"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became an adult, I put away childish things."

For several years now, people have told me that I acted and behaved older than my age. I don't mean to brag about this, but it's given me an interesting perspective on notions of adulthood, and where one draws the line between child and adult. I've always socialized outside of any age restrictions, making friends among younger children and my age peers as easily as men and women of 30, 40 or 50, but I've always considered myself a child, even among people only a year or two older than I am, until recently. This trip has really brought into focus the fact that I am becoming one of the college students that came across to me as almost a higher caste. The quotation I began with, in my interpretation at least (because there is no meaning in the text ~_^), brings out an important fact in Paul's growth: he no longer perceives himself as a child, but as an adult. The bit that Paul leaves out is that putting away childish things isn't very simple. It takes a lot to look at what you've known and say goodbye, casting aside that which has been with you through many difficult and formative years. Walking down 125th St. today (yes, I'm in Manhattan at the moment, but leaving for Maine in the morning), I realized that the people I passed by were not looking at me as a child, but as just some guy walking down the street. I'm starting to see that guy too, and I think he'll do alright for what's in store.

I write to you now from the Julia Rogers Library of Goucher College, MD, wher I have just spent the morning in classes and interviews. It's ben a busy week, and I've been disconnected for most of it. Last Wedensday, My dear brother Tripp and I drove (well, to be precise, he drove, I played music) on down to Huddleston, VA, to prepare for his wedding. We stayed at a beautiful cabin on Smith Mountain Lake, far from civilization, with a breathtaking view. After spending a couple days fretting and running errands, the day arrived, and I can say in all honesty that it was one of the best weddings I've ever been to. The entire service embodied the joyful quirkiness I've come to expect from Tripp and Trish. I also got to visit with many dear friends, both old and new. Mark and Susie and Luke were in attendance, as were lesser-seen-but-just-as-exciting-to-see Laura and Sarah, Justin and Mae, and new friends Larry and Kate. Much partying, dancing, good music and good food ensued. The morning after, I got up much earlier than I should have, and made my way to the bus depot and rode the day away on a Greyhound bus, finally arriving in Baltimore.

So, that brings us fairly well up-to-date. I'll post something fairly long on maturity and growing up when I have the time (probably in the next couple of days). Later!

And a good Talk Like a Pirate day to all of ye, mateys! I'm here to tell ye about a timber-shivering good show ye should swing by, tomorrow night at 8:30 at Kafein, where the grog is good and the waiters all have multiple piercings, like good pirates should. And on this particular night, you'll be able to hear many swashbuckling good musicians playing their tunes, including myself and my good mate Ian Lempke trading off vocals, guitar and tin whistle, and joined by a special guest, me old bucko Tripp Hudgins (of the Irish band One of the Girls) on the mandolin. Be there, or be consigned to Davey Jones' locker. Yo ho ho!

...is a big day. And on a Sunday, no less. I can see it now...

"The Lord be with ye, matey!"
--"And also with ye! Arr!"

"Arr! Blessed ye be in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Grog-- er, Ghost!"

"And Jesus said, 'Shiver my timbers! This be my body, given for ye.'"

Tomorrow's gonna be FUN.

Looking back, my posts for the past week or so have been moderately depressing. It's interesting, because I haven't felt the way I would expect the author of those past entries to feel. Sure, I've been under a bit of stress, but none of it romantically related (for once), and I've actually felt pretty good when I can get out and about. So why the themes of abandonment and loneliness? I really don't know. It's a bit like gardening with unidentified seeds (or what I imagine gardening would be like, as I have been banned from taking care of plants, for the sake of all plants everywhere). You can put all the work and effort into raising it well, you can water it, give it plenty of sun, make sure it's set in fertile soil... but you won't know what it is until it's grown. It's somewhat similar when I write. I can put forth all the effort, and give birth to something that (I hope) either sounds pretty or has some literary merit, but I don't know what it'll be about until I go back and read it over. Weird.

Tears shed into the too-bright sun
Sparkle with deceptive beauty
As they are drawn down his face,
Defying standards of masculinity.
"Boys Don't Cry" my ass.
She is the one standing stoically,
Swallowing the rising emotions and hiding them
Deep in the corners of her mind
Before turning her back and leaving.
"Till death do us part" just doesn't mean what it used to.
He doesn't understand what set them apart
She doesn't understand what put them together.

"Dry your eyes mate/
I know it's hard to take/
But her mind has been made up/
There's plenty more fish in the sea/
Dry your eyes mate/
I know you want to make/
Her see how much this thing hurts/
But you've got to walk away now/
It's over"

"Dry Your Eyes" - The Streets

(With deep respect for Tim Burton and Johnny Depp)

I lived alone
In my own little world
Never wanted
or needed a girl
Until I came down
From my mountain peak
And I saw your lovely face

And I feel like Edward Scissorhands
Misunderstood and incomplete
Nobody wants me around
I'm a pariah, a certified freak

I cannot touch
Without causing pain
I cannot be with you
And it drives me insane
I carve your likeness
From blocks of ice
So I can see you everywhere

And I feel like Edward Scissorhands
Misunderstood and incomplete
Nobody wants me around
I'm a pariah, a certified freak

I know that you're down there
Among your own kind
But you should be with me
Our hearts are entwined
But the world around
Is angry and scared
And they drove us apart

And I feel like Edward Scissorhands
Misunderstood and incomplete
Nobody wants me around
I'm a pariah, a certified freak

Probably could use a little tweaking, but it's a draft, anyway. Suggestions and constructive criticism is welcome, as always.

"Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness."
~Samuel Beckett

Someone took this shot of me making a fool of myself onstage at last Sunday's show.

That's me with the glasses and the Guinness shirt and the evil red eyes. I kinda look like I'm throwing up, but I'm really belting out the chorus to The Proclaimer's "I'm Gonna Be."

She decided against a Quaalude. Quaaludes made her feel sleazy. What was the point of feeling sleazy if you had no one to sleaze with?
Could you conjugate that? To sleaze. I sleaze. You sleaze. We all have sleazen.
Words constantly annoyed her like that, reminding her of the gulf between Art and Making a Living. "Mona's good with words," her mother used to say matter-of-factly, "if she can just learn to Make a Living at it."
Her mother Made a Living in real estate.
Mona hadn't spoken to her in eight months, not since mother had joined the Reagan campaign in Minneapolis and daughter had written home breezily about her Sexual Awareness Retreat at the Cosmic Light Fellowship.
It didn't matter.
More and more it seemed that Mona's real mother was a woman so in tune with creation that even her marijuana plants had names.

Tales of the City, Armistead Maupin

I've been doing a lot of performing lately, it seems. Last night was my third week playing at Kafein's open mic, and Sunday I went to a back-to-school party/concert at my friends Kelsi and Bonnie's church, where there was a lot of jumping around and going crazy, and I jumped up onstage to sing along to a cover of "I'm Gonna Be" and "Amazing Grace." Shameless plug here, check these guys out, they all rock (Hey, they were nice enough to humor me onstage): "Flatfoot 56 and Neophyte Standing. Thanks to Kelsi and Bonnie and Megan, and thanks also for the friendly folks at the Revolutions youth program for being friendly and fun and all-around cool people. And for teaching me never to ever play "Banana Hose."

Part of the college preparation experience is visiting various campuses that I'm interested in living on for the next four years. This is a sound premise. The only flaw with this premise is that I have to plan the trip whereon I visit said campuses. Yes, my Myers-Briggs labels me a J, but only just. I'm like a caffiene-free diet J. As such, this is indeed a daunting task. It's not exactly chopping down the mightiest tree in the forest with a herring, but it feels like it sometimes.

I have been reminded to post the full story of the chipmunk incident, which Dad mentioned a few days ago. Not quite two weeks ago, I had gone up to Kalamazoo for Heather's ordiniation, and stopped by at a bridal shower for Tripp and Trish on the way home, so I'd been gone for about 24 hours. I'd dropped all my stuff, dinked around online a bit, and talked to a couple friends, who encouraged me to come by Kafein and hang out with them for a bit. I went back downstairs, and was in the process of putting my sandals on when I heard something moving in the basement. I immediately froze and listened carefully. I heard it again, and let my instincts take hold. I slammed the basement door, ran outside, and got the neighbors. Five minutes later, I prepared to reenter my home, this time with Michelle, who had brought Roy, their dog, and Frank, who had brought a baseball bat. After ringing the doorbell and waiting for a minute or two, we started exploring, poking around the basement with trepidation. We were just nearing the furnace when I saw the menacing silhouette in the window: a three-inch rodent. After establishing that it was, in fact, a chipmunk (whom I now refer to as Mr. Chippy, in reference to a fabulous comic book by Roman Dirge), and that we were wholly unprepared and unable to capture it, Frank, Michelle and Roy went home, and I kept the basement door shut. Two days later, Mr. Chippy had an unfortunate encounter my neighbor Ellen's cat. Thus ends the tale of Mr. Chippy (Ooh that's bad. Pun not intended, sorry).

Incidentally, Mr. Chippy's method of entry had been a puzzle for a few days, until I tried to do a load of laundry. Evidently, he had fallen down the dryer vent tube and ripped open the foil-wrapped coil at the bottom to get out.

Tonight marks my solo debut at Kafein's Monday night open mic, and I want to have a fanbase there to cheer for me even when I screw up. So please do come and listen to many talented artists over some delicious coffee, tea, or whatever floats your boat. That's tonight at Kafein, 8:30, and if you can't make it, then I'll be there again next week, more than likely.

Yesterday, I took the Metra into the city, hopped the Lake Shore Limited (but not before getting half of my dinner stolen), and spent 24 hours on a single train. Don't try this at home, kids. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I had come armed only with my iPod, a deck of cards, a book I've read several times before, and my notebook. I had promised myself that I would start and complete an entire new song, which I accomplished readily, along with a couple pages of prose and a few more song ideas, mainly because I had nothing better to do. Fortunately, I was joined at Toledo (at about 1:30am) by an intelligent, open, and not unaattractive young woman named Shawnecy. She was off to see her fiancé in Framingham, so we had 15 or 16 hours to give our life stories and debate about religion, politics, gay marriage, the death penalty, and other such controversial topics. I finally arrived in Boston, where I was warmly greeted by Steve and Sage and Checkers (especially Checkers) with fresh pizza and a movie (Mystic River, which I hadn't seen. I quite liked it, but had some issues with the ending). I write this now from Steve's iBook while I wait for Dad, Pippa, and Bea to make their way over from Nantucket, so that we can all make the long haul home (after the dogs have a chance to get aquainted, I'm sure).

Just a list of some of the special people I spent the weekend with and the songs that make me think of them (and vice versa):

Heather, recently ordained to the priesthood! Yay Heather!: "Light My Candle", Adam Paschal and Daphne Rubin-Vega.

Jane, Bruce, CJ, and Kyle, the Hoosier branch of my bizarre family: "Soap, Soup and Salvation", "Weapon of Choice", Fatboy Slim; Lone Justice; "Frustrated Unnoticed", Damone; and "Dream Operator", Talking Heads, respectively.

Susie and Luke, My "cool aunt" and her ping-pong fiend husband: "Shame On You", Indigo Girls; and "I Just Wanna Be Your Steve McQueen", Eytan Mirsky.

Mark, whose genetic breeding experiment went sadly awry: "Slither", Velvet Revolver.

Tripp and Trish (Congratulations, you two! ~_^): "Long Black Veil", Tripp Hudgins; and "Edge of 17", Stevie Nicks (Kinda inappropriate, I know, Tripp, but it WAS beautiful).

Micah... I honestly can't find the words: "I am Downright Amazed at What I Can Destroy With Just a Hammer", Atom & His Package.

Tonight I feel royally screwed up. There's an extreme bittersweet blend in my heart and my head, and I can't tell from one moment to the next which feeling is dominant. I spent the evening out in downtown Chicago, with the intention to see Roman Holiday in Grant Park, but weather conditions were not favorable, so instead we got pizza at Due's and saw Garden State, which is easily the best movie I have seen in a very very long time. The bitterness is, I have to say goodbye to a very dear friend. I've known Seth since the first day I moved here, and his outgoing, goofy, lovable personality has been a perpetual magnet.

I'm gonna miss you, dude. Who am I gonna sing La Vie Boheme with now?

You may have thought the worst had come when I reported getting my driver's license. But I have taken another step to make myself a wheeled menace to myself and others on the streets. Yes, I have acquired a skateboard. A good friend of mine wanted to get rid of it, as he's moving, so I took it off his hands, fixed it up a bit, and am now in the process of learning how to make it move without falling off. Whee!

And when you sleep you find your mother in the night
But she stays just out of sight
So there isn't any sweetness in the dreaming
And when you wake the morning showers you with light
And it makes you feel alright
But it's just the same hard candy
You're remembering again

Miss you, Mom.

(Lyrics courtesy of Counting Crows)

Here's a lttle something I started writing at Frisbee camp, for your edification.

Here I am, sitting on a park bench, every muscle crying in silent protest, watching the sun set over graffiti-covered dormitories. There's a kind of satisfaction, as if the rays beating down hear and recognize my body's tears, and acknowledge my well-earned right to rest, relaxation, and peace. The others-- (Here I left to go play a round of disc golf)

Today's another grey icky day, but without the perkiness I had last time. Looks like a good day to lie back, turn on some Dar WIlliams, and read a book (or three).

Especially after my disappointment that Thunderbirds was being turned into a live-action movie with an altered story, a crappy plot, and bad acting (except for Ben Kingsley, the one person cast appropriately), this comes as a welcome distraction, and one that looks to be good for lots of jabs at the state of the world and some good old-fashioned inappropriate humor.

It's all grey and gloomy outside, and yet I woke up this morning with a very persistent good mood that's decided to stick around. ^_^

Tunes: "Spin," Lifehouse (iTMS); "Good Vibrations," The Beach Boys "Wherever You WIll Go," The Calling. (iTMS)

I call out the names of the winds, the rains, the trees and the grasses, the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea, the stars and planets and everything in between.

Hear my call.

I mourn every loss, every felled tree, every fallen star, every broken egg, every stillborn child, every creature lying dead upon the ground.

Hear me weep.

I celebrate with the birth and rebirth of the world, for every opening flower's bud, for every hatched chick, for every litter of whelps, for every newborn baby's first cry, for every new light in the vast sky.

Hear my joy.

I have to write half of a paper by 8:00 tomorrow night, and I'm working 9-5 tomorrow. Woohoo. As I write, music wavers from my speakers, and a line floated out that always reminds me how much my parents mean to me and how much they care for me:

There was a time I asked my father for a dollar
And he gave me a ten dollar raise
When I needed my mother and I called her
She stayed with me for days

"Prince of Darkness", Indigo Girls

This post will be assembled in the form of thoughts as they cross my mind, so just bear with me.

•Ow.
•I'm in better shape than I ever have been before.
•Ultimate players are some of the coolest people on the planet.
•Ow.

And now, it's time for... random inside jokes!!!

•Tiina Booth is god. She is everywhere.
•Stevie and his adventures in Alaska.
•Bob Wang (Need I say more?).
•The SuperCamp cheers during meals.
•Pretty much anything from Talent Show night.
•Everybody now! Myyyyyyy sister's got a boyfriend...

Lots of love to all of you, you guys rock. Go Fungi!!!

The conversation about what I'm doing this upcoming wek tends to go something like this:

Me: I'm going to camp.

Person I'm Talking To (who shall hereafter be referred to as Brad, on account of the acronym): Oh, really? What kind of camp?

Me: Frisbee.

Brad: *chokes back laughter* Frisbee???

Me: Yes. Frisbee.

Brad: Well, that should be fun. *pause* They have a camp for that?

Well, Brad, I wouldn't be going there if it didn't exist, well would I? Anyway, I am off to the one and only National Ultimate Training Camp, where I will run my behind off and play a LOT of Frisbee. As such, I won't be posting until next Thursday. I know, weird schedule, right? But camp ends then, and I arrive home that night, so yeah. Anyway, I want to leave you with a bizarre and amusing meme:

Si is a Banana-Eating Kung-Fu Monkey ...with a Battle Rating of 8.2 To see if your Food-Eating Battle Monkey can defeat Si, enter your name:

Gotta love monkeys.

Tunes: "Roses", Outkast; "The Saddest Song", The Ataris; and "Master of Puppets", Metallica.

I really really want this shirt.

I've been writing a research paper for a seminar that I've been attending. Now, expository writing is not my forte, but it's a good course with a great teacher and it's something I need practice doing. However, I've been doing my writing in Okito Composer, which is a slightly dated beta word processor that never came to fruition, as before the final product could be completed, the company got bought out by Nisus. Composer has served me well for quite some time, but it has apparently reached the end of its cooperative rope, and has developed a nasty habit of working fine until I've written a fair-sized paragraph or so, and then crashing as soon as I try to save. For the time being I am continuing the project in Appleworks, but am keeping my eyes open for a user-intuitive, free, and aqua-native word processor to keep me going. That aside, I'm on the high end of a mood swing, and am riding it for all that it's worth. ^_^