There's a beat-up old washer lying by the sidewalk. I don't know why it catches my eye. I'm surrounded by Spring; the birds chirping, the sun shining, the flowers blooming... So why this small bent piece of metal? Not on account of contrast, surely. It's dirty enough that I hardly even saw it against the ground. I stand there, staring, for quite some time, wondering why.

Joyous Eastertide, everybody! I celebrate (as is my norm) with a song:

Jesus was way cool
Everybody liked Jesus
Everybody wanted to hang out with him
Anything he wanted to do, he did
He turned water into wine
And if he wanted to
He could have turned wheat into marijuana
Or sugar into cocaine
Or vitamin pills into amphetamines
He walked on the water
And swam on the land
He would tell these stories
And people would listen
He was really cool
If you were blind or lame
You just went to Jesus
And he would put his hands on you
And you would be healed
That's so cool
He could've played guitar better than Hendrix
He could've told the future
He could've baked the most delicious cake in the world
He could've scored more goals than Wayne Gretzky
He could've danced better than Barishnikov
Jesus could have been funnier than any comedian you can think of
Jesus was way cool
He told people to eat his body and drink his blood
That's so cool
Jesus was so cool
But then some people got jealous of how cool he was
So they killed him
But then he rose from the dead
He rose from the dead, danced around
Then went up to heaven
I mean, that's so cool
Jesus was way cool
No wonder there are so many Christians

"Jesus Was Way Cool" - King Missile

I wept tonight.

I was able to talk to a friend about deep-seated fears and uncertainty.

I was able to tell him how much he's meant to me.

I was able him how much I'm going to miss him.

I wasn't able to say enough, and I doubt I ever will be able to.

I wept tonight.

It seems odd that I should have such nostalgia, having seen (presumably) so little of the full span of my life, especially when what lies ahead appears to be so bright. But in spite of this logical premise, I do find myself wandering the streets and alleyways of memory, and lingering in places, times, and feelings long past. The peaks and valleys of emotion rush back as clearly as if they had happened just minutes before, and names, faces, and scenes can be seen as well as the clutter on my desk in front of me. I think what seems strangest about the whole affair is the reason for my looking back. Usually when I steep myself in retrospection, it is because I have fallen upon hard times and want to recall how well life can treat me, and will again. Now, I'm pleased, on the whole, and not really sure what to make of the lines of thought that I'm revisiting.

[revisited later:] Interesting ramble... A level of removed angst borne on a base of good cheer. I believe that the angst, minimal as it was in comparison to the rest of my emotions, needed to get out, but had an awkward time doing so. Or maybe I'm thinking too hard about all this.

Tunes: "I Am Downright Amazed At What I Can Destroy With Just A Hammer," Atom & His Package (iTMS); "In My Life," The Beatles.

Today was opening night for the play. I was gone for about 11 hours, traveling and rehearsing and performing. Aiyiyi. The show went well, though, so all's happy and good. Now, I'm rather tired, and bid you all goodnight.

Tunes: "I Sing For You," Daniel Letterle (from the CAMP soundtrack, hear it here); "My Girl," The Temptations (iTMS).

This is my first time
Writing this sort of poem.
I think I like it.

Well, it's official. I'm in the system. I've registered with the Selective Service, and they have me on their radar.

Frightening.

They're here!!! Go check out The Moves, the new band from JoshUndBrian, at TheMoves.org and buy the JoshUndBrian album, Right Man Princess. Go Nuge, you rock!!!

I start to shrink from any form of outside stimulus. A dull, stabbing ache sets n behind my left eye. The world around me loses focus, not because my eyes aren't functioning properly, but because I haven't the strength to take in my surroundings. What little energy I have left seems to drip slowly out of my body, like a maple tree being sapped. I am nowhere near sleepy enough to drift off, but not awake enough to function, either. I sit in a perpetual half-life, waiting in a purgatorial state for SOMEthing. Hamlet chose between being and not being; I would be content with either, just to escape this monotony. Life offers new experiences around each bend, while Hamlet's proverbial sleep offers dreams, which surely cannot be any worse than this static image that faces me.

...we remember before you this day our brother Michael and our sister Donna. We thank you for giving them to us, their family and friends, to know and love as companions on our earthly pilgrimage. In your boundless compassion, console us who mourn. Give us faith to see in death the gate of eternal life, so that in quiet confidence we may continue our course on earth, until, by your call, we are reunited with those who have gone before; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

People go on and on about Halo 2 and Kingdom Hearts and whatever video game is the most recent and flashy. But my passion lies back in a golden age, a time of 8- and 16-bit games on the Nintendo and Super Nintendo consoles. Fortunately, there are fabulous little applications that allow me to play these classic gems such as Mega Man, Star Ocean, Earthbound, Super Star Kirby, and, of course, Super Mario Bros. Yes, the graphics are pixelated and rough, and you don't have the same complex control combinations to master, but the sheer gameplay is just so durned FUN it more than makes up for all the rest.

...No, I'm a man, and I believe in the promised land.
~Bruce Springsteen, "The Promised Land"

Thursday is not usually my kind of day. I have lots to do, and I tend to sleep in so I have to rush to get ready and never really get a chance to catch my breath, or actually wake up.

Today, however, I opened my eyes, and the sun was shining, and a smile crossed my face. I rolled around a bit to get comfy, and just lay there for a while. Then the phone rang, so I got up to answer, and it was Laura, calling to wish me a happy anniversary (our fourth month) and a happy birthday, cause I'M 18!!! WHAT!!! ^_^

It is a good day.

Tunes: "Prisoner of Society," The Living End (iTMS); "Minority," Green Day (iTMS); "F*ct Up Kid," Mest (iTMS); "New York City," They Might Be Giants (iTMS).

Hunter S. Thompson wasn't just a brilliantly talented writer, and especially not just a man. He wasn't more than a man, or less, but something else entirely, measured on a completely different scale. My friend Tim introduced me to Thompson's work several years ago, and it has since captivated me. I had reached the point where he'd achieved a certain level of immortality in my mind. If he'd beaten the odds and lived this long after all the drugs and violence and insanity, then nothing could bring him down.

I respected (and still respect) him greatly, as a writer, as a pioneer, and as an example to everyone who wants to live their life by coloring outside the lines.

All the best on this, your next adventure.

OK, I know that it's mid-February, and we're already a week into Lent, but I'm slow on the uptake, so bear with me. THESE TWO CHRISTMAS ALBUMS ROCK.

1. Barenaked For The Holidays by The Barenaked Ladies. If you know this band at all, you can see how their totally unselfconscious lack of dignity and pervasive sense of humor would create such a marvelous collection as this. I simply can't say enough good things about this. No matter which winter holidy you celebrate, you'll find yourself drawn into these catchy, beautiful songs.

2. Relient Christmas by Relient K. Everything from the covers, straight-up punked up renditions of classics like Angels We Have Heard On High to a cappella harmonies on Auld Lang Syne, to the originals, pure seasonal parody with Santa Claus Is Thumbing To Town and tearjerking loneliness on I Hate Xmas Parties, and everything in between, such as the distorted version of The Twelve Days of Xmas (What's a partridge? And what's a pear tree? / Well I don't know so please don't ask me / But I can bet those are terrible gifts to give). This band is a rare example of Christian punk done right. Check it out.

Thank you. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
*insert slow, mournful music here*

Not that I'd been really considering it, but Bob Jones U is not the place for me. Rules like this, I wouldn't even step foot on campus before being expelled. Although it IS somewhat amsuing to envision pushing those boundaries... "No, sir, I was not using my computer's DVD player to watch R-rated movies, I was using it to illegally pirate them and then view them off of my hard drive."

Tunes (special dedications to BJU): "mOBSCENE," Marilyn Manson (iTMS); "American Jesus," Bad Religion (iTMS).

My sister makes WICKED good chili.

Indistinct memories fade in and out, flashbacks to a time of pure physical release. A dark room, packed with people, all thrashing and flailing about in the waves of aural stimulus that bathe them in its vibration. Standing on a level only a couple feet above the floor, the perpatrators of this cacophony abuse their instruments for all they're worth, seemingly unaware that they hold a mob of people in their thrall. Impossibly, the noise grows even louder, the dials go up to 11, and everyone in the room finds their escape. Release. Joy.

Ways NOT to make sure you start your day well:

-Wake up from the pain of a knotted muscle in your shoulder.
-Read excerpts from the works of Franz Kafka right before bed the night before, ensuring very bizarre dreams.
-Realize that of all the things you have to do today, none of them are things that you would choose over a swift blow to the gut.
-Get a psychosomatic headache from thinking about all the downers you're facing.

Other appropriate factors include grey cloudy skies and dark, depressing rock music.

Once again, I give tribute to Nick Hornby.

"It's no wonder we're all in such a mess, is it? We're like Tom Hanks in Big. Little boys and girls trapped in adult bodies and forced to get on with it. And it's much worse in real life, because it's not just snogging and bunk beds, is it? There's all this as well."
High Fidelity

The man's a genius.

Picture two simple, mostly identical bent pieces of metal. If aligned properly, they slide together by virtue of their specific shapes, and overlap so well that at first glance, they look permanently attached. If one knows how to put them together, then one knows how to take them apart again— but there is no motive to. Without the other, each is just a twisted fragment of steel, but together, they create a singular who that is special and is to be marveled at. "How," an unknowing observer might ask, "could these two be attached so tightly without distorting their original forms?" But they do not know that these bonds are not forced into submission, but accepted as part of the objects' inherent nature, and only by giving in to that nature do the shapes give form to something new and amazing.

Tunes: "Life, In A Nutshell," Barenaked Ladies (iTMS).

Today is a very very very very very good day. Not only is today Laura's and my third monthiversary, but I got accepted into Marlboro! I now celebrate in the immortal words of Ren and Stimpy:

Happy happy joy joy happy happy joy joy
Happy happy joy joy happy happy joy joy
Happy happy joy joy happy happy joy joy
Happy happy joy joy joy!

^_^

The other day, Laura and I were talking, and something she said reminded me of a song that I loved as a child, and hadn't heard for several years. So today, it is with great hapiness that I share it with you, and sing along:

Governments crack and systems fall
'Cause unity is powerful
The lights go out and walls come tumbling down...

Tunes: "Walls Come Tumbling Down!" The Style Council (iTMS).

Thanks to the generosity of a friend of mine, I was taken to go see the premiere run of Spam-A-Lot today.

Wow.

Brilliantly written, incorporating many aspects of Monty Python's Holy Grail and a bit of Life of Brian as well, this show is totally worth seeing. The cast list, starring Tim Curry, David Hyde Pierce, and Hank Azaria, speaks for itself.

Once again, wow (it seems like Ive been feeling that way a lot lately).

Fechez La Vache!!! (Moooooo)

There's a smile on my face, things seem to be running smoothly, I'm going to eat Mexican food for dinner tonight, and loud ska and 90's hits are playing over my speakers.

Good times, good times.

Tunes: "Sell Out," Reel Big Fish (iTMS); "Unbelievable," EMF (iTMS); 'Two Princes," Spin Doctors (iTMS); and "Time Bomb," Rancid (iTMS).

With a sudden crack, shards of broken glass fall on the freezing cold asphalt. Puffs of air hang in front of her taut face like clouds of smoke as she tries to regain her composure. The large monkey wrench slips from her hand and clatters as it hits the ground. She absentmindedly bends down to pick it up, and cuts her finger on a fragment of her handiwork. Oh well, she thinks, I guess I deserved that. Some poor sap is going to wake up to find his car totaled thanks to me, so the least I can do is hurt myself in the process. She takes an appraising look at the now-defunct vehicle, and takes one more swing at the taillight which explodes in a satisfying shower of sparks. Satsfied for the time being, she shoulders her implement of destruction and walks away.

Tunes: "Blue Eyes," Cary Brothers (iTMS).

I haven't posted in a while, which throws off my average, but now that I am done (read: done done done!!!) with my college applications, I'll be back in my usual routine.

Today had looked like a good day. I mailed the last of my applications and went to my play rehearsal.Unfortunately, after class, things went downhill. Some friends of mine have stumbled into a garden of dissension, where the seeds of anger, well watered with misunderstanding, bloom at a frightening speed. The argument has since left its original cause and now exists solely to perpetuate itself. I hope that this contention can be resolved, the sooner the better.

"This must be Thursday... I never could get the hang of Thursday."
-Arthur Dent, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

I don't know what it is... The sun is shining, there's plenty of snow on the ground, the woodland creatures are frolicing (OK, maybe not woodland creatures, but squirrels and neighborhod pets), and there's not a cloud in the sky, but something just seems off. I'm having trouble getting comfortable today. Hmm.


Tunes: "Airport Song," Guster; "Unwell," Matchbox 20.

I really really love Ben Harper. He rocks my socks.

Well the good Lord is such a good Lord
With such a good mother too
They have blessed me
They have blessed me
In the good graces of you
Now I, I have heard a hundred violins crying
And I, I have seen a hundred white doves flying

But nothing is as beautiful
As when she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
In me
Oh- in me
Mmhh

How good it must feel
To be so young, young and free
And a song that pleases a queen
Will always please me
Now I, I have heard the wisest of wisdom
And I, I have dined in palaces and kingdoms

But nothing is as beautiful
As when she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
In me
Oh- in me
Mmhh - Oh - no no no no

Now, all of life is just passing the time
Until once again your eyes look into mine
Now I, I have been adored by a stranger
And I, I have heard the whispering angel

But nothing is as beautiful
As when she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
When she believes
In me
Oh - la la la...

"When She Believes," Ben Harper.

I finished last year on a high note. In the morning, I completed three college applications, went for a walk (in a t-shirt, as it was 54 degrees out), and went with Laura and Susie and Luke and Tripp to see the closing of Trish's show, Rudolph the Red-Hosed Reindeer, which was fabulous, and if it ever comes to a theater near you, I highly recommend it. There was a party after, with dancing, eating, drinking, bubbles, balloons, frisbees, and fun. A happy new year to you all, and remember: being normal isn't normal at all. ~_^

Today is the day for remembrance of the Holy Innocents. I don't remember precisely how old I was when my parents explained the story to me, only the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. The story I'd heard before was a cheerful one, an amusing one, even, of how the Magi met with Herod, eventually found Jesus and worshiped him, and left town by another road so that Herod's nefarious plot was spoiled and tune in next week for the further adventures... You get the idea. Suddenly I was being faced with the grittier side of the story, the part about how Herod was so obsessed with his power that he ordered the slaughter of all the infant males in an entire city. Herod was so scared that he would be ousted from his throne at least fifteen or twenty years down the line that he had an entire male generation massacred. Infants who were just starting to open their eyes to the world, taking first steps and uttering first words, were mercilessly killed to appease the insecurity of a tyrant, in the name and stead of my Lord and Savior. It was a large and bitter pill to swallow. I turned to the lectionary for help, which it had trouble providing. The messages in the Old Testament, the Gospel, and the Psalms offer much in the way of wailing and gnashing of teeth, and only vague glimpses of hope. The epistle is what helped me through, with Revelation 21. I quote the paraphrase I know from Bairstow's arrangement that I learned in choir: "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away." I pray this night that God has wiped away the tears from their eyes, and that they may thrive in that place where there is no pain or grief, but life eternal.