Today started well, with the Pan-Seabury softball game. Lots of fun and fellowship and so on and so forth. Then I got home, and was confronted with the allegations (already reported by Dad) that the American Boychoir School, where I spent many summers, has been the site of extensive child molestation and sexual abuse over a very long period of time, even up to the past few years. The memories of having slept in those beds and lived in those halls where such horrific actions allegedly took place literally sickens me, and even more sickening are the concerns that people I know and care about were victims of similar atrocities, or turned a blind eye. Albemarle (the campus) had been the site of many happy memories for me, memories that have now been tainted by the lurking presence of the pain and suffering that I had been unaware of during my stay. My heart goes out to all who have been hurt, and I continue to pray for all involved.

It was a comfortably cool Spring night, the kind of cool that isn't cold enough to notice unless the wind picks up. I'd had a long day and needed some time away, so I wandered down to the lakefront, which is where I saw her. She was dancing– no, frolicking up and down the edge of the shore, kicking up a light spray of sand behind her moving feet. She spun and leapt, seeming not to know what movement would come next, but letting her body swing freely through the evening air. Her head tossed, sending her hair in a wave over her shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of her face. That picture is stuck in my memory, and I don't think anything, even the steady erosion of time, will ever fade that image. Her pale face was spread in a smile that was simply radiant. I watched in awe, wondering what could have given her this joy. She was so happy, she was almost glowing. With a start, I blinked in disbelief as I realized that she actually WAS glowing: there was a soft pale light surrounding her. Her face, arms, and the feet pointing out from under her dress were almost white with luminescence. Gradually, she grew brighter and brighter, until her features became indistinct behind the silvery sheen and it became hard to look directly at her. I raised my arm to cover my face, and the instant I could not see her the light vanished. I dropped my arm suddenly, and looked all about, but she was nowhere to be found. She was gone without a trace except for the footprints in the sand, and a light melodic laugh that echoed in the night wind.

Tunes: "I've Been High," R.E.M. (iTMS)

Some people have waaaaaay too much time on their hands.

I've tried my hand at poetry a fair few times, and while I think that I've got a good feel for rhyming schemes and patterns of emphasis, I still feel a total amateur when faced with works of such bizarre flowing whatever as what I read from Lewis Carroll. His poetry was ever-present in my childhood: I memorized Jabberwocky for a talent show at a young age, and Dad would read to my brother and me from The Hunting of the Snark (those of you who have heard Dad preach or lecture can probably imagine what a fabulous experience that was). Dad and Pippa got me a copy of The Annotated Alice the other day from the library booksale, which thrills me especially because it contains the original John Tenniel illustrations, the same ones that were in the books I first read from.

I would love to be able to converse with Lewis Carroll at length about his poetry, because so much of its meaning is left open. I wonder if The Walrus and the Carpenter really is "an indictment of organized religion," as they say in Dogma, or whether he simply wrote it for the sake of writing it, or if there was another meaning hitherto unexplained. Robert Frost, when asked about the ulterior meaning of The Road Less Traveled, simply said, "Oh, I was just talking about the two roads there in Boston." I'm realy not sure what to make of Carroll's works, or if I should even try. But I do know that I'll be keeping and rereading this book for a very, very long time.

Tunes: "Hey Leonardo (She Likes Me)," Blessid Union of Souls; "Good Old A Cappella," The Bandersnatchers.

I held out for a while, but this meme was just too far up my alley for me to ignore.

First 10 shuffle on iPod:

1. Lost & Gone - Lost City Angels
2. Learning To Fly - Tom Petty
3. Danny Boy - Black 47
4. Closer - Nine Inch Nails
5. Turning Japanese - Incubus
6. Cyclops Rock - They Might Be Giants
7. Prince Of Darkness - Indigo Girls
8. Vengeance And Fashion - Electric Six
9. What A Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong
10. Johnny's Room - The Bobs

(That's a great run... It's being unusually cooperative. Normally my iPod's shuffle displays a rather sadistic streak seemingly bent on aggravating whatever mood I'm in.)

and now, with iTunes:

1. There's A Fine, Fine Line - Avenue Q Soundtrack
2. Zombie - Screeching Weasel
3. The Reason - Hoobastank
4. Ticket To Ride - The Beatles
5. Dragula (Hot Rod Herman remix) - Rob Zombie
6. Waiting Room - Fugazi
7. The Set Up (You Need This) - Reel Big Fish
8. The First Noel (I Like Christmas) - Eve 6
9. Für Elise (Techno Dance Remix) - ?Unknown?
10. How The West Was Won And Where It Got Us - R.E.M.

(I like this set too... and R.E.M. got in there, at the last second. Yay! And I could put links through all of those but I'm tired, so look 'em up yourself.)

Many thanks to Nathan (and Tyler) for putting me up and putting up with me.
Thanks to Liz for picking me up from the train and for providing long pauses in conversation.
Thanks to Shannon for raising bizarre theological questions and for displaying her love of babies.
Thanks to Willa for teaching me so much about American presidential history.
Thanks to Sarah for not fixing me something special for dessert this time.
Congratulations and best wishes to Claire and Derek.
Thanks to all the girls from Ell for making St. Olaf as crazy and interesting as it is.

And dedicated to my Laura.

(No animals were harmed in the making of this film. Except maybe the ones in the petting zoo, I dunno about them.)

I gotta go see about a girl.

So recently, the local alt-rock station Q101 has been taking its entire music library and leaving it on shuffle instead of picking and choosing songs, which is way cool. Where else am I likely to hear TMBG's "Birdhouse In Your Soul" followed by Mudvayne's "Happy?" followed by King Missile's classic "Detachable P****"?

And today, Q101 made me very very very happy, because I called them and they gave me free tickets to this year's Van's Warped Tour featuring The Offspring and the Dropkick Murphys and Relient K (of Veggie Tales fame).

Happy Si. Happy happy Si. ^_^

Yesterday I sat on the train for over an hour to stand outside for another four and a half hours in the cold and wind, before I could wait another half hour indoors, to watch a Ben Folds concert for free.

Worth every second. The man is just amazing. He played with accompaniment, just like in the early days, with bass and drums, and it sounded fabulous.

The set list, as I recall it, went something like this:

Jesusland (iTMS)
Bastard (iTMS)
Bitches Ain't S**t (Dr. Dre & Snoop Dogg cover) (iTMS)
Brick (solo piano) (iTMS)
You To Thank (iTMS)
Landed (iTMS)

Medley finale:
Rockin' The Suburbs (iTMS) ->
Philosophy (iTMS) ->
Theme From Dr. Pyser (instrumental) (iTMS)

You rock, Ben.

Ultimate Frisbee in driving hail.

Now THAT'S what I'm talking about.

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.