Greetings one and all. It has been quite some time since I have updated, and there are, no doubt, many wonderful and magical tales I should share. But that will have to wait. In just a few moments I will be leaving the bleak, grey skies of Michigan for the slightly less bleak, less grey skies of Indiana, en route to the bright, sunny, hurricane-laden air of Florida. Chelle and I are spending New Years with fellow Oxonians Scott and Sarah. Happiness ensues.
See you all on the other side.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Prideful and Prejudicial Thoughts
Jane and I went to go see the new theatrical release of Pride and Prejudice this afternoon (my first time, her second), and though I loathe the idea of structuring a formal review, I thought I would share some of my random thoughts on the matter (the "original" BBC production being one of my favorite films of all time).
Good things of note:
-The film had a good bit of life and energy to it. The world of the film looked "lived-in", with folks living their lives, rather than prancing about on Georgian set pieces. Things got dirty, hair got mussed, and so forth. And the ball scenes were turned to 11.
-They conveyed well the disparity in wealth and status between the Bennets and the upper social circles. Admittedly, this was a bit heavy handed, as the Bennets came off a bit shabbier and more working class than Austen probably intended, but, honestly, subtlety is not the strong suit of the average moviegoer, so I think this was probably a necessary evil.
-It was nice, too, to see girls who looked roughly the ages the characters were supposed to be, acting roughly that age. Granted, the giggling and general goings on was a bit thick at times, but not completely out of line. And they did actually attempt to make Jane prettier than Lizzie.
-Wickham, though his presence is scarce, manages to be as dashing and likable as he *should* be. The BBC's Wickham was, let's face it, well-acted, but average slouching towards homely.
-Beautiful sets.
-Nice cinematography, though a bit claustrophic early on.
-ummmm......Oh. My beloved Netherfield ball scene with Darcy and Lizzy was different, but still one of the highlights.
And now, the BAD things of note:
-BINGLEY. Words fail me. At best I can call Bingley an idiot. And I mean this in the classic mentally infirm, wandering the town drooling and muttering to the pigeons sense of the term. He was more Darcy's ward, lapdog, or incompetant nephew lackey than his friend (although there is one cute scene where he is rehearsing with Darcy what he will say to Jane), and he was neither handsome, gentlemanly, or affable.
-Darcy is, well, not bad, but bland. Here we have not an intense and principled but prideful man who changes for the better because of love, but kind of an awkward, stuffy kind of guy who is sort of misunderstood. I know, I know, I am a Colin Firth fanboy (though Jane called him "stiff" as Darcy), but when he was on screen you knew he was *about something*; give me some tortured brooding or something here. Interestingly, this film hits the attraction between Darcy and Lizzie rather early, but does little to develop him; if we didn't "know" that he ends up with Lizzie, we just wouldn't care.
-The first proposal. Outside in the rain? An almost kiss? Enough said. Maybe not. I also thought their argument, and The Letter which follows, lacked the depth and levels it needed.
-The second proposal too, actually. The bridge seemed to be stolen from Anne of Avonlea, and did we really need a solid minute of Darcy striding through the mist with his shirt open, as the music swells?
-The Wickham scenario, which is supposed to be the conflict of the end of the story, ends almost before it begins. Its import is lost, and here serves as much to marry off Lydia as bring Darcy and Lizzie together.
-Actually, I thought the whole Change (Darcy towards most everything, and Lizzie towards Darcy) was lacking. It seemed undercut by a dozen little things, from plotting to dialogue downward, and almost comes off as more of a misunderstanding or a foregone conclusion than anything else.
-Wasted time (and I am not talking about the multiple shots of the world spinning round and round the *allegedly* gorgeous Kiera Knightley). What Emma Thompson did BRILLIANTLY in Sense and Sensibility was establishing solid characters with little moments, and use of wonderful, witty, Austen-esque (if not actually Austen) dialogue. There seems to be a lot of wasted space for just about all the characters, here. And the dialogue in general was sort of sub-par, and some of it oddly placed.
-Instead of sarcastic Dad and shrewish Mum, we get passive faded Dad and simpleton Mum.
-Lizzie seems a bit less...bemused...in this one. Less kind but quick-witted connoisseur of human folly we have come to expect, and a bit more a stubborn, sharp tongued teenager. Perhaps this subjective, though.
You know, I could probably go on about this for a while, and honestly I keep thinking of more stuff as the evening goes on (barely scratched the surface earlier, Jane), but I will just stop here in the middle, because I have no desire to go through the whole thing a point at a time.
Honestly it wasn't a bad little film, despite what all the above may lead you to believe. But it is, I fear, ancillary. P&P "Lite", or with all the sharp corners worn off.
Two and a half pancakes out of five, maybe? Three? And honestly, it may not be possible to come up with a two hour version that will truly satisfy. (I'd like to see what Emma Thompson would have done with it, though).
Any thoughts?
Good things of note:
-The film had a good bit of life and energy to it. The world of the film looked "lived-in", with folks living their lives, rather than prancing about on Georgian set pieces. Things got dirty, hair got mussed, and so forth. And the ball scenes were turned to 11.
-They conveyed well the disparity in wealth and status between the Bennets and the upper social circles. Admittedly, this was a bit heavy handed, as the Bennets came off a bit shabbier and more working class than Austen probably intended, but, honestly, subtlety is not the strong suit of the average moviegoer, so I think this was probably a necessary evil.
-It was nice, too, to see girls who looked roughly the ages the characters were supposed to be, acting roughly that age. Granted, the giggling and general goings on was a bit thick at times, but not completely out of line. And they did actually attempt to make Jane prettier than Lizzie.
-Wickham, though his presence is scarce, manages to be as dashing and likable as he *should* be. The BBC's Wickham was, let's face it, well-acted, but average slouching towards homely.
-Beautiful sets.
-Nice cinematography, though a bit claustrophic early on.
-ummmm......Oh. My beloved Netherfield ball scene with Darcy and Lizzy was different, but still one of the highlights.
And now, the BAD things of note:
-BINGLEY. Words fail me. At best I can call Bingley an idiot. And I mean this in the classic mentally infirm, wandering the town drooling and muttering to the pigeons sense of the term. He was more Darcy's ward, lapdog, or incompetant nephew lackey than his friend (although there is one cute scene where he is rehearsing with Darcy what he will say to Jane), and he was neither handsome, gentlemanly, or affable.
-Darcy is, well, not bad, but bland. Here we have not an intense and principled but prideful man who changes for the better because of love, but kind of an awkward, stuffy kind of guy who is sort of misunderstood. I know, I know, I am a Colin Firth fanboy (though Jane called him "stiff" as Darcy), but when he was on screen you knew he was *about something*; give me some tortured brooding or something here. Interestingly, this film hits the attraction between Darcy and Lizzie rather early, but does little to develop him; if we didn't "know" that he ends up with Lizzie, we just wouldn't care.
-The first proposal. Outside in the rain? An almost kiss? Enough said. Maybe not. I also thought their argument, and The Letter which follows, lacked the depth and levels it needed.
-The second proposal too, actually. The bridge seemed to be stolen from Anne of Avonlea, and did we really need a solid minute of Darcy striding through the mist with his shirt open, as the music swells?
-The Wickham scenario, which is supposed to be the conflict of the end of the story, ends almost before it begins. Its import is lost, and here serves as much to marry off Lydia as bring Darcy and Lizzie together.
-Actually, I thought the whole Change (Darcy towards most everything, and Lizzie towards Darcy) was lacking. It seemed undercut by a dozen little things, from plotting to dialogue downward, and almost comes off as more of a misunderstanding or a foregone conclusion than anything else.
-Wasted time (and I am not talking about the multiple shots of the world spinning round and round the *allegedly* gorgeous Kiera Knightley). What Emma Thompson did BRILLIANTLY in Sense and Sensibility was establishing solid characters with little moments, and use of wonderful, witty, Austen-esque (if not actually Austen) dialogue. There seems to be a lot of wasted space for just about all the characters, here. And the dialogue in general was sort of sub-par, and some of it oddly placed.
-Instead of sarcastic Dad and shrewish Mum, we get passive faded Dad and simpleton Mum.
-Lizzie seems a bit less...bemused...in this one. Less kind but quick-witted connoisseur of human folly we have come to expect, and a bit more a stubborn, sharp tongued teenager. Perhaps this subjective, though.
You know, I could probably go on about this for a while, and honestly I keep thinking of more stuff as the evening goes on (barely scratched the surface earlier, Jane), but I will just stop here in the middle, because I have no desire to go through the whole thing a point at a time.
Honestly it wasn't a bad little film, despite what all the above may lead you to believe. But it is, I fear, ancillary. P&P "Lite", or with all the sharp corners worn off.
Two and a half pancakes out of five, maybe? Three? And honestly, it may not be possible to come up with a two hour version that will truly satisfy. (I'd like to see what Emma Thompson would have done with it, though).
Any thoughts?
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Differential Diagnosis, People
Today, I am sick. I even stayed home from work. I had actually intended to work from home despite it all, but I slept a large part of the day, and really had neither the inclination nor the motivation to get started on anything. I tried. Honest.
And I sound something like a cross between Johnny Cash and Janis Joplin.
I also realized that I have no "sick traditions"; you know how some people watch Gone with the Wind or read tax law or something every time they are incapacitated? So I decided to start one. There is something so appropriate and comforting lying in bed watching episodes of House when you don't feel well. I even had my cane. But just to reach things so I needn't get up.
Honest.
And I sound something like a cross between Johnny Cash and Janis Joplin.
I also realized that I have no "sick traditions"; you know how some people watch Gone with the Wind or read tax law or something every time they are incapacitated? So I decided to start one. There is something so appropriate and comforting lying in bed watching episodes of House when you don't feel well. I even had my cane. But just to reach things so I needn't get up.
Honest.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Happy...um....Between Holidays Day!
Greetings and salutations, one and all.
Just a short entry tonight, because, although it is late and I must reluctantly rise early, I knew that if I did nothing to break the inertia of having not posted in so long, I might *never have written again*. Ever. The problem is, you see, once you let it slip by for a little bit, you feel the need to post something comprehensive, or at least interesting, to justify your absence. And as the events of life stack up, your imaginary tome grows longer, and more complex, until even the ghost of James Joyce appears by your bedside one night shaking his head somberly and saying "Just forget it. It's not worth it."
So, that being said, I may go into some of the interesting things (wait...what were they again...) that have happened in the meantime, but more likely I will simply continue to ramble on randomly as I always have.
I had a spinach salad with mandarin oranges and raisins for dinner tonight; it was actually pretty good, but I am already hungry again. You see, I've decided to try something of an experiment: between now and the end of the year, I am going to try to subsist on only fruits and vegetables. With the occasional fish for protein. And this may not include lunch meetings. Or Christmas. I haven't figured it out yet. Partly I want to see how quickly I can drop the few pounds I have picked up since Oxford, but partly I am just curious to see how I feel.
And, while this idea was not strictly spiritual in its inception, we are physical beings, so it all works together; I think perhaps God will teach me some things through the hunger, and the denial.
We'll see how it works out.
My brother John is officially a part of the United States Army. He finally triumphed over all the red tape and bureaucracy, and was sworn in on Monday. He ships out for boot camp right after the New Year, and, instead of working on helicopters as was planned previously, he will now (a blessing of the delay, I suppose) be working on jet aircraft. I believe that, by many accepted standards, John is now the Coolest Person I Know. On further inspection, being an aircraft mechanic is actually better than being a pilot, because 1)The pilots know you keep them alive, and treat you well and buy you drinks, and 2)There is far less risk of exploding or ramming into things at extreme velocities.
So here's to you, Sarge. *clink*
Speaking of velocity...I have been mulling over Special and General Relativity here and there, recently. I think I almost understand (you know the difference between knowing *that* something works, like a formula or something, and really getting your mind inside of it, when suddenly you really *get* it, and that little light goes off, and the kazoos start playing, and...right), but I still have some snags. Not that I think I've bested Einstein, or anything, but there are some things that simply don't seem to work out. I'm guessing it's just me. Perhaps more on this later.
I tried to catch up on some of my correspondence tonight. Something of a lost cause. Essentially just writing "Thank you for calling, please hold" numerous times. (BTW, Christy: I've misplaced your email address, and your don't allow comments on your blog. What up with that, yo? *Ahem*)
Oh, and I went to the Society of Biblical Literature conference in Philadelphia the other weekend.
And I had Thanksgiving.
Grace be with you all, because I am going to bed.
Brian
Just a short entry tonight, because, although it is late and I must reluctantly rise early, I knew that if I did nothing to break the inertia of having not posted in so long, I might *never have written again*. Ever. The problem is, you see, once you let it slip by for a little bit, you feel the need to post something comprehensive, or at least interesting, to justify your absence. And as the events of life stack up, your imaginary tome grows longer, and more complex, until even the ghost of James Joyce appears by your bedside one night shaking his head somberly and saying "Just forget it. It's not worth it."
So, that being said, I may go into some of the interesting things (wait...what were they again...) that have happened in the meantime, but more likely I will simply continue to ramble on randomly as I always have.
I had a spinach salad with mandarin oranges and raisins for dinner tonight; it was actually pretty good, but I am already hungry again. You see, I've decided to try something of an experiment: between now and the end of the year, I am going to try to subsist on only fruits and vegetables. With the occasional fish for protein. And this may not include lunch meetings. Or Christmas. I haven't figured it out yet. Partly I want to see how quickly I can drop the few pounds I have picked up since Oxford, but partly I am just curious to see how I feel.
And, while this idea was not strictly spiritual in its inception, we are physical beings, so it all works together; I think perhaps God will teach me some things through the hunger, and the denial.
We'll see how it works out.
My brother John is officially a part of the United States Army. He finally triumphed over all the red tape and bureaucracy, and was sworn in on Monday. He ships out for boot camp right after the New Year, and, instead of working on helicopters as was planned previously, he will now (a blessing of the delay, I suppose) be working on jet aircraft. I believe that, by many accepted standards, John is now the Coolest Person I Know. On further inspection, being an aircraft mechanic is actually better than being a pilot, because 1)The pilots know you keep them alive, and treat you well and buy you drinks, and 2)There is far less risk of exploding or ramming into things at extreme velocities.
So here's to you, Sarge. *clink*
Speaking of velocity...I have been mulling over Special and General Relativity here and there, recently. I think I almost understand (you know the difference between knowing *that* something works, like a formula or something, and really getting your mind inside of it, when suddenly you really *get* it, and that little light goes off, and the kazoos start playing, and...right), but I still have some snags. Not that I think I've bested Einstein, or anything, but there are some things that simply don't seem to work out. I'm guessing it's just me. Perhaps more on this later.
I tried to catch up on some of my correspondence tonight. Something of a lost cause. Essentially just writing "Thank you for calling, please hold" numerous times. (BTW, Christy: I've misplaced your email address, and your don't allow comments on your blog. What up with that, yo? *Ahem*)
Oh, and I went to the Society of Biblical Literature conference in Philadelphia the other weekend.
And I had Thanksgiving.
Grace be with you all, because I am going to bed.
Brian
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Happy Guy Fawkes Day!
Although I suppose technically, since it is past midnight, it is the Day After Guy Fawkes Day.
Today was also my friend Melissa's wedding, in which I was an usher (I even got to go to my first wedding rehearsal on Friday). Despite some small issues--such as the unity candle not lighting, and the best man initially handing the minister (Jeremy Grinnel, for those who know him) a Ring Pop instead of the rings--it was a beautiful service. The reception was fun, spending time with some great people I don't get to see often enough.
Afterwards, because the reception was short, the night was young, and I was wearing a suit, Katie, Racie, Angela and I were considering a movie (Isaac couldn't come because his wife Lisa had promised them elsewhere, and she is responsible). By the time we left the chapel, it was raining, so I pulled to the curb and picked up Racie. By the time we got to the theatre just a few minutes away, it was *pouring*; after I dropped Racie at the curb, I had to park waaay in the boondocks, so I was absolutely soaked (in suit and tie and bouttoniere).
We had to wait for the good movies to start, so after watching previews for a while, we went back to Racie's apartment (to drop off THE bouquet that she caught, and to pick up a coat), then to CU to hang out and Katie's apartment (fun was had, and both pictures and class surveys were taken), then drop off Angela (she had to work early), then back the the theatre (the rain had, mercifully, stopped before all these events.
We ended up seeing Elizabethtown, which was very good but almost great, and the sort of movie that makes you think about life, and I may talk about it at some point in the future when I am more coherent.
From there we went to coffee, but coffee turned into dessert and dessert to dinner and then dessert, because we were hungry. Many stories and laughs and much good conversation.
And then I went home.
And here I sit, sleepy and pretty well contented for a day.
And here's two pennies: one for your thoughts, and the one for the old guy.
Today was also my friend Melissa's wedding, in which I was an usher (I even got to go to my first wedding rehearsal on Friday). Despite some small issues--such as the unity candle not lighting, and the best man initially handing the minister (Jeremy Grinnel, for those who know him) a Ring Pop instead of the rings--it was a beautiful service. The reception was fun, spending time with some great people I don't get to see often enough.
Afterwards, because the reception was short, the night was young, and I was wearing a suit, Katie, Racie, Angela and I were considering a movie (Isaac couldn't come because his wife Lisa had promised them elsewhere, and she is responsible). By the time we left the chapel, it was raining, so I pulled to the curb and picked up Racie. By the time we got to the theatre just a few minutes away, it was *pouring*; after I dropped Racie at the curb, I had to park waaay in the boondocks, so I was absolutely soaked (in suit and tie and bouttoniere).
We had to wait for the good movies to start, so after watching previews for a while, we went back to Racie's apartment (to drop off THE bouquet that she caught, and to pick up a coat), then to CU to hang out and Katie's apartment (fun was had, and both pictures and class surveys were taken), then drop off Angela (she had to work early), then back the the theatre (the rain had, mercifully, stopped before all these events.
We ended up seeing Elizabethtown, which was very good but almost great, and the sort of movie that makes you think about life, and I may talk about it at some point in the future when I am more coherent.
From there we went to coffee, but coffee turned into dessert and dessert to dinner and then dessert, because we were hungry. Many stories and laughs and much good conversation.
And then I went home.
And here I sit, sleepy and pretty well contented for a day.
And here's two pennies: one for your thoughts, and the one for the old guy.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
"Remember, remember the 3rd of November"
I think that perhaps, taken together, all the little thoughts I have been having about my life might add up to something worth mentioning. But I had a twelve hour workday today, I am tired, and I just spent an hour and a half on the phone with Scott, brainstorming about the movie ("The Flautist") we are apparently making when Chelle and I go down to Florida. (I wonder that perhaps our styles and creative visions may not mesh; mine is more "Takeshi Kitano meets Garden State", and his is more "Wes Anderson on Valium and psychedelic mushrooms." We did manage a plot, theme, and a whole mess of characterization, though. Time will tell.)
Today I had my very first flat tire ever, on the way to work. Sans cell phone, no less.
Yesterday I found one of my old journals. Shouldn't I have an advantage on the guy who wrote them? And yet it seems I could learn from him, spiritually, mentally, emotionally.
I have decided to apply to Notre Dame, amongst perhaps some other American grad schools.
And yet, I am less certain about grad school than I have been. Or at least, more willing to be less certain. I don't want to simply be trying to buy time, delaying the unfortunate inevitability of decision. Or going by default, because I see nothing else. ("I guess I will go to grad school." "I suppose I will teach."--my words.) I want to be willing to say "I don't know", and accept the future as a blank canvas that God and I have to go about filling in.
I haven't the foggiest what I might do instead, or what may be out there for me, but I will never see anything staring at my feet. Expanding my options, me. And it may very well be in the end I find myself right back here, and going off to Oxford or Notre Dame, but it will be for the right reasons, and because I chose it. "The end of all our exploring," said Eliot,"will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
I could live with that.
Today I had my very first flat tire ever, on the way to work. Sans cell phone, no less.
Yesterday I found one of my old journals. Shouldn't I have an advantage on the guy who wrote them? And yet it seems I could learn from him, spiritually, mentally, emotionally.
I have decided to apply to Notre Dame, amongst perhaps some other American grad schools.
And yet, I am less certain about grad school than I have been. Or at least, more willing to be less certain. I don't want to simply be trying to buy time, delaying the unfortunate inevitability of decision. Or going by default, because I see nothing else. ("I guess I will go to grad school." "I suppose I will teach."--my words.) I want to be willing to say "I don't know", and accept the future as a blank canvas that God and I have to go about filling in.
I haven't the foggiest what I might do instead, or what may be out there for me, but I will never see anything staring at my feet. Expanding my options, me. And it may very well be in the end I find myself right back here, and going off to Oxford or Notre Dame, but it will be for the right reasons, and because I chose it. "The end of all our exploring," said Eliot,"will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
I could live with that.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Vienna Teng. Live. In Person.
Just a short entry tonight, but I must write something, because if I am not going to write about seeing Vienna Teng in concert, what *will* I write about?
Many of my friends and most semi-longterm readers of this blog will know that I have been carrying on a love affair with her music for quite some time, and tonight I had the pleasure of seeing her in concert for the first time. Johanna, Katie and I (Chelle, oh Chelle, we missed you so) made the trek out to a little coffee shop in north Lansing where she was performing.
Enchanting. Absolutely. She sings like an angel, plays like a virtuoso, and writes like a Muse (ok...maybe I am exaggerating a little...but not much). For those who have never heard her, for the love of all that is good and beautiful find one of her cds, and listen to it (in that order).
For those who *have* heard her: I think she is even better live. She has a wonderful stage presence, and she had a good rapport with the audience (though perhaps the small venue size helped), taking requests, telling stories (explaining how all her songs are like people, and sometimes they are not on speaking terms), and even had us sing the chorus parts of "Soon Love Soon" (when a cell phone went off at the end of a song, she told the unknown owner that they were "damned lucky it was in the same key"...though other than that the audience was wonderful, except for that somewhat annoying official photographer guy clicking away)(I just noticed that the preceding sentence was very long). She played some of her new, as-yet-unreleased material (of which the best was "Blue Caravan", our trio decided), and it was interesting to see how well she adapted some of the "bigger" songs to just her and the piano. She sang a lovely Chinese folk song acappella as an encore.
As we filed out, I bought a cd from her opening act (David Berkeley, a singer songwriter with hints of both Jim Croce and Damien Rice) and some Official Vienna Teng Stickers (one is for you, Chelle) because all her t-shirts were extra-large (why am I explaining all this? is it interesting? ok). As we walked down the street, we all agreed it was amazing. Amazing squared, even. It could have been amazing cubed, quoth I, if we had actually gotten a chance to meet her. What's that, Katie? She was at one of those tables autographing cd covers?
And so we skipped (figuratively...stay with me here) back to the car to grab my cds. When we got back, the line was almost gone. I even let some other chap go ahead of me.
At this point I feel the need to explain. I had actually thought of what I would say to her if just such an occasion were to arise (because this is how my mind works); it had occurred to me in the middle of the concert. I had just discovered her before I went off to Oxford (Days before, in fact). And during my semester, as I walked the miles and rode the buses with my faithful MP3 player and headphones, she became the soundtrack to my time there. Her songs are almost inextricably linked to those memories, and that part of my life (Chelle? Agreement?).
Now, the problem is that I didn't actually think I would meet her once we left, and when we rushed back inside and I actually did, I was caught off guard. It's a bit like going to talk to someone whose office is on the 11th floor, and suddenly the elevator on the first floor opens, and there they are, not where they are supposed to be, and your well conceived train of thought derails, and the stammering begins. Right.
Anyway, Johanna and Katie insist I did not *sound* semi-literate or developmentally challenged, but it felt that way as I managed an awkward "It's nice to meet you." (which she returned, with a handshake.) It was...odd...trying to connect this person to music and a voice I felt I knew already almost as a friend. Anyway I did manage to get out a sentence or two about the whole Oxford thing, we talked for a few moments and she seemed very nice, and she signed my cd covers before we left. (And let's be honest: I have a slight crush, and I just wanted to come off like Cary Grant...next time, maybe...)
So all in all a wonderful time was had by all, and, goodness, it's late all of a sudden. I never seem to have enough time for these things, though I suppose I was rambling anyway. Though I must be off, I know I have emails and/or comments to send out to people. Watch your mailboxes, and the comment section of previous posts, I suppose.
Grace,
Brian
Many of my friends and most semi-longterm readers of this blog will know that I have been carrying on a love affair with her music for quite some time, and tonight I had the pleasure of seeing her in concert for the first time. Johanna, Katie and I (Chelle, oh Chelle, we missed you so) made the trek out to a little coffee shop in north Lansing where she was performing.
Enchanting. Absolutely. She sings like an angel, plays like a virtuoso, and writes like a Muse (ok...maybe I am exaggerating a little...but not much). For those who have never heard her, for the love of all that is good and beautiful find one of her cds, and listen to it (in that order).
For those who *have* heard her: I think she is even better live. She has a wonderful stage presence, and she had a good rapport with the audience (though perhaps the small venue size helped), taking requests, telling stories (explaining how all her songs are like people, and sometimes they are not on speaking terms), and even had us sing the chorus parts of "Soon Love Soon" (when a cell phone went off at the end of a song, she told the unknown owner that they were "damned lucky it was in the same key"...though other than that the audience was wonderful, except for that somewhat annoying official photographer guy clicking away)(I just noticed that the preceding sentence was very long). She played some of her new, as-yet-unreleased material (of which the best was "Blue Caravan", our trio decided), and it was interesting to see how well she adapted some of the "bigger" songs to just her and the piano. She sang a lovely Chinese folk song acappella as an encore.
As we filed out, I bought a cd from her opening act (David Berkeley, a singer songwriter with hints of both Jim Croce and Damien Rice) and some Official Vienna Teng Stickers (one is for you, Chelle) because all her t-shirts were extra-large (why am I explaining all this? is it interesting? ok). As we walked down the street, we all agreed it was amazing. Amazing squared, even. It could have been amazing cubed, quoth I, if we had actually gotten a chance to meet her. What's that, Katie? She was at one of those tables autographing cd covers?
And so we skipped (figuratively...stay with me here) back to the car to grab my cds. When we got back, the line was almost gone. I even let some other chap go ahead of me.
At this point I feel the need to explain. I had actually thought of what I would say to her if just such an occasion were to arise (because this is how my mind works); it had occurred to me in the middle of the concert. I had just discovered her before I went off to Oxford (Days before, in fact). And during my semester, as I walked the miles and rode the buses with my faithful MP3 player and headphones, she became the soundtrack to my time there. Her songs are almost inextricably linked to those memories, and that part of my life (Chelle? Agreement?).
Now, the problem is that I didn't actually think I would meet her once we left, and when we rushed back inside and I actually did, I was caught off guard. It's a bit like going to talk to someone whose office is on the 11th floor, and suddenly the elevator on the first floor opens, and there they are, not where they are supposed to be, and your well conceived train of thought derails, and the stammering begins. Right.
Anyway, Johanna and Katie insist I did not *sound* semi-literate or developmentally challenged, but it felt that way as I managed an awkward "It's nice to meet you." (which she returned, with a handshake.) It was...odd...trying to connect this person to music and a voice I felt I knew already almost as a friend. Anyway I did manage to get out a sentence or two about the whole Oxford thing, we talked for a few moments and she seemed very nice, and she signed my cd covers before we left. (And let's be honest: I have a slight crush, and I just wanted to come off like Cary Grant...next time, maybe...)
So all in all a wonderful time was had by all, and, goodness, it's late all of a sudden. I never seem to have enough time for these things, though I suppose I was rambling anyway. Though I must be off, I know I have emails and/or comments to send out to people. Watch your mailboxes, and the comment section of previous posts, I suppose.
Grace,
Brian
Monday, October 24, 2005
Well
It's getting to be that time again, that time when Mom asks me several times a day when I am going to update my blog. I suppose that is a reasonable request (for request we know it it), considering I have not posted anything substantive in quite a while, and not posted regularly in...well...ever.
One of the difficulties is that I am, at times, a bit like Lizzy Bennett, and unlikely to say anything unless it will amaze the whole room. It seems there are lots of small things, tales or stories or musings I could write about, and even intend to at the time, but I tuck them away like little fireflies caught in a jar; when I come back to them later, their already meagre light has been extinguished, and there seems little point. Yes, yes, from now on strike while the iron is hot, and carpe diem, while Robert Herrick laughs maniacally, and all that...
Work continues to grind on, more good than bad, and the only real bad coming from things it cannot help, that it *is* work, and that it requires me to get up early, and sit reasonably still all day long, and so on. My boss continues to outsource anything deemed remotely "creative" to me, and indulges and even encourages my peculiar sensibilities. For example:
I made this
as part of a survey that went out to the *entire company*. And there are scads more examples, as I find myself doing web design, hints of marketing, recruiting...even an official cartoon character/comics strip (and I promise if I finally get Norman up and running, you will all [whoever 'you' may represent at this point in time] get to see him).
This past week we were at the Grand Valley career fair, meeting nervous college students clutching their resumes in their sometimes ill-fitting suits, hawking the Mill Steel Open House, and, of course, giving away kitschy merchandise (pens, mints, hats, etc). Things were a rousing success, and I was actually something of an evil mastermind behind it, in charge of all the promotional material (my handouts and fliers were deemed genius by...well...Nick, at least), our setup design, and the aforementioned kitschy freebees. Of the latter, the official Mill Steel socks (I am not making this up), my personal favorites, became the *absolute star of the fair*, in all their offbeat glory. We had other employer coming from across the hall to get some, because word had spread. The Aflac guy traded one of his talking ducks (which we christened "Socks") for two pairs of his very own.
Right. I was just going to summarize there, rather than tell the whole story. Seems I've managed something in between.
Oh, yes: Chelle and I are going down to see Scott and Sarah in Florida over New Years. We had been talking about it for a while, but in a fit of semi-planned impulse, we bought some (relatively cheap) plane tickets this past Friday (and before that, we even get to ride a train again). Old friends, a journey, and my birthplace...sounds like a fine idea.
--------
I feel this need in my life to simplify--everything--even as grad school looms and I continue to wonder what it is I really *want* and why and...But life keeps moving, refusing to stop, and give me a chance to think. But honestly, I don't know if that would make any difference. Here's to getting lost in fields of flowers, and finding your way home. *clink*
Well, more to say, no doubt, but it's getting late, and as I had no real point in starting, or destination, I suppose I can end wherever I want to. Which is right......
...here.
One of the difficulties is that I am, at times, a bit like Lizzy Bennett, and unlikely to say anything unless it will amaze the whole room. It seems there are lots of small things, tales or stories or musings I could write about, and even intend to at the time, but I tuck them away like little fireflies caught in a jar; when I come back to them later, their already meagre light has been extinguished, and there seems little point. Yes, yes, from now on strike while the iron is hot, and carpe diem, while Robert Herrick laughs maniacally, and all that...
Work continues to grind on, more good than bad, and the only real bad coming from things it cannot help, that it *is* work, and that it requires me to get up early, and sit reasonably still all day long, and so on. My boss continues to outsource anything deemed remotely "creative" to me, and indulges and even encourages my peculiar sensibilities. For example:
I made this
as part of a survey that went out to the *entire company*. And there are scads more examples, as I find myself doing web design, hints of marketing, recruiting...even an official cartoon character/comics strip (and I promise if I finally get Norman up and running, you will all [whoever 'you' may represent at this point in time] get to see him).
This past week we were at the Grand Valley career fair, meeting nervous college students clutching their resumes in their sometimes ill-fitting suits, hawking the Mill Steel Open House, and, of course, giving away kitschy merchandise (pens, mints, hats, etc). Things were a rousing success, and I was actually something of an evil mastermind behind it, in charge of all the promotional material (my handouts and fliers were deemed genius by...well...Nick, at least), our setup design, and the aforementioned kitschy freebees. Of the latter, the official Mill Steel socks (I am not making this up), my personal favorites, became the *absolute star of the fair*, in all their offbeat glory. We had other employer coming from across the hall to get some, because word had spread. The Aflac guy traded one of his talking ducks (which we christened "Socks") for two pairs of his very own.
Right. I was just going to summarize there, rather than tell the whole story. Seems I've managed something in between.
Oh, yes: Chelle and I are going down to see Scott and Sarah in Florida over New Years. We had been talking about it for a while, but in a fit of semi-planned impulse, we bought some (relatively cheap) plane tickets this past Friday (and before that, we even get to ride a train again). Old friends, a journey, and my birthplace...sounds like a fine idea.
--------
I feel this need in my life to simplify--everything--even as grad school looms and I continue to wonder what it is I really *want* and why and...But life keeps moving, refusing to stop, and give me a chance to think. But honestly, I don't know if that would make any difference. Here's to getting lost in fields of flowers, and finding your way home. *clink*
Well, more to say, no doubt, but it's getting late, and as I had no real point in starting, or destination, I suppose I can end wherever I want to. Which is right......
...here.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
So I am quite certain
...that I have a good deal to tell: my trip to Indiana the weekend before last to see Scott and Chelle; the Tale of the Wallet that Was Lost and then Found; Oxford sorrows and joys; my grand journey back into the magical land of Academia; umm...internship stuff; uh, the Grand Awards on Sunday; then....shoot...(heck, I don't know. With regard to my own life I have the memory of that guy from Memento...you know....what's his name...)...
Right, but the *point* is I have neither the time, nor the energy, nor the inclination to go into any of those things *at this particular time,* ("I have no recollection of those events, Senator") though I have no doubt at some point soon I will. Or I will forget about them completely. I just wanted to let you all know that I am, in fact, alive.
News that is worth talking about at the moment is that my brother is going into the Army. (John, not David..what's the matter with you?). He took all his placement tests today, is sworn in (swears in?) on Friday, and heads out for basic training on the 26th of the month. After that, he will be stationed in Texas to attend helicopter maintenance school.
I would, and I'm sure he would, appreciate prayer in all of this. I know this is what he wants to do, and something he will be both proficient at and happy with. He is already ahead of the game, having scored the highest they've ever had on the placement exams (raise your hand if you are surprised...no? all right, then), and receiving one of the highest signing bonuses they've ever paid. Also of note, he is going *in* as an E5, which is one rank higher than Dad when he *left* the Navy. (but then, Dad kept getting busted down...but that's another story...) But all that aside, it is a very serious commitment, and for at least the next six years of his life.
Also an odd little bit: for those of you who know a certain Dan Kersey, he and John will be at the same base. Interesting, no?
And, on a completely pointless note, I filled out one of those little question srvey things that I found on Katrina's Livejournal. If you care for a momentary diversion, you can find it on my Livejournal account.
Right, but the *point* is I have neither the time, nor the energy, nor the inclination to go into any of those things *at this particular time,* ("I have no recollection of those events, Senator") though I have no doubt at some point soon I will. Or I will forget about them completely. I just wanted to let you all know that I am, in fact, alive.
News that is worth talking about at the moment is that my brother is going into the Army. (John, not David..what's the matter with you?). He took all his placement tests today, is sworn in (swears in?) on Friday, and heads out for basic training on the 26th of the month. After that, he will be stationed in Texas to attend helicopter maintenance school.
I would, and I'm sure he would, appreciate prayer in all of this. I know this is what he wants to do, and something he will be both proficient at and happy with. He is already ahead of the game, having scored the highest they've ever had on the placement exams (raise your hand if you are surprised...no? all right, then), and receiving one of the highest signing bonuses they've ever paid. Also of note, he is going *in* as an E5, which is one rank higher than Dad when he *left* the Navy. (but then, Dad kept getting busted down...but that's another story...) But all that aside, it is a very serious commitment, and for at least the next six years of his life.
Also an odd little bit: for those of you who know a certain Dan Kersey, he and John will be at the same base. Interesting, no?
And, on a completely pointless note, I filled out one of those little question srvey things that I found on Katrina's Livejournal. If you care for a momentary diversion, you can find it on my Livejournal account.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
These days I keep hearing...
...that people find me cold. Or distant. Difficult to get to know. A closed book. With a lock, in a trunk, buried in the basement. Intimidating. From other quarters, “morally superior” (or that my actions don't line up with my thoughts, and I appear so). Inscrutable. That they don’t know what is going on inside my head. That they don’t feel like they really know me. That our friendship sort of "plateaus", and doesn’t go any deeper. I don’t disclose things about myself. I don’t share my feelings.
I’m not sure what to think. (I know that I am more comfortable listening to someone talk about themselves than I am talking about myself, but it seems to be deeper than that. ) When several of my close friends say these sorts of things, it means *something*. I know that I am not always honest, that I don’t always care enough to try, that much of the time I am “on” around people, that I’m not quite comfortable in my own skin. But sometimes I’m not exactly sure what it all means, or what precisely I am supposed to *do*.
And it’s late, and I'm tired.
And what if Brian at his most open is still inscrutable? (Even to himself?)
I’m not sure what to think. (I know that I am more comfortable listening to someone talk about themselves than I am talking about myself, but it seems to be deeper than that. ) When several of my close friends say these sorts of things, it means *something*. I know that I am not always honest, that I don’t always care enough to try, that much of the time I am “on” around people, that I’m not quite comfortable in my own skin. But sometimes I’m not exactly sure what it all means, or what precisely I am supposed to *do*.
And it’s late, and I'm tired.
And what if Brian at his most open is still inscrutable? (Even to himself?)
Monday, September 05, 2005
Happy Birthday to Me....
***Important Notice that may DRASTICALLY AFFECT Your Life***
...or not so much. Along with my new job and newly clean-shaven face, I also have a new cell phone. It's one of those new fangled contraptions with a color screen and a camera and, I am certain, a cloaking device and a nuclear self destruct system and a thing that makes me sound like Darth Vader and numerous other exceedingly spiffy technological trinkets. The most pressing point at this moment is that it has a new phone number, and within a short time my other number will be deactivated (or, as I like to think of it, "decommissioned"). So, if you regularly call me, or occasionally call me, or would simply like the option of calling me (or if you don't like me, and would like to have my number in your phone book so you can make a point to snub me), email your request here...which would be my email address. Include the name of your favorite film, and...umm...your third favorite color.
***End Important Notice***
The new job is going well. I spent some of the first week as the proverbial trout flopping about on the deck, bugging out its eyes and making rasping, sucking noises with my gills, but I am doing a *bit* better now. I've quickly discovered that the best part of the business world (at least to a poor recent college graduate) is lunch meetings, which I have been engaging in frequently.
To clarify my employment situation: I work for Mill Steel in Grand Rapids (which I have learned is not actually a pun off of "steel mill", nor is Mill the name of the family which founded and still owns it). My official title is "Quality Systems Administrator", which looks excellent on paper, even though I am essentially an intern. The company is switching from QS9000...
***A Basic Primer on Quality Systems***
In the not too distant past, a group of Europeans, most likely Germans, decided that it would be fun to come up with a universal set of documentation and quality standards. This would, ostensibly, make communication between companies easier, and would help make sure every one was doing their jobs properly. Thus the "ISO" standard was born ("ISO" stands for "I'm So Officient", a rather unfortunate misspelling of "efficient"). It has now been determined that this group of probably German Europeans was, in fact, legally intoxicated at the time, meaning that ISO joins rodeo and the pet rock on the list of "Things Invented While Hammered".
The first widely implemented ISO standard was ISO 9000, the number referring either to the number of lagers or the combined pounds of schnitzel consumed by the drafting committee. ISO 9000 migrated to the States, it is now believed, through an infected box of those funny little triangular paper clips delivered to a bank in Delaware. It then spread to offices, manufacturing companies, kindergartens, and even some levels of organized crime ("I'm sorry, Guido, you failed your audit. If your documentation don't reach compliance, you're gonna wake up with an accountants head in your bed.")
And the world was happy...or at least unhappy and extremely well-documented.
Until one day, the heads of the "Big Three" automotive manufactures in America (Ford, GM, and Chrysler...collectively known as "Cerberus") decided that if those prissy Europeans couldn't whip the Nazis, then they sure as heck couldn't write documentation for manly American cars with low gas mileage. And so they pooled their collective resources and worked hard to create a new standard, working so hard, in fact, that they failed to notice that their homes and entire neighborhoods had been purchased by their Japanese competitors, their children sold into slavery, and their wives forced to work the hospitality suite at the Nissan exhibit at national auto shows. The result was "QS9000" or "Quality Systems 9000", making the bold statement "We care so much about precision we won't even make up a catchy experimental name like...um...Porpoise, or...Eskimo."
Thus the reign of QS9000 commenced, and there was peace throughout the land of automotives and automotive sales. Until one day, an envoy came with a message from across the sea: a marriage proposal! And so it was that QS and ISO joined in holy matrimony, and very shortly thereafter (although official word from the palace was that it was *at least* nine months later, if not more) a child was born unto them, a beautiful princess named TS16949, who had the loveliest features of both her parents. In spontaneous, uncoerced celebration, the citizens of both kingdoms brought her gifts, paid homage, and did funny little dances for her amusement. On an unrelated and completely coincidental note, some of those who abstained from the festivities were trampled, boiled, burnt to a crisp, then consumed by carnivorous worms in a series of freak stapler related office accidents. The staplers in question have since been recalled.
***End Basic Primer; rejoining entry, already in progress***
...to TS16949, and I am in charge of the transition for the next year. It can be tedious and dense, and it's not exactly "creative writing" (heck, it's not even journalism), but it won't be so bad once I get the hang of it. At the moment, I am actually working on accreditation for the metal testing lab at one of the plants under a completely different standard ISO 17025, to sort of "get my feet wet."
But I get business cards.
As the title indicates today is my birthday (or rather, yesterday was my birthday, because it is now the 6th as I finish this, but you know I'm not a nit-picker...*cough*cough*). I made pizza for my family (my pizza skills are actually more unique than my pancakes, if that is any indication), and I got the first season of House on DVD (high-def, letterboxed snarkiness with surround sound...booyah!), in addition to some clothes shopping I got to do a few weeks ago.
[I've also decided I *am* going to buy a cane (Buddy, no insult meant), and go as House for Halloween. David is going as Strongbad, thanks to his tone perfect voice work (I kid you not, he's got a knack; he can do the whole cast, save Marzipan).]
I'm sure I had things I wanted to say here, but I seem to have misplaced them somewhere along the way.
I feel...a little old...at twenty three, even though I know I haven't the right. I'm continually reminded of all I don't know, and the little I did know that I somehow forgot. Forgetting it what I fear the most. (Ok, maybe I am being melodramatic; what I really fear the most is probably big hairy bugs or something, but forgetting is way up there). Grad schools stares me down, daring me to blink at its promise of unlimited knowledge and eighty thousands dollars if debt, and I feel my eyes start to twitch. Sometimes I wonder if I should put it off a few more years, "see the world" first (whatever people mean when they say that), because I may never have this much freedom again.
I wrote this at the other day:
"I was sitting at work, listening to Muse. I hadn’t really listened to them since Oxford, and the sound was still part of that place to me (sitting on the bus, walking down the street to the rhythm). On the desktop was a picture of Christ Church. And for a moment, I felt Oxford, that place, the chill and dampness and the weight of the air, the presence of those with me. And I know that it will never be again, even if I go back, because that time, with those people, is finished. And a part of me mourns, an another part wonders if I even want to go back, if it will be too much like an empty house, with all the children moved away."
I hope that doesn't sounds morose. It isn't meant to be (well, maybe it was slightly so at the time). But flowers only bloom for a season, and the children have to move away sometime :)
But besides all that, I covet your prayers for...help...as I sort out the future. "Help" is such a wonderfully all-inclusive word, wisdom and judgment and strength and more, all rolled into one.
Speaking of which (Oxford, I mean, not help), Johanna and I are going to see Chelle this weekend, a visit long delayed. It will be worth it, I'm sure.
There are a lot of people that I miss, who I have been lax in keeping up with. My perpetual struggle. I hope ya'll hear from me soon.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
"This is how the post ends, this is how the post ends, this is how the post ends..."
...or not so much. Along with my new job and newly clean-shaven face, I also have a new cell phone. It's one of those new fangled contraptions with a color screen and a camera and, I am certain, a cloaking device and a nuclear self destruct system and a thing that makes me sound like Darth Vader and numerous other exceedingly spiffy technological trinkets. The most pressing point at this moment is that it has a new phone number, and within a short time my other number will be deactivated (or, as I like to think of it, "decommissioned"). So, if you regularly call me, or occasionally call me, or would simply like the option of calling me (or if you don't like me, and would like to have my number in your phone book so you can make a point to snub me), email your request here...which would be my email address. Include the name of your favorite film, and...umm...your third favorite color.
***End Important Notice***
The new job is going well. I spent some of the first week as the proverbial trout flopping about on the deck, bugging out its eyes and making rasping, sucking noises with my gills, but I am doing a *bit* better now. I've quickly discovered that the best part of the business world (at least to a poor recent college graduate) is lunch meetings, which I have been engaging in frequently.
To clarify my employment situation: I work for Mill Steel in Grand Rapids (which I have learned is not actually a pun off of "steel mill", nor is Mill the name of the family which founded and still owns it). My official title is "Quality Systems Administrator", which looks excellent on paper, even though I am essentially an intern. The company is switching from QS9000...
***A Basic Primer on Quality Systems***
In the not too distant past, a group of Europeans, most likely Germans, decided that it would be fun to come up with a universal set of documentation and quality standards. This would, ostensibly, make communication between companies easier, and would help make sure every one was doing their jobs properly. Thus the "ISO" standard was born ("ISO" stands for "I'm So Officient", a rather unfortunate misspelling of "efficient"). It has now been determined that this group of probably German Europeans was, in fact, legally intoxicated at the time, meaning that ISO joins rodeo and the pet rock on the list of "Things Invented While Hammered".
The first widely implemented ISO standard was ISO 9000, the number referring either to the number of lagers or the combined pounds of schnitzel consumed by the drafting committee. ISO 9000 migrated to the States, it is now believed, through an infected box of those funny little triangular paper clips delivered to a bank in Delaware. It then spread to offices, manufacturing companies, kindergartens, and even some levels of organized crime ("I'm sorry, Guido, you failed your audit. If your documentation don't reach compliance, you're gonna wake up with an accountants head in your bed.")
And the world was happy...or at least unhappy and extremely well-documented.
Until one day, the heads of the "Big Three" automotive manufactures in America (Ford, GM, and Chrysler...collectively known as "Cerberus") decided that if those prissy Europeans couldn't whip the Nazis, then they sure as heck couldn't write documentation for manly American cars with low gas mileage. And so they pooled their collective resources and worked hard to create a new standard, working so hard, in fact, that they failed to notice that their homes and entire neighborhoods had been purchased by their Japanese competitors, their children sold into slavery, and their wives forced to work the hospitality suite at the Nissan exhibit at national auto shows. The result was "QS9000" or "Quality Systems 9000", making the bold statement "We care so much about precision we won't even make up a catchy experimental name like...um...Porpoise, or...Eskimo."
Thus the reign of QS9000 commenced, and there was peace throughout the land of automotives and automotive sales. Until one day, an envoy came with a message from across the sea: a marriage proposal! And so it was that QS and ISO joined in holy matrimony, and very shortly thereafter (although official word from the palace was that it was *at least* nine months later, if not more) a child was born unto them, a beautiful princess named TS16949, who had the loveliest features of both her parents. In spontaneous, uncoerced celebration, the citizens of both kingdoms brought her gifts, paid homage, and did funny little dances for her amusement. On an unrelated and completely coincidental note, some of those who abstained from the festivities were trampled, boiled, burnt to a crisp, then consumed by carnivorous worms in a series of freak stapler related office accidents. The staplers in question have since been recalled.
***End Basic Primer; rejoining entry, already in progress***
...to TS16949, and I am in charge of the transition for the next year. It can be tedious and dense, and it's not exactly "creative writing" (heck, it's not even journalism), but it won't be so bad once I get the hang of it. At the moment, I am actually working on accreditation for the metal testing lab at one of the plants under a completely different standard ISO 17025, to sort of "get my feet wet."
But I get business cards.
As the title indicates today is my birthday (or rather, yesterday was my birthday, because it is now the 6th as I finish this, but you know I'm not a nit-picker...*cough*cough*). I made pizza for my family (my pizza skills are actually more unique than my pancakes, if that is any indication), and I got the first season of House on DVD (high-def, letterboxed snarkiness with surround sound...booyah!), in addition to some clothes shopping I got to do a few weeks ago.
[I've also decided I *am* going to buy a cane (Buddy, no insult meant), and go as House for Halloween. David is going as Strongbad, thanks to his tone perfect voice work (I kid you not, he's got a knack; he can do the whole cast, save Marzipan).]
I'm sure I had things I wanted to say here, but I seem to have misplaced them somewhere along the way.
I feel...a little old...at twenty three, even though I know I haven't the right. I'm continually reminded of all I don't know, and the little I did know that I somehow forgot. Forgetting it what I fear the most. (Ok, maybe I am being melodramatic; what I really fear the most is probably big hairy bugs or something, but forgetting is way up there). Grad schools stares me down, daring me to blink at its promise of unlimited knowledge and eighty thousands dollars if debt, and I feel my eyes start to twitch. Sometimes I wonder if I should put it off a few more years, "see the world" first (whatever people mean when they say that), because I may never have this much freedom again.
I wrote this at the other day:
"I was sitting at work, listening to Muse. I hadn’t really listened to them since Oxford, and the sound was still part of that place to me (sitting on the bus, walking down the street to the rhythm). On the desktop was a picture of Christ Church. And for a moment, I felt Oxford, that place, the chill and dampness and the weight of the air, the presence of those with me. And I know that it will never be again, even if I go back, because that time, with those people, is finished. And a part of me mourns, an another part wonders if I even want to go back, if it will be too much like an empty house, with all the children moved away."
I hope that doesn't sounds morose. It isn't meant to be (well, maybe it was slightly so at the time). But flowers only bloom for a season, and the children have to move away sometime :)
But besides all that, I covet your prayers for...help...as I sort out the future. "Help" is such a wonderfully all-inclusive word, wisdom and judgment and strength and more, all rolled into one.
Speaking of which (Oxford, I mean, not help), Johanna and I are going to see Chelle this weekend, a visit long delayed. It will be worth it, I'm sure.
There are a lot of people that I miss, who I have been lax in keeping up with. My perpetual struggle. I hope ya'll hear from me soon.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
"This is how the post ends, this is how the post ends, this is how the post ends..."
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Waiting for Godot
This is my last shift at switchboard, and perhaps the last time I will ever work at Cornerstone. The summer is coming to an end. Classes are beginning for all those souls either blessed or cursed to still be in the midst of their education. It seems a good time for some reflection.
I had a lot of plans for this summer when I came back from Oxford (or more accurately, a lot of ideas and/or random impulses). I was going to pick up the guitar again, maybe try my hand (or hands, so to speak) at the piano. Oh, and brush up on my ballroom (I keep getting books out of the library...). I organized a shelf of all the books I own that I have not read. I was going to start Latin and Coptic. Finish my internship. Catch up on my theological reading and maybe start my grad school essays (I don't really like anything I have written in the past four years. ahem). Polish my Greek to a blindingly reflective sheen. I was finally going to write, free some of these story ideas that have been marauding through my brain for so long. A story a week was my plan; you all remember that. I was going to keep up my correspondence with my friends, both Oxonian and otherwise (truly a first for me, for I am notoriously bad about this). And beyond all that, real, meaningful time spent with my family, friends, and, most importantly, with God.
And most of those things, of course, didn't happen. Not really. Oh, maybe a weak stab here and there, but for the most part I was staring out the window, watching the scenery go by. I do realize that I have a tendency to be too ambitious, maybe a bit unrealistic about my own capabilities, or just the number of hours in the day. But it's also more than that.
There is a line from the film "Fahrenheit 451" that is burned into my memory (I can't remember if it is in the book) where Montag is railing at his wife and her vapid, hollow friends.
"You're not really living," quoth Montag. "You're just killing time."
For the past few months I feel like I have been doing just that: killing time, as though I am just kicking around waiting for something to happen. You know how it is when you are waiting for someone to arrive, and you don't want to get started on anything meaningful, because they could show up any minute? So you might watch some television, check your email, mindlessly surf the internet. Fluff things. The styrofoam packing peanuts of life. I can remember doing that when I was younger, when we would be waiting for mom and dad to come back from grocery shopping (or something like that) so we could go out. I could burn a whole morning doing nothing in particular, thinking they would be back soon anyway (although, really, when I was eleven it's not as though I would have written a symphony or taught myself Swedish had I known).
My life is styrofoam packing peanuts.
And yet I know I'm not waiting for anything in particular. Nothing is going to happen. "This is my life. I've waited twenty-six years for it to start...but this is it," said the protagonist of Garden State whose name I cannot remember.
Indecision...or at least a failure to act (I identify with Hamlet...though I never go about with my doublet unbraced)...has always been one of my character flaws. I wait for things to happen, to force my hand. Reacting instead of acting...perhaps to deny a measure of responsibility. Recently I have had cause to think about how that abdication has hurt people I care about. I have placed burdens on others that were not theirs to carry; for that I am sorry, and can only hope to make amends.
I've been thinking about something Johanna and I talked about, that every decision you make, every relationship you cultivate, either brings you closer to the person you want to be, or pulls you away. I don't suppose it is something we (I) consciously think about, but, well, there it is. Reminds me of Lewis, too, talking about loving your neighbor; it doesn't matter if you feel like you love him, just start acting as though you do, and one day you will discover that you do. Like the fairy tale about the person's face changing to fit the mask he wore. Sometimes all that remains is the will. Just do, even if you don't feel it, even if you feel you are acting, and eventually the rest will catch up. "Become who you are," Luther said.
Right. Yes...well, that's probably enough introspection for the moment (though I do have more...if we don't take these things in bite-size pieces, we are liable to choke. or at the very least chew with our mouths open...I've lost the metaphor, never mind). And no matter how undeserving I may be, God's grace is ever present, and humbling.
As I said, today is my last shift at switchboard. Next week I start a...
***Cue Dramatic Sousa-esque Theme Music***
...Real Job!
The Tale: A few weeks ago Katie (Stanfield. Not Oxford Katie. Or Kate [Oxford Kate. But there is no other Kate]) told me that her dad's company was looking for (essentially) a technical writer to work for the next year. Normally such a temporary position would be difficult to fill, but with my plans for grad school, it was a perfect match. A few phone calls and an "interview" later (I hesistate to call it that, because throughout the process it seemed like he was the one trying to convice *me*! [as though I needed convincing]) and I am the newest employee of Mill Steel, where I will not, in fact, mill any steel. Essentially my job is to take "normal person speech" and translate it into technical standards and jargon formulated by people from Europe, where, I might add, the alcohol consumption is quite high. I am a professional obfuscator. I even get a fancy new cell phone and yet another laptop.
It's one of those blessings that chased me down, or just fell out of the sky and smacked me in the back of the head, like a Holy chunk of space debris. The only negative is that the company insists I be clean shaven. So, I suppose for the next year I must wear my face in the Roman fashion (over the unanimous vote of my friends, who seem to prefer as much of my face be covered as possible). Perhaps I will post pictures, if anyone is filled with a sense of morbid curiosity.
(I am at home now, by the way, and sleep calls my name, so this will grow increasingly succinct, before collapsing altogether)
Johanna'a cousin Sarah was in town this week (the one who came to England with her), so I got to spend some time with the both of them. It was nice; the three of us just seem to be comfortable together, and even though technically I have only met Sarah twice, I feel like I have known her longer (but then, a week in Avalon is an eternity; time flows differently). We had a picnic...
Speaking of Johanna, we are planning to drive *all the way* to Indiana to see Chelle in a few weeks. A visit long, long overdue, and I miss her (Johanna may, too, but I miss her more). You see, SCIO friends, the disadvantage of living in such a large country? Otherwise we would ba having block parties every other week...
And with that, I must away. Morpheus and the land of dreams beckon.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
I had a lot of plans for this summer when I came back from Oxford (or more accurately, a lot of ideas and/or random impulses). I was going to pick up the guitar again, maybe try my hand (or hands, so to speak) at the piano. Oh, and brush up on my ballroom (I keep getting books out of the library...). I organized a shelf of all the books I own that I have not read. I was going to start Latin and Coptic. Finish my internship. Catch up on my theological reading and maybe start my grad school essays (I don't really like anything I have written in the past four years. ahem). Polish my Greek to a blindingly reflective sheen. I was finally going to write, free some of these story ideas that have been marauding through my brain for so long. A story a week was my plan; you all remember that. I was going to keep up my correspondence with my friends, both Oxonian and otherwise (truly a first for me, for I am notoriously bad about this). And beyond all that, real, meaningful time spent with my family, friends, and, most importantly, with God.
And most of those things, of course, didn't happen. Not really. Oh, maybe a weak stab here and there, but for the most part I was staring out the window, watching the scenery go by. I do realize that I have a tendency to be too ambitious, maybe a bit unrealistic about my own capabilities, or just the number of hours in the day. But it's also more than that.
There is a line from the film "Fahrenheit 451" that is burned into my memory (I can't remember if it is in the book) where Montag is railing at his wife and her vapid, hollow friends.
"You're not really living," quoth Montag. "You're just killing time."
For the past few months I feel like I have been doing just that: killing time, as though I am just kicking around waiting for something to happen. You know how it is when you are waiting for someone to arrive, and you don't want to get started on anything meaningful, because they could show up any minute? So you might watch some television, check your email, mindlessly surf the internet. Fluff things. The styrofoam packing peanuts of life. I can remember doing that when I was younger, when we would be waiting for mom and dad to come back from grocery shopping (or something like that) so we could go out. I could burn a whole morning doing nothing in particular, thinking they would be back soon anyway (although, really, when I was eleven it's not as though I would have written a symphony or taught myself Swedish had I known).
My life is styrofoam packing peanuts.
And yet I know I'm not waiting for anything in particular. Nothing is going to happen. "This is my life. I've waited twenty-six years for it to start...but this is it," said the protagonist of Garden State whose name I cannot remember.
Indecision...or at least a failure to act (I identify with Hamlet...though I never go about with my doublet unbraced)...has always been one of my character flaws. I wait for things to happen, to force my hand. Reacting instead of acting...perhaps to deny a measure of responsibility. Recently I have had cause to think about how that abdication has hurt people I care about. I have placed burdens on others that were not theirs to carry; for that I am sorry, and can only hope to make amends.
I've been thinking about something Johanna and I talked about, that every decision you make, every relationship you cultivate, either brings you closer to the person you want to be, or pulls you away. I don't suppose it is something we (I) consciously think about, but, well, there it is. Reminds me of Lewis, too, talking about loving your neighbor; it doesn't matter if you feel like you love him, just start acting as though you do, and one day you will discover that you do. Like the fairy tale about the person's face changing to fit the mask he wore. Sometimes all that remains is the will. Just do, even if you don't feel it, even if you feel you are acting, and eventually the rest will catch up. "Become who you are," Luther said.
Right. Yes...well, that's probably enough introspection for the moment (though I do have more...if we don't take these things in bite-size pieces, we are liable to choke. or at the very least chew with our mouths open...I've lost the metaphor, never mind). And no matter how undeserving I may be, God's grace is ever present, and humbling.
As I said, today is my last shift at switchboard. Next week I start a...
***Cue Dramatic Sousa-esque Theme Music***
...Real Job!
The Tale: A few weeks ago Katie (Stanfield. Not Oxford Katie. Or Kate [Oxford Kate. But there is no other Kate]) told me that her dad's company was looking for (essentially) a technical writer to work for the next year. Normally such a temporary position would be difficult to fill, but with my plans for grad school, it was a perfect match. A few phone calls and an "interview" later (I hesistate to call it that, because throughout the process it seemed like he was the one trying to convice *me*! [as though I needed convincing]) and I am the newest employee of Mill Steel, where I will not, in fact, mill any steel. Essentially my job is to take "normal person speech" and translate it into technical standards and jargon formulated by people from Europe, where, I might add, the alcohol consumption is quite high. I am a professional obfuscator. I even get a fancy new cell phone and yet another laptop.
It's one of those blessings that chased me down, or just fell out of the sky and smacked me in the back of the head, like a Holy chunk of space debris. The only negative is that the company insists I be clean shaven. So, I suppose for the next year I must wear my face in the Roman fashion (over the unanimous vote of my friends, who seem to prefer as much of my face be covered as possible). Perhaps I will post pictures, if anyone is filled with a sense of morbid curiosity.
(I am at home now, by the way, and sleep calls my name, so this will grow increasingly succinct, before collapsing altogether)
Johanna'a cousin Sarah was in town this week (the one who came to England with her), so I got to spend some time with the both of them. It was nice; the three of us just seem to be comfortable together, and even though technically I have only met Sarah twice, I feel like I have known her longer (but then, a week in Avalon is an eternity; time flows differently). We had a picnic...
Speaking of Johanna, we are planning to drive *all the way* to Indiana to see Chelle in a few weeks. A visit long, long overdue, and I miss her (Johanna may, too, but I miss her more). You see, SCIO friends, the disadvantage of living in such a large country? Otherwise we would ba having block parties every other week...
And with that, I must away. Morpheus and the land of dreams beckon.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Latina est gaudium--et utilis!
It has been some weeks now since my last substantive entry, and undoubtedly many meaningful things have happened in my life in the interim.
However...I'm not going to talk about any of them at the moment. Later, perhaps.
I've finally started my Latin work this week. I am hoping to cram all forty chapters of Wheelock's first year grammar into the next few months. I am actually enjoying it immensely...for the moment, at least. I have a bit of a head start, I know, because of my Greek work, and it is fun going back to simple sentences and translation. To whit, a poem I thought was intensely amusing:
Cattullus Bids His Girlfriend Farewell
Puella mea me non amat. Vale, puella! Catullus obdurat; poeta puellam non amat, formam puellae non laudat, puellae rosas non dat, et puellam non basiat! Ira mea est magna! Obduro, mea puella--sed sine te non valeo.
Translation:
My girl does not love me. Goodbye, girl! Catullus is tough; the poet does not love the girl, he does not praise her beauty, he does not give the girl roses, and he does not kiss the girl! My ire is great! I am firm, my girl--but without you I am not strong.
I admit it loses something in the translation...
However...I'm not going to talk about any of them at the moment. Later, perhaps.
I've finally started my Latin work this week. I am hoping to cram all forty chapters of Wheelock's first year grammar into the next few months. I am actually enjoying it immensely...for the moment, at least. I have a bit of a head start, I know, because of my Greek work, and it is fun going back to simple sentences and translation. To whit, a poem I thought was intensely amusing:
Cattullus Bids His Girlfriend Farewell
Puella mea me non amat. Vale, puella! Catullus obdurat; poeta puellam non amat, formam puellae non laudat, puellae rosas non dat, et puellam non basiat! Ira mea est magna! Obduro, mea puella--sed sine te non valeo.
Translation:
My girl does not love me. Goodbye, girl! Catullus is tough; the poet does not love the girl, he does not praise her beauty, he does not give the girl roses, and he does not kiss the girl! My ire is great! I am firm, my girl--but without you I am not strong.
I admit it loses something in the translation...
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Poetry Break
Trying to Write Poetry
And suddenly I realized what was wrong.
The whole time, all along, I had left
My shoes on. How can you write poetry with your shoes on?
TO KNOW
Oneself is a task
Never quite as interesting
As all the talk
Would make one believe
And suddenly I realized what was wrong.
The whole time, all along, I had left
My shoes on. How can you write poetry with your shoes on?
TO KNOW
Oneself is a task
Never quite as interesting
As all the talk
Would make one believe
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Start the Presses!
A dearth of updates in the past few weeks, it would seem. Sadly--or indifferently, depending upon your perspective--it will continue. I am at this very moment packing up to head out to Cornerstone's Journalism Institute, where I will spend the entire week as an RA. Don't know how I will get along with a pack (flock? gaggle? murder?) of highschool students who may or may not actually want to be there (prayers appreciated). Could be great, could be several shades of ungood. Hopefully I can fake "cool college guy" for six days.
....do they say "cool" anymore?
....do they say "cool" anymore?
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Do I hafta?
"'Cause now again I've found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines into the darkest place
I'm so far down, away from the sun again
Away from the sun again"
~Three Doors Down "Away from the Sun"
I'm here without you baby
But you're still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby
And i dream about you all the time
I'm here without you baby
But you're still with me in my dreams
And tonight girl its only you and me"
~Three Doors Down "Here Without You"
"The more the light shines through me
I pretend to close my eyes
The more the dark consumes me
I pretend I'm burning, burning bright
...There's nothing ever wrong but nothing's ever right
Such a cruel contradiction
I know I cross the lines its not easy to define
I'm born to indecision
There's always something new some path I'm supposed to choose
With no particular rhyme or reason"
~Shinedown "Burning Bright"
"And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45"
~Shinedown "45"
What does it mean when your musical diet consists almost entirely of emotionally overwrought, melodramatic guitar-driven rock (I mean, really, look at the lyrics. Somebody out there needs a hug, or a puppy or something)? Is that your subconscious picking up its air guitar in a cry for help?
Or maybe just for pancakes. Speaking of diet, I have been continuing my reign as the Mad Pancake Alchemist (does that sound better than "Pancake Wizard"?). To my butterscotch chip pancakes, I now add swirls of butterscotch syrup into the batter as it cooks, and chocolate syrup into the chocolate chip ones. Add to that the aforementioned M&M pancakes, and I am amassing quite a repertoire. Perhaps if someone had made chocolate and butterscotch pancakes for some of these "angst rockers", they would not have felt so bad, and would have written folk songs or books of children's poetry instead. Oh, the myriad twists and turns of fickle fate...
I suppose it is customary to say something about the state of one's life from time to time, so I suppose I shall: Michigan. (haha! you see? "state" and "state"? *wipes tears of laughter before regaining composure*...ahem.)
But seriously. Still working at switchboard and attempting to work my internship (Dr. Mohrmann, where are you? Guam? Abu Dhabi? Jersey?). I went through my finances for the next year and realized (realized? how about confirmed) no matter how many hours I work, I will still have to borrow money for grad school. Fortunately, I always tend to estimate pessimistically (to which some respond "That is *all* you do pessimistically?"). Still two jobs and some scholarships (Lord willing and work ethic reviving) will take care of most of it. Someone also recommended *selling blood plasma* to me the other night, an activity I usually associated in a humorous context with fictitious drunks and/or absurdly desperate college student, but looks like it may be a good, or at least profitable, idea. My Dad advocated caution, and I suppose there is a good "slippery slope" argument to be made, because blood plasma is a well documented "gateway donation." First it's plasma, then bone marrow; pretty soon it's brain fluid, then that extra kidney (because hey you only really need one), and pretty soon you are eying that left lung (it's not like I am an athlete or anything...), and pretty soon you wake up in a bathtub full of ice with a patch over one eye, a dull ache in your side, and a dim hope that you still have a liver. Hmmm...considering I still don't know *exactly* what Dad did in the Navy, I may want to heed his advice on this one...
The funny thing about looking at grad schools (not "haha" funny, but like "What do you *mean* you left the bullets in the truck" funny) is that I still don't know exactly what I want to study. I am operating under the assumption of some kind of theology, but every so often I feel the urge to become a medievalist, or study literature. I also keep looking at schools in England (who would have thought?), though I know the states would probably be easier/cheaper (though the promise of a master's in one year, and a possible doctorate in another three or four is a strong selling point); I suppose that in the absence of a mast and a length of rope, I must succumb to this particular Siren's song. My short list so far:
Oxford, Cambridge, Durham, Birmingham, and Gordon Conwell (my Yank concession). Please pray for me to have wisdom in all of this. Add to that the fact that my intellectual life is at low ebb (to mix metaphors); I have to end this "summer rut" I am in and get on with the business of the rest of my life. My hope is to have Latin and Coptic before next fall, and to have my Greek up to "tomato and tin can cutting Ginsu" level.
And my other major project is to get some writing done (this here doesn't exactly "count"). My plan is to turn out a story a week for the next year. 52 weeks, 52 stories--what could be simpler than that? How about "starting"...that sounds pretty simple...right.
And because it is late, I am bored, and I didn't think this entry was long enough, let's move on to...
***Capsule Reviews***
This is where give my comments and opinions on whatever medications I may be taking at the time. Kidding. But they are short, either because I have a short attention span, or I think you do.
Been Reading:
The Case Against Hillary Clinton by Peggy Noonan- A quick little volume composed on the eve of Hillary's run for the New York senate. From the title, obviously a polemic, but one completely lacking in vitriol. Noonan's prose reflects has a keen intellect and-what is missing from most political commentary-a sense of grace and class. A recent column of hers is a good example of her work, and worth reading.
3 and 1/2 pancakes out of 5. It's solid, but by no means comprehensive.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee- I admit that I had never read it before this week, though it is consistently regarded as one of the greatest American novels. Katie thrust it upon me (in exchange for Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy), and I am glad she did. It is well worthy of its "classic" status, with delightful, fluid prose, and some of the most well-drawn characters I can remember, even the supporting cast. So many authors can never get past "placeholder characters" and create any sense of attachment or reality. Lee reminds me of Salinger in her ability to quickly build up solid and memorable characters, but unlike Catcher, Mockingbird manages good characters *and* an actual plot.
5 out of 5 pancakes. Now I just need to see the movie.
Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco- *Partial Review* I am only partly through the novel, but I am enjoying it immensely. It has been called "The Thinking Man's Davinci Code" (but written in 1988!) and also "completely impenetrable." I can't comment on the former, but the latter is an exaggeration. This is a hard book to read, no question, and Eco has a taste for the obscure and the arcane, both linguistically and historically, but seldom does he really enter Finnegan's Wake territory, and only occasionally does pretentiousness seep through. Just hold tight, and even if the details get blurry, you can make it. Ignore the people who speak of three months with a dictionary in their hands.
On a side note, I spent a good bit of time trying to grasp the mechanics of the Foucault pendulum. It is one thing to know logically why it work, and another to have it spatially working in your head.
Pancakes still on the griddle for this one.
Been Watching:
War of the Worlds- It's not bad, as a disaster movie and theatrical spectacle, and the special effects are top notch. The choice to follow one man and his family instead of the usual global scale is a good one, and gives the movie some semblance of a heart. Dakota Fanning is closest thing around to a female Haley Joel Osmont. But still, I couldn't help but think that in many ways it, like so many of these sorts of movies, is *a monument to human stupidity.* Not that they don't have their bright moments in this film; they do, more than most. Just once, I want to see a film like this without thinking that some of the protagonists deserve to die, and being disappointed when they do not. But it's better than Independence Day, Godzilla, and The Day After Tomorrow.
3 charred pancakes out of 5.
Dancing with the Stars- Ok. It is a ballroom dancing competition with a roster of second string celebrities. I understand the absurdity of this concept (it has one of the New Kids on the Block, for crying out loud), but it is actually quite entertaining, and not in a "man boxes kangaroo" kind of way. Though I question the competancy of some of the judges ("choreographer"-of what? ballet? hip hop? organ grinder monkeys? it matters, people!), and the "American Idol" voting system, it is a good popular introduction to the world of ballroom for most people. And it's *fun*.
4 pirouetting pancakes out of 5. Now if they will only bring the real thing back to TV...
***End Capsule Reviews***
Goodness, are you still reading? I don't even know if my mom can stand this much of me. I don't even think *I* can. I'm going to sleep for a few hours respite.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
(I leave you with the wisdom of Lynyrd Skynryd...)
"Mama told me when I was young
Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say.
And if you do this
It will help you some sunny day.
Take your time... Don't live too fast,
Troubles will come and they will pass.
Go find a woman and you'll find love,
And don't forget son,
There is someone up above.
...And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?"
~Lynyrd Skynyrd "Simple Man"
So far down, away from the sun
That shines into the darkest place
I'm so far down, away from the sun again
Away from the sun again"
~Three Doors Down "Away from the Sun"
I'm here without you baby
But you're still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby
And i dream about you all the time
I'm here without you baby
But you're still with me in my dreams
And tonight girl its only you and me"
~Three Doors Down "Here Without You"
"The more the light shines through me
I pretend to close my eyes
The more the dark consumes me
I pretend I'm burning, burning bright
...There's nothing ever wrong but nothing's ever right
Such a cruel contradiction
I know I cross the lines its not easy to define
I'm born to indecision
There's always something new some path I'm supposed to choose
With no particular rhyme or reason"
~Shinedown "Burning Bright"
"And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45"
~Shinedown "45"
What does it mean when your musical diet consists almost entirely of emotionally overwrought, melodramatic guitar-driven rock (I mean, really, look at the lyrics. Somebody out there needs a hug, or a puppy or something)? Is that your subconscious picking up its air guitar in a cry for help?
Or maybe just for pancakes. Speaking of diet, I have been continuing my reign as the Mad Pancake Alchemist (does that sound better than "Pancake Wizard"?). To my butterscotch chip pancakes, I now add swirls of butterscotch syrup into the batter as it cooks, and chocolate syrup into the chocolate chip ones. Add to that the aforementioned M&M pancakes, and I am amassing quite a repertoire. Perhaps if someone had made chocolate and butterscotch pancakes for some of these "angst rockers", they would not have felt so bad, and would have written folk songs or books of children's poetry instead. Oh, the myriad twists and turns of fickle fate...
I suppose it is customary to say something about the state of one's life from time to time, so I suppose I shall: Michigan. (haha! you see? "state" and "state"? *wipes tears of laughter before regaining composure*...ahem.)
But seriously. Still working at switchboard and attempting to work my internship (Dr. Mohrmann, where are you? Guam? Abu Dhabi? Jersey?). I went through my finances for the next year and realized (realized? how about confirmed) no matter how many hours I work, I will still have to borrow money for grad school. Fortunately, I always tend to estimate pessimistically (to which some respond "That is *all* you do pessimistically?"). Still two jobs and some scholarships (Lord willing and work ethic reviving) will take care of most of it. Someone also recommended *selling blood plasma* to me the other night, an activity I usually associated in a humorous context with fictitious drunks and/or absurdly desperate college student, but looks like it may be a good, or at least profitable, idea. My Dad advocated caution, and I suppose there is a good "slippery slope" argument to be made, because blood plasma is a well documented "gateway donation." First it's plasma, then bone marrow; pretty soon it's brain fluid, then that extra kidney (because hey you only really need one), and pretty soon you are eying that left lung (it's not like I am an athlete or anything...), and pretty soon you wake up in a bathtub full of ice with a patch over one eye, a dull ache in your side, and a dim hope that you still have a liver. Hmmm...considering I still don't know *exactly* what Dad did in the Navy, I may want to heed his advice on this one...
The funny thing about looking at grad schools (not "haha" funny, but like "What do you *mean* you left the bullets in the truck" funny) is that I still don't know exactly what I want to study. I am operating under the assumption of some kind of theology, but every so often I feel the urge to become a medievalist, or study literature. I also keep looking at schools in England (who would have thought?), though I know the states would probably be easier/cheaper (though the promise of a master's in one year, and a possible doctorate in another three or four is a strong selling point); I suppose that in the absence of a mast and a length of rope, I must succumb to this particular Siren's song. My short list so far:
Oxford, Cambridge, Durham, Birmingham, and Gordon Conwell (my Yank concession). Please pray for me to have wisdom in all of this. Add to that the fact that my intellectual life is at low ebb (to mix metaphors); I have to end this "summer rut" I am in and get on with the business of the rest of my life. My hope is to have Latin and Coptic before next fall, and to have my Greek up to "tomato and tin can cutting Ginsu" level.
And my other major project is to get some writing done (this here doesn't exactly "count"). My plan is to turn out a story a week for the next year. 52 weeks, 52 stories--what could be simpler than that? How about "starting"...that sounds pretty simple...right.
And because it is late, I am bored, and I didn't think this entry was long enough, let's move on to...
***Capsule Reviews***
This is where give my comments and opinions on whatever medications I may be taking at the time. Kidding. But they are short, either because I have a short attention span, or I think you do.
Been Reading:
The Case Against Hillary Clinton by Peggy Noonan- A quick little volume composed on the eve of Hillary's run for the New York senate. From the title, obviously a polemic, but one completely lacking in vitriol. Noonan's prose reflects has a keen intellect and-what is missing from most political commentary-a sense of grace and class. A recent column of hers is a good example of her work, and worth reading.
3 and 1/2 pancakes out of 5. It's solid, but by no means comprehensive.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee- I admit that I had never read it before this week, though it is consistently regarded as one of the greatest American novels. Katie thrust it upon me (in exchange for Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy), and I am glad she did. It is well worthy of its "classic" status, with delightful, fluid prose, and some of the most well-drawn characters I can remember, even the supporting cast. So many authors can never get past "placeholder characters" and create any sense of attachment or reality. Lee reminds me of Salinger in her ability to quickly build up solid and memorable characters, but unlike Catcher, Mockingbird manages good characters *and* an actual plot.
5 out of 5 pancakes. Now I just need to see the movie.
Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco- *Partial Review* I am only partly through the novel, but I am enjoying it immensely. It has been called "The Thinking Man's Davinci Code" (but written in 1988!) and also "completely impenetrable." I can't comment on the former, but the latter is an exaggeration. This is a hard book to read, no question, and Eco has a taste for the obscure and the arcane, both linguistically and historically, but seldom does he really enter Finnegan's Wake territory, and only occasionally does pretentiousness seep through. Just hold tight, and even if the details get blurry, you can make it. Ignore the people who speak of three months with a dictionary in their hands.
On a side note, I spent a good bit of time trying to grasp the mechanics of the Foucault pendulum. It is one thing to know logically why it work, and another to have it spatially working in your head.
Pancakes still on the griddle for this one.
Been Watching:
War of the Worlds- It's not bad, as a disaster movie and theatrical spectacle, and the special effects are top notch. The choice to follow one man and his family instead of the usual global scale is a good one, and gives the movie some semblance of a heart. Dakota Fanning is closest thing around to a female Haley Joel Osmont. But still, I couldn't help but think that in many ways it, like so many of these sorts of movies, is *a monument to human stupidity.* Not that they don't have their bright moments in this film; they do, more than most. Just once, I want to see a film like this without thinking that some of the protagonists deserve to die, and being disappointed when they do not. But it's better than Independence Day, Godzilla, and The Day After Tomorrow.
3 charred pancakes out of 5.
Dancing with the Stars- Ok. It is a ballroom dancing competition with a roster of second string celebrities. I understand the absurdity of this concept (it has one of the New Kids on the Block, for crying out loud), but it is actually quite entertaining, and not in a "man boxes kangaroo" kind of way. Though I question the competancy of some of the judges ("choreographer"-of what? ballet? hip hop? organ grinder monkeys? it matters, people!), and the "American Idol" voting system, it is a good popular introduction to the world of ballroom for most people. And it's *fun*.
4 pirouetting pancakes out of 5. Now if they will only bring the real thing back to TV...
***End Capsule Reviews***
Goodness, are you still reading? I don't even know if my mom can stand this much of me. I don't even think *I* can. I'm going to sleep for a few hours respite.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
(I leave you with the wisdom of Lynyrd Skynryd...)
"Mama told me when I was young
Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say.
And if you do this
It will help you some sunny day.
Take your time... Don't live too fast,
Troubles will come and they will pass.
Go find a woman and you'll find love,
And don't forget son,
There is someone up above.
...And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?"
~Lynyrd Skynyrd "Simple Man"
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Plain Vanilla Entry...that's what this is
I decided to practice writing one of those journal entries that has nothing significant to say about life in general, or about my life in particular, and includes some random thoughts. I suppose that means I am working at being trivial. Wow...now I feel bad...I guess I'll have to think of something now...
Today (though today is now yesterday) I defied those many so-called experts who insist that "just because something is good on its own, that doesn't mean you can just throw it into a pancake." I added M&M's, and I thought it turned out just fine.
Yesterday I finished an article (well, started and finished...stop looking at me like that!) for the university magazine about my semester in Oxford. It was a bit short to really say much, and I admit it didn't turn out as well as I wanted, but--
Yes I know that's why we have these things called "drafts." Hey, I was busy.
Just "stuff," that's all. Hey, Chesterton wrote all his stuff at the last minute.
Yes, I know he was a genius. Yes, I know I am a--hey!
Look, do you want to read it or not? (The magazine is free, so I have no qualms about depriving them of customers. Actually, I don't think I have any qualms at all. Maybe I had them removed or something...) Anyway, here it is:
***Begin Untitled Generic 400-500 word "Reflection" Article***
I must admit that attempting to write about my semester abroad in Oxford feels a bit like one of those dreadful “What I did on my summer vacation” essays that grade school teachers are so keen on assigning. Or perhaps it’s more like “Grandpa, what did you do during the war? What was it really like?” Can you explain it to someone who wasn’t there?
There were fifty-five of us--Christian college students from all over the United States, from all walks of life--who called Oxford home, and we have all returned changed. We have seen the dreaming spires, slept in the Bodleian Library, walked the parks, and toasted or cursed the great men that came before. We have cooked, studied, played, walked, slept, lived alongside one another every day for fourteen weeks, brothers and sisters in arms, to the end. How do you truly communicate an experience like that? It's a bit like trying to describe the color "blue."
But there is much that can be told. Of punting down the Thames, or giving some British students their first snowball fight. Evensong services, in university chapels built before our country had even been settled. The sounds of the street musicians, the smell of old bookshops, or buying sandwiches every day from Ricardo and Poppy’s shop. The late night walks and 2 a.m. conversations around the kitchen table. Or traipsing all around Scotland with a friend over Easter break, with no particular destination and no plan, trusting in God’s swift sure hand to lead us safely home. All that and infinitely more, memories etched so deeply that they will never fade.
Perhaps more important than what I did in Oxford was what I learned in Oxford. It is easily one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the world, and provided the most challenging and stimulating environment of my short scholastic career. It was simultaneously exhilarating (seeing the myriad opportunities and wanting to learn everything) and frustrating (marveling at how I had seemingly wasted much of my previous twenty-one years of learning).
But many of my most valuable learning experiences didn’t come from lectures, or tutorials, or time spent in the library, but rather from interacting with my fellow students in the program. So many of them were passionate not only about their fields of study, but also about their faith. Among them I saw Doc Carroll’s credo “Study is worship” lived out on a day to day basis, and just as often I found myself humbled by their sincerity, kindness, and unconscious grace.
At Cornerstone we strive to create a true community of Christian scholars. In Oxford I caught glimpses of what that might look like, and why it is worth striving for. It wasn’t perfect, of course, for we are all finite and fallible creatures. But for a brief time it was there all the same, as we gathered together for one purpose: to honor our Lord as best we could with our minds and lives. One day, it will be so for all eternity, world without end.
And I say “Amen.”
***End Untitled Generic 400-500 word "Reflection" Article***
As always, keep those cards and letters coming,
Brian
Been Watching: The Killer (starring Chow Yun Fat)
Been Reading: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Been Listening to: Shinedown
Today (though today is now yesterday) I defied those many so-called experts who insist that "just because something is good on its own, that doesn't mean you can just throw it into a pancake." I added M&M's, and I thought it turned out just fine.
Yesterday I finished an article (well, started and finished...stop looking at me like that!) for the university magazine about my semester in Oxford. It was a bit short to really say much, and I admit it didn't turn out as well as I wanted, but--
Yes I know that's why we have these things called "drafts." Hey, I was busy.
Just "stuff," that's all. Hey, Chesterton wrote all his stuff at the last minute.
Yes, I know he was a genius. Yes, I know I am a--hey!
Look, do you want to read it or not? (The magazine is free, so I have no qualms about depriving them of customers. Actually, I don't think I have any qualms at all. Maybe I had them removed or something...) Anyway, here it is:
***Begin Untitled Generic 400-500 word "Reflection" Article***
I must admit that attempting to write about my semester abroad in Oxford feels a bit like one of those dreadful “What I did on my summer vacation” essays that grade school teachers are so keen on assigning. Or perhaps it’s more like “Grandpa, what did you do during the war? What was it really like?” Can you explain it to someone who wasn’t there?
There were fifty-five of us--Christian college students from all over the United States, from all walks of life--who called Oxford home, and we have all returned changed. We have seen the dreaming spires, slept in the Bodleian Library, walked the parks, and toasted or cursed the great men that came before. We have cooked, studied, played, walked, slept, lived alongside one another every day for fourteen weeks, brothers and sisters in arms, to the end. How do you truly communicate an experience like that? It's a bit like trying to describe the color "blue."
But there is much that can be told. Of punting down the Thames, or giving some British students their first snowball fight. Evensong services, in university chapels built before our country had even been settled. The sounds of the street musicians, the smell of old bookshops, or buying sandwiches every day from Ricardo and Poppy’s shop. The late night walks and 2 a.m. conversations around the kitchen table. Or traipsing all around Scotland with a friend over Easter break, with no particular destination and no plan, trusting in God’s swift sure hand to lead us safely home. All that and infinitely more, memories etched so deeply that they will never fade.
Perhaps more important than what I did in Oxford was what I learned in Oxford. It is easily one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the world, and provided the most challenging and stimulating environment of my short scholastic career. It was simultaneously exhilarating (seeing the myriad opportunities and wanting to learn everything) and frustrating (marveling at how I had seemingly wasted much of my previous twenty-one years of learning).
But many of my most valuable learning experiences didn’t come from lectures, or tutorials, or time spent in the library, but rather from interacting with my fellow students in the program. So many of them were passionate not only about their fields of study, but also about their faith. Among them I saw Doc Carroll’s credo “Study is worship” lived out on a day to day basis, and just as often I found myself humbled by their sincerity, kindness, and unconscious grace.
At Cornerstone we strive to create a true community of Christian scholars. In Oxford I caught glimpses of what that might look like, and why it is worth striving for. It wasn’t perfect, of course, for we are all finite and fallible creatures. But for a brief time it was there all the same, as we gathered together for one purpose: to honor our Lord as best we could with our minds and lives. One day, it will be so for all eternity, world without end.
And I say “Amen.”
***End Untitled Generic 400-500 word "Reflection" Article***
As always, keep those cards and letters coming,
Brian
Been Watching: The Killer (starring Chow Yun Fat)
Been Reading: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Been Listening to: Shinedown
Thursday, June 30, 2005
If I had a title...
"Why do we fall? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up."~Thomas Wayne, Batman Begins
"Sometimes truly believing something means holding the rest of the world in contempt."~me
“However the world might change, if you have the power to think, you’ll survive somehow.”~Seibei("Twilight") Iguchi, Twilight Samurai
Sometimes when people talk about "God's will for my life" or "what God wants me to do" it sounds like God is some kind of general, assigning nameless, uniform soldiers arbitrarily to different postings and duties (i.e. "I hope He doesn't make me a missionary in Africa"). Or on the other side, God is the great cosmic director, with script in hand, giving us our blocking in minute detail (You go here, then cross there. Pick up the glass. Drink. Smile. Pause. Blink left eye. Blink right eye.), though He's nice enough to give us our motivation, if we are having trouble.
I wonder if (with some things, at least) it's more like God is a coach (though I absolutely despise sports metaphors, I couldn't really get away from this one). He watches us from the sidelines, puffing his cigar (think Chariots of Fire...I am) as we try all manner of events, maybe with our hearts set on the pole vault, before he pulls us aside, and with a slap on the back says "Trust me lad, you're a born sprinter." Or something like that. You get the point.
I think God probably says "lad" from time to time.
Random Event Since the Last Posting (RESTLP, pronounced "rest-lop"):
Went to the Stevie Nicks concert on Friday with Johanna. (She works crew from time to time on concerts and events and that sort of thing, and one of the supervisors threw two comp tickets her way. I mean, I don't know if he physically threw them, though if he did, I assume she must have caught them...or at least picked them up off the ground.) Stevie Nicks is still her spacy self, and she and her band put on a good show. We both really *wanted* to like opening act Vanessa Carlton, but we couldn't...quite...make it all the way there. Musically she is solid, but lyrically often cliched and smacks of mediocre sixth-form poetry. Like some kinds of cheese, I think she needs to age a bit.
Been Watching: Batman Begins (again), The Aviator
Been Reading: Calvinism in the Las Vegas Airport by Richard Mouw
Been Listening to: Vienna Teng (still), Anna Nalick
"Sometimes truly believing something means holding the rest of the world in contempt."~me
“However the world might change, if you have the power to think, you’ll survive somehow.”~Seibei("Twilight") Iguchi, Twilight Samurai
Sometimes when people talk about "God's will for my life" or "what God wants me to do" it sounds like God is some kind of general, assigning nameless, uniform soldiers arbitrarily to different postings and duties (i.e. "I hope He doesn't make me a missionary in Africa"). Or on the other side, God is the great cosmic director, with script in hand, giving us our blocking in minute detail (You go here, then cross there. Pick up the glass. Drink. Smile. Pause. Blink left eye. Blink right eye.), though He's nice enough to give us our motivation, if we are having trouble.
I wonder if (with some things, at least) it's more like God is a coach (though I absolutely despise sports metaphors, I couldn't really get away from this one). He watches us from the sidelines, puffing his cigar (think Chariots of Fire...I am) as we try all manner of events, maybe with our hearts set on the pole vault, before he pulls us aside, and with a slap on the back says "Trust me lad, you're a born sprinter." Or something like that. You get the point.
I think God probably says "lad" from time to time.
Random Event Since the Last Posting (RESTLP, pronounced "rest-lop"):
Went to the Stevie Nicks concert on Friday with Johanna. (She works crew from time to time on concerts and events and that sort of thing, and one of the supervisors threw two comp tickets her way. I mean, I don't know if he physically threw them, though if he did, I assume she must have caught them...or at least picked them up off the ground.) Stevie Nicks is still her spacy self, and she and her band put on a good show. We both really *wanted* to like opening act Vanessa Carlton, but we couldn't...quite...make it all the way there. Musically she is solid, but lyrically often cliched and smacks of mediocre sixth-form poetry. Like some kinds of cheese, I think she needs to age a bit.
Been Watching: Batman Begins (again), The Aviator
Been Reading: Calvinism in the Las Vegas Airport by Richard Mouw
Been Listening to: Vienna Teng (still), Anna Nalick
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Look for the Girl in the Turquoise Sombrero
"It's not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me."~The Batman
"What I do is me: for that I came."~Gerard Manley Hopkins
"If you love me, keep my commandments."~Jesus
Greetings. This is what is known, in this crazy world of online internet journals, as an "update." It consists of me writing various amounts of text in an attempt to communicate the important details of my life that have transpired since my last "update." I take this action at the behest of those, specifically my "mom", who are concerned and/or annoyed and/or aggravated and/or cast into a homicidal rage by my recent lack of activity in the online journaling community. Thank you.
Let's see. I...um..got a job this week. I am working part time at switchboard for the rest of the summer, taking some of Amber's hours because she took another job at an adoption agency. I would really rather be slaving away full time somewhere and earning more money for grad school and a car and insurance and a hang-glider and , um, drugs and guns, or whatever else I was going to buy. But I suppose this gives me time to finish my internship, and study, and all of that. But let me tell you, third shift will wreak complete havoc on your life. I may? Thank you. Here I go: "Third shift will wreak complete havoc on your life.
Father's day was this past weekend. Shame on all you people who settle for last minute cards and gas station purchases to celebrate your parents's respective days. There's something in the Bible about that. I'm sure you're all smitten or cast out or something.
Anyway. The tradition at my house, for the past few years, at least, is "King for a Day" (spawned partly because Dad usually refuses to ask for any presents). We always begin with a humorous proclamation and/or skit, usually written by yours truly. This year's involved Dad being a patient on the television medical show "House," with me being Dr. House, hobbling around on a cane and making acerbic remarks, and John and David as the other doctors. Oh, speaking of which...
***Product Placement/Hearty Recommendation/Shameless Plug***
If you have yet to see the show "House," for the love of all that is good and decent repent and live in your ignorance no longer. It is hands down (hands down where? and what hands? what does that even mean? is it like "put your hands down, class" because someone already has the answer?) the best show on television right now, and Hugh Laurie is absolutely brilliant as sarcastic, cynical, misanthropic Dr. Greg House, a sort of medical Sherlock Holmes. Tuesday nights, 9pm, on Fox. Be there or...be somewhere else.
***End all that stuff***
Oh, and I've decided I'm going to go to medical school...and start carrying a cane. See the problem is, you can't get away with carrying a cane unless you actually need one, or you look pretentious and affected (and you know how I always avoid THAT). I don't want to need one, just to have one. Ah well. Maybe I will get hit by a bus or something.
We (by which I mean my immediate family and our significant others. Which means, my immediate family.) also went to go see Batman Begins on Sunday. It is definitely the best Batman film so far, arguably the best superhero movie ever (rivaled only by Spiderman 2, but that one had the advantage of building of the foundation of the first movie), and, more than all that, simply a great film in its own right. My hesitancy about the casting of Christian Bale (Newsies Christian Bale! Go ahead, girls, start singing), somewhat eased by Equilibrium, has now been completely put to rest. The rest of the cast is phenomenal as well, with Oscar winners and nominees all over the place; except, of course, for Katie Holmes, a chunk of floating space debris in a sea of twinkling stars. Even if you don't like Batman, or comic books, you will still see a wonderful adventure film, where the protagonist just happens to dress like a bat from time to time.
Friday (since I may as well just cycle through events) was "Foxfest" in Ionia, a free outdoor concert put on by one of the local classic rock stations. John, Katie, Johanna, Matt and I all went, basking on our blanket in the overcast sun. Deep Purple, Kenny (Kenney?) Wayne Shepherd (Smith?), a local band named Broken Sunday, and Blue Oyster Cult (thought of you, Phil; "I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell") were all performing. I think Deep Purple gave the strongest performance, with their barefoot, frilly white shirt, long grey hair front man reminding the crowd that rock and roll is supposed to be fun, dangit, forget about all this grimacing and posing crap. During one song Matt and I looked at each other for a second, then reached for our lighters and joined the swaying crowd.
Saturday went to see "Crossing Delancy" starring my very own Carleen (well, not just mine. we all share her). I don't know if there is anyone I enjoy seeing on stage more. Sadly, I did learn that she and Aaron are getting ready to move far, far away (this compounded but the fact that I haven't really seen her since I got back). Ah well, there will always be pilgrimages to see her work her way towards Broadway.
I'm...um...writing a short story. Or attempting to write, rather. You know how people always told you not to swallow the watermelon seeds because they will grow in your stomach? Yeah, it's about that; sort of Bradbury-esque. I may post it here, when it's done, or mail it out to people who request it or something. I've been struggling with my own peculiar brand of writer's block (more like paralysis) for a while now, hopefully I can strangle it, kick some dirt over it, and let the ants and worms tear the flesh from its rotting carcass. Or something. I think it mostly feeds off frustration; the idea of unavoidable failure as a produce drafts irks me, for I have this "Young Sherlock Holmes with the violin" attitude towards so many things.
Right. Yes. I think that is enough for now. Wouldn't want anyone to O.D. on my presence or anything. Well, keep those cards and letters coming.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
Been Watching: Batman Begins; Good Company; Twilight Samurai
Been Reading: The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever by Stephen R. Donaldson
"What I do is me: for that I came."~Gerard Manley Hopkins
"If you love me, keep my commandments."~Jesus
Greetings. This is what is known, in this crazy world of online internet journals, as an "update." It consists of me writing various amounts of text in an attempt to communicate the important details of my life that have transpired since my last "update." I take this action at the behest of those, specifically my "mom", who are concerned and/or annoyed and/or aggravated and/or cast into a homicidal rage by my recent lack of activity in the online journaling community. Thank you.
Let's see. I...um..got a job this week. I am working part time at switchboard for the rest of the summer, taking some of Amber's hours because she took another job at an adoption agency. I would really rather be slaving away full time somewhere and earning more money for grad school and a car and insurance and a hang-glider and , um, drugs and guns, or whatever else I was going to buy. But I suppose this gives me time to finish my internship, and study, and all of that. But let me tell you, third shift will wreak complete havoc on your life. I may? Thank you. Here I go: "Third shift will wreak complete havoc on your life.
Father's day was this past weekend. Shame on all you people who settle for last minute cards and gas station purchases to celebrate your parents's respective days. There's something in the Bible about that. I'm sure you're all smitten or cast out or something.
Anyway. The tradition at my house, for the past few years, at least, is "King for a Day" (spawned partly because Dad usually refuses to ask for any presents). We always begin with a humorous proclamation and/or skit, usually written by yours truly. This year's involved Dad being a patient on the television medical show "House," with me being Dr. House, hobbling around on a cane and making acerbic remarks, and John and David as the other doctors. Oh, speaking of which...
***Product Placement/Hearty Recommendation/Shameless Plug***
If you have yet to see the show "House," for the love of all that is good and decent repent and live in your ignorance no longer. It is hands down (hands down where? and what hands? what does that even mean? is it like "put your hands down, class" because someone already has the answer?) the best show on television right now, and Hugh Laurie is absolutely brilliant as sarcastic, cynical, misanthropic Dr. Greg House, a sort of medical Sherlock Holmes. Tuesday nights, 9pm, on Fox. Be there or...be somewhere else.
***End all that stuff***
Oh, and I've decided I'm going to go to medical school...and start carrying a cane. See the problem is, you can't get away with carrying a cane unless you actually need one, or you look pretentious and affected (and you know how I always avoid THAT). I don't want to need one, just to have one. Ah well. Maybe I will get hit by a bus or something.
We (by which I mean my immediate family and our significant others. Which means, my immediate family.) also went to go see Batman Begins on Sunday. It is definitely the best Batman film so far, arguably the best superhero movie ever (rivaled only by Spiderman 2, but that one had the advantage of building of the foundation of the first movie), and, more than all that, simply a great film in its own right. My hesitancy about the casting of Christian Bale (Newsies Christian Bale! Go ahead, girls, start singing), somewhat eased by Equilibrium, has now been completely put to rest. The rest of the cast is phenomenal as well, with Oscar winners and nominees all over the place; except, of course, for Katie Holmes, a chunk of floating space debris in a sea of twinkling stars. Even if you don't like Batman, or comic books, you will still see a wonderful adventure film, where the protagonist just happens to dress like a bat from time to time.
Friday (since I may as well just cycle through events) was "Foxfest" in Ionia, a free outdoor concert put on by one of the local classic rock stations. John, Katie, Johanna, Matt and I all went, basking on our blanket in the overcast sun. Deep Purple, Kenny (Kenney?) Wayne Shepherd (Smith?), a local band named Broken Sunday, and Blue Oyster Cult (thought of you, Phil; "I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell") were all performing. I think Deep Purple gave the strongest performance, with their barefoot, frilly white shirt, long grey hair front man reminding the crowd that rock and roll is supposed to be fun, dangit, forget about all this grimacing and posing crap. During one song Matt and I looked at each other for a second, then reached for our lighters and joined the swaying crowd.
Saturday went to see "Crossing Delancy" starring my very own Carleen (well, not just mine. we all share her). I don't know if there is anyone I enjoy seeing on stage more. Sadly, I did learn that she and Aaron are getting ready to move far, far away (this compounded but the fact that I haven't really seen her since I got back). Ah well, there will always be pilgrimages to see her work her way towards Broadway.
I'm...um...writing a short story. Or attempting to write, rather. You know how people always told you not to swallow the watermelon seeds because they will grow in your stomach? Yeah, it's about that; sort of Bradbury-esque. I may post it here, when it's done, or mail it out to people who request it or something. I've been struggling with my own peculiar brand of writer's block (more like paralysis) for a while now, hopefully I can strangle it, kick some dirt over it, and let the ants and worms tear the flesh from its rotting carcass. Or something. I think it mostly feeds off frustration; the idea of unavoidable failure as a produce drafts irks me, for I have this "Young Sherlock Holmes with the violin" attitude towards so many things.
Right. Yes. I think that is enough for now. Wouldn't want anyone to O.D. on my presence or anything. Well, keep those cards and letters coming.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
Been Watching: Batman Begins; Good Company; Twilight Samurai
Been Reading: The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever by Stephen R. Donaldson
Friday, June 10, 2005
Who do the online quizzes say that I am?
Take the quiz: "What Celtic Diety are you?"
Taliesin
{tal-i-ess-in} (Welsh) Radiant Brow, aof Song; Chief of the Bards of the West; a poet. Patron of Druids, Bards, and minstrels; a shape-shifter. Writing, poetry; wisdom; wizards; Bards; music; knowledge; magic. A semi-mythical figure whose life has become deeply intertwined with the Divinities of the Celts. A book of his work exists, set down in the 13th century; several of the works within it are regarded as genuine. He figures in many tales, but chief among them is the story that he began as the boy Gwion, was asked by the Cauldron-Crone Cerridwen to watch the vessel in which she brewed a Knowledge potion, inadvertently tasted it himself, was pursued by her in a chase involving many shapeshifts, and was at length swallowed by Her, to be reborn nine months later as the Divine bard Taliesin.
Take the quiz: "Which Famous Knight of the Round Table are you?"
King Arthur
You are King Arthur! Noble and kind, and above all, fair, you know how to run people. However, someone in your life is not loyal to you and your love for their feelings could be a downfall. Don't let people get to you, and trust your instincts and heart.
Take the quiz: "Which Harry Potter House Should You Be In?"
Ravenclaw
Well done! You're in Ravenclaw! You're the smartest of the bunch and always have your wits about you. 'For Ravenclaw, the cleverest would always be the best...'
Take the quiz: "what kind of drug are you? (includes pictures)"
cocaine.
you are cocaine. addictive, expensive and confident.
Take the quiz: "Which Element do you align with?"
Earth
You are a being of Earth. You are full of common sense and good judgement, but you can be stubborn. You might love the outdoors best. Dionysis and Cernunnos watch over you.
Take the quiz: "Which Empire of history are you? (pics)"
British Empire
You're unique and haughty... a little hypocritical but intelligent, don't let your cruelty rule your personality
Take the quiz: "Which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle are You?"
Leonardo
You're mature and get the job done. You are a natural born leader, and normally want to be the better of the group. You take your job seriously. You must! It may NOT be a game. When you select a sport, or something you want to do, you train continueously, constantly trying to perfect it. You're always prepared for a challenge, and are normally found one step ahead of your enemies. Loving family more than life itself, you are a good friend, and can be depended on at all times.
Take the quiz: "What Kind Of Weapon Are you?"
Sword
You're the sword! Most definitely the most honorable and honest of weapons. You've been used for thousands of years to inflict pain and death on mankind. People see you as the most noble of weapons. Traditionally, you're the big brother of the gun. If a gun isn't available, a fighter will grab for you and try to take out their enemy. You're retired now, nobody really uses you in war, mankind has other... More disgusting methods now. You're good for a stab in the heart, the neck or the gut and everyone appreciates a death by a sword. The only people that use you anymore are either very stupid or very crazy. Murderer.
And, for my SCIO crew:
Take the quiz: "What ALIAS character are you?"
Marshall Flinkmann
There is a hidden genious in all of us, but as far as brains go, you take the cake. Though apart from your large cranium filled with next gen knowledge, you seem to be lacking a bit on the social front. Perhaps spending a little more time with real people and less in front of anything with wires is in order. Though you are doing better in the relationship department than most people in your office. A wife and child is something to be proud of, and they certainly are of you. As generous as they come, your quirky nature is loved by many.
....wow. Yeah. Big surprises all around. Weee....
Taliesin
{tal-i-ess-in} (Welsh) Radiant Brow, aof Song; Chief of the Bards of the West; a poet. Patron of Druids, Bards, and minstrels; a shape-shifter. Writing, poetry; wisdom; wizards; Bards; music; knowledge; magic. A semi-mythical figure whose life has become deeply intertwined with the Divinities of the Celts. A book of his work exists, set down in the 13th century; several of the works within it are regarded as genuine. He figures in many tales, but chief among them is the story that he began as the boy Gwion, was asked by the Cauldron-Crone Cerridwen to watch the vessel in which she brewed a Knowledge potion, inadvertently tasted it himself, was pursued by her in a chase involving many shapeshifts, and was at length swallowed by Her, to be reborn nine months later as the Divine bard Taliesin.
Take the quiz: "Which Famous Knight of the Round Table are you?"
King Arthur
You are King Arthur! Noble and kind, and above all, fair, you know how to run people. However, someone in your life is not loyal to you and your love for their feelings could be a downfall. Don't let people get to you, and trust your instincts and heart.
Take the quiz: "Which Harry Potter House Should You Be In?"
Ravenclaw
Well done! You're in Ravenclaw! You're the smartest of the bunch and always have your wits about you. 'For Ravenclaw, the cleverest would always be the best...'
Take the quiz: "what kind of drug are you? (includes pictures)"
cocaine.
you are cocaine. addictive, expensive and confident.
Take the quiz: "Which Element do you align with?"
Earth
You are a being of Earth. You are full of common sense and good judgement, but you can be stubborn. You might love the outdoors best. Dionysis and Cernunnos watch over you.
Take the quiz: "Which Empire of history are you? (pics)"
British Empire
You're unique and haughty... a little hypocritical but intelligent, don't let your cruelty rule your personality
Take the quiz: "Which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle are You?"
Leonardo
You're mature and get the job done. You are a natural born leader, and normally want to be the better of the group. You take your job seriously. You must! It may NOT be a game. When you select a sport, or something you want to do, you train continueously, constantly trying to perfect it. You're always prepared for a challenge, and are normally found one step ahead of your enemies. Loving family more than life itself, you are a good friend, and can be depended on at all times.
Take the quiz: "What Kind Of Weapon Are you?"
Sword
You're the sword! Most definitely the most honorable and honest of weapons. You've been used for thousands of years to inflict pain and death on mankind. People see you as the most noble of weapons. Traditionally, you're the big brother of the gun. If a gun isn't available, a fighter will grab for you and try to take out their enemy. You're retired now, nobody really uses you in war, mankind has other... More disgusting methods now. You're good for a stab in the heart, the neck or the gut and everyone appreciates a death by a sword. The only people that use you anymore are either very stupid or very crazy. Murderer.
And, for my SCIO crew:
Take the quiz: "What ALIAS character are you?"
Marshall Flinkmann
There is a hidden genious in all of us, but as far as brains go, you take the cake. Though apart from your large cranium filled with next gen knowledge, you seem to be lacking a bit on the social front. Perhaps spending a little more time with real people and less in front of anything with wires is in order. Though you are doing better in the relationship department than most people in your office. A wife and child is something to be proud of, and they certainly are of you. As generous as they come, your quirky nature is loved by many.
....wow. Yeah. Big surprises all around. Weee....
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Strike up the band
"It’s a great thing to get on with one's loving--and not waste time."
~Lottie from "Enchanted April", one of my favorite movies
Today is/was my Mom's birthday. I even got up before 9am to partake in the celebration. (!) So "Happy Birthday" to the woman who carried me for 12 long months. I love you.
~Lottie from "Enchanted April", one of my favorite movies
Today is/was my Mom's birthday. I even got up before 9am to partake in the celebration. (!) So "Happy Birthday" to the woman who carried me for 12 long months. I love you.
Celebrate...um...what was it again?
Tonight I went to Grand Rapids "Festival of the Arts" with some friends. The Festival in question is a sort of multi-day fair type event, with bands and performers and orchstras and dance companies and, well, all sorts of artistic things. The friends in question were Emily (Ward), Tyler (Rieth) and Caroline (Cahoon...wait...do I even know another Caroline?). Amongst other things, Johanna's dance company was performing; that was on of *my* main reason for going, at least.
I think the entire population of GR was there this evening, save some kids, their babysitters, people on house arrest, and vampires (the sun was up for most of it); our little group kept colliding with friends and acquaintences as we meandered through the now pedestrian-only streets.
Johanna did well, and so did her dancemates. (teammates? dance sisters? sistas?) After mingling with her fan club, she joined our posse, a posse bent less on vigilante justice and more on..um...more..meandering.
And Johanna spent half the night spitting the seeds from her lemonade at me. "Lemon pips" as she said. I think *she* is a "lemon pip." And so she is. (I know in true Vines style I should say that her Mom is a lemon pip, but I think her mom is actually quite nice)(and really, I know that Johanna only acts out like that because she proves herself to be the Jerry Quarry of verbal sparring)
Tonight was nice, parts of it; I laughed, and we had fun. But I still couldn't help but feel...weary. Stiff, not in any of my body's muscles, but in my mind (Heart? Soul?). I don't know if that makes sense, but it's the right image for me.
I like cereal.
I think the entire population of GR was there this evening, save some kids, their babysitters, people on house arrest, and vampires (the sun was up for most of it); our little group kept colliding with friends and acquaintences as we meandered through the now pedestrian-only streets.
Johanna did well, and so did her dancemates. (teammates? dance sisters? sistas?) After mingling with her fan club, she joined our posse, a posse bent less on vigilante justice and more on..um...more..meandering.
And Johanna spent half the night spitting the seeds from her lemonade at me. "Lemon pips" as she said. I think *she* is a "lemon pip." And so she is. (I know in true Vines style I should say that her Mom is a lemon pip, but I think her mom is actually quite nice)(and really, I know that Johanna only acts out like that because she proves herself to be the Jerry Quarry of verbal sparring)
Tonight was nice, parts of it; I laughed, and we had fun. But I still couldn't help but feel...weary. Stiff, not in any of my body's muscles, but in my mind (Heart? Soul?). I don't know if that makes sense, but it's the right image for me.
I like cereal.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes.
I just finished reading Alan Moore's "Watchmen." I bought it this evening from Barnes and Noble and read it cover to cover, finishing the last few chapters wrapped up in my covers like an eleven year old staying up past his bed time. It's brilliant, honestly. Without a doubt one of the finest comic book stories I have read. Or should I say "graphic novel"? Must "comic book" still carry with it a negative connotation? (Read Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics, I beg you. This means you, Kate, if you are reading. It is not only the best book on the comic form, but an incredible work on aesthtics, art theory, and storytelling in the visual medium.)
Yesterday I finished Stephen King's Bag of Bones, what was billed as "A Haunted Romance." It was. And one if his better works, I must say.
I'm not sure why all this is important enough to post. Perhaps it's worth posting because it *isn't* all that important. Who wants more rambling about the meaning of life from an online journal. Not me.
Because then, you get, well, take it away, Rorschach...
"The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever, and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reasons later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hellbound as ourselves; go to oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose..."~Rorschach, "Watchmen"
Like that. See?
Yesterday I finished Stephen King's Bag of Bones, what was billed as "A Haunted Romance." It was. And one if his better works, I must say.
I'm not sure why all this is important enough to post. Perhaps it's worth posting because it *isn't* all that important. Who wants more rambling about the meaning of life from an online journal. Not me.
Because then, you get, well, take it away, Rorschach...
"The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever, and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reasons later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hellbound as ourselves; go to oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose..."~Rorschach, "Watchmen"
Like that. See?
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
I wonder
The cave of making - Postscript
(W. H. Auden)
Time has taught you
how much inspiration
your vices brought you,
what imagination
can owe temptation
yielded to,
that many a fine
expressive line
would not have existed,
had you resisted:
as a poet, you
know this is true,
and though in Kirk
you sometimes pray
to feel contrite,
it doesn’t work.
Felix culpa, you say:
perhaps you’re right.
You hope, yes,
your books will excuse you,
save you from hell:
nevertheless,
without looking sad,
without in any way
seeming to blame
(He doesn’t need to,
knowing well
what a lover of art
like yourself pays heed to),
God may reduce you
on Judgement Day
to tears of shame,
reciting by heart
the poems you would
have written, had
your life been good.
Monday, May 23, 2005
You Could Die Today
Just a thought. Not being morbid. Just the truth, just a tiny little factoid that all of us acknowledge but never truly believe.
Believe it today.
Today, carry the thought with you like a little piece of string tied around your finger. When you see the people you love. When you see the people you despise, or who despise you. When you look up at a blue sky, and feel the warm wind on your face. When the tiny, insignificant things in this life try to claim you, to choke you. When you are tempted to do evil, or given the opportunity to do good, remember that before this day is done you may stand before your Creator, your Saviour.
They say that, for terminal patients and the like, there is something in the knowledge that you are dying, in facing death, that somehow brings life into focus.
Well, we are all dying, every one of us. Terminal cases from the moment we were born. Make your days count. Every one of them. Live like you are dying.
Because you are.
Believe it today.
Today, carry the thought with you like a little piece of string tied around your finger. When you see the people you love. When you see the people you despise, or who despise you. When you look up at a blue sky, and feel the warm wind on your face. When the tiny, insignificant things in this life try to claim you, to choke you. When you are tempted to do evil, or given the opportunity to do good, remember that before this day is done you may stand before your Creator, your Saviour.
They say that, for terminal patients and the like, there is something in the knowledge that you are dying, in facing death, that somehow brings life into focus.
Well, we are all dying, every one of us. Terminal cases from the moment we were born. Make your days count. Every one of them. Live like you are dying.
Because you are.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Idle musings
Today I heard a minister say that what God desires more than anything else is our worship. I disagree. I think what God desires more than anything else, in this life, is our *obedience*. Jesus Himself said "If you love me, keep my commandments." And again "To obey is better than sacrifice." The picture we see over and over again is of God desperately trying to get us to listen to Him, to heed His voice, and do what He asks--not because *He* needs us to, or a simple desire to exercise unquestioned authority, but because He knows it is what is best for us, if we would only just listen, and trust Him.
Just a thought.
Just a thought.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Tick....Tick....Tick....
It's night time. The rest of my family has gone off to bed, and I sit, alone, in the living room, listening to the steady rhythm of so many assorted clocks. I have been home from Oxford for one month.
Graduation lies behind me by some ten days now, that blessed ceremony where your entire college education in distilled to an ill-fitting cap, a thin nylon gown, some honours cords if you are lucky, and a few brief seconds on stage, with your name echoing for all to hear. I suppose it's a bit like the morning of your birthday, when people ask you if you feel any older. Of course you don't. As far as your mind and bosy are concerned, only a single day has passed since the last. The same is true here: how can a single day--or rather a single ceremony on a single day, virtually the same year after year--possibly hope to do any justice to the previous years of pain, grief, love, pride, hope, growth, learning, of life? It can't, of course. But we feel like we ought to do something. And so we march.
****Secret Insider Information****
Just between us, I think it is more for the parents and relatives than the graduates. A bit like a wedding, I suppose. If not for the expectations of their family and friends, how many frazzled couples--sick of menus and registries and seating arrrangements and colour schemes and-- would pitch the big ceremony and reception altogether and climb into the back of a Vegas bound Buick? But there really is no "elopement option" for university. But then, it is probably the least we can do to repay the support so many of us have been given, for a few shining moments of pride, and pictures taken outside in the sun under that particularly fine tree outside the auditorium. I know I owe my family so much more than that.
****End Secret....oh, heck, I just feel obligated to put these in now...****
So that's it, then. We finally reach the top of the mountain, after our arduous climb, and we realize that it isn't quite so high as it seemed from the bottom, and the view isn't as great as we would have hoped. What's more, now that we've crested the hill (for hill it is), we see that it is only one high point among many on the path stretching out before us. But go ahead. Enjoy the peak. Stare at the clouds. Throw rocks at the birds. Spit off the edge. Lie down for a nap. Take as long as you like. But know that eventually you will have to stretch, cinch up your pack, and keep moving.
***And So to Summarize the Current State of Things, in a Fashion which will no doubt Degenerate into a List of Random Facts (or STCSOTIAFWWNDDIALORF-ing, as it is known)***
I don't quite know what to do with myself these days. To all who were wondering, I passed my biology CLEP test (which is why I graduated on time), proving that no matter what you might think, you *can* cram two semester of biology into a (little less than a) week of studying, with the proper motivation.
Willows went well, and I gave the best Guildenstern my limited time and rehearsals would allow...
...though my last acting experience at Cornerstone was actually a speech from Henry V that I did at the senior baccalaureat. St. Crispin's Day, it was. Not my best, not my worst--probably appropriate.
Oh, speaking of theatre...At the KTG Awards banquet
***Public Service Announcement***
For the Oxonians in the audience: Kappa Theta Gamma (KTG, see?) is the Cornerstone theatre society. At the end of the season, they have an awards banquet, where they give out awards for best actor, actress, so forth.
Oh, and...don't eat lead....And...if the bomb falls, remember duck and cover.
***End Public Service Announcement***
I was given the Outstanding Achievement in Theatre award--sort of like the "lifetime achievement award" to a graduating senior...only not for a lifetime...just for the four years...or however long it took you to finish. I was told my speech was very good (Amber cried), though I don't think it was recorded in any way, and I only remember pieces. (Ok, I could probably remember most of it, I just don't feel like it.)
I think what I said that night is indicative of much of the past four years. I think I end much the way I started, "as someone who feels everyone else is a lot further along than he is...who's winging it, and hoping no one will notice."
I still have my internship to start and finish this summer, with Dr. Carroll and Dr. Mohrmann at the Center for the Study of Antiquity (or CSA...but you probably could have figured that one out). And there is that Psychology CLEP as well. But Doc is in Greece right now, and Mohrmann is tied up for a few weeks, and the test can be done any time, so...
But beyond those things there is nothing. The rest of the summer is a light grey fog, beyond the summer is an impenetrable black fog. My plan (and we all know how you make God laugh) is to spend some of the next year working and saving up money for Grad school. The rest of the time I will be figuring out exactly what I want to study and where I want to study it. I still have intellectual ADD, but decisions are rapidly growing closer, accompanied by the big angry enforcer of Real Life.
I've told a few people that at, at the moment, I don't so much feel like I am standing at a crossroads, but rather in a big open field, where it doesn't matter which way I go; and the mind can only take so much flat, rolling wheat. It's as if, in Oxford I was moving in a particular direction. Now all the that momentum has been spent, but I haven't yet started moving in another direction. Inertia has overcome me, and until I overcome it, I am motionless, in stasis. The thermodynamics of the spirit.
The next year is my time, time to be spent in my little basement room reading, writing, studying, and on my knees in prayer. It is borrowed time, time that probably should have been spent already. I mused once, when I had first moved in several weeks ago, that much of the rest of my life would be determined by my time in that little room. Perhaps that is too grandiose, but I think there is a ring of truth in it.
My room is underground. Things are put in the ground after they die. Things are put in the ground before being raised to a new life. Which will I be?
I have noticed that when I take too long between entries, when I finally do write I have too many things I want to say, and they only succeed in all charging at each other, bonking heads, and falling over unconscious. Because of that, I will bring this to a merciful close. Sanity and coherence to follow, hopefully.
God grant you peace,
Brian
Graduation lies behind me by some ten days now, that blessed ceremony where your entire college education in distilled to an ill-fitting cap, a thin nylon gown, some honours cords if you are lucky, and a few brief seconds on stage, with your name echoing for all to hear. I suppose it's a bit like the morning of your birthday, when people ask you if you feel any older. Of course you don't. As far as your mind and bosy are concerned, only a single day has passed since the last. The same is true here: how can a single day--or rather a single ceremony on a single day, virtually the same year after year--possibly hope to do any justice to the previous years of pain, grief, love, pride, hope, growth, learning, of life? It can't, of course. But we feel like we ought to do something. And so we march.
****Secret Insider Information****
Just between us, I think it is more for the parents and relatives than the graduates. A bit like a wedding, I suppose. If not for the expectations of their family and friends, how many frazzled couples--sick of menus and registries and seating arrrangements and colour schemes and-- would pitch the big ceremony and reception altogether and climb into the back of a Vegas bound Buick? But there really is no "elopement option" for university. But then, it is probably the least we can do to repay the support so many of us have been given, for a few shining moments of pride, and pictures taken outside in the sun under that particularly fine tree outside the auditorium. I know I owe my family so much more than that.
****End Secret....oh, heck, I just feel obligated to put these in now...****
So that's it, then. We finally reach the top of the mountain, after our arduous climb, and we realize that it isn't quite so high as it seemed from the bottom, and the view isn't as great as we would have hoped. What's more, now that we've crested the hill (for hill it is), we see that it is only one high point among many on the path stretching out before us. But go ahead. Enjoy the peak. Stare at the clouds. Throw rocks at the birds. Spit off the edge. Lie down for a nap. Take as long as you like. But know that eventually you will have to stretch, cinch up your pack, and keep moving.
***And So to Summarize the Current State of Things, in a Fashion which will no doubt Degenerate into a List of Random Facts (or STCSOTIAFWWNDDIALORF-ing, as it is known)***
I don't quite know what to do with myself these days. To all who were wondering, I passed my biology CLEP test (which is why I graduated on time), proving that no matter what you might think, you *can* cram two semester of biology into a (little less than a) week of studying, with the proper motivation.
Willows went well, and I gave the best Guildenstern my limited time and rehearsals would allow...
...though my last acting experience at Cornerstone was actually a speech from Henry V that I did at the senior baccalaureat. St. Crispin's Day, it was. Not my best, not my worst--probably appropriate.
Oh, speaking of theatre...At the KTG Awards banquet
***Public Service Announcement***
For the Oxonians in the audience: Kappa Theta Gamma (KTG, see?) is the Cornerstone theatre society. At the end of the season, they have an awards banquet, where they give out awards for best actor, actress, so forth.
Oh, and...don't eat lead....And...if the bomb falls, remember duck and cover.
***End Public Service Announcement***
I was given the Outstanding Achievement in Theatre award--sort of like the "lifetime achievement award" to a graduating senior...only not for a lifetime...just for the four years...or however long it took you to finish. I was told my speech was very good (Amber cried), though I don't think it was recorded in any way, and I only remember pieces. (Ok, I could probably remember most of it, I just don't feel like it.)
I think what I said that night is indicative of much of the past four years. I think I end much the way I started, "as someone who feels everyone else is a lot further along than he is...who's winging it, and hoping no one will notice."
I still have my internship to start and finish this summer, with Dr. Carroll and Dr. Mohrmann at the Center for the Study of Antiquity (or CSA...but you probably could have figured that one out). And there is that Psychology CLEP as well. But Doc is in Greece right now, and Mohrmann is tied up for a few weeks, and the test can be done any time, so...
But beyond those things there is nothing. The rest of the summer is a light grey fog, beyond the summer is an impenetrable black fog. My plan (and we all know how you make God laugh) is to spend some of the next year working and saving up money for Grad school. The rest of the time I will be figuring out exactly what I want to study and where I want to study it. I still have intellectual ADD, but decisions are rapidly growing closer, accompanied by the big angry enforcer of Real Life.
I've told a few people that at, at the moment, I don't so much feel like I am standing at a crossroads, but rather in a big open field, where it doesn't matter which way I go; and the mind can only take so much flat, rolling wheat. It's as if, in Oxford I was moving in a particular direction. Now all the that momentum has been spent, but I haven't yet started moving in another direction. Inertia has overcome me, and until I overcome it, I am motionless, in stasis. The thermodynamics of the spirit.
The next year is my time, time to be spent in my little basement room reading, writing, studying, and on my knees in prayer. It is borrowed time, time that probably should have been spent already. I mused once, when I had first moved in several weeks ago, that much of the rest of my life would be determined by my time in that little room. Perhaps that is too grandiose, but I think there is a ring of truth in it.
My room is underground. Things are put in the ground after they die. Things are put in the ground before being raised to a new life. Which will I be?
I have noticed that when I take too long between entries, when I finally do write I have too many things I want to say, and they only succeed in all charging at each other, bonking heads, and falling over unconscious. Because of that, I will bring this to a merciful close. Sanity and coherence to follow, hopefully.
God grant you peace,
Brian
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Homecoming...
"strange how certain the journey
time unfolds the petals for our eyes to see
strange how this journey's hurting
in ways we accept as part of fate's decree
so we just hold on fast
acknowledge the past
as lessons exquisitely crafted
painstakingly drafted
to carve us as instruments
that play the music of life..."
~Vienna Teng, "Eric's Song"
"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?"~Frodo Baggins
Home. It's funny how family never really seems to change (though little brothers do tend to get bigger), remaining the great constant in my universe; almost four months absent bleeds away like a short trip when I see them at the airport, and we pick up right where we left off.
My parents and I went to Johanna's baptism on Sunday (the next day). I don't think she was expecting me, and standing waist high in water she gave me a smile when our eyes met. Her testimony was elegant and honest simplicity. Wouldn't have missed it for the world.
We also met up with Emily (Ward) there, and afterward she, Johanna and I, joined by Elizabeth McDaniels and Matt Elmore (!one of the last people I expected to see, and one of the best surprises of the weekend) wandered around downtown Rockford for the evening. A good day.
My first day back on campus yesterday, running errands and seeing many, many friends. Also a quick rehearsal for Willows. Cornerstone family: come next Tuesday at 7pm; amongst other things, possibly the last chance you will have to see me act.
In my own way, I know that Frodo was right. You can never really "go home" again, not to the home you left behind. Things change, times move on, and the cliche is true: you can never step in the same river twice. If nothing else, we have changed. And how can we express it? How do you answer "How was England?" We have seen the dreaming spires, slept in the Bodleian, walked the parks, and toasted or cursed the great men that came before. We have cooked, studied, played, walked, slept, lived alongside one another every day for fourteen weeks, brothers and sisters in arms, to the end. How do you explain an experience like that? It's like trying to describe the color "blue."
Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more...
time unfolds the petals for our eyes to see
strange how this journey's hurting
in ways we accept as part of fate's decree
so we just hold on fast
acknowledge the past
as lessons exquisitely crafted
painstakingly drafted
to carve us as instruments
that play the music of life..."
~Vienna Teng, "Eric's Song"
"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?"~Frodo Baggins
Home. It's funny how family never really seems to change (though little brothers do tend to get bigger), remaining the great constant in my universe; almost four months absent bleeds away like a short trip when I see them at the airport, and we pick up right where we left off.
My parents and I went to Johanna's baptism on Sunday (the next day). I don't think she was expecting me, and standing waist high in water she gave me a smile when our eyes met. Her testimony was elegant and honest simplicity. Wouldn't have missed it for the world.
We also met up with Emily (Ward) there, and afterward she, Johanna and I, joined by Elizabeth McDaniels and Matt Elmore (!one of the last people I expected to see, and one of the best surprises of the weekend) wandered around downtown Rockford for the evening. A good day.
My first day back on campus yesterday, running errands and seeing many, many friends. Also a quick rehearsal for Willows. Cornerstone family: come next Tuesday at 7pm; amongst other things, possibly the last chance you will have to see me act.
In my own way, I know that Frodo was right. You can never really "go home" again, not to the home you left behind. Things change, times move on, and the cliche is true: you can never step in the same river twice. If nothing else, we have changed. And how can we express it? How do you answer "How was England?" We have seen the dreaming spires, slept in the Bodleian, walked the parks, and toasted or cursed the great men that came before. We have cooked, studied, played, walked, slept, lived alongside one another every day for fourteen weeks, brothers and sisters in arms, to the end. How do you explain an experience like that? It's like trying to describe the color "blue."
Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more...
Thursday, April 07, 2005
First one in, last one out...
Today was a day of adjustment, as our worn and wearied minds attempted to grasp the fact that our seminar papers were finished; one more small paper due next week, and then we are ABE (all but exams). As Scott put it, the stress and business of schoolwork tends to last longer than the reality, like ghost pain.
Phil and I had made plans (later joined by a few others) to cook breakfast for our brothers and sisters in arms in celebration, so this morning I rose early while the house were asleep (you know, like the Folgers commercial) to begin. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, home fries, and various other culinary delights--including my Dad's famous biscuits, made from a secret family recipe steeped in arcane, dark arts from the depths of rural Georgia--were enjoyed by all. I would do it every day really, if it were not logistically and chronologically prohibitive.
Tonight Kate was introduced to the brilliance of Woody Allen's Annie Hall; if you have not seen this movie, then you...really...ought to. See it. (Sorry, I got nothing) I can remember my dad raving about it for a while, but I was skeptical, thinking it would be difficult to handle two hours of Woody Allen without the annoyance driving me to try to slit my wrists with that little plastic cover that holds the batteries in the remote control. It is, however, an amazing film.
Tomorrow, a trip to London and the Imperial War Museum. (John, I am going to try to sneak out some ordinance for you, or at least a piece of a Spitfire or something)
This Saturday is Revenge of the Open Mike Night. I will be doing a monologue (two actually) from Shakespeare's Henry V, specifically the St. Crispian's Day speech, and "Once more into the breach, dear friends." Of course, I only picked them out and started memorizing this evening, so...*nervous laugh*...right.
Speaking of which, to my Cornerstone family, I will also be in Willows when I get back, so you will have at least one more chance to see me prance about and "act."
Grace be with you all,
Brian
Phil and I had made plans (later joined by a few others) to cook breakfast for our brothers and sisters in arms in celebration, so this morning I rose early while the house were asleep (you know, like the Folgers commercial) to begin. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, home fries, and various other culinary delights--including my Dad's famous biscuits, made from a secret family recipe steeped in arcane, dark arts from the depths of rural Georgia--were enjoyed by all. I would do it every day really, if it were not logistically and chronologically prohibitive.
Tonight Kate was introduced to the brilliance of Woody Allen's Annie Hall; if you have not seen this movie, then you...really...ought to. See it. (Sorry, I got nothing) I can remember my dad raving about it for a while, but I was skeptical, thinking it would be difficult to handle two hours of Woody Allen without the annoyance driving me to try to slit my wrists with that little plastic cover that holds the batteries in the remote control. It is, however, an amazing film.
Tomorrow, a trip to London and the Imperial War Museum. (John, I am going to try to sneak out some ordinance for you, or at least a piece of a Spitfire or something)
This Saturday is Revenge of the Open Mike Night. I will be doing a monologue (two actually) from Shakespeare's Henry V, specifically the St. Crispian's Day speech, and "Once more into the breach, dear friends." Of course, I only picked them out and started memorizing this evening, so...*nervous laugh*...right.
Speaking of which, to my Cornerstone family, I will also be in Willows when I get back, so you will have at least one more chance to see me prance about and "act."
Grace be with you all,
Brian
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Do you know how many trees...
"How could I have been so blind to not see you
The more that I look the more I find
You've led me to the truth
That I am nothing if I'm without you
You opened my eyes and helped me to find
How could I have been so blind"
~"Blind" by Third Day
Papers, papers, papers. My away message pretty much sums it up:
"Working on my Theology Seminar Paper, as per my Unholy Blood Oath, going toe-to-toe with Luther, Calvin and the Reformed tradition on one side, and Richard Swinburne on the other, fighting a two front war on the concept of Original Sin."
"I just want to be the champion of misunderstood Russian Novelists."~Kate, as we work on papers.
"Go down Brian
Way down to west palm beach
Tell old Scott-o
Give me hot nachos."
~Scott and Nat singing Negro spirituals as we work on papers. They are both two of the whitest men of my acquaintance.
The more that I look the more I find
You've led me to the truth
That I am nothing if I'm without you
You opened my eyes and helped me to find
How could I have been so blind"
~"Blind" by Third Day
Papers, papers, papers. My away message pretty much sums it up:
"Working on my Theology Seminar Paper, as per my Unholy Blood Oath, going toe-to-toe with Luther, Calvin and the Reformed tradition on one side, and Richard Swinburne on the other, fighting a two front war on the concept of Original Sin."
"I just want to be the champion of misunderstood Russian Novelists."~Kate, as we work on papers.
"Go down Brian
Way down to west palm beach
Tell old Scott-o
Give me hot nachos."
~Scott and Nat singing Negro spirituals as we work on papers. They are both two of the whitest men of my acquaintance.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Two weeks, two days, two hours, two...
To start with, I would like to dispel some of the lies and fabrications that seem to be circulating among my friends and acquaintances; I suppose, I would also like to add that it is very hurtful that people whom I care about and claim to care about me would not just come to me and speak face to face, but insist on whispering about in the background and talking behind my back. First: no, I have not been kidnapped by the Bodlean Library gnomes and dragged down to their subterranean land of forced labour among the underground stacks, so that they might sacrifice me to their dark literary gods, only to break free from my captors and win the favour and love of their beautiful princess through my prowess in an ancient combat ritual involving laminated bookmarks and sepia ink, and rise to the throne where I will reign for a thousand years in glory and majesty and splendor. More than anything else I find this "tall tale" insulting to the gnomes, who have been a democratic republic for at least (at they record time) the last seven hundred pages of the Great Stone Book of Narthogrond; and it is ridiculous to even consider the gnomes sacrificing ANYTHING to any such "dark gods", as it has been put, let alone a human being, especially an Oxford student, as this would among other things break the treaty peacefully negotiated by William of Wykeham and King Eajyrb the Well-Intentioned in the late 15th century.
There also seem to be some strange stories floating about involving my running off to the Scottish Highlands to join a troupe of performing dancing caber tossers. While I admit that during my time in the United Kingdom I have frequently indulged the terpsichorean muse, it *seldom* involves wearing a kilt, and never involves large pieces of wood (I exclude, of course, the obvious uses of ale casks). So. Now that we have set the record straight...
When we last left our hero, his friend Johanna and future friend Johanna's-cousin-Sarah were about to come visit him in merry olde England. As it turns out, they did. Much fun was had by all, many old inside jokes were resurected, many new inside jokes were formed (incongruous? disconcerting? who knew a day would come when those words would be pushed far into the land of Overuse?), Brian was assigned a new (new? did I have one before?) slogan ("Full of pithy wisdom, naturally verbose!"), and generally Brian's friends found out that Brian's other friends are really much cooler than he is. This he expects, and has built up callouses in his heart, so he is not hurt, except on those rare nights when he turns to the full moon and sobs quietly, allowing his tears to dry on his cheeks.
After that, a week of school and other such things. Rinse, repeat.
Easter weekend (four whole days off! the longest break we have here! what do you do with all the time! besides make sarcastic comments and complain!...er I mean...?) was a trip to Scotland with Chelle. We spent the whole time merrily going nowhere in particular, and it was wonderful. We had made arrangements for our first night there, in Edinburgh, but for the rest of the time we...what is the past tense for the verb "wing"?...we winged it...we wung it? Wang it? Our few days seemed like so much more, as though we had entered our own little pocket universe with a time all its own. We saw the aforementioned Edinburgh, as well as Glasgow, the tiny seaside town of Mallaig, the highlands, the inside of a lot of trains, and a host of towns along the way. Our only true goal was the Isle of Skye, but we did not make it, missing the last ferry by some ten minutes and remaining in Mallaig. But, in the end, this was better, because then we know the journey was the important thing, because the journey was what we were given. Reminds me of an analogy...
***Dr. Finlay's analogy***
It seems like God tells us to go off to this mountain off in the distance; so of course, we begin trudging, until we make it to this rock in the middle of the path. Suddenly God tells us to head off in a different direction. But God, we say, I am supposed to get to the mountain. No, He replies, I told you to head towards the mountain so you could make it to the rock.
Often times, what we think is our goal is really a landmark to help us make it somewhere else.
***End Analogy***
I admit she told it much better. (Dr. Finlay is very wise, despite her young age. She is actually going off to Germany to become a nun this summer.) I also admit that surrounded by the glories of the highlands, I did have a strong desire to spend a few years there tending sheep. No, I am not kidding.
(I do realize I am giving a very sparse record of all of these happenings. There will be more in coming days, I am sure. At least for Scotland, you can read Chelle's account at her blog here: Chelle's Blog.)
I realize that many who read this have a reason to consider me a "Bad Person" because I have...how you say...Ignored Them Completely. But rest assured, my thoughts and prayers are with many of you, and if nothing else I will be home in a few short weeks, and "Robin shall restore amends."
Grace be with you all,
Brian
There also seem to be some strange stories floating about involving my running off to the Scottish Highlands to join a troupe of performing dancing caber tossers. While I admit that during my time in the United Kingdom I have frequently indulged the terpsichorean muse, it *seldom* involves wearing a kilt, and never involves large pieces of wood (I exclude, of course, the obvious uses of ale casks). So. Now that we have set the record straight...
When we last left our hero, his friend Johanna and future friend Johanna's-cousin-Sarah were about to come visit him in merry olde England. As it turns out, they did. Much fun was had by all, many old inside jokes were resurected, many new inside jokes were formed (incongruous? disconcerting? who knew a day would come when those words would be pushed far into the land of Overuse?), Brian was assigned a new (new? did I have one before?) slogan ("Full of pithy wisdom, naturally verbose!"), and generally Brian's friends found out that Brian's other friends are really much cooler than he is. This he expects, and has built up callouses in his heart, so he is not hurt, except on those rare nights when he turns to the full moon and sobs quietly, allowing his tears to dry on his cheeks.
After that, a week of school and other such things. Rinse, repeat.
Easter weekend (four whole days off! the longest break we have here! what do you do with all the time! besides make sarcastic comments and complain!...er I mean...?) was a trip to Scotland with Chelle. We spent the whole time merrily going nowhere in particular, and it was wonderful. We had made arrangements for our first night there, in Edinburgh, but for the rest of the time we...what is the past tense for the verb "wing"?...we winged it...we wung it? Wang it? Our few days seemed like so much more, as though we had entered our own little pocket universe with a time all its own. We saw the aforementioned Edinburgh, as well as Glasgow, the tiny seaside town of Mallaig, the highlands, the inside of a lot of trains, and a host of towns along the way. Our only true goal was the Isle of Skye, but we did not make it, missing the last ferry by some ten minutes and remaining in Mallaig. But, in the end, this was better, because then we know the journey was the important thing, because the journey was what we were given. Reminds me of an analogy...
***Dr. Finlay's analogy***
It seems like God tells us to go off to this mountain off in the distance; so of course, we begin trudging, until we make it to this rock in the middle of the path. Suddenly God tells us to head off in a different direction. But God, we say, I am supposed to get to the mountain. No, He replies, I told you to head towards the mountain so you could make it to the rock.
Often times, what we think is our goal is really a landmark to help us make it somewhere else.
***End Analogy***
I admit she told it much better. (Dr. Finlay is very wise, despite her young age. She is actually going off to Germany to become a nun this summer.) I also admit that surrounded by the glories of the highlands, I did have a strong desire to spend a few years there tending sheep. No, I am not kidding.
(I do realize I am giving a very sparse record of all of these happenings. There will be more in coming days, I am sure. At least for Scotland, you can read Chelle's account at her blog here: Chelle's Blog.)
I realize that many who read this have a reason to consider me a "Bad Person" because I have...how you say...Ignored Them Completely. But rest assured, my thoughts and prayers are with many of you, and if nothing else I will be home in a few short weeks, and "Robin shall restore amends."
Grace be with you all,
Brian
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Brainsnap...
...I think might be a good band name. Not for me, but for someone, somewhere...
It seems I only write here when it is very late, and often when I ought to be doing something else. I suppose this means you (dear reader, as some Victorian novelist might say) hardly get me at my best; for this, I apologize.
So here I sit, at a late hour, with a half-finished C.S. Lewis paper before me. I have fought long and hard to reach this point, employing all my powers of procrastination and distraction to keep from actually writing. No one, I think, knows the art of distraction from purpose like a writer. One I actually begin, and my fingers stagger their first halting steps across the keyboard, it is not so bad. It is just this terrible inertia that fills me at the thought of beginning. It reminds of me Bilbo, when he was preparing to enter Smaug's cave. It was there, Bilbo knew, in the dark of the tunnel, where true courage was shown. Everything from that point on was almost an afterthought. Oswald Chambers said something similar, that the true battle takes place on our knees, and in our hearts, before the moment of action itself. All the rest is simply a demonstration of what has already taken place.
Johanna flies in tomorrow morning. (For Oxford friends: she is a friend from back home. To home friends...well...you should know her already; she is one of "your kind.") She and her cousin are spending a week in England. There is a spell to be found here, if you listen for it, an incantation whispered in the trees and from green hills, the stone of old buildings and worn gravestones--I hope they find it.
Two plays in the past few days: "Pygmalion" and "A Streetcar Named Desire." The former was good and the latter was...well...serviceable.
I have taken to listening to ambient, trancelike, new age sorts of music while I work. I have also noticed that the Incan monkey god tends to visit me more often with helpful advice for my papers. Could these two things be related?
I have discovered line breaks between paragraphs.
See?
I have been humbled, especially as of late, knowing how many people are praying for me here, from family to friends to acquaintances to perfect strangers who only know of me second hand. It is no small thing to know that people approach the throne of the King of the Universe on your behalf. For this I am grateful, and most undeserving.
It seems I only write here when it is very late, and often when I ought to be doing something else. I suppose this means you (dear reader, as some Victorian novelist might say) hardly get me at my best; for this, I apologize.
So here I sit, at a late hour, with a half-finished C.S. Lewis paper before me. I have fought long and hard to reach this point, employing all my powers of procrastination and distraction to keep from actually writing. No one, I think, knows the art of distraction from purpose like a writer. One I actually begin, and my fingers stagger their first halting steps across the keyboard, it is not so bad. It is just this terrible inertia that fills me at the thought of beginning. It reminds of me Bilbo, when he was preparing to enter Smaug's cave. It was there, Bilbo knew, in the dark of the tunnel, where true courage was shown. Everything from that point on was almost an afterthought. Oswald Chambers said something similar, that the true battle takes place on our knees, and in our hearts, before the moment of action itself. All the rest is simply a demonstration of what has already taken place.
Johanna flies in tomorrow morning. (For Oxford friends: she is a friend from back home. To home friends...well...you should know her already; she is one of "your kind.") She and her cousin are spending a week in England. There is a spell to be found here, if you listen for it, an incantation whispered in the trees and from green hills, the stone of old buildings and worn gravestones--I hope they find it.
Two plays in the past few days: "Pygmalion" and "A Streetcar Named Desire." The former was good and the latter was...well...serviceable.
I have taken to listening to ambient, trancelike, new age sorts of music while I work. I have also noticed that the Incan monkey god tends to visit me more often with helpful advice for my papers. Could these two things be related?
I have discovered line breaks between paragraphs.
See?
I have been humbled, especially as of late, knowing how many people are praying for me here, from family to friends to acquaintances to perfect strangers who only know of me second hand. It is no small thing to know that people approach the throne of the King of the Universe on your behalf. For this I am grateful, and most undeserving.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Some of this...some of that...
The snow has stopped here in Oxford, after the better part of a week, though the skies are still grey and the wind biting. What they call "snow" here turns out to be more like "very small hail" and a "major storm" is what those in Michigan would call "a Tuesday in October"...still, we take what we can get, I suppose. It is interesting to see those here at the Vines from warmer climes reacting to snow with wonder and amazement, even going to far as to film it on one of the ubiquitous digital cameras that lie about here. Speaking about filming...
I make an appearance in another amateur movie here. This one is a bit longer, a bit stranger, and a bit fiction...er. The story stands as a bit of a mystery in the house, not because of any attempts at secrecy, but merely because none of the participants really have a solid grasp on the thing. It (entitled "The Agony of Loyala") involves a detective, his trusty manservant Loyala (from the title, you see), animal sterilization, a host of other bizarre characters (Palatial Jones? Aunt Rubicon?), and the Church of Scientology. See, "theology" is the study of "theo" (track with me here, and don't let logic or reality trip you up), so "scientology" is the study of "Sciento", the Roman god of pigs and rain, who factors into the film. (No! Stop that! I said no logic!) Right. My total involvement: approx 3 minutes onscreen. In fact, I think it took me longer to type this inadequate summary than it would to watch my part in the film. Anyway, rest assured, an online version, if it exists, will be linked to from this page as soon as it...um...exists.
The past week or two I have been trying to fill the gaping chasm of lack of cultural/artistic stimulation that has developed during my time in Oxford. I've been to two plays, the symphony (does anyone else notice that Howard Shore owes a bit to Dvorak's 9th?), and a musical review. The plays, for those of you interested in that sort of thing, were "Cigarettes and Coffee" and "The Philanthropist". Both were (more of less) student productions. The production values were a bit low (but really, that adds to the atmosphere) but the acting was solid, if not flawless (at least on par with a *good* community theatre show in GR), and there were some iffy directorial and acting choices and so forth...goodness...have I become a theatre snob or do I actually know what I am talking about?...The musical review was fun because Kim, one of our own, was a participant, a third of the audience was made up of members of the program. (To anyone curious, another of Ryan Swindoll's famous video treatments of the event is available here) Kim was good (I've heard her sing on other occasions as well, and think she could easily manage a major part or a lead in a CU musical), as was another girl and one of the tenors, and there was a baritone there who was exceedingly impressive. He managed the part of Javier from Le Mis with aplomb, and Gaston from Beauty and the Beast.
And while I am on the subject of things probably none of you will ever hear or see (and consequently may have little interest in), I may as well rant about Scott and Sarah; they are a married couple here at the Vines, and form a musical "act" of sorts. He writes songs and plays guitar (incidentally, he is also writer/director/producer of "The Agony of Loyala" and he wrote all the songs. What? Oh, yes, the movie is a *musical.* No, I am not kidding.) and she sings. And boy does she sing. Stick Norah Jones, Natalie Merchant, and (someone said) Janice Joplin in a blender, and you are probably somewhere in the neighborhood. Actually, don't. That "blender" metaphor is suddenly disturbing and macabre. The point is, I would listen to her sing the phone book. Chell and I stayed up until 3:30am the other day sitting with them in the common room and listening to their stuff. *sigh* Good times..yes..good times..hmm..where was I going with any of this? Yeah, I got nothing.
This Tuesday night, some of us are going into London to celebrate Katrina's birthday, including a showing of the Reduced Shakespeare Company's "Complete History of America : Abridged." Should be interesting to see what the Brits have to say about us, especially considering that whole fiasco known as the "War for Independence" ("Haha, we are His Majesty's Army, marching through the forests with bright red coats! Surely our powdered wigs and drinking songs cannot fail to defeat those buckskinned colonials running about those dirty woods with their--"*BANG**THUD*...but I digress.)Although, there was a snowball fight between the denizens of the Vines our neighbors at Oxford Brookes university (one of the OTHER universities in Oxford), and there was a lot of clever historical trash talk going on. Well, frankly, most of it was coming from our side; in this case the vaunted rapier British wit consisted of profanities and references to various parts of the anatomy.
--Reading (Amongst others, naturally)--
-"When We Were Orphans" by Kazuo Ishiguro: Good so far. From the author of "The Remains of the Day"
-"His Dark Materials" trilogy, by Philip Pullman
-"Sandman" by Neil Gaiman
--Recently Read--
-"The Talisman" by Steven King and Peter Straub: Don't let the "horror" verbage on the back fool you; simply a wonderful adventure/fantasy story.
-"Tietam Brown" by Mick Foley: Yes, the wrestler. Don't laugh, the man can write. The book is harsh, crude at times, and a bit dark, so I cannot give a universal recommendation, but if you can stand it, worth a read. Shades of Salinger. Except stuff actually happens.
--Listening To--
-Vienna Teng: I cannot recommend her enough. Listen to her; everyone who does falls under her spell
I think that is enough randomness for now. Another update sometime this week.
The Grace and Peace of our Lord be with you all,
Brian
I make an appearance in another amateur movie here. This one is a bit longer, a bit stranger, and a bit fiction...er. The story stands as a bit of a mystery in the house, not because of any attempts at secrecy, but merely because none of the participants really have a solid grasp on the thing. It (entitled "The Agony of Loyala") involves a detective, his trusty manservant Loyala (from the title, you see), animal sterilization, a host of other bizarre characters (Palatial Jones? Aunt Rubicon?), and the Church of Scientology. See, "theology" is the study of "theo" (track with me here, and don't let logic or reality trip you up), so "scientology" is the study of "Sciento", the Roman god of pigs and rain, who factors into the film. (No! Stop that! I said no logic!) Right. My total involvement: approx 3 minutes onscreen. In fact, I think it took me longer to type this inadequate summary than it would to watch my part in the film. Anyway, rest assured, an online version, if it exists, will be linked to from this page as soon as it...um...exists.
The past week or two I have been trying to fill the gaping chasm of lack of cultural/artistic stimulation that has developed during my time in Oxford. I've been to two plays, the symphony (does anyone else notice that Howard Shore owes a bit to Dvorak's 9th?), and a musical review. The plays, for those of you interested in that sort of thing, were "Cigarettes and Coffee" and "The Philanthropist". Both were (more of less) student productions. The production values were a bit low (but really, that adds to the atmosphere) but the acting was solid, if not flawless (at least on par with a *good* community theatre show in GR), and there were some iffy directorial and acting choices and so forth...goodness...have I become a theatre snob or do I actually know what I am talking about?...The musical review was fun because Kim, one of our own, was a participant, a third of the audience was made up of members of the program. (To anyone curious, another of Ryan Swindoll's famous video treatments of the event is available here) Kim was good (I've heard her sing on other occasions as well, and think she could easily manage a major part or a lead in a CU musical), as was another girl and one of the tenors, and there was a baritone there who was exceedingly impressive. He managed the part of Javier from Le Mis with aplomb, and Gaston from Beauty and the Beast.
And while I am on the subject of things probably none of you will ever hear or see (and consequently may have little interest in), I may as well rant about Scott and Sarah; they are a married couple here at the Vines, and form a musical "act" of sorts. He writes songs and plays guitar (incidentally, he is also writer/director/producer of "The Agony of Loyala" and he wrote all the songs. What? Oh, yes, the movie is a *musical.* No, I am not kidding.) and she sings. And boy does she sing. Stick Norah Jones, Natalie Merchant, and (someone said) Janice Joplin in a blender, and you are probably somewhere in the neighborhood. Actually, don't. That "blender" metaphor is suddenly disturbing and macabre. The point is, I would listen to her sing the phone book. Chell and I stayed up until 3:30am the other day sitting with them in the common room and listening to their stuff. *sigh* Good times..yes..good times..hmm..where was I going with any of this? Yeah, I got nothing.
This Tuesday night, some of us are going into London to celebrate Katrina's birthday, including a showing of the Reduced Shakespeare Company's "Complete History of America : Abridged." Should be interesting to see what the Brits have to say about us, especially considering that whole fiasco known as the "War for Independence" ("Haha, we are His Majesty's Army, marching through the forests with bright red coats! Surely our powdered wigs and drinking songs cannot fail to defeat those buckskinned colonials running about those dirty woods with their--"*BANG**THUD*...but I digress.)Although, there was a snowball fight between the denizens of the Vines our neighbors at Oxford Brookes university (one of the OTHER universities in Oxford), and there was a lot of clever historical trash talk going on. Well, frankly, most of it was coming from our side; in this case the vaunted rapier British wit consisted of profanities and references to various parts of the anatomy.
--Reading (Amongst others, naturally)--
-"When We Were Orphans" by Kazuo Ishiguro: Good so far. From the author of "The Remains of the Day"
-"His Dark Materials" trilogy, by Philip Pullman
-"Sandman" by Neil Gaiman
--Recently Read--
-"The Talisman" by Steven King and Peter Straub: Don't let the "horror" verbage on the back fool you; simply a wonderful adventure/fantasy story.
-"Tietam Brown" by Mick Foley: Yes, the wrestler. Don't laugh, the man can write. The book is harsh, crude at times, and a bit dark, so I cannot give a universal recommendation, but if you can stand it, worth a read. Shades of Salinger. Except stuff actually happens.
--Listening To--
-Vienna Teng: I cannot recommend her enough. Listen to her; everyone who does falls under her spell
I think that is enough randomness for now. Another update sometime this week.
The Grace and Peace of our Lord be with you all,
Brian
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
