla" it said.

Struggling to read further, he lost track of the tall ones' activities in the kitchen. He knew they were talking though not about what. "It just seems to be missing something," one said to the other. "Missing what?" he thought.

He turned to see their faces and perhaps gain a bit more understanding of their conversation. It was too late to notice the knife but he had just enough time to finish reading the words on the plastic cover that had been placed beside him. It was then he realized his fate.

"Fruit Platter"

Writer's Block

2006-12-07T22:45:00.000-05:00

(rī-tûrz blŏk), n.

1. A usually temporary condition in which a writer finds it impossible to proceed with the writing of a novel, play, or other work.

2. A usually temporary psychological inability to begin or continue work on a piece of writing.

The Power Of Clean

2006-11-15T22:23:00.000-05:00

As Sarah McLachlan greets the incoming night air with "The Rainbow Connection", I sit here wondering why in the world I haven't written for so long. But rather than lament over my absence, I'm just going to write.

At work lately, I've had the privilege of cleaning. Yes, privilege.

I'm not sure if this is true of all machine shops across the country (and world) but our shop is filthy. There's a good half inch of dust atop anything that hasn't been picked up and used in the last week. The floors are consistently coated with their own layer (of dust), plus chips that have fallen their way into the crevices separating the massive sectioned slabs of concrete. Then there are oil and grease stains on every tool, machine, chair, wall and anything else you can put your hands on without the threat of electrocution or amputation. Rust. Corroded cinder block dust (there are at least seventeen different varieties of dust). Grime. Smoke (both tobacco and burning oils on heated steel). Slime. Goo. Rot. Shavings. Pestilence. Chemicals.

Alright, there's no pestilence. But you get the picture. There are plenty of things lying around the shop that you just wouldn't want your bare hands coming in contact with.

For months now, whenever I've had a decently long run time, I've sat to read the paper or some other material that interests me (book, magazine, menu) or to write. However, that has gotten me into trouble. I've had scrapped parts, incorrectly machined parts, broken tools, stuff like that. Most incidents have been blamed on my distracted eyes, which should be paying attention to my work rather than the article on new large leaf-tea bags being produced by Lipton. Personally, I don't feel the tea is responsible. I don't know what I'd blame it on, per se, but I'd like to think the New York Times doesn't have it in for me.

So, I decided to be productive with my time. Productive not for me, but for the shop. That way, if I screw up, no one can say I was distracted by things unrelating to work. Hence the cleaning.

First, while Rich was away in Arizona, I cleaned off the bench where we sit, work, measure, calculate and perform other such indirect machining tasks. And I cleaned it. I reorganized, disposed of, put away, replaced, sprayed, wiped. Everything. That got me on such a productive and cleanly high that I decided to move my energy to the saw table.

It had gotten piled up with all sorts of things people didn't put away. Maybe due to laziness, maybe due to work demands. Whatever the case, it was all disorganized and dirty. So I cleaned it, made new organizational items to aid with keeping it clean, sprayed, wiped, all that stuff. And that got me going even more.

So I cleaned the humble but useful table beside my machine. I even screwed holes in the side and hand-made aluminum tool holders so the top wouldn't be perpetually cluttered with unused, and therefore unwanted, items. That was quite fun. Now the adjustable wrenches and red-handled pliers sit proudly in their very own, personal holders. Hooks for the wrenches and a loop for the pliers to sit in. It works quite well. I actually came close to getting carried away and making holders for everything on the table but realized that would have destroyed the table's very purpose. Reason set in.

And that got me going even MORE. So now I'm in the process of cleaning the table behind the machines where all of the vice jaws and miscellanious part-holding items reside. I hope to throw away many obsolete shop possessions. They just take up room where useful things can go. It's a shame, really.

I think I understand how the Empire felt now. They just got a cleaning high and wanted to extend it to the whole galaxy. Why stop at the Emperor's desk drawers when he can remove the scum and bring order to entire planets and star systems. That's really all they wanted to do, you know. Bring order. I imagine Vader as a very proud man when he was announcing the unveiling of the ultimate cleaning tool.

"Soon the Death Star will be complete!"

Sure he said they'll proceed to rule the galaxy but if you think about it, he was probably just referring to the complete dessimation of filth. What's wrong with that?

On Love, Relationships And The Conclusion Of Flies

2006-10-18T20:54:00.000-05:00

This is REALLY long! I'm just warning you.

One of you, anonymously (seriously, leave your name!) asked if Flies (see the entry, "Flies: It's Still On My Mind") were in fact still on my mind.

Good question.

Before I answer, however, allow me to elaborate on what Flies was (and still is but to a far lesser extent). I feel it's permissable at this point since the conversation has already taken place and the issues are out in the open and pretty much resolved.

I won't go into heavy detail but here it is:

It would sometimes bother me, even hurt, when Alyssa would get physical with another guy. Now don't read that and start questioning why I'm with her. She's just a big hugger and she's also very energetic and playful. So, on occasion, when she's just playing with a friend (mind you, this is with a bunch of people around so it's not like she's hiding anything or doing something bad), I interperet it as being flirty. And it's not that I think she's flirting because I know she's not. She has well proven herself in that area and fortified a trust in her. It's that she's very innocent and I don't want him to interperet it as flirting (or anything inappropriate for that matter).

I was also thrown off one night when she used the phrase "I love you" with a male friend. That one hit pretty hard.

But why? Why did all this bother me?

After a couple weeks of praying, thinking, and obvious guidance from the Lord, I came to a few conclusions that I wanted to share with Alyssa. If not to resolve issues, at least to get them in the open so that Satan would have less use of them against me. It's always better to bring something to the light. When left in the darkness, it can fester and grow into something even worse. I always feel better after I've opened up.

And these were my thoughts:

Throughout the short span of my life, I have been developing opinions. We all do. And in this case, especially over the last year, I have decided to keep certain affections and endearments close to my heart. I'm very particular with who they're distributed to; I don't just hand them out to anyone.

Alyssa, on the other hand, is very free with love in its various forms. She is not afraid to tell you she loves you or give you a hug just about any time. And that conflicts with how I do things. While I don't want to change her, it is sometimes a struggle to see her being affectionate with other guys. I mean, she's affectionate with all of her friends, it's just hard with the guys.

And I'm not the only male who struggles with this. That at least let's me know I'm not alone.

But then, two days before the conversation, God took my thoughts in a completely different direction. I began to process thoughts in a new light.

What if she's right?

The very second I asked that question, something inside me melted. Some cold, bitter thing that I had carried around for years just up and vanished. I felt it. Not to be cliche, but a burden was lifted. And being that it was so freeing a thought, I continued with it.

What if I had been holding back a gift that belongs to everyone? Love is a gift that belongs to all of us. God's love is for all. Alyssa knows this. Her heart is so big and the love she shows is so genuine. The world is in desperate need for more people like her.

We've shut off love, or at least turned it way down. Somewhere, somehow, we became afraid to love. I'll get hurt. I'll pour all this love out and get none in return. No one cares anyway.

All lies.

Love, in its true, godly form, is perfect. It warms the heart and melts hate. It isn't biased or easily thwarted. It's the most powerful force in the world.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

Jesus Christ didn't express love to just his disciples. He loved everyone equally. Alyssa follows that example to a far greater degree than I. She is not wrong in what she is seeking to do; to share the love of Christ. I so badly want to be able to do that. To love the people around me without hinderance or restraint.

But of course, as with most things, there is the other side.

"'Everything is permissible' --but not everything is beneficial. 'Everything is permissible' --but not everything is constructive. No one should seek his own good, but the good of others." (1 Corinthians 13:23-24)

Jesus Christ, while exemplifying Christ's love, did not have the same relationship with everyone. He had earthly family, His Heavenly Father, friends, closer friends. His main group of friends, the disciples, got to see an intimate side of Jesus that no one else did. Take the last supper for instance; only the disciples. And even within the group, some were closer than others. When Jesus went to Gethsemane, all the disciples went with Him. But He asked Peter, James and John specifically to accompany Him and pray.

Did He love them all? Yes. But did they all have the same relationship with Him? No.

And so it is with love. We are to love everyone but our relationships are all different. My relationship with my brother, Ben, is different than my relationship with my friend, Topher. My relatinoship with my cousin, Chelsea, is different than my relationship with Alyssa. I love them all but in different ways.

I guess somewhere along the line, I feared that Alyssa would not make that distinction. For instance, when she said "I love you" to her friend and saw that it hurt me, she said "I love you" to me. Having not come yet to any of the previously mentioned conclusions, it offered no comfort. I wondered, instead, how special it was if she said it to everyone.

I have learned to differentiate between them now. I realize that she can and does distinguish one from another. I knew that anyway but Satan loves to play the deception card, so it would sometimes seem otherwise.

Then there's the question of what's appropriate and what's not. I don't think it's an easy answer. Relationships (friends, familly, romantic, otherwise) like much in life, are case-by-case. What applies to one may not apply to another, no matter how similar.

There are, however, boundaries that must be in place and maintained. One of these boundaries I had to learn through pain, but it was (is) an important lesson. A thank you goes out to Grace for this one. She was previously referred to as "Corey" several entries back. Through your example, hard as it was, I have grown. I have learned.

Perhaps you, like I, cringe at the word "inappropriate". But for me to be in a relationship and to hang out with another girl (woman, female, whatever) is just that. Inappropriate. It can be viewed in a way that was unintended, both by the party included and by outsiders. It may give the wrong idea or send the wrong "signal". It may hurt the person you're in a relationship with. Whatever the case, I find it inappropriate.

Unless it's an emergency, I will not spend time with a girl, just the two of us. A long time friend rolls into town and wants to catch up with me over lunch. Fine. Dinner? I don't know. Dinner just has a different feel to it. Lunch is an eat-it-anywhere, on-the-go kind of meal. Dinner is a time spent with family and those close to you as you unwind at the end of the day. At least it should be. Some late night conversation, maybe a movie (with the friend)? Absolutely not.

One of the hardest things to do is rebuild boundaries after a relationship. As friends, areas of your heart are off limits. While in the relationship, a closeness is allowed. A certain intimate bond. Post relationship, however, those boundaries MUST be put back in place.

After I broke up with Heather, I knew we could not spend time alone with each other. It aids in rebuilding, healing and all those steps you have to go through. It brings finality and closure. What once was is no more, and cannot continue. I mean, I love her (as a friend) but the boundaries must remain protected.

Pam and I have been friends since Jr. High (middle school if that's what you call it). We've been very close at points and less close at others. But we've been friends for a long time. Once my relationship with Alyssa started, I needed to set up boundaries with Pam. I told her that I would no longer spend late nights with her, watch movies alone with her or spend time one-on-one. Partly because I had a thing for her at one point (and in those relationships all of this is particularly important) but it was mostly because I wanted to avoid anything (here's the word again) inappropriate. It's also out of respect to Alyssa and our relationship.

Can I hang out with Chelsea? Sure, she's my cousin. She's family. That's different.

I don't trust certain guys in her (Alyssa's) life that I have not made mention of so as to respect their current state of anonymity. As I said, she's just an innocent girl trying to bring out the best of the world. But while trying to bring out the good, she can sometimes miss the other side. I mean, we all do. Love can melt the bad in the world. God has shown me that, often through her. Love is amazing but it can be taken advantage of. Caution must be exercised and that is why I continue to watch these things carefully.

So what is the conclusion of all this?

Well a lot of it is just thinking outwrite. But I can say that I want to love more evidently and openly those around me. I trust Alyssa but I do not trust the world (the collective of sin we have put in it). And so we learn from each other as the Lord guides us. Four years ago I wasn't ready for any of this. But God has been building my character little by little, removing the layers of flesh to reveal the true heart and soul inside. There are still many more layers to go but we're getting there.

Baby steps.

The Beer Ministry

2006-10-18T16:09:00.000-05:00

Joe, Ben and myself were sitting around the table on Joe's back deck. We had opened a Growler of #9 that we had purchased at the Magic Hat Brewery in Burlington, Vermont.

SIDENOTE: A "Growler" is a half gallon, glass jug. The only application for it that we saw while in Vermont (which is also the only state I've ever seen it in...not that I've been to that many) was for beer. Say you're at a restaurant called "The Shed" in Stowe that brews its own phenomenal Porter. Or maybe you're at a brewery where the #9 is the best you've ever had (you can actually SMELL the Apricot) and you want to ensure having some back in Connecticut because driving to Vermont for a glass (or free sample) would take five to six hours. This is all hypothetical of course. You can purchase a Growler or two to take with you. :END SIDENOTE

We were discussing our weeks when Ben proposed an idea.

Why don't we meet (just us guys) once a week to open up to each other about what's been going on with our lives. Our troubles, our encouragements, our trials, our curiousities. And why not talk about it all over a beer? I don't know that women will ever fully understand this, but sharing a beer with your buddies is a great way to connect with one another; to be intimate as fellow warriors.

We hang out already but just to horse around and have fun being guys. But this is different. This involves more genuine and uplifting conversation. We have to really listen. It requires confidentiality, trust and love between brothers in Christ. This means growth and closeness in our friendships and as men fighting the good fight.

We instantly adopted it.

There were questions that came afterward.

Do we want to keep it just us or can anyone come?

We considered the options and decided that rather than let it get cliquey or exclusive, we would keep it open to anyone (provided they're a male). That lets us not only share the love of Christ and minister to men outside of our trio, but we are ministered to as well. We learn and grow beyond what we already know.

What about men who are against drinking entirely?

Well they don't have to. They are more than welcome to participate or abstain as they see fit. But we will not put it away because of a single objection. We believe it to be an integral part of the group in that it promotes "man-time". You are with fellow men who will love you only as men can. Feel free to be yourself, uninhibited by the pretexts and judgments of the fickle, hypocritical world. Have a beer or don't. But either way, just be you.

And this is not to say that we will always have beer, because we won't. At least we haven't. We've met once on purpose and have had a few accidental meetings as well. Meaning we were together and just started talking about concerns we have, trials (previous and ongoing), praises and the like. We prayed and talked about what we had been reading from the Bible. There have been a couple times when we haven't had beer. So like I said; it won't be all the time.

Then there was the question of what to call it. What name do we give this weekly band of ours? The first one out stuck.

The Beer Ministry.

You may look at that and think, "You can't combine those! You can't join alcohol and a ministry group! No way! What're you, out of your mind?!?" And you wouldn't be alone. There are other Christians out there who will immediately shun the idea. But that's okay. There's always resistence from somewhere. They don't have to like it.

We're not looking for approval from everyone. We're just looking for a place to be us. A place where we can comfortably share ourselves without the pretenses that sometimes exist in church groups. You can fail here. You can get angry. You can have a bad day and wonder where God was. You can be you and we'll love you for it. We'll help you through listening, encouraging and most of all, prayer. We're all warriors.

We'll fight the battle with you.

Romans 12:9-21...

"Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

"Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.

"Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: 'It is mine to avenge; I will repay,' says the Lord. On the contrary:

"'If your enemy is hungry, feed him:
if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.

"In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.'

"Do not overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

Flies: It's Still On My Mind

2006-10-10T15:35:00.000-05:00

It's still on my mind.

This morning for two particular reasons. Last night I talked with the guys about it and went through old photos I didn't quite care for (and I'm not in them). My stomache tightened when I looked at them. To make it worse, there were doubles. While part of me wishes this weren't so, there's no denying that it is.

The second reason is that I'm ready. I've formed my opinions. I know where I stand. I've got the answers I've been waiting for and the reasons that had previously eluded me. The conversation is prepared.

But I can't.

It's the kind of conversation I want to have with no distractions. No interuptions. No time limits due to obligations or otherwise. this is the first time I can speak my heart on this particular issue (let us call it...flies), so the waiting time is twice as hard. Until I can release that mental pressure, I have to put up with these thoughts bouncing around at high speeds.

When I was ready to say "I love you" to Alyssa (because I do), I had to wait on that one too. It was also very difficult to walk around with, putting so much effort into containing it until the right time (the Lord's time). But when that bounced around, it was nice to look at.

Flies, on the other hand, are ugly. They're annoying. They're bothersome. The worst part is that flies are harmless. I mean, that's good, but I let them anger me and distract me from what's really going on. So any pain derived from their presence is self-inflicted. Their soul weapon is annoyance.

The only source of true comfort during the time it's taken me to sort through it all (it has been a difficult and trying process) is the Great Bullfrog Himself. Yep, I just used an amphibean as an analogy for God. How do you like that?

Lord, eat 'em up.

To You (My Readers)

2006-10-05T16:44:00.000-05:00

I don't have time for an entry of my usual length or elaboration but I had a few moments and wanted to at least leave you with something.

Quite frankly, I regret that I haven't written more lately. Ideas are beginning to back up in my head where I've stored them for future blogging release. And from what I gather, you have missed my entries as well. I don't say that to boast or anything of that undesirably prideful nature but rather I am merely saying that we all seem to miss these entries. And so I will do my best to end these large and tedious pauses between one entry and the next.

Not to use a cliched excuse but I have been rather busy.

I'd like to take this opportunity...scratch that, I am taking this opportunity to thank you all for your continued viewership. There are those of you I know read and there are those of you that I guess read. Do let me know you stopped by. Leave a comment, write me an email and let me know, use smoke signals, send a carrier pigeon, whatever. And I have a small favor to ask. If you do leave a comment, don't leave it as anonymous. Use your name, or at least put your name at the end of the comment. I'd just like to know my audience a little more.

That's all.

And how about those autumn leaves? They're finally starting to glow here in New England (at least in Connecticut, I can't speak for those places I am not present). For those of you who live outside of New England, I regret to inform you that regardless of whether your trees change, you are really missing out.

Alright, carry on.

Sheep Are What?

2006-09-27T21:33:00.001-05:00

Stupid.

Very stupid.

For those of you that don't know, I was, a few years ago, a junior high sponsor at my church's youth group. What we call "sponsor" you might know as "counselor" or something of that nature. I worked with all of the kids but junior high was my focus. I was doing it for the wrong reasons (like just to stay with the familiar fun of youth group) but that's another entry.

Pastor Gregg has asked me if I would consider returning.

I gave it a trial run last Wednesday and had a great time. Not because I was again in the company of free-spirited youth and all that accompanies them, but because I have things to offer them. I've had experiences between the last time and now that have reshaped who I am. No, that's not right. They removed the layers of the world that have caked on through the years to reveal parts of the man underneath. The man that God created in His image. Adam. Me.

Two nights down and I love these kids already. This is not to say that the road ahead will be easy or that demonstrating God's love to them will be a scoop of ice cream (piece of cake is too cliche for me). Dark and difficult times lie ahead. I know this. It's part of life. But I'd like to, Lord willing, be there with and for these kids during those times in both my life and their own. The amazing thing is that not only can they learn from me, but I from them.

Take tonight for instance.

Tonight's lesson was on the analogy of Jesus being the shephard and us being the sheep. Sheep are, as we learned this evening (though I knew already), stupid. They will eat themselves into lostness. Meaning they will focus on nothing but the grass in front of them until they've eaten themselves away from the flock without a clue as to how they got there. One of the people on the DVD we watched said a sheep once rean into her car. Not that it was standing in the road and she hit it. She had stopped at this point and the sheep just ran right into it.

We began, in small group, discussing the analogy and how it applies. How we as humans, with our finite understanding and severely limited comprehension, are represented by the sheep. We'll indulge ourselves into lostness.

That's why we need a shephard.

That's where Jesus comes in. He's the shephard caring about the entire flock's wellbeing. And not just as a whole but as individual sheep. He provides for our needs all day long.

One of the kids conveyed that he sometimes feels abandoned. Where is God in all this if my prayers aren't answererd? How can I believe in an invisible God when He hasn't helped me out yet? These are all good questions and to use the lesson (both to give the conversation some focus and because it applied), I refered to the shephard.

Sometimes, when the sheep are extra stubborn, the shephard will literally hit them with his staff. WHACK! I'm not a sheep but I'm sure that hurts. But if they didn't get that whack; if they didn't receive that pain, they may have continued on with what they were doing, resulting in a greater pain or perhaps even death. So there's pain. But sometimes it's God pointing us in the direction of safety. Because we were too stupid to see the big picture. All we see is the grass in front of us.

We are the sheep and He is the shephard.

We are stupid and by His infinite wisdom are we lead.

That is if we choose to follow it. Though we are "stupid" and our knowledge is incredibly limited, we are still able to make a choice. Do we go out on our own into lostness and become our own guide? Or do we follow the shephard and trust His direction?

After just a few moments on the evening's scheduled topic, the kids asked some unexpectedly deep questions.

What happens when you die?
Is God the same always or does He change?
What happens when the world ends?
Why did Jesus die for our sin?

It was amazing to go from last week's fairly quiet small group to this week's big discussion. We were supposed to stay on subject (the sheep analogy) but these questions could not go unanswered. So, James (the other sponsor with me) and I answered as many and as best as we could with our limited sheep's knowledge.

They are such great kids. They asked wonderful questions and gave answers I wouldn't expect from someone in junior high (that doesn't even go to church). They are seeking and learning. They're growing and discovering. They're yearning for the truth; for something solid to put their faith into. This world is far too fickle for that. And they know it.

I'm looking forward to my time with these kids.

Lift Me Up

2006-09-14T23:25:00.000-05:00

I am going absolutely crazy
But there's no one here to listen
Save the two co-inhabitants in the next room

They, being the source of bitter closing
Would not be a well chosen place
To go and attempt to reopen

She is busy with distractions
Keeping her from hearing my weakened voice
And so I cannot turn in that direction

A friend perhaps or brother
But they two are the seeming source
Of the lock upon my door

I begin to look within
For answers, solutions, comfort
Anything to take me away

And it's there that I find You
It's there that You meet me
In the darkened spaces inside

And You know exactly what I need
To continue walking upright
Above the bitter this night has carried

And You are all I need
To get me through this
Time of difficult travel

Forgive my reliance on fickle and temporary
Rather than Your constant and everlasting
Never failing to provide the necessary

Lift me up

Stowe, VT...Day 1

2006-09-14T08:16:00.000-05:00

Some things you should know before you begin:

Besides that this is really long. My grandparents have a time-share in Stowe, Vermont. This year, they were only able to use it through Monday and had to come home Tuesday morning. Upon asking if any of our family would like to use it, I jumped at the chance and immediately called Joe and informed him of the opportunity. We had been wanting a vacation for a little while. And we got it, despite an unsure schedule issue with Joe's time at work.

This may not be as juicy as some entries you've come to enjoy but I will try and avoid the tedious play-by-play (though it will be difficult as this is simply a conveyance of the events of the day) and make it at least somewhat interesting.

This is the account of the first day.

The morning started fairly uneventfully aside from my waking up a half hour late. If it weren't for my mom telling me the time as I lay in bed, I probably wouldn't have even gotten up then. So thanks, mom.

I ran around like crazy putting things in the car. This goes in the trunk, that can go in the backseat, why am I even taking this? My car was already getting full and I hadn't picked up Joe yet. More stuff.

Then it was time for the bikes.

We had spent a good three hours gettingn the Thule racks on my car on Sunday evening. Our mountain bikes, and Joe's road bike, were to accompany us on the trip up to Stowe. Their seats would be a little less comfortable than ours but for a bike I think there is no better place than being out in the 70 mile per hour wind on top of the car. It's exhilerating.

Wait a second...wait, my bike won't fit on here. I'll try the other one. Oh shoot, it won't fit on this one either.

So despite the several hours of bolting, clamping, fastening, tightening and fitting we had done two nights previous, this Pirhana (the bike model) was not going to make it. I had to call Joe and give him the bad news.

Rather than give you a play-by-play, I'll just say that, despite there being an alternative bike rack solution, the decision was made to leave the bikes at home. This would be a hiking week. The heart of man has many plans but the Lord's will prevails. And so it was to be.

Somehow, perhaps due to some time vortex that opened up, we made it through Springfield (Massachusetts) in twenty minutes. It normally takes about forty. So...we were quite surprised (not that we were complaining). It ended up working quite well because the rest of the drive took much longer than we had expected.

We played phone/voicemail tag with my father all morning who had been up with my grandparents for the weekend. But of course we're in Vermont, so service isn't guaranteed anywhere. We ended up pulling off on the exit we last knew their location to be (exit 1 off of 89N). Quechee. Dad had said they were going to check out the Quechee State Park, home of a massive gorge. We had passed an Antique Mall (yeah, really...it's Vermont) before passing the entrance to the park. On the lookout for a white Chrysler minivan, we turned around to head back. Knowing my grandfather, we checked out the Antique place first.

And sure enough, there they were trying various Cabot cheeses, infused maple syrups and meandering around the store to see what it had to offer. The cheese were quite good. The syrups, while interesting, were far from that like-no-other taste of pure maple syrup.

Being that my dad was unaware that our bikes had stayed home and that the racks were still on the car, we decided to have a little fun. While still in the store, a small but opportunistic conversation about the safety of our bikes came up. Joe and I played along. Then we got outside.

"Your bikes are gone," my dad said.
"Already? We just got here," I replied.

My dad's not stupid.

"Alright, where'd you put the bikes?" he asked.

I had to confess that we had left them at home, which he was surprised about until I further explained that they just don't fit right. Joe came out of the store after asking for directions to the Harpoon Brewerey.

"Oh my gosh! Our bikes are gone!!"

But of course my dad already knew. Anyway, trying to avoid another play-by-play again, we exchanged hugs, got necessary directions, suggestions on what to do while we were at the time-share (like not leaving the windows open and food on the table because squirrels will get in...an isolated incident that happened to one place) and so on. After departing, we headed to the Harpoon Brewery.

For that, however, we had to backtrack two exits.

Now, in Connecticut that's fine. That would take all of five minutes. But in Vermont, where there can be over ten miles between exits, it takes a while longer. Vermont is absolutely beautiful but that's one thing I don't like. Highway driving here is so tedious and drawn out. If it weren't, that would make Vermont more populated and I don't think I'd like that. But still...I'm just used to the highways in Connecticut where even in rural areas, it's a quick drive. Whatever.

There were no tours being done when we got there but we did happen upon a specialty beer that we could only get there at the brewery. It's called "Framboise" which means "raspberries" in French. That's no coincidence. It's a raspberry lambic which we have yet to try (I'm writing this on Thursday morning). But wow are we looking forward to it. We would have already if it weren't for the other beers we've picked up here and there and the wines we brought up. No, we're not getting drunk. We just enjoy the drinks. There's flavor in there, ya know.

Upon getting off the highway and nearly entering Stowe, we stopped in at a local winery. "Grand View". I will sum it up by saying that while we were polite and respectful in the tasting room, this is what were both thinking on our way out and really wanted to say:

"Your wines are dull, and you are dull. Good day, sir!"

Next door was the Cold Hollow Cider Mill where we ate fifty cent apple cider donuts (veeeery good) and tried to acquire unpasteurized apple cider. It tastes much better than the regulr pasteurized you can find at any store. And apparently here, it comes with a form we have to sign. Why, you ask? Because when you pasteurize something, you're taking out all of the bacteria, worms, parasites and other things that are potentially unhealthy for you. Whereas unpasteurized still contains those things. But unfortunately the owner/manager could not be found and we were forced to concede defeat (at least for the time being) to health.

Next stop was the Cabot Annex (as opposed to the main Cabot Creamery) where we purchased some cheeses and a bottle of apple cider wine. We skipped Ben & Jerry's (right down the road), though I imagine we'll be in there before the trip is over. They are of course among my favorite ice creams (the others being Edy's, Hagen Dazs, Godiva, and Brigham's). I have expensive ice cream tastes.

We checked in at the Trapp Family Lodge and discovered that it is, according to some survey done, the 376th hotel to stay at in the world (out of the top 500). That's fairly impressive. But of course we weren't staying in the hotel, we were staying in the "guest houses" down below. It's on the side of a mountain and rather beautiful to see, and to look out from at the opposing mountain. I'll get some photographs up here at some point. Perhaps not for years but they'll get here.

Dinner was eaten at "The Shed" where we encountered perhaps the most "goal-oriented" owner/manager we have ever met. That's how Rachel, our waitress, put it. Apparently no one's a big fan of her but she gets things done. Our conversation with Rachel was pleasant and enjoyable. I would say "conversations" since she's back and forth and it could be one subject now and another later but really it's just one big one with pauses in between. We told her we'd be back again (Thursday or Friday because that's when she'll be working next). It wasn't just for her though, the food was great and they brew their own beer. Their porter is delicious as is their "Barnyard Brew"...or is it Farmyard? Well, whatever the agriculturally derived name, it's good.

After coming back, we ate more (we're eating way too much). Cheeses, humus we bought at Shaws earlier, crackers, chips and a pumpkin/maple cream cheese roll/pastry thing I purchased at the cider mill earlier. All good but way too much.

Too much food is a theme developing over our time here. You'll see as more of these entries come.

Falling asleep with my laptop propped up on my legs, I decided to go to sleep. Sorry to those of you who were talking to me at the time. I didn't mean to neglect you.

Anyway...good first day. Let's see if the others can follow.

Three Magic Oats

2006-08-22T20:38:00.000-05:00

My mom, in a fit of rage, sent me to sell our family goat today.

She (my mom) keeps an herb garden in the backyard full of all manor of smells, tastes and colors. It's been there for several years and has, as a result, flourished into a varitable cornocopia of food-enhancing plant life. The goat, which we had unanymously voted to name Fargus, had been tied up in the backyard for a little over a week due to the incident in the basement. I haven't the time nor the energy to go into the details of the event, but I will say that it involved an unusually large sack of undercooked meatballs. After gnawing through the rope that quarantined it to the back corner of the yard, it meandered its way toward the garden.

No one was home during this time so we only found the aftermath of its herb binge. The only survivor of the ordeal was the parsley. One would expect to be comforted that something had persevered the hunger of the now ill-fated quadraped but upon its creation, parsley was predestined to be a mere garnish. So while we now at least possessed something to add to the aesthetic of a meal, our taste buds mourned a great loss.

My mother held her calm as the neighbor's watched, wondering what would become of the spiteful Fargus that now stood among trampled and half eaten plants (except the parsley). My mom knew the goat had done this for revenge; to get back at those that had punished it. She knew because she could smell the cumin on its breath. And we had known since we acquired Fargus that he would shy away from even the sight of it. So to now see him standing in it and to even have eaten it spoke of the audacity with which he approached this attrociously vengeful act.

But as soon as we were back in the house, she let loose. I have never seen such anger fly out of her as I did then. I imagine steam would have come rushing out of her ears had she filled up with water a good hour before hand. So, as I said before, she immediately made plans for me to sell Fargus.

It was difficult to find even a prospective buyer, given the goat's now tainted history. The entire day brought me nothing but a variety of ways to use up energy. As the sun began to set, I was growing weary. And when you're tired, you'll take almost any offer to get rid of the burden you're carrying around. Including three magic oats.

That's right. Three magic oats.

I readily agreed as it was the best offer I had heard all day. Word about the goat's taste for revenge had gotten around quickly and no one was biting. So at this point, as unlikely as it was, three magic oats sounded pretty good. A few ounces in my pocket compared to a couple hundred stubborn pounds was no contest. I gave up the goat, took the oats and headed home.

Before commending me on my earnings (if that is what you feel inclined to do), there is something you should know. My mother was not happy about it at all. But you should also know something about magic oats.

They're quite different from beans in that they do not grow up but sideways. And so, rather than waking up to a bean stalk reaching through the clouds, you'll awaken in the morning to an oat mound several miles long (if your angry mother throws them out the window the night before) which merely causes flight delays, mangles with the traffic flow, relocates grazing cows to back yards where they are not welcome, and angers that one pedestrian who will inevitably be on his way to pick up a gallon of milk.

The latter has only himself to blame, however, as he was too lazy to get it the night before, not wanting to interupt his favorite television show. And so his anger is merely misdirected. But I suppose better at that mound than at an unsuspecting person in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If your mother does not throw them out the window the night before, you'll find those three oats exactly as they were before you fell asleep and wonder if they're really magic at all. And knowing what you are thinking, the oats will be insulted and disappear completely. They will thus show you that they are, indeed, magic but also deprive you of any further show of it.

My mother, as I have mentioned several times, was angry. And without a second thought, she tossed those oats out the kitchen window. That was a few hours ago. The oats, without a doubt, are working in the soil beneath. We'll awaken in the morning to a mound of magical wonder and inconvenience.

Fun.

My Luna Moth

2006-08-19T09:45:00.000-05:00

This morning I left the house.

Any other morning that would be unquestionably normal. If my mom or dad were up, they would most likely audibly wonder where I was going. And I would tell them. Maybe I'd be out to a friend's house, going to the store or just wandering around aimlessly.

But this morning was different. I'm here in Wolcott again which means I'm not at my own house. I slept in my room (on the couch downstairs). I went to bed in an awkwardly silent mood, knowing I could neither talk to Alyssa nor hug and kiss her good night. For her sake, I will not share with you the particulars of her character that lead to said decision but I will say that it was a conscious choice on my part.

Normally I do. I'll kiss her several times on the cheek, forehead, eyebrow (one of my favorites). We don't kiss on the lips, a decision we've made together but that's another entry if I so choose to share. You'll have to wait and see. I did not realize why it was that I refrained from these outward affections but I just knew that I couldn't. The only words I let out last night, on my way to the couch, were quietly whispered.

"Good night."

I thought that perhaps sleep would conquer these unsettlingly disconnected emotions. It usually does. Sleep has this odd ability to melt off negativity and cause the previous day's frustrations to somehow vanish.

But not this time.

I woke up feeling the same way. I didn't want to talk to Alyssa. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Getting back to what normally happens, I tend to wake up and walk into her room to bid her a pleasant good morning. I'll sit bedside and talk to her for a few minutes about whatever happens to be on our minds or floating around in the vast spaces upstairs. It's an enjoyable way for me to start my weekend days here. But this morning, after a hollow "good morning" to her, I suggested she go back to sleep. It was not yet 8:00 in the morning and we hadn't exactly gotten to sleep at a decent time the night before.

So, after my suggestion that she return to her unconscious state, I went back to my couch. Why? I don't know. But every time she walked in the room I pretended to sleep. I just didn't want to talk. To anyone, really. She just happened to be the one there.

I had, after a few seconds of lying on that couch under the guise of my shut eyelids, an undeniable urge to leave. To grab my Bible, get in my car and just go. I knew where too. I had to go to the local high school. It's a big, quiet space of fields and pavement.

So I left. I got up, said not a word to Alyssa, changed my clothes, grabbed my Bible, picked up my keys and my iPod (just in case) and left. I felt a little guilty for not saying anything to her about where I was going or what I was doing. But I knew it had to be this way. Even if just for me.

I walked around the school fields just talking to God about what's been going on the last few days. He knows, sure. But it's nice to tell Him anyway. I had to confess some things to Him and ask Him advice on some others. And some things were just me relaying how I've been feeling. It was a nice time, just the two of us.

On the final stretch of ground before I got back to the car, God left me something. There, laying in the still dew moistened grass, was a Luna Moth. I have only seen one once before in my life. So to see it now, just sitting on the ground (and not moving when I touched it) was amazing.

I wanted to get something to bring it home on (or in) to show Alyssa. I grabbed some cardboard from a nearby dumpster but not before taking a few pictures with my phone. That turned out to be a good idea. Upon returning from my garbage recanoitre, it was gone.

But I saw it. I was there. For the brief moment that it chose to rest there in the grass, unswayed by human hands, I got to see it. No one else.

And that made me think.

Have I been taking this relationship for granted? Have I been trying to fit it into a certain box or at least trying to avoid parts of it that are to my dislike? Maybe that's going to far. Maybe it's just that I've been trying to manipulate every moment of time spent with her to get everything I can out of it. But it doesn't work that way.

If I put that moth there in the grass, what special moment would that have been? What would I have then experienced but my own hands at work? And while it can be good to see the fruits of my labor, it isn't anything special for me to manipualate beauty into existence. Because in all honesty, I can't.

And so what good is it for me to manipulate my time with Alyssa? What will I gain from creating my own special moments? Absolutely nothing.

But what do I gain from letting God control and direct? Everything! When He is in control and when I let go and allow Him to do His thing and simply follow His lead, I am shown His glory and beauty through His works. Who am I to attempt control of a God given gift?

My life is His. This relationship is His. And because it is His, it is His to do with as He sees fit, according to His will. And I want nothing else. Those Luna Moth moments in my life, and in our relationship are His doing. Just the way they are. I can't create that moment. Only He can. And they're blessings to be enjoyed and cherished not held on to and stretched by my hands as much as possible.

Alyssa is His too. And I should not ask her to be anything other than that which He has created her to be. She is His and His alone. She is a gift also. Something to be enjoyed and cherished. Something to be, as I so galantly said two entries ago, fought for. To be protected.

Thanks for the moth, God. And thanks for Alyssa.

About Ten Minutes

2006-08-16T21:49:00.000-05:00

The estimated time between now and when an expected phone call will hit my phone.

Let's see where I can get in that time.

While I hate wasting time in explanations, this may need one. Alyssa will be calling me when she finishes her movie with Kay. The estimated time span between now and then is ten minutes. I wanted to see what I would be able to blog about in that time. So let's see what happens...

My parents just arrived home from a play or musical they saw in...nah.

I was listening to the Superman Returns soundtrack in my head while I was getting ready for bed. Oh shoot. I forgot to brush my teeth. Well...it can wait. The particular track I was replaying goes to the scene where Superman is having a conversation with Lois Lane while flying her around, thousands of feet above the city.

The way the music is written and the remembrances it brings of the scene bring me to that place. That patch of sky way up there where no one else is. Where there are no noises, no distractions, no problems. Just quiet.

And here's the phone call.

Just as my time has ended, so must this entry. Perhaps I'll elaborate on it at a later time or perhaps I'll leave it as a random moment in time, just the way it is. We'll all find out together.

On Difficult Battles and Shopping With Women

2006-08-06T09:39:00.000-05:00

Last night was difficult.

I am torn between two things. Do I write, elaborating in a reasonably respectful level, or do I give it a general approach? The reason for the difficulty in deciding is that the parties involved are not aware of my feelings for this past evening's events. And it would thus be a bit unfair for them to happen upon those feelings here in a public blog as opposed to a heart felt conversation between just us two. And so you see my problem. Do I or don't I?

I guess we'll all find out.

I've been in Wolcott since Friday night, spending my precious and limited leisure time with my amazing girlfriend. We've been enjoying each other's company and the events that have taken place over the past two days, including a shopping trip with Jean (Alyssa's mom), Emily (sister), Kaylee (sister) and Jimmy (mom's boyfriend). If any of you read this, please excuse any misspelling of your name. Correct me if you like.

Clothes shopping with women is an entirely different experience than it is with men. Although, truthfully, I can't say that i've ever been on a guy's group shopping trip. I guess we just don't do that. Anyway, it's an interesting experience. I was a foreigner in the women's section, always watchful of the exit aisles and knowing which direction to dart in if an escape was necessary.

Their shopping method is very interesting. First, they scan the racks. Then, when at least seven items of clothing have been plucked from them, a course to the fitting rooms is plotted. I'm not sure exactly what happens inside there but somewhere between entering and exiting, five clothing items are abandoned. The two that make it have survived stage one. This same process gets repeated a few times until a total is reached (it varies) and those that have made it through the entire ordeal are purchased and brought home to be worn a few times, after which they remain dormant in the closet for a year or so until they are rediscovered. They may be worn again; they may be disposed of or given away. One never knows.

I want to stop here and give an extremely large "THANK YOU" to Jean, the founder of our trip. Many purchases were made, including some of my own, and all were paid for (including lunch at one of my favorite restaurants, "The Corner Pug") by her. I was not expecting at all that I would be included in these monetary exchanges. So when I was, I was very greatful. Thank you, Jean. Thank you for the warm and welcome place I have in your family.

Moving on.

Joe, as it happened, had ventured down to Wolcott with Ross for a graduation party. I never discovered who it was for. I suppose it doesn't really matter. The funny thing about that is that upon his arriving in Wolcott, I was arriving back home at the mall. It's a good half hour trip between the two, so for both of us to simultaneously be entering the other's weekend habitat was quite situationally humerous.

Post party, Joe and Ross waited for a bit so that when our humble band of shoppers returned from our clothing rack adventures, we could hang out. Good plan, I thought. We met them at a local deli and guided them in.

"Wow," i thought, "I finally get to introduce Joe to Alyssa's sisters and dad, if he happens to be home." He wasn't. "And, he can see where i hang out on most weekends," and all that sharing with a friend jazz. Well..

Originally I had intended to, in a non specific way, lament over the trouble shooting I went through during the evening. However, I'm not going to do that for two reasons. One, I just don't feel like doing that. And two, Joe and I have made amends for the day in question. SIDENOTE: It has been over a week since I started this entry: END SIDENOTE

I could go up and read all that I've blogged because, in all honesty, I have no recollection as to what I typed up. But that just wouldn't be my style. It shall remain as it is, untouched by even the hands that created it...at least for now.

Although...I do want to say one thing.

While Joe was at Alyssa's, there were several things that agrivated me. They shouldn't have gotten to me; they were small and, in the long run, insignificant. But slowly and surely they built up anger inside me. The kind where my stomache gets all tight. It's hard to do that.

In sharing with you what it was that gave me insight on the foundational source of that anger, you may question my sanity. But trust me. Read on and you'll understand.

"Alyssa, do you have any GLAD bags?" Joe asked.

"What size?" she asked in response.

"Joe, you're joking right?" I asked. I wanted to be sure before Alyssa put effort into something that was going nowhere.

"Yeah," he said not looking up from the TV.

I walked into the kitchen, ever so much angrier. Again, do not judge based on this one incident you are being shown. Your sight of the evening is limited; there was a lot more to it. So shh. Just listen.

I told her to put the bags back, they were just joking (but angrily; not at Alyssa). And then it hit me. I suddenly knew why I was angry. I found the bottom of it all.

You see, Alyssa has the spiritual gift of hospitality (among others). It's a very evident gift and one that I am learning much from. And so, since there were guests over, she was being her hospitable self. She was just trying to cater to the needs of people around her and promote a warm and comfortable environment. She's very good at it.

Her hospitality was being taken advantage of.

That's what it all accumulated to. My heart added it all up and there it was. And wow did it make me angry. Like I said, that stomache tight angry. And it takes a lot for me to get there.

I was so angry in fact that I was tempted to just walk on over to him and demand that he leave. "Joe," I would have said sternly, "it's time to go." I think the only things holding me back were that it wasn't my house and I knew it was wrong. Not wrong to feel that way but wrong to take it out in anger. But that brought me to another realization.

I really care about Alyssa. Like...really.

She was being taken advantage of. If that force had been put on me, I would have taken it. But it was put on her and that got me...well, angry. Very much so. I wanted to take care of it. I wanted to take that source of hurt and anger and get rid of it.

I wanted to fight for her. I wanted to step up to he (or that) which dared take advantage of her and mistreat this beautiful woman. Sword drawn, shield ready. And wow did that feel good. I didn't want to sit there idley while she was in this wrongful situation. I didn't want to watch, observe, take notes. I wanted to get up and do something about it. I wanted to run into battle to defend her.

So be wary, you foes who challenge Alyssa's beautiful heart and soul; a creation that God Himself delights in. I may not be much but I will fight. I will draw my sword in defense of that which is righteous and good. I may come out scarred and weary from difficult battle. That's certainly a possibility. And there may be battles that I cannot win.

But come what may, God with me, I will fight.

Get Out There

2006-08-01T16:30:00.000-05:00

It's 5:30 pm. The thermometer on the deck reads 93.

To help deal with the heat (nice, a butterfly) i've been sitting inside, since i left work today, watching movies. First i watched "Godsend" (summary and opinion to follow), followed by the completion of "Platoon" which Ben and i started yesterday. It's nice to sit in the AC and not do anything after working in the heat and sweating despite the fan two feet away. And these are big fans. But i've talked about that already so i'll move on.

"Godsend" is about a family that loses a son (their only son, Adam...go figure) to a car accident. Through a doctor who presents himself after the funeral arrangements have been made, the family has their son cloned. However, upon reaching the age of 8 (the age at which the original child died), weird things start to happen. It was okay. Nothing for a writer to brag about but an interesting concept and the plot was carried out decently.

"Platoon" was a war movie. Specifically about the Vietnam War and how it changed and affected the men involved. It concentrated on one specific platoon that housed characters portrayed by Willem Dafoe, Charlie Schene, Tom Dilinger, Johnny Depp (for about five minutes total). It was good. That's all i have to say about that.

Anyway, so i've been watching the colors dance on the television for a few hours and i needed a break. Most of you are now thinking (at least should be) how comical it is that i would take a break from the TV here in front of my laptop. Not much of a break. But it is. You see, i'm sitting outside in that aforementioned 93 degree environment, june bugs announcing the summer's oppressive warmth (as if we didn't notice) and the occasional sound of a child at play.

I just needed to be outside, heat or not. It's beautiful out here. The trees are resting, i just got in trouble for not watching the grill (it wasn't my job but i could have done something about the burning eggplant anyway), and the air is fresh even if it doesn't feel like it. Well, as fresh as Hartford County can deliver anyway. But the outside is different from the inside and ultimately that's what i needed.

It's alive. It's genuine. It's real.

You can't get that from a TV no matter how high the definition or how crisp and clean the sound. It's still synthetic. It's generated. It takes what you can experience with your own senses and packages it into a processed meal. A fully loaded baked potato becomes a tater tot. It's certainly better than it used to be but it still isn't the real thing. Only two senses are at work; you're missing out. Granted you don't have the bug that keeps buzzing my ear but you don't have the breeze on your skin either.

So, be it summer's furnace or winter's freezer, the outside beats the inside any day. If you haven't tried it, i highly recomend you do. You can touch it, taste it, hear it, feel it, smell it.

Get out there.

Gotta Have Those Bolts

2006-07-19T14:58:00.000-05:00

Why would you want to grease lightning anyway? It's fast enough as it is i doubt grease would slick it any faster. And how would you apply grease to it in the first place? You'd probably...no, you would be electrocuted. 1.21 jigowatts. Not worth it.

Adam, it's just a phrase made famous by a popular "classic" 70's film. No one's actually going to grease a bolt of lightning. It's impossible.

Yeah. I know.

Anyway...

Last night was defined by a lightning storm, the likes of which i have never seen before. I don't think there was much rain because i couldn't hear any. Thunder, while it was certainly rumbling, wasn't as big of a presence as i would have expected it to be given the amount of lightning.

As i said to Alyssa during the storm (don't worry, kids, it was via AIM on my laptop, running on battery power to keep me disconnected from any electrical conductors), it's difficult for me to relate the visuals of the storm with words. This is how i tried:

It was like the paparazzi.
It was like a strobe light.
It was like D-Day.
It was like War of the Worlds.
There was a bowling party in Heaven and they were using all the lanes.

That's about the closest i can get with known references. there had to be, easily, 60 bolts of lightning per minute. That's 360 per hour. My windows were taking rolls and rolls of photographs of my room. There was constant static discharge between the sky and the ground.

It wasn't a concentrated storm either where all the lightning is over that way or out back. No. This lightning was all over; from every direction. Near, far, right here, way out there. Everywhere. Sometimes it woudl just be a flash and other times i could actually see the bolt. White, pink, orange.

FLASH...FLASH FLASH...FLASH.......FLASH FLASH FLASH....

Perhaps Zeus had a surplus of bolts and wanted to get rid of the excess. It's the end of the fiscal year on Mt. Olympus and in order to receive the same number of bolts in next year's budget, he must use all the previous year's up. I can't say as i blame him.

Gotta have those bolts.

Two Symptoms of Summer

2006-07-18T20:28:00.000-05:00

1. LINE DRIED TOWELS

"Oh good," i thought when i got out of the shower and removed a clean towel from the cabinet. "Line dried towels."

I was being sarcastic.

Every summer, one of the most hated moments in my house (for me) is the rehanging of the clothes line. It stretches from a wooden post on our deck to a tree out in the back. My dad will hook up one side then the other. This, in and of itself, is not so bad. Clotheslines, as far as i know, do not have any ill intentions. They selflessly lend themselves to an energy saving cause. And who doesn't like saving energy?

So why the dread?

Winter leaves no possibility for air drying (outside) unless you enjoy wearing a sheet of ice. So the dryer becomes our medium for moisture removal. Clothes emerge warm, pleasantly scented and soft. A great feeling.

But in the summer they come off the line stiff, rough and uncomfortable. They still smell pretty good so that's not a problem. They smell like the fresh outdoors. But man...i could scratch my back with those towels. On a humid summer day that's really not something i look forward to wearing. Not that i wear towels. I mean the shirts that come off in the same condition.

So when i pulled out that towel i had to brace myself for a back-scratching good time. It's a party that lasts all summer.

2. FANS

Thursday.

Outside: Humid, showers likely, high of 83.
Inside: Humid, fluorescent skies, high of 85.

I get used to walking out the door into cooler temperatures than there are inside three seasons of the year. Even for part of the summer. But there comes that dreadful day when i walk out into heat. At 6:45 am. I don't want to think about where the temperatures are going from there. And even if outside is the same temperature as inside, the humidity overpowers it.

Hitting that sultry air unexpectedly is like walking into a giant cobweb. Like the ones on the Indiana Jones movies, especially The Last Crusade just before he clears the first booby trap. It covers, instantly adhering. It gets into your hair and clothes, onto your skin. Only this cobweb doesn't come off unless it's combatted with a few of its weaknesses. Water, wind, sleep and air conditioning. But only temporarily. As soon as you leave their sanctuary, it's back.

Such was the case this morning. I awoke in the cool, dry, air conditioned environment the inside had become during the night. Then i walked out the door, after getting dressed and brushing my teeth, of course. I wouldn't want to go to work in my pajamas and with bad breath. Not that the machines would care. Though i'm sure someone would frown at such an absent minded decision. Anyway...

The humidity, the warm wet towel that it is, fell over me. Breathing wasn't so easy and the weight of the towel slowed my movements.

Yuck.

What's worse is that the shop is not air conditioned, nor do we swim while we work. And forget sleeping. The only respite we have from the oppressive summer air is the motor-generated wind. Fans. Small ones, big ones, medium ones. Fast, slow, in between. Two speed, three speed.

Without that moving air we'd probably melt where we stand. Tim (the only survivor because he sits in the air conditioned office to do paperwork sometimes) would bring a new job for the saw over to me. But i wouldn't be there. Instead he would find a gooey, flesh-colored, blobby mess on the floor with a pair of safety glasses on top.

Of course then he would have to scoop as much of the goo as possible into the Adam mold. A shovel, some rubber gloves and a squeeegee (that's actually how it's spelled...) usually do the trick. And then i get placed in the freezer until i congeal into my normal self. The refrigerator works too but there's work to be done and the freezer is faster.

But despite the persistent heat and the infectious humidity, we persevere.

We have fans.

ie ream: An Object Lesson Involving the Alphabet

2006-06-26T18:37:00.000-05:00

Monday, Monday
Comes after Sunday
Not such a fun day
Much better when done day

'A' will always be the first letter of the English alphabet and no other letter will ever be able to substitute. If you want to start at the beginning you must begin with 'A'. 'B' is not the beginning nor is any proceeding letter. If you find yourself commencing at 'G' you have missed several steps. And if you're treating 'G' as the first letter your alphabet is a lie. You've been deceived.

Somewhere between where i was and where i am, i got lost. I started at 'A', went to 'B' and then jumped to 'E'. I skipped two letters but i didn't notice until it came time to use them. I couldn't press on without them so, needless to say, i had to return to 'B' where i'm presently standing. And that m akes the next two transitions harder because i've already seen what's passed them. I know what's coming and i want to get there. I'm anxious. But i must be patient.

Upon reaching the end of my alphabet, the way it was, i would have had ie ream. I don't know what ie ream is but i can assure you it's nowhere near as good as ice cream.

And i don't want to miss out on ice cream.

So i'll stand here at 'B' until 'C' is ready to present itself. I want a complete and correct alphabet. A mature alphabet. No missing letters.

Adam, what the heck are you talking about? Well, this is a public blog and, as such, i don't post certain details of my life. There are pieces of myself that are reserved for a select few or one, or sometimes no one. But even in those situations i still like, and benefit from, writing things out. Rather than let the thoughts bounce around aimlessly upstairs, i bring them out so that i can see them, organize them, understand them (or at least try).

So it's okay if you don't understand. If you do, great. Otherwise, thanks for at least reading.

A Sunday Morning's Curiousity

2006-06-25T07:32:00.000-05:00

Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 23 in F Minor, Op. 57

That may not mean much to you. It's a piano piece written by Ludwig himself, back in...yeah, back in. I don't know whether he was going deaf, or had already become so, when he was writing this but it's beautiful in an almost melancholy sort of way. I woke up with this piece in my head, and the specific instance when i first heard it used.

It's in "The Man Who Wasn't There", a Coen Brothers film. They interlace the film with several Beethoven pieces which coincide very well with the scenes they were chosen for. The above, for instance, layers the background with that melancholy while the main character ponders over a philosophical thought that struck him while driving. It plays while he stairs out his car window at people passing by, believing he's discovered something that puts him above them. That sets him outside the box they live in.

Carter Burwell, the composer for the original pieces used in the film, has a way of writing melancholy very well. A depressively pensive mix of tones and instruments. But not overly so. Not to a suicidal extent or even to a place that makes you want to shut yourself in a room for hours. It gets you thinking. Sometimes sadly, sometimes just deeply. Sometimes both.

I'm not listening to the soundtrack because i feel that way or because a curiously pondersome thought has found its way into the morning mix. I just enjoy it. It's a sunday morning and i've got church in a little less than an hour. On this particular morning i will be accompanied by m'lady who is, as i write, finishing up a shower. My brother is sleeping in his room, door closed, breathing audibly.

And i wonder...

What music do they hear? Does it accompany a particular emotion or thought? Because Alyssa is awake does she hear the music more clearly? Or is it disotorted by the day's unfolding curiousities? Does my brother not comprehend the dream's serenade that plays out in his subconscious? Or perhaps his music is untainted, less distracted. A pure song.

Our music is constantly varying, always adapting to the changes in life's tempo and time signature. Here a flowing waltz, there a jazzy tune in seven-quarter while yonder lies an upbeat four-quarter with soul. But you never know what's playing until you get there. Maybe there's no sheet to read and it's improvisational, made up on the spot in accordance with the moment's calling.

Enjoy it. It's life.

Seventy-Two Cents Worth

2006-06-11T17:03:00.000-05:00

"It's a long way down," said Dave, peering over the edge.

Sam agreed with a nod of his head. He pulled some change out of his left pocket, sorted out a penny and tossed it over.

Dave counted silently. One...two...three...four...by fifteen it was too small to see and it still hadn't made a sound.

"Try a quarter," he suggested.

"Biggest thing i've got's a...oh hell," said Sam and he threw the whole handful.

Glistening silver and copper--seventy-two cents worth--descended like a sparatic school of fish until they could be seen no more. The sound of change bouncing off the rocks below barely made it back to their ears.

"'Bout twenty-three seconds?" asked Sam.

"Yeah...that's about what i got," said Dave. He checked his watch. Five o'clock. The sun was going down and Dave knew they hadn't much time. "This isn't getting us any closer to the car."

"Well unless you've materialized a really long rope in the last two minutes, i'd say we're stuck here for the night."

Meandering

2006-06-11T16:56:00.000-05:00

A free-range mind
Following no paths
Adhering to no boundaries
Proceeding without rhyme or reason
Beyond the box

But damn
Will you shut up once in a while?

Two Smiles In Five-Quarter Time

2006-05-30T16:35:00.000-05:00

Silent and prayerful
Patient and hopeful
A decision
A choice

2 weeks
14 days
336 hours
20,160 minutes
1,209,600 seconds
And perhaps more

I wait

For Him
For you
For us

Wordlessly
A decision made
Our fingers intertwine
Two smiles in five-quarter time

A moment
A point in time
Once only
Fleeting
Hindered and Tainted
By the uneven and discomfort
Of one hand on the wheel
My left

A blessing
His gift
His timing
Precious
Serene and peaceful
Transcending even the beauty
Of one hand holding another
My right

Credit and Glory
Not ours for the taking
But His alone

We move forward
His hand on the wheel
His hand holding ours

All is well

Encouragement And Soccer

2006-05-28T16:06:00.000-05:00

The Lord sent me a note of encouragement today. He sent it right when i needed it and it came through someone i'm quite fond of. Bonus. It was exactly what i needed. So much so that it completely turned around my mood into one of a desire to work hard for Him and to give it my all. To be a man.

I already went into detail in an email so i haven't much energy to go through it again, but i will say this...God is AWESOME!!

All praises be to Him
All glory be His alone

Thanks, God. I love you.

On a less Heavenly note...

Tonight will be my first live soccer game. Joe invited me to attend it with Will (a coworker of his...i think i got the name right) and himself. We're going to Wrenchler Field to see the U.S. soccer team play Latvia. I'm quite excited.

I'm not quite sure what to expect. Hockey is all about chearing fights, baseball is all about yelling things, basketball is all about squeaky shoes and squatting coaches. I'm not sure what a soccer game will be all about.

Anyway, i better go. I have to meet them at the mall soon. I just wanted to convey the two items. The note of encouragement and the soccer game. And i wanted to move on from Father Time's calls since they have confused some of my readers. Sorry if that was you. At least you don't have to deal with the actual phone calls.

Oh, sorry. Futbol.

Father Time

2006-05-23T20:07:00.000-05:00

Alyssa and i were talking and she confessed that on occasion Mother Nature will prank call her. Normally one would be thrown off by this or think how odd for Nature to use a phone. But not i.

I've gotten several calls from Father Time.

CALL #1

me: Hello?
FT: Hi, do you have any bananas?
me: Um...yeah a couple, why?
FT: Your clocks are wrong! HA HA HA...[click]

CALL #2

me: Hello?
FT: Hi.
me: Who is this?
FT: Father Time
me: Oh. What's up?
FT: Have you set your clocks ahead?
me: Um, no...daylight savings doesn't come for another month.
FT: Hold on, my hot dog's ready.

two minutes later...

FT: Hey, can i borrow some ketchup?
me: How in the heck am i going to send that to you?
FT: GOTCHA! HA HA HA [click]

CALL #3

me: Hello?
FT: No, no, i run around the backyard nak...oh, hi.
me: Yeah, hi.
FT: Remember that time i took you camping?
me: No.
FT: That's because it didn't happen!
me: Yeah i know.
FT: Oh. Um...well i gotta go. [click]

CALL #4

me: Hel...
FT: HI!
me: Time?
FT: No, no...this...this is the Easter Bunny.
me: Uh huh.
FT: I'm the Easter Bunny. You can't see them, but i have big pink ears.
me: No you don't.
FT: I said, "You can't see them."
me: Yeah but when you talk it says "FT", short for Father Time.
FT: No it....oh yeah. Do you have any bananas?
me: You already said th...
FT: OHHHH!!! I GOT YOU!! YOU TOTALLY HAD N [click]

CALL #5

me: Hello?
FT: Sometimes i sell furniture.
me: Fine.
FT: Antiques too. I had this old cactus salt shaker and i got twenty bucks for it.
me: Wow.
FT: HA HA HAAA! I ONLY GOT FIVE! [click]

Yeah, he thinks he's really funny but he's not. Maybe he'll grow out of it. If not, i'll just have to put up with it.

The Heavens Opened, And Down It Poured

2006-05-21T17:02:00.000-05:00

So i'm downstairs watching Mystic River, a little creeped 'cause i know someone's getting murdered in the beginning. That and there's this scene where some old guy drives off with one of three kids playing in the neighborhood and it's obvious something bad's going to happen. "Oh my gosh," i'm thinking, "what have i got myself into?"

I've got an hour or so before Joe and i get together to get some work done, and i figured i'd plop plop plop plop (sorry, it's just fun to type plop because my right ring finger does a circle and types the whole word by itself) plop myself down in front of the TV to watch a movie. I've seen just about everything else in the house so i fugred, "Blockbuster movie so it'll be gone soon, haven't seen it yet, directed by Clint Eastwood...alright."

I'm about ten minutes into the movie and i hear this crackling sound on the front door (the metal outter screen door). "What in the world could THAT be...hey, wait the weatherman said it could hail today...GASP...IT'S HAIL!!"

I bolted up the stairs and opened the main door.

It was POURING outside. I don't use the word "pouring" lightly when it comes to rain (or any form of precipitation...snow, hail, shoes, eggplant). So for me to not only use the world but capitalize it means a lot. And i say again, emphatically...it was POURING!

There was a terrific mix of those big, fat rain drops and small, pebble-sized hail. It was awesome. Not awesome like "cool" but awesome like "wow". An extatic, excited to see such a beautiful example of God's wonder, stand in amazement, "awesome".

A massive, dark creature of monstrous proportion and appearance worked its way over the neighborhood, pelting it with a wrathful fury of precipitation. Water. Ice. Wind. It hurled enmity with incredible might and indifference. It descended without judgment or care.

The heavens opened, and down it poured.

I just stood in awe...well not quite, i shouted many times out into the storm. "WOOOO HOOOOOOOOOO!!! HAIL!" I love hail.

Once the storm became aware of my presence, it tried sending its arsenal through the screen. I had to move to the back, a hidden place to watch. The deck got a nice layer of ice pellets over its planks, and i collected a glass-full to keep in the freezer, at least until i can show everyone my treasure.

Genuine, 100%, straight from the heavens, hail.

What a beautiful thing.

Butter Will Know Its Place

2006-05-21T07:37:00.000-05:00

To Him we look for answers
To Him and Him alone
Our human understanding
Not withstanding
Is far to weak to grasp to
Any situation that may come

He knows
We don't

And so we pray
And so we wait
And so we wonder
Sigh
But content

His plan
Always worth the wait
Far better than luck
Far better than fate

So we drink our tea
We converse over life
Embrace what we have
Thankful

All praises be to Him
All glory His alone

When the time is right
He'll show us
Butter will know its place

All is well

Two Dogs Were Arguing

2006-05-05T19:01:00.000-05:00

Before beginning, you must know that Ed and Bootsie, while they were born in two very different geographical locations, are exactly the same age.

The sun was getting lower in the western sky. It smiled just before it disappeared over the horizon, trailing pink, orange and purple streaks.

Two dogs were arguing down the street.

Normally dogs do not vocalize with vehement volume. They are actually quite respectful and polite to one another; an asbstract form of professional courtesy i suppose. But seeing as they tend to reside on opposing lots, louder expression of thought is necessary.

"Excuse me!" said the chocolate lab, named Bootsie, on the eastern side of the street. "It is NOT Thursday, but is in fact Wednesday."

They had already been involved in a discussion for some time.

"You are sadly mistaken!" replied the scottish terrier on the western side, whose name i am unable to properly pronounce. We shall call him Ed. If he protests and demands his actual name be used, then i will make amends. Calling him by a false name is my doing. You are at no fault; i will make sure he understands that.

"Oh yeah?" asked Bootsie. "How do you figure?!"

Ed, quite sure of himself, yelled, "I just got off the phone with my uncle Fargus! He said we already went through Thursday last week!"

Bootsie, being a very bright dog, had a strong desire to show his intelligence. He questioned where Fargus had acquired his information since there is only one Thursday in a dog's life and it comes on the exact date of his third birthday (in human years). The second is too early, and the fourth is really too late for anything particularly special, and so the third is precisely where it falls.

Somewhere along the evolutionary chain of labelling, dogs moved a number by accident. Just one. A 2 moved to where a 7 should be, or an 8 to where a 3 should be. No one's quite sure, due to a communication gap, but we are certain that it did occur. A word may have been misplaced as well. As a result, dog years are named by days of the week, but they start on Tuesday. To calculate age, a dog has 8 years to every one human year for the first 3, and 7 after that. So, a dog turning 16 (in dog years), would be entering wednesday.

By the time Bootsie had thought through all of this, which his great grandfather (wisest of all scottish terriers in the northern part of the country; the southern had a fairly smarter dog inhabiting its region) had taught him, he had fallen asleep. One cannot blame him for becoming weary with such a mass of calculations to perform.

Ed, with no one to discuss it with further, decided to dig a hole in the corner of the yard.

Today Was A Good Year

2006-05-04T21:38:00.000-05:00

On my army green shorts, worn after my post-work shower until changing into my pajamas (boxers, t-shirt), is a white piece of paper. It came from one of the numerous note pads or ex-calendar page piles that fill a kitchen drawer. Purple ink forms curves and lines, illustrating two english words.

"salmon sandwich"

Prior to exiting this raised ranch i call home, my mom grilled me up a salmon burger. It's salmon that's been pressed into a patty, much like a burger. Orange is its native hue, so i trust it enough. Its flavor, while certainly not what i'd expect from compressed fish, is interesting enough to consume without asking too many questions.

But i didn't eat it.

I only sampled one bite then headed out in Grace, my humble silver Civic. We headed north-west to see Tara, a fellow 2001 graduate of Rocky Hill High School. I hadn't seen her in "forever", as she put it. Starbucks became our meeting's medium. A venti Strawberries & Cream (mine) and a venti shaken iced tea lemonade (hers, though it is my staple Starbucks summer solace [how's that for illiteration, Heus?]) became our conversation's lubrication. It was good to see her, and plans are now being formulated for my viewing the second half of Rent (i fell asleep after the first half, watching it with Pam). She'll bring the movie, i'll provide the theatre.

Today was a good year.

A phrase borrowed from a Sparkling White Grape JELL-O commercial years ago. I adapted it into my vocabulary and every once in a while it's allowed air. Today was that once in a while.

I was late to work due to the necessity of printing out Chelsea's paper she wanted me to correct. Don't feel bad, Chels, it was completely my fault. I could've printed it out the night before. I didn't. So my dad left before me (usually Monday through Thursday we car-pool to save on gas and road space), leaving me alone-time in the car. I'm not one to complain about such things. I enjoyed it.

The day's pace was a stroll, leaving room for speculation, thought, ponderings and several laughs. The weather's warmed up after the last few days of cooler temperatures and precipitation. The shop doors were all open with a few windows in addition. A pleasant breeze walked through, stopping now and then to see who was working on what.

My car windows were open during break, giving room for the same breeze to stop in and ask a question or two. I wasn't sure how to reply. I corrected about half of Chelsea's paper, during which time thousands of those white fuzzy things from trees (that look similar to Dandelion seeds) were migrating north. Attempted furthering of their species, i suppose. Heather, when she was growing up, called them wishes. I now address them as the same. So--and here's a good visual--i had wishes floating through my car.

After work i snacked on all kinds of good things knowing i wouldn't eat dinner until later. Honey wheat pretzels dipped first into cream cheese and then into habanero-pineapple dip. Homemade cornbread. Ritz crackers. French bread with pesto. Mmmmm, snacks.

Then Starbucks and the aforementioned time spent with Tara.

Joe's house for a few glasses of Merlot, a cheez-it (WAY better than cheese nips) or two, and some more crackers. Some productive conversation over what needs to be accomplished in the near future (in regard to producing our comedic material).

A good ride-home (plus a few minutes in the driveway) conversation with Heuser as the cherry on the top of this sundae that i would gladly eat again. There's much more, especially little things, but my eyes have closed for over ten seconds several times during the typing of this entry. So i must go.

Oh, and now i get to leave my windows completely open all night. Normally i can leave them open a crack, but due to the wonderfully warm weather, i'm allowed an essay. See? See what happens to coherence when i fall asleep while typing? What i meant was that the previously cooler weather forced me to keep the windows open only enough. Tonight, however, the weather is at peace. Calm. The sound of travelers headed to who knows where on I-91 (a comfort sound for me). So tonight i can sleep outside (relatively). That's nice.

Today was a good year.

Battle. Adventure. The Unkown.

2006-05-01T21:32:00.000-05:00

at work

get some snacks, this is a longer one.

The saw is splitting a twenty pound steal bearing. The loading doors are open for an eight foot shaft to be lifted in off a flatbed. The second hand makes its rounds one minute at a time.

I'm thinking.

A couple days ago, Joe pointed out something i've kept myself from realizing. This is how his comment was born:

While Joe, Chris, and i were picking up a sheet pizza from Michaelangelo's for a night with the boys (we eat a lot) we ran into Renee, who used to work at The Stork Club. She's beautiful, sweet, well-manored. All the good stuff. She and i had about eight seconds of eye contact as i neared the register. In that short amount of time, i had to decide whether to say something or just let the moment slip by and continue with the evening.

"What's up, Renee?" It was an easy decision. I wondered if she went through the same thought process.

It was a quick minute conversation. The classic, "so what're you up to these days?" Surface subjects only, neither party initiating depth. I hate those. On her last day at The Club i asked her for her phone number which i regrettably never dialed.

GASP. A second chance?

"Well, have a good night."

Um...Adam, what the heck are you doing? Ask her what she's doing tonight. If she's busy, get together with her another time. Give her your phone number. Ask her for hers again saying you were an idiot for never calling her and not taking this chance so conveniently provided would only prove that further. Say SOMETHING!

The drive home proved a solemn self-repremand. There was a conversation over it between Joe, Chris, and myself.

After Joe's attempted correction by calling Michaelangelo's to talk to her (she was eating there with people i assume are her parents...no one by her name answered when the woman at the register called out), i admitted, "I should've said something." Here's where Joe's comment comes in.

"Why?" Joe asked. "You wouldn't date her, you'd just be friends with her. That's what you do. How about i date her THEN you can be friends with her."

He threw a wrench at just the right lever.

The noise in my head generated by a cog moving into place and engaging a thought process, that has so far lasted three days, was deafening. Those gears have been aligned for a long time, just waiting for that last nudge. They got it. They're turning.

It's true. I don't date, I make friends (Heather being the only exception).

I play it safe. I take little to no chances. I run away. I give up. I let go (in a bad way). I leave stories unfinished.

For example:

1. The aforementioned second chance with Renee. I was afraid of "rejection", and what i'd look like to the guys and the other people in the restaurant.

2. The conversations that Tiffany and i have. Generally it's her volunteering information about the day's evengs, a particular situation or what have you, with me asking questions and giving an occasional observation (possibly elaborating). "Tell me something," she'll say.

I hesitate.

I have tons of stories and just as many, if not more, observations on life. But i fear they'll be found ininteresting and dull. There are little, unimportant details weaving my stories together. The smaller, seemingly insignificant sprinkles in life, to me, are interesting. Partly because i can remember them and partly because a burger, without toppings, condoments and seasoning(s), is just flavorless ground cow. I like to add those little bits, which i've been told and shown make my stories long and tedious. So i hesitate to tell them. I mean...those minute extras can get boring.

Here i can take the time to succinctly organize my thoughts without interuption or pause, which is largely why writing appeals to me. I don't speak the same way that i write. I am far more clear and concise here, though i still meander. Anyone that knows me personally can atest to that.

3. School. I have yet to choose a school and/or major that i am committed to. I'd go into more details on this, but i already did in No I Won't Be Home For Dinner.

4. Every time i pick up a hobby or activity (piano, guitar, photography, digging the rock out from the front bank, designing the church cookbook), i drop it when challenges arise. "You mean it's not easy? I can't just do it? There are things i have to learn?" I'll try to get a knot out for an hour or play with a broken toy until it gets fixed, but give me a challenge in a long term time investment and i'm gone. That's awful.

There are many more examples, but that'll do.

I don't want to play it safe anymore. I want to ask Renee out, tell Tiffany what makes me, me, go into a carreer and leave my mark, work through the challenges that arise. I want to drive a motorcycle (Honda VTX Retro 1300; silver, blue or orange). I want to learn how to cook, play the guitar, express myself vocally the way i do when i write. I want to build a trebuchet of good size. I want my ass kicked by love and to fall head over heels; to be enamored by one person for the rest of my life.

I can't do any of that sitting on the sidelines. Watching the game is safe, but playing it is far more gratifying. God needs me on the field. I need me on the field. You need me on the field.

Battle. Adventure. The unknown. A beauty to rescue (who is not the adventure, but a very integral part of it).

These are the things that make a man, a man.

I am a man. God has made me so.
I am a warrior.
I have domain over the earth (not people). God gave it to me (and you).
I am strong.
I am courageous.
I am loving.

I thought i had well realized all of these things until the Renee situation with the follow up of Joe's comment. Those gears have been pumping liquid thought all throughout my consciousness, and i understand now that i have much work to do. There are still many things to learn.

I do know that i'm making progress.

While canoeing on the Salmon River yesterday (Sunday), i walked in the muck at the botton of a small pond. When i was a kid, i'd avoid it at all costs. I would swim over it if i absolutely had to, but never put my feet in it. Sand only. However, yesterday i didn't mind it at all. I didn't even rush my way through it. I walked slowly and enjoyed its soft feel under my bare feet. Like underwater carpet.

That was a big step for me. I yelled out, "I've conquered my fear of muck!"

The cool thing was the absence of thought while walking into it. I didn't shudder at the sight or have to talk myself into it. I just did it. I didn't even have to walk in it. I wanted to. It was a good feeling.

So, who is Adam? We're working on it. Here are a few things we have so far:

I do not like potato chips unless they're kettle cooked.

I only like soda with real sugar in it, and even then not often.

I like storms.

I really like wind.

I love kissing.

I prefer straight drive over automatic. I like driving.

I can type 90+ words a minute.

I love music.

I like being outside.

I love to be with people, but i also value alone time.

I enjoy manual labor.

I'll keep you posted with more when it's discovered. Like dancing. Tiffany asked if i'm a dancer. I don't think i am, but i don't know that i've ever given it a fair chance. It doesn't appeal to me all that much, but i guess we'll find out. It's too bad i decided to come alive now, rather than several years ago. I know, it's better than never.

Well, here goes.

Love Unknown

2006-04-23T21:53:00.000-05:00

Inspired i begin

Now what?

What words to pull out
From the depths
And uncharted spaces
Of the ever-widening room upstairs

Her

Too common
Too cliche
Too me

And yet

Where is she?
What does she?
What will she?
When will she?
Is she?

Drift you to me?
Wondering too
Asking of me
Hoping for soon
Or ever

I have for you
Thoughts unshared
Questions unanswered
Body untouched
Love unkown
Life unlived

Weary
Wordless
Sleep interupts

I Won't Be Home For Dinner

2006-04-17T21:15:00.000-05:00

"What will you be going to school for?" she asked.

"Photography," i said.

It's what i always say. Do i really mean it, or is it just a response i give to avoid the parental remarks if my reply was actually, "I don't know."? I used to mean it. I don't think i still do. I mean, i've been saying it for the past year and a half and still nothing. I love the art of photography and being able to look at a well-done image knowing it's my own, but do i want to make a career out of it? If i do, why haven't i committed? And if i don't, then what will i make a career out of? It's too bad meandering isn't an occupation.

The question was prefaced by, "What're you going to do in Boston?"

"Try to find a school in photography."

I always say that too, but i haven't spent a single second looking for one, or even thinking about it. Am i afraid of commitment? There are those in my life that would tell you so. I would be apt to agree with them. I am. "Will you be home for dinner tonight?" my mom will ask. "I don't know," i say. Honestly, i don't. Someone could call and ask if i want to hang out. I may suddenly get the urge to be somewhere else. One never knows. So i don't commit.

Sometimes i think i'm afraid due to my logical acception that nothing is ever certain. No one ever really knows. We all take our best guess and make a decision from there. Small choices , big choices; all without full knowledge or understanding of what's to come. Unexpected things happen all the time. And yet, even without knowing, assumptions must be made. Guesses, estimates, knowledge of prior similar situations will be taken into account, all so that a conclusion can be arrived at.

And that is what i am working on.

When Chelsea and i get together on our quasi-weekly thursday night outtings, we begin with the same question. Where are we going for dinner? I've found, and i'm sure she has too, that being indecisive with the hope of choosing the right thing is worse than being decisive and having wished a different choice had been made. Standing in that middle zone, that purgatory of decisiveness, is detrimental to all parties involved. It's really annoying. But when a concrete decision is made, when one knows exactly what's expected of them and what assumptions and agreements can be made, a certain satisfaction sets in.

"Let's go eat at The Corner Pug."

There. We know where we're eating and we can make further necessary decisions upon arrival. A part of our minds is now set at ease because we know. We know where we're going. We know what we're doing. Done. If something unexpected comes up on the way, or food from that particular restaurant is now unatainable, adaptions will be made. Counter decisions will arrise and be dealt with.

If a wrong choice is made, you can always correct it. And if not, you'll know the next time it comes up.

So my job of late has been to be decisive. To make assumptions. To just do it. It makes life oh so much easier. It really does. Next time you're in an indecisive situation, just choose. Pick randomly if you have to. But choose. It feels good. It makes life more adventurous.

No mom, i won't be home for dinner.

Well, Because

2006-04-17T18:30:00.000-05:00

Jimmy Durante, "Make Someone Happy"

I was just reviewing my own blog, for correctional purposes, and i came to the conclusion that it's in a MAJOR need of refreshment.

So here i sit in the bathroom (yep) writing an entry. How long will it be, and what will be its self-chosen subject? We shall find out together.

Well, because. If i know i'll be in the bathroom for a bit (during which time i get bored...i mean, there's only one thing to do in here), i'll bring in my laptop. Emails to read, weather to check, blogs to read & write. All sorts of things. Sometimes i play Solitaire on my iPod, but my eyes scream at me after a while. "Adam! We're straining here! I mean, come on! That screan is smaller than a bar of hotel soap!" Upgrade to a 14" screen, a whole keyboard and the internet (a nearly endless supply of games). I'm all set.

Oh, come on. Like you don't have your own weird things?

Nice try.

I'm moving away from your scowling look of disapproval now because it's undeserved.

Well, i'm heading out. Thanks for stopping by.

Wow i need to get back to blogging.

Techno Lament

2006-04-09T21:45:00.000-05:00

No music. My audio driver isn't working. Frustration.

A quick update:

Liz, my laptop, is still having issues. Windows has been reinstalled, but the audio driver isn't working (meaning it won't play any sounds except the majorly annoying PC beep), my spacebar's still having issues, i just found out my DVD drive (or DVD viewing software) is being goofy, and...well, yeah. On top of all that, the latest edition of AIM (AIM Triton) SUCKS ASS! It's honestly ridiculous. It's a good thing i don't go on anymore.

Have any of you realized that no one's actually on AIM anymore? There's an abundance of away messages and cellular forwarding, but a huge lack of people. Just tonight when i signed on to see if anyone was there, 11 out of 37 people were actually on. That mean's 26 people had AIM up with an away message. Just sign off. Honestly. Log on if you actually want to talk. Otherwise leave. It gets tiring leaving people messages all the time. Can you tell it's a peeve of mine?

Anyway, i hope Liz is in full working condition soon.

I miss my music.

About Chocolate Chips

2006-03-27T07:34:00.000-05:00

At work again.

Last week i had something profound...well at least interesting, that i wanted to ponder over. I know i was going to expand on it a bit, prefaced by a short lament over (24 hours just went by; i got moved to a different area of the shop and i didn't get back here until this morning, March 28) my now nonfunctional laptop. But i can't remember what it was, so this paragraph has no merit and should probably be removed. I mean, look. Halfway through the second sentence the date changes. I could delete the whole thing and start over.

And yet it remains. Curious.

Tiffany and i were talking about chocolate chips last night. I invited the subject after offering her some. Naturally she declined as my arms do not reach as far as South Carolina. The only alternative would have been squishing them into her IM box, but i fear such an attempt would result in nothing more than chocolate smears on the screen. So i had the bag to myself. No, i didn't eat them all.

These particular chocolate chips were special. Why, thank you. I appreciate your flattery but no, it's not because they were from me (conceited anyone?). these were in the freezer.

My mom, ever since i can remember, has stored most of her chocolate chips in the freezer. She knew i'd eat them upon discovery so she would hide them. Behiind something, under something. Sometimes she'd even put them inside a container so you couldn't tell they were there. But i knew. I developed this sense for finding them mdespite her best efforts.

There was an unspoken treaty between us. Unopened bags were off limits but opened bags were fair game. At some point they were no longer hidden. I think she gave up, knowing i'd find them anyway. the funny thing is i would never go after any chocolate chips in the cupboard or pantry; only the frozen ones.

Once i went frozen, whatever that young age was, i couldn't go back. The flavor is better and lasts longer. Because they're coldl, they have a refreshinig edge to them. Let's face it, warm chocolate is good but will never be refreshing. Chocolate just doesn't have that quality (Lindt chocolates being the only exception i know of).

The best way to eat them is to bite down hard and fast so as to chip or break a tooth. That will send you to the dentist where you can choose a children's fruit-flavored toothpaste to compliment the chocolate. Or you can go adult and have a chocolate-mint aftertaste. It's your call.

Or you could let them sit in your mouth until the initial freezer-cold is gone and they're just cool. then you can bite. The smaller pieces warm and melt, covering your palette with semi-sweet seduction. Mmmm.

Try it.

Oh, Elyse, this is why i was talking about chocolate chips. I had just finished the aforementioned conversation and the bag was right in front of me. And why were you so object to cookies as a conversational topic? I mean, really. Cookies.

Ah, new topic.

Cookies.

You know what i really miss? Insert guess here. I really miss McDonald's cookies. Do you remember them? They came with a Happy Meal in a small transparent plastic bag. Each cookie was in the shape of the presently lesser-known McDonald's characters. Grimace, the Hamburgler, Mayor McCheese, those things that look like pom poms with legs, that bird with a leather pilot's hat & goggles. SIDNOTE: Remember Mac Tonight? :END SIDENOTE

Those were good cookies.

But the question i posed to Elyse was not what kind they were. She had already confessed they were chocolate chip. I was interested in their texture. I didn't care how bumpy, smooth or rough they were. SIDENOTE: If you ever get a cookie as smooth as marble countertop, don't eat it :END SIDENOTE I was interested in soft vs. crunchy. Aside from "what kind?" i think it's the biggest cookie question out there.

There are several variations

SOFT
- but fully baked
- and doughy
- but crunchy on the edge
- inside, crunchy outside
- but quasi-dry
- but break apart
- and pliable

CRUNCHY
- but quasi-moist
- and dry
- and flaky
- but solid

My personal favorite is a soft, semi pliable (but will also pull apart) oatmeal raisin cookie. Chocolate chip are good, certainly, but there's nothing quite like an oatmeal raisin.

Don't forget a glass of milk. Oh good, more options.

I go with skim.

PC Recovery

2006-03-25T20:20:00.000-05:00

So my computer's having issues. A few nights ago i was listening to the Truman Show soundtrack. I wanted to update my iPod with the new tracks, so i plugged in the iPod cable to the USB port when CLICK, my laptop just shut off. No warning, no "Hey, i just downloaded an update and i have to restart." Nope. It just turned off.

I was completely thrown off and quite confused. But, being the rational person i am, i turned it back on. It gave me this message saying the power in the USB port was exceeding its allowable amount. Basically that it was surging. However, the odd part about that was the absence of anything in them (there are two USB ports on my laptop, and i had removed the iPod cable from the one). So it was telling me that something (which wasn't plugged in) was exceeding its power limits. Hmm.

I thought, "maybe it's a virus." What isn't these days? Did a virus scan. Nothing. Did another virus scan. Still nothing. Did yet another virus scan. No, i'm just kidding, i'm not that bad.

Thinking perhaps it was a virus that Mcaffy (spelling?) wasn't picking up, i decided to take a drastic step and bring the computer's system back to an earlier point in time when the problem didn't exist. Yes, i can do that. Well, a program can do that, i just push the right buttons.

"PC Recovery" is NOT the same thing as "System Restore". I figured that out three seconds too late. During its "PC Recovery", i stopped it. Now Windows won't even boot.

How then am i blogging you ask? I'm on another laptop in the house that was fortunately left by the wonderful owners of this home for me to use "just in case". Well, this is certainly "just in case".

So while i type here, my laptop (which i have yet to name...no, Tiffany, even if that name wasn't already taken, i wouldn't name it that) sits three inches away performing a self diagnostic. Kunal told me to. He's the service rep i spoke with via a Dell instant message window. It cuts down on phone bills to India (for Dell).

SO, due to a technical problem which i have drastically furthered in complexity, my laptop is down for a little while. I may not be blogging for a few weeks. Oh wait, that's no different from the way i am now. Sorry. I'll try to be better about it. Not just for you, my loyal few readers, but for myself as well. I have much to say, and much to contemplate outloud (at least outwrit).

Sigh.

I just hope i don't lose all the data (especially the 25 gigs worth of music) on the hard drive. That's my biggest worry.

She'll be okay eventually. (my laptop) SIDENOTE: All machines are female. My car, for example, is named Grace. My bass guitar is named Amy. Granted that's not a machine, but it's the same principle. :END SIDENOTE

New subject approaching.

I'll be giving up this house next Thursday. The owners will be returning on Friday from their long business-driven trip to Australia. I'm sure Pam will be happy to see her cats again. They've been very well behaved (the cats) and even repainted their own room. They wanted to go with yellow but since they're color-blind (they mistook it for a light gray), i suggested a mellow and unintrusive blue to compliment the cream carpets. They conceded, so i went out and picked up the paint for them. They're not allowed to purchase home decorating supplies. House rule, i never asked why.

I'll miss the house, but surprising even to myself, i'm not that sad. I knew the day would come, and it's not my house anyway. The cats will continue to be fed, other dwellings will requite my presence, and Kraft will still come in blue boxes. Life will continue.

I have enjoyed it though. The freedom of an entire house (a small one, but still a whole one) to myself. It's been peaceful, and moving back in with my parents for the few months prior to my exciting move to the Boston area will be nothing new to me. So, again, life will continue. The universe tends to unravel as it should. God will provide.

All that being said, i'm off to eat leftover pizza (a white spinach & bacon, or my Carne Asada from CPK [California Pizza Kitchen]), and perhaps the shrimp scampi from The Corner Pug the other night. Best freakin food i've ever eaten. I left the first bite in my mouth to let the flavors just melt onto my palate. Wow was it good. I just sat their, mesmerized by my meal. Mmmmm...

I'll be watching Zathura. I just need mindless entertainment tonight.

Wish you were here.

Asterisk*

2006-03-14T22:18:00.000-05:00

Edward Shearmur, "4th of July" from the K-PAX soundtrack.

An asterisk is designed to show a limiting qualification. It says, "Oh, there's a little sidenote about this word in small font at the bottom. Pay it no mind." It denotes partial truth; a restriction or proviso on a given subject.

For instance:

Made with real* cheese

Now, at a quick glance one might think, "Oh wow, they put real cheese in that." But they didn't. It's real*, not real. Perhaps there's a little note at the bottom letting you know that "real" means 75% dairy and 25% other crap you don't really want to know about.

An actual example:

People who have run the bearings through the machine without doing one upside down:

Jeff
Rich
Jack
Adam*

I'm not sure who actually has or hasn't, but this was brought up today. Jack told me, while i was running these bronze bearings through a machine, that if i did them all without doing one upside down, i would be one of the few who haven't. So i paid close attention and made sure they all went in correctly. I was quite proud of myself when i had finished and not scrapped a single one.

But

Steve came to me, handed me one of the bearings and said, "Hey Adam, take a look at this. Something seem off to you?" I held it up and came to a very clear realization. It hadn't even been run through the machine. "How did that one get through?" i asked. No one seems to understand how it could happen, but we all got a big laugh out of it. Out of 161 pieces, one got away.

So, Jack said my name would go in the hall of fame (for not doing any upside down) with an asterisk. I imagine this is what it would say:

*except that one

Sometimes when i talk, i have an asterisk behind a word or two. But i shouldn't. I should say what i mean and mean what i say. No asterisks, no parenthetical sidenotes. Just straight forward and honest.

Wow i'm tired...my eyelids have been closing for several minute periodsd during the typing of this entry.

All i'm trying to say is don't talk with an asterisk.

Don't say it unless you mean it.

Chirping Cold

2006-03-08T06:40:00.000-05:00

I'm waiting for my sweatshirts (one for wearing to work, one for wearing at work) and my jeans to dry. The zippers are clicking against the side of the dryer as they turn over and over, losing bits of moisture as they go.

The last week or so i've awoken to the sound of birds chirping. Not crows annoying me into consciousness, but those nice sounding ones that are here in the spring. The birds whose songs, if roughly translated, would probably mean "It's going to be a beautiful day today. The sun will rise, the air will warm, you'll be just fine." It's a very pleasant feeling.

The thermometer hung on the tree outside hasn't read over 15 degrees any of these mornings, but those birds are still out there. We could learn a few things from them. They leave during the winter, return home to subfreezing temperatures in the morning and they sing anyway. What do they know that we don't?'

It's cold out. The day ahead of me includes 9 hours of work. I haven't been eating too heatlhy and as a result i'm gaining weight again. I need exercise, i'm not in shape. I'm still tired. My clothes still aren't dry.

So?

I can sing anyway.

Personal DNA

2006-03-07T18:12:00.000-05:00

So i took this test online to see what my "personal DNA" was, and here are my results:

Personal DNA Test

Apparently i'm an "encouraging inventor".

It also says that my massculinity is low and my femininity is high. As much as the man in me doesn't want to admit that, it's true. I've never been that Macho guy. It's just not me. Don't get me wrong, i'm a man. Just not that one.

Big Stuff, part 1

2006-03-04T12:46:00.000-05:00

Some peanuts were being shipped overseas.

Plastic doesn't seal properly, so foil liners were added to the bags as a precautionary measure to keep the legumes away from the rough sea air. The deep red "GoNuts" emblem was printed on the front of all 1,300,000 bags being shipped. The bags were stuffed in boxes that were, in turn, packed into crates. They would be placed on trailers upon arrival at a port in the south of Portugal for deliveries throughout the country over the next week. The markets would be ready.

Captain Samuel Bickons kept precise records of the cargo on board the 400,000 ton ship, "Big Stuff". If anything was unaccounted for, he would personally take responsibility and immediately find a replacement. If no replacement could be found, he would pay for the lost item out of his own pocket. He was well liked and well respected among the ports and other ships. Everyone knew him by first name. He liked it that way.

Big Stuff and her crew had been out for fifteen days, but the crew Bickons had personally chosen kept morale up and spirits light. They were good people; honest people. They were family, and they treated each other as such. Everyone except for Turge.

One of the crew members' wives was expected to give birth over the next few days, so Turge was brought on as a fill-in. He knew it was only temporary and perhaps that's why he kept to himself. No one bothered him or interupted his solitude. Turge liked his affairs kept private, and it was noticeable. Bren tried asking him about home life one night in the galley, but Turge ignored the question. So, they let him be.

As private as he was, one thing about Turge was inescapably apparent. He talked to the peanuts.

It wasn't that he would utter small greetings to them, or check on their health with a simple, "Everyone okay?" That would have been dismissible. They all did that from time to time.

Turge carried out lengthy conversations, and not with the collective, but with individual bags. He knew he wouldn't have time to get to know them all and he made that apparent to the surrounding cargo of crate 1179. It housed the peanuts he spoke with most frequently. He would take the bags out, and stand there for hours talking and asking questions.

No one knew exactly what he spoke to them about. They were afraid that if they asked or got close enough to hear, he might stop. And they didn't want that; it was intriguing to watch from distant gangways or wherever they could find a good vantage point. Captain Bickons would have a crew member recheck the boxes that Turge had opened, ensuring correct numbers. Every bag was consistently accounted for so Bickons let it go. It was harmless, and it kept the crew entertained.

to be continued...

Laughing Ever Since

2006-02-23T16:09:00.000-05:00

Hum, hiss and click of the older but still usefull VL-3. Yep, i'm at work; all the way in the back. It's "Rich's" area, but today we are sharing (not that he had a say in it). So i 'm sitting at the bench (table, desk, ?) built for two and the right half, at least for now, belongs to me.

A long time ago...welll, in the grand scheme of things, not that long ago (seventh grade), i made a decision to not take life so seriously. It happened in an instant and i didn't realize the full implications of the decision until years later, and partially just now.

f l a s h b a c k (warpy fade effect combined with the sound of a harp)

Science class would begin in a few minutes. I sat on the left side of the room, third desk from the front. Why Steve was making fun of me or what he was saying, i don't remember. But i can still see his face. He was turned around (facing me) from the next desk up (towards the front). His taunts, in addition to the laughter from kids in the surrounding desks (and perhaps an already unpleasant string of preceeding events) were too much. I could feel the tears forming. They wanted out. They wanted emotional release. My feelings were hurt and they wanted to prove it.

But in that instant; right there, right then, something in me changed. A switch was thrown. A button was pushed. A valve was opened. Whatever it was, it was quick and it was good. The tears retreated, my mouth opened wide, and what came out?

"You ____ing son of a ____! You think you're so "cool" and "macho", but let me tell you something you ____! You can't _____ say _____ and _______ and on top of that, your mom _____ and you were ______ on a Thursday morning! So ______!" (Fill the blanks in with whatever you find appropriate).

No, what came out of my mouth was laughter.

Laughter?

Yep.

I wasn't laughing simply to avoid crying in front of them, it was genuine. It was real. I was actually laughing. Probably out of confusion or not knowing what else to do, Steve said, "He's laughing!" then turned back around and left me alone. Why the heck was i laughing?

I really don't know, but i've been laughing ever since.

Perhaps i realized that it doesn't really matter what anyone says about me. Who are they to judge? Ani DiFranco sang, "They're like fish in water that don't know they are wet. As far as i can tell, the world isn't perfect yet." They can say all they want about anyone, but at the end of the day they're surrounded by just as much of the same water. Think about that next time you want to call someone "stupid" for something. Haven't you done stupid things before? I have.

Maybe laughter became an escape. It doesn't hurt or pull on your insides the way crying does. But i don't think that's the case. When i laugh, it's not me avoiding negativity. I actually do find humor in the situation. There's something about awkward silences, for instance, that brings comedy. So i laugh.

Sometimes i feel that people grow uncomfortable around me; they think i'm laughing at them. But i'm not. I don't laugh at people. I know what it feels like. I just laugh at the situation or sometimes for no particular reason at all. So if you're ever with me and you catch me laughing, remember; it's not at you. Feel free to ask me what it is at. I'm sure i'll have at least a half understandable explanation.

My dad thought i was laughing at him today. He needed an insert for a tool, and wanted a box of them to be on the nearby desk (which is, presently, the cleanest and most organized desk in the whole shop). But there wasn't one. So, angrily, he said, "Ya know...when i haven't worked on a machine for a while, things get lost and disorganized. I like the tools to be right here so i can just reach for one and get it. I always organize it that way." So i laughed. Not at him, but at what was behind what he said.

My dad thinks everyone wines and complains in the shop. Let's define "wining" or "complaining" as the verbal expression of particular dislike or dissatisfaction over a specific situation, event, or otherwise. Isn't that what he was just doing? He's also under the impression that the shop, and perhaps the rest of the world, should run the way he sees fit. If it's not Tim's way (that's his name), then it's incorrect, inefficient, or disorganized.

So i laughed.

The world does not run under Tim's rules, and there are several billion other people who have their own way of doing things that, to them, is just fine. Steve, for instance, is the one who organized the desk. He did a very good job. He did it the way Steve would want it. And why wouldn't he? We don't all walk around with a checklist titled "Tim's Way". We have our own checklist and our own methods. To each his own. And my dad complains just as much, but doesn't realize it. His just sound different.

And what was his reaction?

"Why don't you go sweep the floor!"

He was serious, mind you. This wasn't a quick anger-driven flash of idle retaliation, this was a real command. He actually wanted me to go sweep the floor. Sure it needed sweeping, but that wasn't his motivation.

So i laughed again, this time at the quality of the response. Sorry, dad, but it was kind of immature. I love you, you know that. But goodness.

I was actually proud of the way i responded. "You want me to sweep the floor 'cause you're getting pissy at my laughing?" I stood up for myself, quickly and without restraint. (Applause). That's a big step for me. Usually i'll get upset, internalize what i'm feeling and let it dissipate throughout the day rather than confronting the source. But this time i sealed the internal storage tanks and bounced it right back out.

"It's dirty, and it's better than you sitting around doing nothing," he said. I had to wait for the insert before i could do any further work on the machine. It's not like i was being lazy on purpose.

But, i couldn't argue with the "dirty" part, so i swept. I pushed that broom all over the surrounding floor and even moved things to get in, underneath, and around. I looked at it when i was done, very happy with the cleaner, dust-free look.

And i laughed the whole time. I was sweeping out of spite. Not my spite, but his. There's humor all over that. Again, i wasn't laughing at him, just at the general situation.

Normally i'd get all mad about it.

But not today.

(i love you, dad)

A Means To Sort

2006-02-19T19:12:00.000-05:00

Pinback, "Logo". It's on a new playlist (on my most prized earthly possession, my iPod) that i've named "Elizabethtown". Why, you're right, that is a movie. It is in fact dedicated to the film. After seeing it i spent the next hour and a half acquiring the soundtrack, adding my own similar selections and creating the 106-song (and growing) playlist. It's designed to accompany and evoke the mood drawn out by the movie itself; at least the way i experienced it. I added songs from the soundtracks to "Moonlight Mile", "Garden State" and "Wonder Boys", all of which have a comparable feel. So that's where i am musically.

Now for mentally.

I've been stuck in this cave for the last week or so with nothing to occupy my mind save the television and the various entertaining media one can experience with it. Women's Curling, Elizabethtown, Grand Theft Auto. I've only gotten a decent amount out of one. GTA sucks out intelligence and requires very little other than hand-eye coordination. Women's Curling has brought me pain. They're out of metal contention due to five losses out of six games, and my crush on Cassie (while cute, innocent, and all that) has aroused the "where's my future wife at?" question, opening a lonely door.

So that leaves Elizabethtown as the winner.

It's an excellent film and if you haven't seen it already, it's certainly got my recomendation stamped on the case. Top right corner. "Adam's 'See It' Stamp". Relatively speaking, i don't put it on a lot of movies, but the ones that make it to the stamping floor are worth a view. The Fifth Element, Road To Perdition, Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory (not to be confused with the new one, titled "Charlie & The..."), Meet Joe Black, Keneth Branauch's Hamlet, and many others. But anyway, see Elizabethtown if you haven't already. But make sure of three things (which apply to any film i recommend, except comedies):

1. I don't know if you do this, but some of my friends do and it really annoys me. Don't fast-forward through the opening titles. Let the DVD (or VHS) start from the beginning and go at the pace the movie chooses. You can skip previews if they come up, that's fine. But once the distribution company's logo comes up (Paramount, Universal, Warner Brothers, ...), that's it. Leave it alone after that. Let it be.

2. Make sure you won't be disturbed. Shut off your cell phone, get offline, go to the bathroom, eat, whatever... Don't get up. Don't let anyone into your cinematic world until it's over. You don't want the flow to be interupted.

3. Don't watch it with anyone who will talk. If you have a friend or family-member (or even complete stranger) who you know will not make a sound (except laughter when it's appropriate), then you can go ahead and watch it with them. But if not, then watch it by yourself. I did. I'm glad.

Oh, and kind of a suggestion, but not a rule...sit through the end credits, at least for a couple minutes. Let the film sink in.

Okay, on to other things...

While i was taking a walk tonight, i passed lots of houses. It's really difficult not to. I've tried. i passed one particular red house, cozy and inviting. In the window was a small table with a lamp. Why this particular house caused the proceeding thought, i can't say. But it did.

What makes a house a home?

What is it about a particular place that makes it desirable to return to? What's inside that brings you back each day? What keeps you from picking up and going somewhere else? Is it family? Friends? Necessity? What is it?

I don't have your answers, you do.

Lately i've been feeling like i don't really have a home. I have a house that's been mine for the last year with two cats for roommates. I have a house a few towns over where i'll go when this house-sitting job is done. I have a family (nuclear, extended, and church). I have houses where my friends live and i'm welcome. But where's my home? What's missing here that i feel a desire to go find? Is it her? Is it belonging? Is it adventure? Something new? More Bob Dylan songs? What is it?

I don't know that anything i've said, or will say, will lead me to any particular conclusions on the matter. These are the emotional inquisitions my heart and mind are presently dealing with.

I feel like God is doing some rearranging of the variables in my life to prepare me for what lies ahead. Certain friends are fading out. Others remain. He's teaching me to trust Him on the whole girl issue. There are so many options with girls. Just standing somewhere like the mall, a restaurant, any highly populated area. Brunette, blonde, rehead, tall, short, thin, petite, tan, pale, eyes (blue, green, brown), trustworthy, adventurous, inquisitive, shy, outgoing, friendly, reserved, comforting, edgy, dangerous, sweet. There are hundreds more. It's overwhelming really. So i'm not going to deal with it. My wife is out there somewhere and when the time is right, God will introduce us. So until then, i'm not going to worry about it. So that's enough of that.

My head's just a big box with a question mark sharpied on the outside. I'm trying to sort through its contents. That's all. I guess that's really what all of my entries are. A means to sort in small quantities, giving what's left a little more room to spread out (until the next batch fills the space up again). But that's life.

James Brown sang it well:

That's life.
That's what the people say.
You're ridin high in April,
Shot down in May.
But i know i'm gonna change that tune
When i'm back on top of June.

Said that's life. (uh!)
Funny as it may seem, funky as it may seem.
Some people get their kicks (ah) from steppin on a dream
But i don't let it get me down.
Cause this old world keep goin around. (uh!)

But Meaningful

2006-02-16T06:29:00.000-05:00

Thomas Newman, "Road To Perdition" soundtrack

I may end up being late to work because of this entry, but i had a dream last night that i wanted to get out on paper (or at least this close equivilent).

It began with me talking to Corey through the window of my room. Her window, just a short distance away over a small patch of yard, faced mine (ground level). So, we were talking. It was a pleasant conversation, though i don't remember what it was about. I do remember saying to her, "Corey, i'm only five feet away from you, ya know. I thought i wasn't supposed to be close to you." I was being sarcastic because there was nothing she could do about it. It's not like we could move the houses. She didn't acknowledge the comment, and we kept talking. I had wanted to go over and sit with her, or have her come to me, but talking through the window was as far as i could get (i don't remember what kept me from doing otherwise. I guess just knowing i "wasn't allowed").

I was at a library, but it was set up like a mall. Escalators, different floors with open balconies looking out onto the whole. People were moving back and forth, like they would if they were shopping, from room to room. I had wanted to watch something on TV and needed to borrow a DVD/VCR from the kids' section. As i was unhooking it from the television in the room, sorting through the wires that belonged to it and the Nintendo 64 console (including controllers), i thought, "Do i really need this? I'll really be okay without it." So i stopped what i was doing, put it down, and started walking out.

Corey was in the library too, and i had wanted to talk to her and walk out with her but she got into an elevator and let the doors close before i could get on, giving me that "I'm not going to hold this for you" look while she stood and watched me frantically attempt getting there before it was too late. I raced down the stairs to try and catch her, but by the time i made it down to the lobby, she and the few others she was riding with had gotten off and left the building already. They were within sight, but i realized there was no catching them, so i gave up.

As i was sitting at home that night watching the Olympics, i went to my window and rang a doorbell just underneath that sounded a buzzer in her room (again, right across the small patch of yard). Apparently we had buzzers to get each others' attention. Her light went on, and she got out of bed and shuffled her way to the window, opening it with a, "What? What the heck do you want at this time of night?" look on her sleepy face. "You wanna come over and watch with me?" i asked. "Um...no, i don't think i should," she said. "Oh, come on, it's just two friends watching TV together," i argued. "Fine," she said. So, she slowly walked her pajamaed self over to my house and my room and we watched some TV together.

I woke up at that point, not sure what to make of the dream. But, i think i understand a good deal of it now that i have it written out. The window represents our IM conversations, the screen keeping me from getting any closer and hindering anything beyond casual limitations on subject matter. My desire for the TV/VCR is my huge craving for media and my "Do i really need this?" is me realizing that i'm okay without it. I'm not really sure how it fits into the grand dream itself, but i guess that's what it means. Corey's escape on the elvator is how i'm feeling about the way she's changed our friendship. She's leaving and wants to do nothing to alter that. So she let the doors close before i could get on. But i ran down the stairs to catch her, so i didn't want to give up. Then i got her to come over and watch some TV with me, even after i had just woken her up. So i'm still hopeful.

I'm sure there's more to interperet, but i really need to go.

A strange dream, but meaningful. I haven't had a good dream in a while.

Happy Valentine's Day, Cassie

2006-02-14T18:04:00.000-05:00

I've been quite engrossed in the Olympics as of late, and as a result i have left my blog to fend for itself. While yes, you could argue that i am here right now, it's only for a brief interlude during a two week break from normal life. So, don't expect too much here, or until the Winter Games have been completed in their snow and icy splendor.

It's Valentine's Day, everyone. We singles like to call it "Singles Awareness Day". I am without significant other this year, and where that would normally sink my heart to a depressive depth, i am doing quite well. Bob Costas keeps me quite distracted, for one (no i'm not gay, he's just one of my favorite parts of the American Olympic experience). And on top of that, i've come to the realization that i don't need someone to be whole. Yes, my heart was meant to romance and love, but being without someone to give those things to is not the end of the world. She'll come when God knows i'm ready and until then, i've got plenty of things to do and learn.

I've been really paying attention to the U.S. Women's Curling team, and so far they're not doing too well. They lost to Norway, 11-5, and Canada, 11-5. Yeah, i know, the same score? Right now they're playing Japan (not live, it's taped from earlier). I could easily go find the final score, but i'd rather be surprised. I would love to be there cheering them on, but i don't really have the money to go to Italy. Vancouver, though...there i can go (that's where the 2010 Winter Games will be). Joe and i will be attending them, Curling especially.

Anyway, i just wanted to wish a special someone Happy Valentine's Day; Cassie Johnson. She's the Skip of the team. I think she's really cute and she seems like a swell gal. I'd love to take the whole team out to dinner or treat them to a nice evening away from all the pressure to ease out of any existing tension (and end the evening just talking to Cassie about anything), but again...can't fly to Italy. And even if i could, meeting them and convincing them to join me for an evening meal would be quite the task, especially with objections from the coach. He doesn't look like the kind of guy you want to mess with (partly sarcastic...have you seen the guy?). Although i guess i wouldn't have to be with them. I could just give them the gift of a team night out. Well, anyways, i'm not there.

So, from here in the U.S. at my laptop on the kitchen counter, listening to the sounds of your game, Happy Valentine's Day, Cassie.

Yeah, Sorry

2006-02-09T23:10:00.000-05:00

Thomas Newman, "Shawshank Redemption" from (you guessed it) the Shawshank Redemption soundtrack.

Chelsea's here with me. She's working on a paper for school while her laundry is drying downstairs (not air drying, that would take a really long time...it's spinning round and round in the dryer). So, i'm coming to you. I've got some clutter upstairs that i need to filter out into comprehensible words. And you get to watch.

I haven't been thinking about Corey all day, every day, but she's certainly been taking up mental space lately. I can't just let her go. There's no way i'll just watch this happen without a fight. Time to turn around and put my hand at my hip, ready to draw. Not quite so agressively, i don't want to be crazy, but i do want to put up some resistence. How? I don't know; right now all i have are words in an IM box that she can choose to read or ignore. When? I'll figure that out. Not much else to say about this right now.

I'm only half conscious at the moment. I just had two paragraphs between that last one and this one but deleted them. They were about something i'll create an entry for at some point so i won't mention the subject matter here. But i knew i wanted to give it full attention, and right now i'm only half concentrating. For instance, i presently have my eyes closed, my mouth (just fell asleep for a minute...Chelsea brought me back) is hanging open. Or was anyway.

Yeah, sorry. There's really no point to this entry, but i felt like posting and i don't want to lament over Corey any more than i already have. Although...i thought of an analogy yesterday.

The sunset happens every day, but i'm not always out there to see it. I don't make it a point to stop what i'm doing and witness the trails of color the sun leaves behind as it disappears. But once in a while i happen to be outside at the right moment. It's not always breathtaking. Sometimes it just happens with no spectacular effect. But, no matter how wonderful or average it is, life wouldn't be the same without it. If it were taken away, i would miss even the uneventful sunsets.

It's the same with Corey. I don't make it a point to go out of my way and spend time with her, but when i do, it's great. It's not always wickedly entertaining or spent doing some fantastic activity. But i don't want it taken away.

Alright, i'm seriously falling asleep. I've spent more time unconscious with my laptop here than i have actually typing this up.

Oh, in case i forget to mention later...

I'm a HUGE fan of the Olympics (particularly the winter), so i'll be spending much of the next two weeks in front of the television watching them play out. My sport this year is curling and i'll be following the women's team even though it means getting up at 3am some mornings to watch. So more tired entries are coming, i suppose.

Opening Ceremonies Friday night @ 8:00 on NBC...watch them.

Stage Two

2006-02-06T23:13:00.000-05:00

Beck, "Beautiful Way". A selection from a playlist i created on my iPod called "Drowning". It's a grouping of music that soothes, calms, helps me regain focus when i'm drowning in emotion or thought. And if it can't do that, it at least distracts me.

Before i begin my lament over my present emotional pool, i must say that it's snowing. At least it was. I was witness to the first flakes, floating downward in a flutter of wind. It only lasted for a few minutes, a short-lived sanctuary from an otherwise moderately troubled morning. Snow fall brings me back to calm. Now it's bright and sunny out (cheery even and that just isn't doing it for me.

So...what's Adam drowning in today?

My last entry, "For Corey" is not about a real person. Corey represents my friendship with someone. I wrote it as a kind of obiutuary for its passing. I thought it would therapeutically relieve, but it didn't. So now i'm going to directly address the issue. One thing before i start. As much as i would have loved to explore romantic possibilities with Corey, i don't have a thing for her. You must understand that in order to apply what follows to a pure feeling of loss for a friend, and only a friend.

It's interesting how we meet and connect with people. For isntance, Pam and i met in Jr. High; our lockers were right next door and we used to get angry and yell at each other. Now we're good friends. Heather and i grew up in the same church, but it wasn't until our early 20's, a prayer group, and a hug preceeded by a Dr. Seuss birthday card that we became friends. It's always different, but so far my all-time favorite is Corey's. It was random and attractively unique.

I've known her for...what, six, seven years, Corey? To preface our first verbal encounter, we were at the same winter retreat with our respective church youth groups. I had, for a year or so, thought she was really cute, but i didn't have the courage to talk to her. One night all the guys in my room were talking about her "nice rack". Bothered by it, i spoke up and said, "Guys...you really should be more respectful than that."

Perhaps God rewarded me for my boldness in speaking up, or perhaps fate had it planned regardless. The next day, i was standing in the common room (where everyone would meet to socialize over games, snacks, and conversation), collecting my deck of cards that had been carelessly strewn about the room by a fan of "52 Card Pickup".

"Hey!" came a female voice from behind me. I turned around, and there was Corey, looking right at me. "Are you Adam?" she asked, making her way across the room.

A bit confused, and wondering where this could be going, i cautiously answered, "Um...yeah."

"Wanna be my friend?" came the question, from the cutest smile i had ever seen.

"Yeah," i said without hesitation, my guard now dropped.

And we had been friends ever since.

To say that we were ever intimate friends would be a topic of contraversy, but i did always consider her a good friend. There are four circles of friendship and she generally held a fluxuating position between the second and third (the first being the closest and the fourth being just this side of acquaintance). We had our share of intimate conversations, sure, but it wasn't so much the quality of our friendship that i loved; it was her.

Her character and personality, riddled with quirky and unpredictable points of interest, are...well, captivating. One innocent look, one casual smile, one even remotely penetrating question posed from that curiously intriguing head of hers, and i was rendered immobile. This is not to say that my heart would stop beating or my lungs would suddenly find themselves without the capacity for air. It was just that she could capture my attention for lenghty periods of time, which very few people can boast of. I'm quite easily distracted.

Her kooky humor could make me laugh with something as simple as a french fry. If you can't stare at a french fry for a while without laughing, you clearly take life too seriously. She could make me instantly comfortable. Being with her was like sitting on a big comfy couch in a room facing the ocean. Cool, mellow, free. And she wasn't afraid to burp (be completely herself). She'd just let that belch right out and would say, "whoops," which really meant, "I had to burp, so i did. Deal with it." There's so much more i could say, but this will get entirely too lengthy, so let's move on.

She's dating this guy, State, and they're getting quite serious. So, she has made the decision that any other male relationship that goes beyond "casual" is inappropriate. I understand why she feels that way, but i'm not sure i understand the practical implication of what she's doing. Group settings are allowed, one-on-one is not. Surface conversations are fine, intimate aren't kosher. At least this is what i've come to understand.

So i'm grieving. It seems the appropriate thing to do, not that i have control over it. There are five stages to grieving. I'm on stage two, anger, and i'm really feeling it. I've been angry since Sunday morning (our conversation about all this happened on Saturday night). I don't fully understand her decision, but i respect her enough to adhere to it. I'm really pissed.

She began the conversation online, so i stopped her. If we were going to have the kind of conversation where you're losing a friend, i wanted to see her face. I wanted to look her in the eye when she told me, so she could look into mine while my heart broke. So she could see my face as i expressed exactly how i was feeling. Words on a screen don't do that kind of conversation proper justice. Yes, Emily, i know...i broke up with you online, but that was a long time ago. Maybe this is cosmic irony.

AIM was the only medium Corey would work with, and i had to deal with it. A phone call couldn't even be placed, and apparently that applies to our friendship from now on. When i asked if phone calls once in a while would be okay, she said, "Let's stick to AIM for now and see where it goes." We've been seeing where it goes for the last six years. So what you're really telling me is "no".

Corey, what bothers me the most...the thing i am most agrivated by is that you were an in-the-moment friend. You weren't hindered by boundaries or limitations on who you could be to me. There was always room for more, or less; whatever the situation called for. And i loved that. If we needed, a detailed, intimate dialogue could take place. Or we could go for months without talking. And that was okay. But now you've backed away from that and put yourself in a specific area. This far, no further. I mean, there were boundaries before but they were so far out it didn't matter. Now they're quite defined.

You said we can't do one-on-one anymore, phone calls aren't cool, and casual conversation is all i can take part in. What i got from that is that i'm confined to surface conversations online for the rest of our friendship, what little of it is left at this point. That just plain sucks. Let's not sugar coat it and say, "Well, we'll play it by ear." No. Let's come to the understanding that i can't have you as an extra in the film. A background actor with a few unimportant lines like, "You want butter or cream cheese on that?" If that's where you'll be standing from now on, you're asking me to make a really difficult change. And what happens if you and State break up? Are you gonna walk back over here and say, "Hey, let's be friends,"? I don't think it'll work quite the same the second time.

That person you are that i described a few paragraphs ago? That person whom i so enjoy? You're taking her away from me. Why?

One thing i am happy about. You respected me, and our friendship, enough to have a conversation of this kind. I've had friends drift in and out, and i've been sad over many of them. But you're the first one to actually talk to me about it. Initially, i agreed with your decision, which made it all the more difficult for me. If i felt it was something stupid, i could've combatted it. I could've fought. But now i disagree. Now i want to fight. It's just plain ridiculous. I'm your brother in Christ, for cryin out loud. Don't you think you're being a bit unrealistic? There are plenty of situations where being with me one-on-one would be just fine. Two friends, hanging out. Inappropriate...hogwash!

Since i'm not in a position where i can speak with you right now, i'm not sure what else to do. All i have is my anger, my words, my music.

You said, "I'm sorry if this hurts."

It does, damnit.

For Corey

2006-02-04T19:01:00.000-05:00

Thomas Newman playlist i made on my iPod with all his quieter, more pensive tracks.

Corey died today.

Complications from seasonal transition ushered her to the exit. Her departure had noticeably advanced for the final moments of her life and, thus, was anticipated. But, despite the expectation, it remains a difficult loss for those who knew her.

Her character waned and waxed at its own discression, without the slightest warning or gesture. While she generaly lived unassumingly concealed in the masses, her presence caused a more manageable view of life's otherwise complicated affairs.
She was unpredictable, quirky, and prized for her uniquely refreshing and comforting qualities. Her full potential, hidden amongst the clutter of daily life, will remain a mystery though one could argue, philosophically, that it had already been reached.

There is more that can be said of her and that i wish i could express in more articulate words, but that's all i have the present capacity for. There is a time to mourn and a time to rejoice. People come and go, and so it is with Corey. She will be mourned over for a time and then perhaps a new birth will bring a period of rejoicing. I am not trying to depreciate her passing, but rather accepting it as a part of my own life.

I will miss you.

Tastes Like Chai

2006-02-03T21:25:00.000-05:00

good GOSH i have neglected my blog for too long

Get some snacks, a drink, go to the bathroom, this is a really long one...

no music; instead, the steady electric hum of machinery, the faint hiss of high pressure air, and the crackle of steel chips against the door of the CNC (Computer Numerical Control) machine i'm working with at this particular moment.

I'm writing (actually writing, not typing...until later at least) an entry at work. Why not? I could be reading the newspaper. There's tons of it here. It gets used as packing material for various parts. I'm sure i could find one as recent as yesterday or as old as August. That's how old the jar of Miracle Whip was that i opened last night. I promptly disposed of it after finding that out. I'm certainly glad i made you aware of that. SIDENOTE: I found a newspaper from 1968 the other day :END SIDENOTE I could be reading a book. But, that's what i've been doing for the last two days. I've read from 7:00am to 4:00pm with the exception of morning coffee break (9:30am to 9:45am), lunch (12:00pm to 12:40pm), and the time it takes me to unload a part, check measurments, change them if necessary, and load in a new part. I've actually found myself drifting into a quasi conscious state towards the end of the day. Just in case anyone's confused by that, i don't go into a trance, i get sleepy. I had the option of just saying "sleepy" or "tired" to begin with but that's not as fun for me and you wouldn't have these three swell extra sentences. Aren't you lucky.

SIDENOTE: I'm machining with very precise measurments. Take one inch and divide it into ten thousand equal parts. I'm working with those. I can change the size of something with numbers that small. For isntance, the governer bearings i'm working with right now have a hole in the middle, the inner diameter of which has to be between 1.3745 and 1.3750 inches (that's the margin of error i'm allowed). Very precise. So much so, in fact, that you couldn't tell the difference by looking at a hundred of them, each a ten thousandth of an inch different from the rest. :END SIDENOTE

I could also be doodling or sketching various objects and people around the shop. I can only see three people from where i am; Rich and two "plumbers" who are fixing a heater using loud noises. Their methods don't seem to be productive, but i shall be proven wrong when they have finished and the cold air flees the newly fixed unit. And i just plain don't feel like doodling.

So, i thought i would do some writing. Rather than attempt taking in, i'll give a little out. Besides, i've got to move on from the previous post, and now seems like a super time for it. Something fresher. Something more towards the "normal" me. [When i wrote this at work, it came directly after "Think Next Time", so that's what i'm referring to]. I'll be the first one to say that there is no "normal" but i didn't know what other word to use, so deal with it. I'm sure you were fine with it to begin with anyway. MOVING ON...

Every now and then i look up at the door to the CNC machine. There's a door that slides open, but the whole machine is completely enclosed when the door is shut. There's a rectangular window (the long side vertical) on the door so i can see in if i feel the need to observe the motor functions of a programmed mind. But i can't. There's a steady spray of egg nog that streams down the window. It's not actually egg nog for those of you that were suddenly awestruck by the multifaceted winter beverage. SIDENOTE: Hood makes the best mass produced egg nog :END SIDENOTE It's actually coolant. One coffee can Blaser Swisslube (company name) "Blasocut 2000MD water miscible mineral oil based metal working fluid" to one 5 galon bucket of water. And, when stirred together, it looks like egg nog. I wonder if it tastes the same. Hold on.........nope. Tastes more like chai. Doesn't smell like either one. It has a very distinct smell to it.

At sitting temperature, it's neither pleasant nor loathsome, but when heated (like when the machine's running and the friction between tool and metal part releases large amounts of heat) the smell is a bit intrusive. But that doesn't h appen too often due to its intended purpose; to keep the tools (and parts) from heating u p. Hence the name "coolant".

Humans have a coolant system built in as well; sweat. It keeps our body temperature from getting to the point where its various parts and internal functions cease to work properly. Good thing. While we're on the subject, i have a question i'd like answered.

Where does body heat come from?

Blankets, coats, pants, socks, hats, gloves; they all help keep heat in. But...where does the heat come from in the first place? When you get cold in the winter and snuggle yourself under the covers, you eventually warm back up (hopefully). But how? you don't cycle the same heat around until it builds back up. It would dissipate into the sheets, bed, and pillow. That is the nature of heat; it goes from a place of greater to a place of lesser or none. At some point, you would run out. So, somewhere, somehow, your body must be manufacturing heat. Where? How?

Now you've got me started...

Two other things i don't understand (but am fascinated by) are magnetics and gravity. I don't understand why either does what they do. I know what they do, just not the how or the why.

Take a massive ball of dirt, rock, water, and various other items, and it's got a gravitational pull. Why? What causes it? Yes, i know, any mass has a gravitational pull, even you and me (edxcept ours is cosmically insignificant). But what causes it? What brings about this invisible force? As far as i know, science still hasn't answered that question.

Same with magnetics. I know what it does, not how or why. Why can two pieces of metal attract? And why only certain kinds of metal? And why only metal? Does anyone really know the answer? Oh, and why do they get separated into two polarities (opposites attracting and equals repelling)?

Science is jsut so fascinating and intriguing to me. Atoms are another one. Unbelievably small particles of matter (protons, neutrons, electrons) constructed of even smaller "quarks", constructed of even smaller things i don't know the name of.

Just had coffee break, Jeff brought in conoles (spelling?) for everyone.

Billions of these atoms group together to form the delicately intricate parts of a cell. Not just any cell, but specific ones. Bone cells, skin cells, muscle cells, brain cells, plant cells, and so on. These cells are actually alive. They move, change, function, even reproduce. Again, billions of lifeless atoms into one living cell.

Now, trillions upon trillions of those microscopic cells (of their various kinds and operative functions) combine to form a Sugar Maple, a Red Winged Blackbird, a human being. And these are also living themselves. It's amazing. I think about the words i want to write in conscious thought. Cells in my brain cause little chemical reactions through the nervous system telling the muscles in my arm, hand, and fingers where to move while simultaneously monitoring breathing, blinking, blood circulation, sensory input, digestion of a conole (again, spelling?), and many other unknown inner functions, all being carried out by groups of cells, small and large, comprised of various atoms that must move in space to adapt, and hold together by who knows what force. The closer you get, the more intimate you become with our ever increasingly complicated universe and the design of its Creator.

One thing that's funny to me is that there is always an equal amount of matter and energy in the universe. It can beither be created nor destroyed. Matter, generally speaking, stays put, so there's not a whole lot of movement (cosmically speaking). but energy is an inconstant, unpredictable thing. Yet, there's always the same amount of it in the universe. So, when there's a solar flare, emitting all kinds of light and heat energy, do a bunch of lights dim on the other side of the galaxy to compensate? If energy is constantly equal (in quantity, not placement) throughout the universe, does it follow that an increased amount here results in a decreased amount there? With matter, it's different. Matter's always here unless it's moved there. If i'm making a rocking chair, a tree doesn't suddenly get shorter in Norway. But energy shifts, changes, fluctuates. It's just very interesting to think about.

Well, i'm on my last part, so i'd best call it here. Maybe more musings later, or maybe not. You can just scroll down and check, but i have to wait til the end of the day to find out. time travel in a way. I think i've said that before. Ah well...

No, i didn't actually taste the coolant.

Painful Pleasure

2006-01-22T20:49:00.000-05:00

I don't have any music on at the moment, but on the way home from Boston i was listening to Pink Martini (the day's smooth finish called for their smooth music), followed by Joni Mitchell's album "Both Sides Now" as the evening became a bit more on the mellow side.

While moving Joe's various items out of his apartment today, i came to an odd realization. More of an observation, really.

There came a point where the seventeen foot UHAUL truck had to be moved from its parking spot to a new one, just 30 feet away. When you're moving a bed, bureau, small refridgerator, among many other items of varying weight, thirty feet makes a huge difference. It was going to be parked directly behind my car (by direclty, i mean three inches off the bumper).

I had to go up the stairs to aid in the descension of a bin or two of random items, so i was probably going to miss the excitement of reparking a giant truck. For a guy, that is exciting. So i'm at the top of the four flights (eight sets) of stairs for the twenty-seventh time today. And what do i want to do? Take it slow, keep from straining my already tender muscles, enjoy the view from each window i pass on the way down.

Nope.

I want to bolt down those stairs, trip over whatever's there, tenderize my muscles all the more, and not even bother with the windows. Why?

So i can see them repark the truck.

Yep. That's it. So i can be there when this large box-shaped piece of Americana moves thirty feet from one parking space to another. So i can watch the gap between its front bumper and the rear bumper of my own car (small enough to fit inside the truck) slowly decreases to an amount of space a man is proud of. Three inches of joy for seventy-two steps of pain.

But you know what? I'm not alone. We all do that. My cousin Chelsea, my best friend Joe, my ex-girlfriend Heather, and that guy that invented boneless buffalo wings. Everyone.

And the worst part? It's a voluntary action. Unlike the circulation of blood, the digestion of food, the sorting of sensory input, this takes conscious effort.

There's something. What it is for you is different than it is for me, but there's something in your life you go through pain to experience, to be part of. If there isn't, there should be. I know when i don't have my painful pleasure, i miss it. Something in me is not right. Something in me is lonely.

I'm not trying to make a point. Just sharing a thought i had while working my way down some stairs today.

Waiting For Joe

2006-01-15T19:34:00.000-05:00

Thomas Newman, "yes" from the Meet Joe Black soundtrack

I'm sitting here on the couch, waiting for Joe to arrive with chinese food, high energy, and an anxious mind for tonight's season premier of 24. I've seen the show but once and found it predictably formatted. However, Joe has politely asked me to give it another chance and is hopeful that i too will become hooked upon its suspenseful plotline so that we can follow it together. Whether his plan will succeed or fail depends on many variables that will be carried out on the glass screen in front of us, and the various speakers placed throughout the room.

I have nothing specific to speak about, but suddenly felt the urge to place some thought into my humble blog.

I'm quite tired. I spent the weekend at my cousin Chelsea's house. The reason for my lack of sleep has to do with our extended bed times, and the comfort level of the fold-out couch that became my temporary bed. I don't imagine this week will bring with it an abundant amount of rest, but i shall remain hopeful that my body will be able to fully recharge by the weekend. I'm going to need full power at least by Sunday so that Joe's move will go smoothly and i won't drift off to an unconscious state while moving a large item down the four flights of stairs. The consequences of such would be more than i wish to openly speak of.

I had a great time at Chelsea's (Peri's as well...my other cousin with whom the house is shared). We did nothing noteworthy, but that simple fact is what made the weekend so enjoyable. We watched a couple movies ("Heart and Soul", and "Arlington Road"), talked a lot, took a walk through a small section of the rural roads in Woodstock (her town), and ate far more amounts of junkfood than the human body should really be able to process. I feel my heart growing increasingly angry with me for not healthily supplying my body with sustinence. "Reeses," it would say to me, "is NOT going to maintain this body. You need more vegetables and fruit to keep this thing running well." So, that's what i'm going to do. More vegetables, more fruit, less JUNK. Oh, and no more eating until i'm really full. Only until i'm satisfied. The guys at work in my CNSMC (Central Nervous System Main Control...the brain) are relaying what's being typed down to the CDCS (Central Department of the Circulatory System...the heart), and they're all chearing down there. I'm sure shouts of joy are going up from all over the body.

In case of questions regarding "Joe's move" (mentioned earlier), Joe is moving home from Boston for a few months to save money until we move in together at the end of the summer. Wise decision i feel. We're moving his stuff back this coming Sunday (the 22nd). We'll probably stop in at Ernesto's Pizza, in the North End. It's the best pizza we've ever eaten and we make it a point to stop there at least once when we're in the city together. I do hope we have time. Ernesto's is worth its own entry. I just might do that some time.

Well, Joe will be here soon so i should get going. No update yet on the "Liquid Thought" situation (for those of you who got to read the entry while it was still posted...see "Think Next Time" if you have no idea what i'm talking about). I'm certainly hoping for the best, but trying not to get ahead of myself. All in God's time.

Hang on, little tomato.
(Pink Martini album...and song, the lyrics of which apply to the aforementioned "Liquid Thought" situation)

Think Next Time

2006-01-10T00:06:00.000-05:00

Dave Matthews Band, "#34"

I'm writing a little in frustration at the moment, but also with a new understanding of something stupid that i just did. For those of you who got to read the entry that would originally have been here, "Liquid Thought", good for you. For those of you who haven't, perhaps i'll put it back up at a later time.

Amy, i hate to admit this because i hate being wrong (though i like to think i'll admit when i am), but you're right. My heart is something to guard, to keep safe, to allow my Creator and certain trusted friends into. No one else. I didn't want to see that though. I wanted the movie-goers dream of pouring the heart out into an open crowd. But who's in that crowd? What're they going to do with it?

DAMNIT! I'm so frustrated. But do you know who i'm frustrated with the most? Myself. I kept saying to myself, "Adam, you always let yourself get carried away and you make rash decisions based on," yep, you guessed it, "the spirit of the moment." All this energy comes pouring into my heart and mind, and rather than filter it out a little at a time so as not to make quick, unwise decisions, i let it do exactly that. And then five minutes later (or in this case, a few days), i'm looking at myself saying, "What the hell did you do that for?"

This is not to say that a moment can't lead one to do wonderful things. It can. But at least in my case, it can also lead me to do very unwise things. It's something i'm trying to work on. Lord, help me out. Of course, You're already doing that aren't You? You've never given up on me and never will. You rock, God.

Alright, that's that.

So, again, for those of you who got to see that bit of my heart that sat here for the past few days, congrats. Do with it what you will. For those of you who didn't, maybe another time. Whatever the case, i've learned.

Control yourself, Adam.

I'd write more, but i'm so freakin exhausted. No sleep for me again tonight.

Sigh.

Fours & My House

2006-01-07T11:53:00.000-05:00

John Williams, "Hook" soundtrack. I'm in a particular musical mood right now, but since i can't seem to find the proper music to accentuate it, this is what i ended up with.

Actually, typing that out and realizing that i have the ability to change things, i put on my "Quiet Songs" playlist from my iPod (on random). First song to come on is "Lenny" played by the exceptional guitarist, Stevie Ray Vaughan. Excellent.

Tiffany, this one's specifically for you. You can tell because as soon as i'm done identifying my musical environment, your name is the very first word. Normally, if i were to get an email with the "Fours" content asking me to fill out a survey, i'd probably delete it and continue on with my day. However, there are certain differences between an email and a blog that are working in your favor. I appreciate that you, while there were many options, included me in the four fellow bloggers asked to answer our own "Fours" questionaire (if it can be called that).

But, most of all, i'm extremely appreciative of your continued visits to my blog, your interest and enjoyment of my entries, and the comments that you leave me. With a certain fear of disrupting the balance between entry and comment, i must tell you that i sometimes come home with a hope that i will be able to read your reactions to my latest post. So, in return, i will fill out the Fours as you have requested.

Most people who know me well know that i tend to give an over-detailed answer to a question. Ask me something simple, and i'll reply having thought about background details that most would pass over or generally sum into their answer. So, some of my responses to the "Fours" may be a bit more lengthy than they need be. But that's the nature of getting to know someone, so if it ends up being the case, bear with me. Oh, and while i was "tagged" by Tiffany and i'm probably supposed to "tag" four other people, i'm not going to. Anyway...here it is:

FOURS

Four jobs I've had in my life:
Cashiere & Photo Technician @ CVS
Daycare Teacher @ The Stork Club
Not sure what exactly to call this, but I help set up the sanctuary for weddings @ my church
"Shop Boy" (as i like to joke) @ Jensen Machine

Four movies I could watch over and over:
The Iron Giant
Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory
Back To The Future (I or III)
Sleepless In Seattle
(It was very difficult for me to answer this question being such a movie guy. There are several others i could put here as well, but as i am limitted to but four, i shall abide by the rules.)

Four places I've lived:
Rocky Hill, CT (east/central part of town)
Rocky Hill, CT (west end of town)
Rocky Hill, CT (south eastern part of town)
West Hartford, CT
Yes, i've lived in three different houses in the same town. The first is where i lived until Jr. High, at which point we moved into my grandparents' (the second) because we sold our house but hadn't found a new one yet due to complications with a pending purchase in upstate NY. Then we found a house in another part of Rocky Hill and moved there (the third). And West Hartford is where i've been house/cat sitting since February, so i definitely count it as living here.

Four Places I've Been On Vacation:
Quebec/Montreal, Canada
Boulder, CO
Perdu, IN
Disney World, FL (it really should be its own town)

Four Websites I Visit Daily:
Google
Yahoo! Mail
That's really it. I don't have any daily routine websites, including my own blog.

Four (Current) Shows I Won't Miss:
Gilmore Girls
House
Yep, only two. I'm not a big TV fan. Nothing really good on, too many people trying to get your money through commercials.

Four Of My Favorite Foods:
Swordfish
Bertucci's "Shrimp Bella Venezia" Pizza
Pineapple Upside Down Cake (especially when my mom makes it...no offense to you, Amy, yours was delicious too)
Sushi

Four Places I'd Rather Be:
In the presence of God's glory
With my wife (whoever she may be)
North Western, MA
My House (Not the house i live in, but the place i go mentally when i need a break. It's a bit of a lengthy explanation, so i'll save it for after i fill all this out)

Four Ablums I Can't Live Without:
I'm the kind of person that wants to list every album i so dearly cherish, but it doesn't say "The Only Four" does it, Adam? No, so be a good sport and choose four at random. Very well.
"Motorcade of Generosity" - Cake
"Road To Perdition" soundtrack - Thomas Newman
"Hold On Little Tomato" - Pink Martini
"Come Away With Me" - Norah Jones

And there you have it, my "Fours" survey. And now for the explanation of "My House"

Okay. Ever since my freshman year of high school, i've had this quiet mental retreat where i go when things get a little too heavy. I've had visitors there (real ones, not imagined ones. I invite them, explain it to them, and they come along). So, here it is.

It's a two floor house, no basement. It sits on the beach, a few mild sand dunes on the sides and behind, just a little ways up from the shore in that long, wavy grass that sways with the ocean's breath. There's a wrap-around porch with a few rocking chairs and a bench swing. The inside is all hardwood floors, with nice big comfy couches and other equally inviting furniture. Everything within is designed to allow the soul room to stretch out and breathe freely, a reflection of the calming landscape outside the walls. There are two staircases leading upstairs. A regular one, and a spiral. The spiral is my preferred method for ascension, but the regular is equally functional.

The bedroom is upstairs (among other equally quiet rooms to retreat to). Four post bed, very little furniture in the room to keep it open and spacious. White sheets for that "clean" look. There's an upper porch as well (more of a deck) that my bedroom leads out to. Another rocking chair, another bench swing. It's that soft, slow, rocking/swinging that calms, much like the sound of the ocean surf. Another spiral staircase upstairs leads up to a Widow's Walk. For those of you that are unfamiliar with said structure, it's basically a deck on the roof. There's a hammock up there to watch the stars from.

I will go there during the day on occasion, but twilight on into the evening is when i most frequently visit. There's a pier a ways down the beach. Some nights it silently stretches out into the water, but sometimes there's a fairesque party on it (which i may or may not take a walk to be part of). You know, with all kinds of food, music, and games. Some nights there's the quiet sound of a piano that seems to quietly drift on the night's air from all around, and sometimes the sound of the waves is all i need. Most often there's a soft breeze that gently flows in through the tall open windows, waltzing with the long, white, drapey curtains. But i also enjoy the peaceful stillness of the cool air.

There are other small details that i'm still working out and that change from time to time, but that's my house. You're welcome to come with me some night. Whenever i have guests we usually have chocolate milkshakes or virgin pina coladas (the rum takes away from the flavor). I guess whatever we feel like.

Gear Up

2006-01-03T14:42:00.000-05:00

Cake, "Stickshifts And Safetybelts". My favorite band, a great song.

For those of you who don't live in New England and don't pay attention to weather anywhere else but your own section of the country, it's snowing here in Connecticut. It began as a rainy mix last night, and somewhere between falling asleep and waking up, turned to snow. Well, it was sleeting a bit this morning, but we'll not bother with that. So, there have been soft white flakes drifting from above since 7:00 this morning. It's now 2:45, and it doesn't seem like it will stop any time soon. The flake size has lessened, and its rate of descent has decreased, but the sky is still 100 feet above the roof and the surrounding streets and homes are hazed by the thousands of flakes between them and myself. So...we've still got a bit to go.

I called out from work because as much as inclimate weather arouses a sense of adventure in my inner driver, the traction on my tires is nearing a complete absence and the roads don't seem as friendly as they did yesterday. Perhaps they woke up a bit chilled by the snow blanket that had been draped over them during the night, and as a result began their day on the grumpy side. One never knows with roads. I suppose they'd be a bit more pleasant if we bothered to converse with them once in a while about their wellbeing and what could be done on our parts to help its improvement. Otherwise they shall continue feeling used and underappreciated. And i can't say as i blame them.

My father, who happens to be the foreman at the machine shop (where i work now, in case you've missed it in an earlier entry or i am at fault by neglecting to inform you of the change), understood and said that he would see me tomorrow. And that he shall. But, in the mean time, i am in a small, white, suburban, three-floor (including the basement) American home with two cats as company, good music to keep my spirits high, and snow to keep the windows from getting bored.

I was leaving my cousin Chelsea a message on AIM, when i recalled something my brother and i like to do when our snow shovelling talents are required of the presiding Lord of the Manor. We gear up with our coats, hats, gloves, boots (extra socks if it's extra cold), and shovels as our tools. What i am about to describe to you is "make believe", but i'm going to tell you how we see it so you get the whole experience yourself.

Some things you may need to know:
airlock = door leading into the garage
cargo door = garage door
cargo bay = garage

We've landed on an alien planet, and my brother and i are being sent out to explore a small surrounding area and secure it for any further explorations. We gear up in our pressurized suits (including tear proof gloves, heavy durability kevlar lined boots, and helmets of equally cool and functional qualifications). We check the pressure gauges to the airlock to ensure equal pressure inside and out. If all is well, we crank it open, step into the cargo bay area, then close and lock the door behind us. For extra caution, we recheck our suits making sure they've been put on correctly and are without any tears or loose connections. We depressurize the cargo bay, then open the cargo door and slowly venture out into the unknown.

Never before have we encountered such a bizarre and beautiful landscape. The ground seems to be covered with trillions of small white flakes. Sensors indicate their temperature to be about 30 degrees ferenheit. Lab tests, after microscopic analysis, will determine they are in fact crystalic structures comprised of solidified water. When heated above 32 degrees ferenheit, they return to a liquid state. We also discovered some far denser solidified liquid that adhered to whatever surface it was on when it reverted to a solid state.

We use our highly advanced tools to remove the crystal flakes, named "snow" by the head scientist, to clear a path for outgoing and incoming vehicular exploration teams. The "ice" (what the same scientist named the denser solid) took more work and effort to clear, but eventually succumbed to our advancements. Our vehicles were not quite outfitted for the much lesser friction between their tires and the snow, but we outfitted them with some heavier treads we had brought along, resulting in greater performance.

Anyway, you get the picture. We would do this every time we had to go out and shovel. We were explorers, or warriors destroying that which dared to cover our driveway. It was always fun, and i still do it sometimes when i'm by myself. Except now i have even more advanced machines that move the snow at faster speeds with little effort from me. Our team has become quite accustomed to the environment, and our methods of innovation have helped in many ways.

The haze between my eyes and the school in the backyard is growing weaker, and i'd like to get outside before the snow completely stops. So, dear readers, i will leave you with the above and hope that it will perhaps give you inspiration to go outside or at least use your imagination. It certainly helps work to be less "work"and more fun.

Gear up.

Popcorn Kernels

2006-01-02T22:17:00.000-05:00

originally typed this up on December 20th (2005), saved it as a draft and just remembered i had it.

No music; actually the TV is on. I'm watching CSI. I've never written (typed) an entry while watching TV. I hope i don't make a habit of it. It goes without saying that i'll only be typing while the commercials are on, but it doesn't make a difference to you does it? You wouldn't even know if i hadn't said anything. But i'm here to be honest, right? Yes...yes i am.

For lunch at work today, i had an apple (Courtland), a banana (are there different varieties of bananas?), and popcorn (Big Y, butter). I felt i needed a healthy lunch since the last week or so has been practically nothing but takeout, frozen, or snack food (the bad stuff). I realize that microwave popcorn isn't exactly "healthy", but it's better than a lot of the stuff i've been eating, including tonight's dinner. Tonight it's more that i ate too much than it is the quality of the food. But anyways...

After lunch, as i returned to my previous work, i found a kernel in my teeth. You know, the kind that get down into your gums and somehow resist every attempt at removal. Wiggling it back and forth just tires your tongue, and trying to pry it out is just as pointless. After several unsuccessful attempts, you can't help but play with it. Your tongue keeps moving around this little corn shell. (From this point on, all material is from January 2 [2006]) It's obvious that you're not going to rid yourself of this irritating oral occupant, yet your tongue returns to it over and over. If you just left it alone, you'd no longer be constantly aware of it, and it would eventually work its way out.

And i thought that's kind of like life's problems. The more you try to work them out through your own control, the harder they become and consequently the more irritating. Granted there is some work that must be done on your part, but there's also some patient waiting for some things to work themselves out. Just let the kernel work itself to a point where you can take over. But until then, be patient.

This all sounded much better in my head. Now that i see all that i have typed out, i don't like it as much. But that's okay. I'm leaving it for you anyways.

I'm listening to my "Quiet Songs" playlist on my iPod. Right now the sweet sound of Sarah McLachlan's voice is singing her song "Angel".

So i hung out with Jaime last night. I hadn't talked with her for a couple weeks, so it was nice to see her. We watched Lemony Snicket's A Series Of Unfortunate Events (again, a title too long to say and type), and Spielberg's War Of The Worlds. I didn't really care what we watched, to be honest. It was just nice to spend time with her, lightly cuddling (as opposed to the heavy stuff: spooning and all that). The conversation was comfortable, as it usually is with her. We laugh a lot together too; i really like that. Be careful, Adam. Be very careful.

There are things that i want, and there are things that must be. I pray for God to guide me through deciphering the difference between each.
I'm being vague on purpose.

Sigh.

Temporarily

2005-12-27T23:45:00.000-05:00

John Mayer, "Wheel"

People have the right to fly
And will when it gets compromised
Their hearts say 'Move along'
Their minds say 'Gotcha, heart,'
'Let's move it along'

I am really tired and was hoping that tonight would be a good night to go to bed early since i had nothing speicific planned. But, Rachael called and asked if i wanted to hang out with her, her husband John, and a couple of their friends. Seeing as she's never in town, i thought, "Yeah, i'd best take advantage." So i did. And now i won't get a good night's rest.

But you know what? Some things are worth being tired all day. There are times when i go to bed far too late and crawl under the covers thinking, "Well that was stupid." But there are also times when i could fall asleep at 3am and it would be entirely acceptible. You know those late night conversations with friends? The ones that come from the heart, are driven by the depths of who you both are, and end with a remarkably comfortable sense of accomplishment? Those are entirely worth giving up sleep. Or seeing a friend you haven't seen for a few years even if just for an hour or two. Or typing out an entry because you haven't put a literary piece of yourself in the public blogging domain for over a week. All worth it.

The above lyrics to John Mayer's song, "Wheel," struck me today. I realized, while listening to the song, that they applied to my breakup with Heather. I felt that my freedom to fly had been compromised, that i was slowly being chiseled down to a shell of who i really am. I won't get into the "You should always be yourself" stuff since my last entry was just about entirely on that subject. But, that aside, the lyrics really hit my heart.

The song goes on to say that this girl, whom he has broken up with, is not the last he'll ever love. And he's not the last to ever love her. They will both move on, have their hearts broken again, break others' hearts, and fall in love with others. That's the way this wheel keeps working out. And he's right.

It's all just temporary. I remember all the crushes i had in high school. I could list them, but you wouldn't know half of the names on it, so it wouldn't matter anyways. Perhaps another time. But they all went away, were replaced by others, were crushed on by others. A select few still have a special place in the confines of my heart, but most dissipated into the atmosphere. The emotions, not the acutal girls. Heather and i got together, had a growth filled three years, and broke up.

Friends come and go. My spacebar just started jamming and it's annoying my guts out. A select few remain close, and you should hold on to them, but most of the friends in your life will move in and out. Dorothy was right when she said, "People come and go so quickly here." She was talking about Munchkin Land, but we'll apply it to life at the moment. It's all temporary. Even a marriage lasting 50 years isn't forever. Eventually the husband or wife will die. Even before such a final event, other changes are constantly being made. A marriage is never the same two days in a row. Neither is anything else.

You might wonder where i'm going with this, but in all honesty, i'm not trying to make a point. I'm just typing out my reactions to some song lyrics that had a particular impact today. That's all.

Seeing Rachael was nice. I've missed her voice. We spent many a summer together, and there's a story to be told, but i'll go into it another time. I'm going to bed.....temporarily.

Right now i'm single, my spacebar jams up, and i've got no crushes (which i find incredibly agreeable). But one will come along when i'm unprepared. Although when are we?

That's the way this wheel keeps working out.

SIDENOTE: Do you know why we have a spaces? So that words are separated. Becauseifitypedoutasentencelikethisitwouldbereallyobnoxioustoread. You wouldn't be able to tell one thing from another just by looking at it. Sometimes God hits the spacebar. He transitions us from one thing to another. But without that space, we'd have no idea. :END SIDENOTE

The Tag

2005-12-17T08:34:00.000-05:00

Alan Silvestri, theme to "The Abyss". I don't start listening to it until after the second line though. The first two (from "I don't..." to "...have thought?") i put up last night while watching 13 Going On 30, then i added the rest this morning.

I don't know if it's the spirit of the moment, i need a good pick-me-up, or that i have a crush on Jennifer Garner, but i just realized that i really like this movie.

Who'd have thought?

It's not the concept of the film, which is fine, but it's more the interaction between Jennifer Garner's character and Mark Ruffalo's

Actually, while we're partially on the subject of Jennifer Garner, i had a dream about her the other night.

I was sitting with my laptop (in the dream) and i had her AIM screen name. I think it was actually "Jennifer Garner". We were talking for a bit, about what i don't recall, and i got the feeling that i was annoying her.

You know how people say that dreams are just a string of events from your personal experiences translated into obscure, unconscious thought? I find that often to be true. I don't actually have Jennifer's screen name, but i do sometimes have this fear (rational or not) that i'm annoying people online. Jaime for instance. I IM her ALL THE TIME. And i begin to wonder if she really does enjoy talking to me, or if i'm annoying her guts out (a phrase i've become fond of over the past few days...the guts out part). I'll sign on, see that she's on as well, and i'll assertively say to myself, "Adam, maybe you should leave her alone for a change." Apparently i'm good at ignoring myself, because a large portion of the time i IM her anyway. And then the fear sets in. "Am i annoying her?" Mind you, this doesn't just happen with Jaime, it happens with Grace sometimes too, and Pam, and i'm sure a handful of others. It almost always happens with girls that i have even just a little bit of a thing for. I start to wonder if who i am is getting on their nerves and doing that gets on my own. That's when i get annoying.

That leads me to another tangent. Ever since i broke up with Heather, i've tried to stay emotionally stable with the female side of the species. I used to have this thing, and partially still do, where a cute girl would cause me to suddenly pull back any bizarre parts of my character (which there are many) on display. If i were in a grocery store with Joe and we were joking around and acting crazy, like we often do, and a cute girl that i knew, or not, was in an aisle, i would stop. And i began to wonder why. Why would i become extremely conscious of what parts of me were visible. Why does it make a difference? If a girl, or anyone, is going to accept me, they're going to have to accept all of me. There's no picking and choosing. "Well, i like that he can make me laugh, but i don't like that he procrastinates so i'm not going to accept that part." Doesn't work that way.

We all have a tag that says, "As is", on which is a list of our faults and shortcomings. Sometimes an item is added, and sometimes one is removed. But there's always a tag. Girls sometimes have this false hope that they can change a guy. If you do, give it up. You can't. If he does change, as i did while i was dating Heather, it's not because of anything she intentionally did. It's because he chose to. That goes for the reverse as well. If she changes, it's because of a choice she had made, not because of any direct doing on his part. Only you can affect your tag. Anyways, i got sick of trying to cover up my own tag for a girl. I've decided to proudly wear my faults on the exterior, for without them i would be like everyone else. That, and who out there is without them? I think we all need to be much more honest with ourselves and stop covering up who we really are.

It's kind of like my car. I drive a silver Honda Civic so when it's in a parking lot it blends in to every other silver sedan out there, and we certainly don't have a shortage of those. So what makes my car stand out is the dent in the trunk and the crack in the windshield. I thought about fixing the dent (the windshield i have to), but I've grown quite fond of it. There are other defining features about it as well, but they're all internal. Same with me. On the outside (both physically and with personality), i have my unique attributes. But all the really good ones that you can't see just by looking, are inside. That can be applied to anyone. You have to get closer; you have to look deeper.

This leads me, quite unintentionally smoothly, back to the rest of my dream. I was walking to work on a pleasant street with trees on the sidewalk and little shops all over, when i realized that Jennifer was walking behind me with a couple of her friends. I walked into a store, which they happened to follow me into. Jennifer and one of her friends were talking about the other, a blonde girl, and how they needed to get makeup for her for some party or something. That's when i joined in. I began talking to them about how i feel girls shouldn't wear makeup because it just covers up their real face. I mean, makeup can be attractive sometimes, but overall i don't like it. So we got into an argument. Not a heated, strong words exchanged argument, but a decent (almost like high school friends) argument. I continued with my opinion about girls being taught by the media, and other influences that they have to change who they are because they're not good enough, and they continued with theirs about makeup being fine. That was the dream. A short IM conversation with Jennifer Garner, followed by a discussion about makeup in a store with her and two of her friends. It was odd, but interesing.

I find it funny that females are generally the ones pushing the whole "change yourself because you're not good enough" thing on other females. Guys, in general, don't care. Makeup or no makeup, designer clothes or pajamas, it's all the same to us. There are outfits that have more appeal than others, certainly, but overall it really doesn't matter. Well, at least with me. One of my favorites actually is pajamas. There is this one outfit that drives me crazy (in a good way). Khaki pants with a white shirt. Simple, clean, and sexy. Joe and i call it "the outfit". But, while i highly enjoy it (especially accompanied by Love Spell, my absolute favorite "perfume"), she's still the same girl without it; that outfit doesn't change the tag.

What i'm trying to get at here, in a somewhat indirect way, is that i try really hard now not to hide who i am. Sometimes it takes quite a bit of conscious thought and effort to do it, but it's become a goal of mine. Don't back away, don't hide yourself, don't worry. Be you. And if they don't like it, it's their problem, and you're better off without them.

Don't hide your tag.

That's What I Want

2005-12-15T22:35:00.000-05:00

John Mayer, "Quiet"

I gave Elyse some advice the other night on a guy situation. She's dating one guy, but loves another. It's a complicated story and she can tell you all about it if she so chooses. I've been thinking about some of the things i said.

I told her to play out that classic movie scene. It's come to the point where the love she feels for him is going to drive her crazy if she doesn't do something with it. So she packs up all the emotion she's been walking around with into a box, puts it in the back seat, and drives for a few hours to him. It's pouring rain when she gets to the door. He opens it up to see her soaking wet, but the look in her eyes tells him she's got bigger things to deal with. He invites her in out of the rain, but she refuses knowing it will only distract her from what she needs to do.

So there she is with her box, water dripping from her face, her eyes heavy with emotion. She begins to unload it, one item at a time. It's very important that she doesn't just dump the contents out, but goes slowly and completely through. She takes it slow, but makes sure that everything is out of the box. Then she leaves. Or, he grabs her and kisses her, or confesses his same feelings for her.

That's what i want. To be so in love and come to that conclusion so undeniably that i will drive to the ends of the continent to tell her. SIDENOTE: If she were in Boston, Manhattan, Burlington even, that would be far more convenient. But it's not about convenience, is it? :END SIDENOTE. And, at the same time, to be so in love that i do not require, or expect, a response. To stand outside the door in the pouring rain, opening my heart to a deeply vulnerable state not to take in, but to give out. To have so much love for one person that i can't contain it within the confines of my own soul. These are the things i want to be feeling out in that rain.

I'm sure i could elaborate more on this, but i've already nearly fallen asleep several times.

She's out there somewhere, right now. Maybe i know her, maybe i don't. It could even be you (with the exception of males & blood relatives).

Murder

2005-12-14T18:33:00.000-05:00

Apparently there was a murder in Woodstock, CT, one of the most rural towns you can be in. It shocked the inhabitants of the town itself. My cousin Chelsea (who happens to be one of those inhabitants) wrote up an entry about it. (chelseaann.blogspot.com). That was the inspiration for the comment that i left her which i would like to share with you.

I agree with all of what you have said. You even stunned me at points with truths i had forgotten. Well, perhaps not forgotten, but at least set aside. What hit me the most is your referring to homicide as final. There is no changing it. What's done is done, and cannot be reversed or undone.

I also got a bit worried about your return home to that very same town.

I grieve not only for the loss of a human life, but for (s)he who carelessly ended it. That's what gets to me the most. Death is part of life; it should be not only accepted, but embraced. Things begin. Things end. But to make a conscious decision to destroy another human's life is foreign to me. To have someone in your presence and suddenly (or as heinous and unspeakable as it may be, slowly) remove their soul from this plain of existence, i cannot understand.

To comment on something else. While i agree that many have become blinded to pain, i also feel that there are many who have not. I would like to think that i have not become oblivious to the hurting masses around me. But at the same time there is so much pain that it cannot all be acknowledged or felt. To constantly be aware of, and to feel, the pain of our world would be beyond overwhelming. Sometimes we cannot bear another moment of it and must let it go. But that doesn't make our hearts caliced. Rather, to be conscious of so much makes them stronger.

Do not lose hope.

As Lemony Snicket (at least the narration in the film) said, "At times the world can be a dark and sinister place. But I can assure you there is much more good in it than bad."

Hovering PO

2005-12-13T00:12:00.000-05:00

Thomas Newman, soundtrack to "Lemony Snicket's A Series Of Unfortunate Events", which is much too long of a title to say or type.

I had fun tonight with Joe and Ross, and while what follows is no amazing tale worthy of a book, it was enjoyable and memorable and i'd like to share it.

We were going to visit Sam, but he was sick, so instead we dropped off a new TV (new to him), then headed to the Buckland Hills cinema for Harry Potter in iMax. We bought the tickets, then headed to a Wendy's just down the street to tap into the dollar menu. We ordered a total of 6 jr. bacon cheeseburgers, 2 small frosties, 2 medium fries, and one 6-pc. chicken nuggets. What we got, after we had already paid, was 9 jr. bacon cheeseburgers, 2 small frosties, 3 medium fries, and 2 6-pc. chicken nuggets. In short, we got an extra nugget order, and 3 extra burgers. We weren't going to complain.

I asked for extra bags which we used to individually wrap most of the items for temporary storage in our coats to smuggle them into the theatre. We got past the main entrance, with very curious looking bulges in our coats, and proceeded into the "iMax" to take our seats. I put "iMax" in quotes, because i don't think it's worthy of the title. I would just call it "big". The screen was huge, but no larger than most of the bigger theatres. There were two rear speakers that were ginormous, but they looked like they had just been stuck there so they could put the title "iMax" on the outside. It wasn't very convincing.

Anyways, we get in, unload our evening meal from our outer vestments (spelling?), and begin to partake. The projector operator (herein known as PO) watches us from behind the glass separating the projector room from the theatre, and then reports us. The reason he saw us so well is because our seats were right in front of the projector. So this guy comes in (mind you, there are only 5 other people seeing this film) and tells us we can't eat "outside food" in here. "Okay," we reply, cleverly deciding that if we stop eating it, we're obeying the rules. So we return the food to the white Wendy's bags, and set them down. Our frostys are probably a little melty at this point.

Then another guy comes in 3 minutes later and says, "You can't have outside food in here. The PO's been watching you this whole time, and he's waited ten minutes to start the film because of it." When he says this, we're at 8:05, the start time for the film. Maybe the clock in the projector room is ten minutes fast. He thought he was holding everyone up just because of our foolish decision, when in actuality, he had caused no delay whatsoever.

So, in the end, we decided that i would bring everything out to the car, with the exception of the medium fry and two burgers that had already been consumed. After the movie, we ended up eating a couple burgers cold, and the frostys were good (they keep well in 28 degree weather). We were quite upset, and are now boycotting that cinema because of it. Ah well.

Moral of the story: Don't unload the food and start eating until the movie has started. The PO won't hover over your seats to see what you're eating at that point.

By Candlelight

2005-12-11T16:44:00.000-05:00

Boston Pops, "A Boston Pops Christmas" (the album). It's a very Christmas, very upbeat, very enjoyable CD (or cassette, LP, whatever medium you can find it on). At this particular moment the song is "The Little Toy Trumpet".

Again, i find myself in a writing mood with no specific direction to head in. I stand in a field full of creative seeds, each one waiting to be developed into a full grown idea, meandering thought, musing, or what have you. I could walk twenty-eight paces to a new spot, or i could choose one right where i stand. Or, a sniper could take me out from far off in the trees and i could pick a seed wherever i respawn.

Found one.

In our house, much like any, there are plenty of lights that come with at least two options. On, or off. Some have fancier options like how bright they are, while some have multiple parts that can be turned on or off rather than just one bulb. My mom, for isntance, has this Thomas Kinkade lamp. Under it (actually, part of the stand) is a house that you might find in one of Kinkade's paintings. You can illuminate just the house, just the lamp, or both. There are a great variety of lighting options, and they're certainly not decreasing any time soon. Why, in the room i'm sitting in right now there are four lamps. Two on a table, two their own stand. Two have the traditional on/off option, two have three levels of brightness adjustments. One of them is on a timer. See? Already, in one room, there are thirteen different settings for only four lamps.

Ben, my brother, likes to leave lights on at night. If he's in a room, the light goes on. If he leaves the room, the light stays on. It works as an obscure way to keep track of what rooms he's been in. I can't tell in what order he's visitted them, only that he was there. I'm sure it has nothing to do with a fear of the dark or an irrational fear of light switches, but rather a forgetful or otherwise distracted mind. Not to say that i have a lack of understanding for such a thing, for i have one myself. But, i'm quite the opposite in the lighting respect. When i vacate a room, i cut the power to the light source. It's not that i sit in a house completely void of anything but dark, it's that i just feel no need in leaving a room illuminated without a human presence. Why spend money on something you're not using?

One of these nights, i'm not going to use lights at all. I'll light a whole bunch of candles around the house and go about my nightly activities by the soul power of natural light. It would be a bad idea to rely on their heat during the winter, so that luxury i will leave to run as it normally does. I'll just sit down to read a book by candlelight, or cuddle in with someone (again with the cuddling), or whatever. It won't really matter. A candle's light works wonders on its own.

The only other light that is as magical for me, is the moonlight. As Tom Waits articulately put it, "the moon does funny things inside a man". One of those little things in life i so love is the mystical blue glow that snow reflects from a full moon. Simply beautiful.

Perhaps i'll develop further on that at a later time. Right now Chelsea and i are going to make sweet 'n sour chicken. Mmmm. Maybe i'll post some here for you to try.

Do something by candlelight this week.

The Still, Small Sound

2005-12-06T23:01:00.000-05:00

no music.

I had nothing specific to write about, and no music to inspire me, so i went outside to get my iPod from my car. It was there that i found my musing.

Moments in life come and go. There are significant, character changing events that happen, most often unexpectedly. You'll be sitting in Starbucks drinking a tall Peppermint Mocha with whipped cream on the top (and a dash of the chocolate sprinkle stuff that's curiously contained in a salt shaker) and WHAM, there's one. They come up out of nowhere. But those aren't the moments that are on my mind. I'm thinking of the small ones. The seemingly insignificant ones. They pass quickly and sometimes without notice, but when we're fortunate enough to feel them, it's a wonderful thing.

I had just closed my car door, after retrieving the iPod, and was halfway back to the front door when it hit me. There are certain sounds that push away anything i'm thinking about and bring me to a pause. They're not agressive about it, mind you, but gentle and comforting. I've never been able to figure out why, or when it started. A train's whistle, for instance, or the sound of a single bell chime (especially small ones). The particular sound that drifted on the evening breeze tonight was a windchime. It came from a house just down the street.

The chime, working its magic and giving my soul pause for a moment, brought to my attention the peace of the evening. There were no cars busily motoring their way past (which is a big deal, because it's a well used road), and most people are inside sleeping or performing some other quiet activity. That puts the human interference factor down to a very low minimum. Summer's bugs are gone (thank goodness), so there's no chirping or any other unidentifiable noise coming from an equally unidentifiable insect in that tree over there.

No, there is nothing to interfere with peace. Winter brings with it something that no other season can duplicate, including autumn (which you should all know is my favorite time of year). Stillness. I wouldn't go so far as to say serenenity, but winter evenings are very still. While some begin to miss the busy summer nights, i enjoy this restful time of year. I can either be outside and be part of the quiet, or i can be inside warming up with those i love. It's a win-win for me. It's that stillness that i can not only hear, but feel. It's like i'm a part of it. I don't want to sound weird, but...i don't just perceive it, i experience it. That's what i found outside.

The still, small sound of windchimes on a winter's eve. I was there.

Common Cold Survivor

2005-12-04T01:45:00.000-05:00

A quick musing before i roll my body onto the mattress, the preferred medium for sleep.

I don't know who started the whole magnetic ribbon trend, but they must be making mounds of money. Heeps even. The variety of awareness you can place on the rear of your automobile is outstanding. From breast cancer to Iraq related ribbons to trivial little things that three Americans know about. The bigger the ribbon, the more aware its viewer will be. Then there are those bracelets that Lance Armstrong started; the "Live Strong" ones. Those have certainly taken off. Some of the kids at the daycare came in every day with three or four bracelets for different things. The sheer quantity of their distribution is close to the American flag bandwagon that everyone jumped on after 9/11. You couldn't drive down the street without seeing at least one car patriotically waving a flag on the antenna. I went a different route during the fad, however. I proudly raised a pirate flag. My car, when its colors were being flown, was nicknamed "The Jolly Roger". Anyone know where that came from? You've got two paragraphs to figure it out.

Tangents, always tangents. Back to the subject at hand. I would like to produce my own line of survivor ribbons and bracelets for the common cold. They would be a puke greenish/yellow color, resembling that of snot. I'm sure many an average citizen would be proud to display such an accomplishment. "Common Cold Survivor" they would say. Why wouldn't you be proud of that?

If you've had a scratchy throat, headache, stuffy and/or runny nose, sinus pressure, achiness, and you've survived the ordeal, you need a magnetic ribbon so everyone will know.

The Jolly Roger is the name of Captain Hook's ship.

The Frog On The Left

2005-12-02T18:27:00.000-05:00

As it happened, two frogs were sitting on their lillypads in a small pond.

The one on the left turned and asked the other, "Do you suppose this is what our life will always be like?"

The one on the right thought for a moment and replied, "Ribbit."

The frog on the left suddenly came to the revelation that he had phrased a question in English and opened his mouth to exclaim his wonder, but all that came out was, "Ribbit."

Whatever had caused such a questionably odd event had passed, but the frog on the left would remember it for days afterward, wondering if it would ever happen again.

Every now and then, when no animals were around, he would attempt to speak English once again, but to no avail.

Summer passed and the frog fell asleep to hybernate through the cold winter weather. When he awoke the following spring, he had forgotten about the whole thing.

The End.

Moral of the story:

Frogs are odd.

Cuddling For Instance

2005-12-01T22:24:00.000-05:00

Has it really been a week since my last post? Because that's ridiculous.

Thomas Newman, "Meet Joe Black" soundtrack (minus the big bandish music)...just the original compositions by Newman. Later it will change to the "Road To Perdition" soundtrack, but i don't know that until the third paragraph. You do.

When i got home from work today...actually, i should update you. I'm working at Jensen Machine now. It's a small, privately owned machine shop that's been running and in the Jensen family for many years now. My father is the foreman there, which is mostly how i got the job. I'm not machining anything yet, but i do hope to be, and seeing the great multitude of orders lying around the shop gives me hope that i soon will be. They mostly manufacture bearings (spelling?), but they do the occasional special request as well. If you were to stand anywhere in the building and look around you, your eyes would be met with bearings on carts, tables, palettes and boxes. I had the challenging job of rearranging all the free-floating items so the fork lift could be driven from one end of the shop to the other for the moving of a few machines with a combined weight of about two thousand pounds. Men doing what men do best; moving things with machines both simple and complex.

I'm in an odd mood. I want a girl. That could be taken as perverse and maybe even pedophilic. Let me change it. I want a chick's company. I'm just in one of those moods where i feel a deep desire for the touch of a female; a hug, a kiss, a rub, nothing particular. God wants me to find Him, but instead i'm trying to distract myself with temporary things. Cuddling for instance. Cuddling is one of my favorite physical things to do, and i don't get it that often. Pam and i cuddled a lot when i went to her house the other night. I had one of the nicest nights i've had in a long time. We went to Starbucks, Blockbuster to rent Magnolia, then we cuddled the rest of the night and talked about things past. Eventually, when things quietted down, we spooned (LOVE it!) and i fell asleep. I shot up off the couch at 4 a.m. when she woke me up wondering if she should just let me sleep. I'm totally getting off on a tangent. Where was i? Oh yeah, cuddling.

Cuddling is a comfort activity for me, and not just on a physical level. My mind goes blank (which is a really nice feeling for us over thinkers), my soul quiets down, and my heart beat slows to a gentle pulse. Suddenly the world is manageable and the troubles that reside within it vanish. There is only her and me. And that's how it works for me. It takes all the excess grime away and leaves me with the clean peace i so love. I also like falling asleep with someone, but since i'm not conscious to actually enjoy the moment, cuddling ranks higher.

I guess that's how i feel right now. I just need some kind of distraction. Either that or i'm really tired and should get some sleep before engaging in any further forms of living. Unless my batteries are fully charged, i just don't function well. Rather than use reserve power, i think i'll go recharge as much as possible before the morning finds its way to my window. It will have a tough time getting past the shades, but it will eventually find its persistent way in. So crafty.

Thanksgiving

2005-11-24T08:00:00.000-05:00

Soundtrack to The Shipping News (great album). My dad loves it too, so he has the volume turned up quite a bit.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I’m blogging from the road, in case you couldn’t tell from the hint in the above. Well, I can’t really say that I’m “blogging”. I’m typing this up on my laptop to post later. My battery is pissing me off. It’s supposed to be this “longer lasting” one, but apparently I only have an hour left (and it’s fully charged). Its level is currently draining further, so I should stop complaining and start typing. One more thing: My iPod doesn’t drain that fast. Why, I could play music on that continuously for several hours before it would even be half spent. Sigh.

So my dad is driving, and for those of you who don’t live in New England, there are a couple inches of snow on the ground, including the roads. (50 minutes left). The Shipping News is a great album for the visuals around us. In the film, for those of you who have missed the experience, the main character (played by Kevin Spacey, one of my favorites) spends three quarters of the film (why use fractions when you can spell it out?) in New Foundland, which is covered in snow in several scenes. We’re certainly nowhere near New Foundland, or anywhere remotely resembling it, but the snow is the important connection.

My mom is quite nervous at this point. She hates driving in these conditions, and the fact that my dad is constantly changing lanes, with those snow mound buildups between them, is only making it worse for her. The car jerks left and right when the tires plow through them. I had a thought. If I don’t watch the road, it helps me out (yes, I’m a little nervous too). Even better is if I just trust that my dad knows what he’s doing (he’s only been driving for what, 35+ years?).

Many little things often spark a revelation, or at least a thought, about my life and the application of my surrounding environment or situation to it. (35 minutes left). I tend to over think many events, decisions, and even seemingly trivial things. I get carried away with analyzing their grander application and the implications of my choice or part in them. When God will have me change lanes or what God has planned for me and how much impact my current decision will have on it is not for me to worry about. What I need to keep my heart set on is obeying Him. If I feel that He’s pulling me in a direction, I need not look at the traffic around me or the road conditions. All I need to do is move. He’ll take care of the rest. I don’t need to look at the road, but rather to simply trust that my Father knows where He’s taking me and the best way to get me there.

Look at Israel. They spent 40 years wandering the desert because they didn’t trust that God would get them into the promised land. He lead them out of slavery in Egypt, through the bottom of the Red Sea (which was dry, mind you) and through the desert with food. And yet, after all that He had done for them, they didn’t have enough faith that He knew what He was doing. I need have faith that God will take me into the promised land. I have to let Him take the helm. (24 minutes left).

That being said, I’m off. More entries later, I hope. (More parentheses just for kicks). Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Be thankful for your family and friends, for the things that God has provided for you and that He has provided them.

Black Eyed Sally's

2005-11-21T10:27:00.000-05:00

Music Man soundtrack, right now the song "Lida Rose" sung by a barbershop quartet. After the second paragraph i put on The Matrix soundtrack. Quite the switch, but that's just my ecclectic musical taste.

So i wake up this morning a free man. I have no girlfriend, i have no job, i'm not living at home, and the house is clean enough that my warning lights aren't going off. Later on, in about an hour, i'll be leaving to have lunch with my dad at Black Eyed Sally's. I've never been there, but he loves it. It'll be nice to have lunch with him, father and son.

I have to admit, nervously that he'll read this but confident in being honest, that he and i didn't get along all that well when i was growing up. He's a very stubborn man. My brother got a whole mount of the same stubbornness at birth and he still carries it around. That made it even more difficult for him with their clashing wills, something that still causes problems even now. But of course, my dad got it from his dad. Fortunately i was born too quickly and there was no time to paste largge amounts onto me, so i only got a smearing. More of my mom's traits are apparent in me, at least on the surface (not physically, i mean in my character).

It seems that lately, over the past couple years, our relationship has improved greatly. I have always loved him, don't get me wrong, but i feel that since i passed my teenage years, the conversations have increased (and become easier), and the time spent has grown in quality. It's just been easier. I'm very happy about that. We give hugs to each other and use the words "I love you". That's sometimes hard to find between two males even if they are related. I'm quite happy about it though.

I don't want anyone reading this and going, "Oh, what horrible childhood did Adam's dad give him?" because i grew up in a home where i was taught to respect others and see the difference between right and wrong, and to know that to do either you must listen to your heart. I am blessed to have two parents still together and in love while the divorce rates are rediculous. My musical diversity came from my father. He'd play all kinds of music in the house and the car, and i grew up enjoying it all. My mom likes a good variety too, but not so much as my dad. I'm very thankful for that. I think the appreciation for music branched out into other areas as well, giving me a very open, accepting heart. So, there were many good things growing up, and still today.

I came on to blog about something completely different, but now i don't have time. So, i'll leave it at that.

Later, my readers...

Musical Décor

2005-11-21T00:46:00.000-05:00

Joni Mitchell, "Both Sides Now". This song is one of my favorites. On the album by the very same name, it just glows.

I just got back from Lex's. We watched "Love Actually". I had forgotten how much i really like that movie. We cuddled up with a bag of kettle corn, and at midnight (post movie's end), i got up to prepare myself for departure. She had fallen asleep, so after getting my shoes on and throwing out the popcorn bag, i woke her up so she could sleepily shuffle her way to bed. The action was met with a grumpy response. I didn't mind though, because i figured she'd rather wake up in her bed than on the chair in the living room.

It was good to hang out with her. We've discovered that we have many of the same dorkish likes, many of which our respective friends don't care for or have never even heard of. "The Dark Crystal" for instance, a film by Jim Henson, is very popular in our worlds, but most people around us are unaware of its existence. We're also both very musically diverse, a trait that's hard to come by. You can see a small sample of what i'm talking about in my profile in the music section. So, like i said, it was good to hang out with her.

I should be in bed, but i seem to be in a writing mood.

And now for something completely different:

As an audio technician (fancy way of saying "sound guy") at church, as a music enthusiast, and as someone who's very sound conscious, i follow an analogy of my own creation. Air is a wall, and music is the art that we decorate it with. Our ears are the equivilent of our eyes, viewing the pieces in their various colors, emotions, and placements on the wall. It's hard to explain once specific examples are used, but i'll give it a shot.

Take almost any song by MxPx or Green Day. Your ears are constantly bombarded by sound, actively moving around the canvas to keep up. The lows, mids, and highs are all filled in with wild colors and emotions, leaving very few (if any) gaps for your ears to rest. As such, it gets overbearing rather quickly. This is not to say that music like this gets old, because i own the album "The Ever Passing Moment" by MxPx and i love it. There are days when i blast it in my car, especially if i've got a long drive somewhere. But, it's hard to listen to for long periods of time.

"Both Sides Now" off the album of the same name by Joni Mitchell, mentioned earlier, goes easy on the ears, but keeps them interested. It glows. It's an art piece that can be revisitted while retaining its alluring quality. Not only does the song have character, but it feels more intimate. It draws you in close, but gives you room to breathe. There are lows, mids, and highs, but in moderation allowing your ears to gently flow along with them. The same goes for a song like "Hang On Little Tomato" by Pink Martini.

Music accentuates the soul's true mood. It's no wonder i like acoustic music during the autumn. It's a time of peace and tranquility. I find that music featuring acoustic guitar or the piano warms my soul during this time of year. Autumn evenings are usually best serenaded by jazz. On rainy days i usually put on more mellow, relaxed music. Here's a list of moods and examples of the music i tend to listen to while in them.

Angry.................Limp Bizkit, Rage Against The Machine
Excited...............MxPx, Cake's "Comfort Eagle"
Sad/Quiet..........Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now", Ani DiFranco's self titled album
Content..............Norah Jones, Dave Brubeck, Billie Holiday, Chopin
Pensive..............Thomas Newman soundtracks like "Shawshank Redemption"
Happy................Pink Martini
Adventerous.....John Williams soundtracks like "E.T." and "Star Wars" or Alan Silvestri soundtracks like "Back To The Future" and "Predator"

Of course there's much more music for each mood, and some are played alongside multiple emotions, but you get what i mean (hopefully).

Now that i've attempted explaining how i feel about music, i'm going to crawl under the sheets and time travel into tomorrow morning.

Remind Adam

2005-11-19T14:42:00.000-05:00

Being that i'm not a very reliable person and i tend to forget things within about five minutes, i've created a new blog in addition to this one. However, "Remind Adam" is just for the purpose of reminding me. It doesn't really matter what the reminder is; it could be about the sandwich i left out on the counter, the socks that need to be matched and put away, or even that tedious little item that no one wants to really take the time to type out.

The link to "Remind Adam" can be found in the link field on the right of this page. Once there, you'll find instructions on how to "remind" me.

Thank you for participating in the "Renovating Adam" program.

Oak Tree #2, #1

2005-11-15T22:06:00.000-05:00

#2
Two small acorns were speaking at the top of an Oak tree. As the conversation evolved, the subject of their inevitable descension arose. They expressed to one another their fear of the involuntary nature of the fall and separation from the abundant nourishment that had caused their growth. With dismal anticipation of the eventual drop, they looked out at the surrounding woods and suddenly came to a comforting revelation. Perhaps their plummet would not ultimately result in their death and decay, but rather, in the birth of a new tree.

#1
Curiously, a large Oak tree found its way into the street during the night. As it was beginning to grow weary the previous evening, a new thought found its way into the mix of half-sleeping ponderances.

"Do i, like so many of the creatures that wander these woods, have the ability to move?"

And, by an odd coincidence, this particular tree did. So, uprooting itself, it wandered to a nearby road where it fell asleep from exhaustion. After all, it had never before made an attempt at mobility and was quite unprepared for the exertion required.

When it awoke in the morning, it had completely forgotten what transpired, and was now focusing all attention on figuring out how it had gotten where it was currently standing. It may
have eventually come to the correct conclusion had it not been for its ill fate brought on by a large truck approaching from the north. The driver, so baffled by the sight, neglected to slow down. With a great echoing crack, the tree would think no more.

Rules For Posting

2005-11-14T22:35:00.000-05:00

Apparently Joe desires to blog within my blog. Absolutely not. He's actually on the phone with me right now trying to argue his way in here. At one point, he threatened to destroy this very place simply because he could not have a piece of it. Just having to write this entry is giving me gas. To take the time and use the blog space to actually talk about this is making me shudder the same way i do when i eat vegetables i don't like. Ugh.

He's getting upset because i'm paying more attention to typing this out than i am to "arguing" with him on the phone. I lost interest in his defenses a little while ago, so i started this.

This is my spot. Mine. No one else's. I don't mind comments regarding my entries, in fact i enjoy them, but i do mind if someone is going to begin posting their own original material amongst mine. It would cease to be my blog. And thus...

RULES FOR POSTING IN MY BLOG:

Comments are welcome.

Hidden, or public subblogs are not allowed. I will delete them.
(just not the last one so that you can reference what i'm talking about)

Leaving My Harbor

2005-11-13T23:34:00.000-05:00

Posted this in Lex's blog. Thought i should post it here too...

I'll always be a big kid. When I grow too old to remember my own middle name I'll still be that quirky guy imagining that he's really Superman. So leaving to be a grownup isn't what I'm doing. I'm leaving to be me. At the Stork Club things are safe, secure and comfortable. Out in the world, away from the harbor i've moored my ship in, the sea is risky, full of adventures to be had, battles to fight and beauties to rescue. To be myself, I must remove everything else. And the only way to do that is to leave the familiar. I knew such a day was coming. I just didn't know it would be this Friday.

I'm taking my guns to town. I may not come back alive, but i'd rather fain in battle than win by default.

A ship is safe in a harbor, but that's not what ships are built for.

The Hokey Pokey

2005-11-12T15:16:00.000-05:00

Hey all...

So i'm waiting on a phone call from Jaime because we're supposed to get together tonight, but it hasn't come yet and i'm beginning to doubt its arrival. So, while i'm waiting, why not blog?

SIDENOTE: Jaime did call, we did get together, and we had quite the pleasant evening. She put BJ (her brother) to bed a little while after we had eaten pizza, and we watched Sleepless In Seattle and Lilo & Stitch. It was very enjoyable :END SIDENOTE

I'm not one to let other people post in my blog, because i'm all for original material. In fact, Joe had asked if he could post here, and i shot him down immediately. I'm also a huge advocate for banning forwarded email, which this might be construde as if i were to email it. So, i'm going against a few of my principals here. I must apologize for that. But, before i get off on some sad tangent about how i've just walked away from what i believe in, i'm going to just move on.

I couldn't let this one pass. I would claim at as my own, but as i've given its writer my blog site, she might find out. All kinds of trouble would start. So, with credit going to Lex for this, here it is...

"Sad News

"With all the sadness and trauma going on in the world at the moment, it is worth reflecting on the death of a very important person, which almost went unnoticed last week.

"Larry LaPrise, the man who wrote 'The Hokey Pokey,' died peacefully at age 93. The most traumatic part for his family was getting him into the coffin. They put his left leg in and, well, then the trouble started......"

I would like to thank Mr. LaPrise for giving us years and years of fun at parties, weddings, get-togethers, and anything else you might play the Hokey Pokey at. Funerals don't quite fit the criteria for such amusement, but i think his would be an exception. I wouldn't break out the hi-fi though. An old phonograph would be just right; a scratchy sound and a genuine appearance. It would lack the sometimes cold and artificial nature of modern electronics. Rather, it would be true, much like LaPrise's character. His ingeniously creative melody combined with a lyrical wit will keep us turning ourselves around for many years to come.

We will miss you, dear sir. The Hokey Pokey, cherished as it may be, is merely a shadowy reflection of who you really were. But it will always be here to remind us what it's really all about.

The Free Orange

2005-11-05T21:50:00.000-05:00

Somewhere out there in a grocery store is an orange without a sticker on it. Maybe someone forgot to put it on, or some kid pulled it off while his mother was walking over to the apples. Perhaps a part of the sticker was peeling off and the adhesive side caught onto another orange, transferring itself over. Or maybe it's a conspiracy. Maybe the stickers are meant to make all the oranges appear the same when in reality, they're each unique. They want us to think, "Oh, this orange says #4309 and so do the other two in my bag. They must all be the same." But don't believe it.

They're trying to do the same thing with us too. "Hi, i'm #5992, just like you." They want us all to think we're the same so they try and manipulate circumstances. That orange, the one with no sticker, is the key to our freedom. If we can only figure out a way to get the stickers off ourselves so that we don't all appear the same. So that we can all wake up and figure out that we are unique. We may look similar to others, but take off the peel and we're not. Don't literally take off the peel, that would hurt quite a bit.

I'm really tired. I fell asleep and had a whole row of "k" on the screen because my finger was pressing down and i didn't realize it (because i fell asleep). So that's enough about the oranges (for now...)