Not sleepy, but physically tired. The air feels thicker than usual, and requires much more effort to cleave through.

I played in the softball game today. I didn't bat as well as I'd hoped, but fielded pretty well, and pulled off a solo double play. The long, hot shower afterwards felt exquisite.

My brother called me tonight, and we talked for a while. It felt really good to chat with him about what'd been going on and plans for the future.

I can sleep moderately contently tonight.

Tunes: "Shelter Your Needs," Juliette and the Licks (iTMS only); "Mountain Dew," The Clancy Brothers (iTMS).

Thinking a lot tonight about leaving and missing people. I'm going to be around for either three whole months or only three months, depending on what sort of mood I'm in. A sincere thank you to everyone who's been so blatantly honest (and amusing) about the absence I'll leave.

I should not dare to leave my friend,
Because—because if he should die
While I was gone, and I—too late—
Should reach the heart that wanted me;
If I should disappoint the eyes
That hunted, hunted so, to see,
And could not bear to shut until
They “noticed” me—they noticed me;
If I should stab the patient faith
So sure I ’d come—so sure I ’d come,
It listening, listening, went to sleep
Telling my tardy name,—  
My heart would wish it broke before,
Since breaking then, since breaking then,
Were useless as next morning’s sun,
Where midnight frosts had lain!

--Emily Dickinson

Tunes: "In This Diary," The Ataris (iTMS)

A button fell off of a pile of books on my desk and landed underneath my lamp, sending a ray of searing light into my eyes. Moments later, my eyes had adjusted, and I could see again just fine, but the experience started a train of thought that I'd like to share. It has to do with acceptance. As the story goes, Saul was dead set on finding, persecuting, and killing every follower of Jesus's he could find. That is, until one day God shone a dazzling light onto Saul, blinding him, and instructed him on how he should live his life from then on out. Saul went along with this readily, presumably because he had just received explicit and direct career counseling from the Almighty, in a rather dramatic way. The rest of us tend not to have it so easily. While God does help guide us along our live's paths, our missives from on high tend not to be as clear-cut or have quite the same flair as Saul's. At the times when I can tell that I'm supposed to have my digital ham radio set to "receive" and not "transmit," the messages are either cryptic to the point of being barely decipherable or retrospective. It's hard to be open to God's will in our lives when it's not specifically clear what God's will IS. If it were clear across the board, then there wouldn't be fragmentation or schisms or any sort of division among the fellowship of Christ, because we wouldn't have anything to argue about (on a theological plane, anyway). Instead, we are left with our own interpretations, and must do out best to reconcile our interpretations with one another's, because that is a part of God's will that IS clear and specific: that we should love our neighbor as ourselves. As a phrase, it sounds very simple. But egotistical creatures that we are, it is one of the hardest tasks that we can endeavor to undertake. I'm going to take a step off to one side for a minute to make this analogy. God is like a sports coach. The good, encouraging kind, not the kind that berates you if you don't make a goal/basket/base hit/whatever sport you follow. God is the coach who, even after you miss that crucial kick, cheers for you and congratulates you and takes you out for pizza for giving it your all. We can earn that coach's respect, in a very simple but challenging way: playing nice and doing our best with what we have.

See you out on the field.

Tunes: "God Only Knows," The Beach Boys (iTMS); "Superman," Five For Fighting (iTMS); "I Want To Be A Christian," The Proclaimers (Real Audio stream).

I'm feeling really messed up right now. I'm not sure why, or what, or any of that. I'm just thinking too hard, and then I recognize that I'm thinking too hard and then I don't think at all and let the feelings pull me under until I start thinking about them again. If I knew what I was doing I could make something out of it. Zach Braff took this kind of stuff and made one of the greatest films I've ever seen, "Garden State." Ben Folds took this kind of stuff and made an aural tragedy, "Brick." Mark Tansey took this kind of stuff and made bold statements about humanity, as in "Triumph Over Mastery II." What will I do? Will I make something worthwhile out of my confusion? Or will I simply sit and weather the placid storm?

I remember when I first got to know her three years ago, at a party of Heather's. We were playing CatchPhrase, and her phrase was "call girl." We both turned bright red: she in embarassment, I in sheepish pride for having guessed it so rapidly.

I remember so many nights spent with her and Mark, sitting and talking about anything and nothing and everything in between.

I remember her indignation when she found out that I was spending Easter weekend on my own, and how rapidly she drove the hour-plus commute just to get me and bring me back to her house to decorate eggs with the family.

I remember first encountering Nikita, who at the time was expressing her displeasure with ATLA.

I remember learning just what she meant when she said that watching baseball on TV is "an audience participatory sport."

I remember defining the structure of our bizarre family, cementing very real and close relationships in a physically confusing family tree.

I remember many highs and lows, and I remember much more than she probably wants me to, what with awards night coming up soon. ^_^

Soon I will have new memories, of the beginning of the end for this particular stretch of the road she's traveling. I'm just grateful I've been able to walk with her for so long.

I'm proud of you, Jane.

Si has actually chosen a college! Ladies and gentlemen (and the rest of you), may I have your attention, please:

*drumroll*

He will be studying at Marlboro College in beautiful rural Vermont! Let's give him a big hand, folks!

*APPLAUSE*

Tunes: "You Don't Know," Reel Big Fish (iTMS); "ABC-DEF-GHI," Big Bird (for Susie) (wma stream); and "I'm A Believer," Smash Mouth (iTMS).

Not much to say, I'm afraid... I'm fairly writ out. I've been churning out an essay for a scholarship application that has to be all set and on its way within the week, so that's taken up most of my verbal energy.

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Another acceptance! Emerson College in lovely downtown Boston wants me. Very, very, badly, if the financial aid package is any indication. Very, very, VERY badly.

To celebrate, I went out with some friends to see Frank Miller's Sin City. All I ahve to say about that is DANG. An absolutely stunning work of art.

So, life is good. Even though Pippa stuffed my shoes this morning.

Tunes: "For Boston," Dropkick Murphys.

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!

^_^