Attn:

Announcements over the loudspeaker are always an exciting affair. You know the whole "Good afternoon Wal-Mart shoppers, would Mark Teixeira please report to sporing goods, Mark Teixeira to sporting goods."

Okay maybe not, however, as I sit here in the library working tirelessly on a mundane paper the intercom clicks on. The clock reads 5:30 (this is important) I feel this sense of inquisition - "whats going on?"

the voice (you know the voice) clicks in and I hear, "The library will close in 30 minutes, except for Starbucks and the Commons which will stay open another six hours. I repeat, Starbucks and the Commons will stay open til 12, the rest of us will hit the bricks at six."

I smile, knowing that at least one intercom announcer has some fun.

And as for me, this has intrigued me, so I will not finish my paper tonight, I will hit the bricks at six.

Anne Morriss

"The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to life."

- Anne Morriss The Way I See It #76 (starbucks cup)

Dale's Marinade

Talent is quite burdensome. Scripture says "to whom much is given much is expected." That can mean many different things, but it absolutely does not allow any room for squandering gifts.

I can't imagine recieving a check in the mail and celebrating by lighting it on fire.

Gifts are meant to be celebrated, and whether that celebration means being frugal and saving or treating one's self to trivial things - that gift is still being celebrated. Somehow, however, it also ties into spiritual gifts or abilities. These gifts are like doors in a corridor. The more doors there are the tougher it is to decipher which door is correct (as if there were such a thing). I see this corridor as a huge ornate octagonally shaped room with doors on every side. There are so many possibilities how can I choose the right door? This is the dilemna that I find myself marinading in most of the time. When I say marinading I mean sitting, doing absolutely nothing other than soaking up other people without offering any sort of reciprocation. This marinading is not a rewarding place to be, but much of the time I find myself stagnantly sitting in Dale's as I ponder which direction to run, which door to open. The thing that I overlook is that there is this huge light fixture over my head. It is enormous and multithronged and it sits over my head - sometimes foreboding, sometimes it is a gentle source of much needed light. This light fixture is principle in the my corridor for the simple reason that it offers me my answer, but I am so quick to disregard it as meaningless - useless. So often I'm ignorant to the fact that this light fixture is so enormous that regardless of which door I enter, it will still light the path. Even if perhaps I choose to go in the wrong direction, that light is so illuminous that there is nothing left to chance. I really have no chance of taking an irreconcilable turn or falling into some deep, dark abyss because regardless of where my feet go, there will always be that light (not a fading light and not a glimmer of a sunrise; a bright, vibrant, "follow me" light) that will allow me to see. Behind each and every one of those doors is life, behind each one is light and experience and failure and joy. Behind each one there is also uncertainty. Somehow, I don't realize that by standing directly in the center of the corridor refusing to move, refusing to go, I am also refusing to open my eyes. I am a contradiction, an oxymoron. I am living my 'scared of the dark' life with my eyes closed. It is high time to thrust myself out and walk through the doors with fervor and zeal so as to open my eyes however slightly and regard the light fixture of burnished bronze. It is high time that the possibilities of light encompassing all paths be embraced and the uncertainty behind the doors be embraced as new opportunities to fail and learn - to taste the sour, and of course, of course the sweet, sweet honey that lies beyond my portal, my corridor. It is time for the sweetness of life to ripple through my veins and the joy of failure to peruse through the chronicles of my mind. It is time for doors to be opened - to honor the craftsmanship and brilliance of my corridor's light fixture - which casts light into ever nook and cranny of my expansive hallway, which casts light and hope onto the concerned and frightened brow.

To whom there are doors to enter, doors are to be entered. To whom life is given, life is expected.

NASCAR

NASCAR
N. - Nitrogen
A. - Asphyxiated
S. - Scholastically
C. - Challenged
A. - Ardent
R. - Rednecks

What I done learnt at Briston Motor Speedway number 1

a new word.

Busch - v. - 1) the act of betrayal 2) stooping below one's moral principles 3) cheating 4) using terrible moral judgement.

stems from Kurt Busch's race tactics in the 499th lap of the Sharpie 500 on Sunday, March 26.

can be used as such:
A - did you see A Rod hit the ball out of Bronson Arroyo's glove?
B - yea, that was busch.

also busch league
A - how about Ron Artest?
B - he's a busch league player.

What I done learnt at Bristol number two

why those nitrogen asphyxiated folk have such a pension for the consumption of un-godly amounts of cheap beer.

1 - 30 degree weather + metal bleachers = metal icicle seating
2 - 200,000 person stadium = parking and walking 15 miles
3 - 850 hp engines = temporary hearing loss
4 - $7.50 hamburgers = less money for beer = natty light
5 - luxury suites = people who know nothing (and don't care to) about NASCAR sitting in a warm, furnished, enclosed box with free food, and a TV.

the sum of all above reasons mean watching NASCAR is not possible unless the proposed attendee is at or above a B.A.C. of 2.0

[Kid A]©

invention: n - (1) The creation of something in the mind [syn: innovation, excogitation, conception, design]. (2) A creation (a new device or process) resulting from study or experimentation [syn: innovation]. (3) The act of invention.

conception: n - (1) a - Formation of a viable zygote by the union of the male sperm and female ovum; fertilization. b - The entity formed by the union of male sperm and female ovum; an embryo or zygote. (2) a - The ability to form or understand mental concepts and abstractions. b - Something conceived in the mind; a concept, plan, design, idea, or thought.

Therefore, if a conception can be a child, and conception is a synonym of invention - invention meaning the creation of something - a child being a thing - then perhaps a child is an invention. The proverbial 'twinkle in the eye' being the "creation of something in the mind."

If this is the case - perhaps a parent could get a patent on their child and defeat the threat of cloning (if they so desire).

Thought on thought.

Thinking is overrated. I'd much rather just feel my way through life. It seems that this thinking business is what makes me so stupid sometimes. If I didn't try to reason everything out, and I couldn't determine when to put up what facade, it seems like everything would be much simpler and much more fun. I just watched Constant Gardener and it's hard for me to believe that government is that crooked - but at the same time - any time that people become crooked is when we put rationality and reason above feeling, emotion, and human contact. When we become completely rational there are a few things which are thoroughly removed from our lives. The first one is love, because love is unreasonable. Therefore, why not abandon our quest for understanding and try the reality of our lives (whatever that reality might be)?

Stoned.

Speaking of writings on the wall, how neat would it be to carve our homework into stone tablets. I think this for a bevy of reasons, the most pronounced of which would have to fall in the lines of: the longer it takes for us to write, the more time there is to think. Plus, instead of using pencils we'd get to use chisels. Lastly, this obesity deal that America is plagued by - well the fat population could say goodbye to literacy as they would either get in shape (thus making them the ex-fat population) or they would lack the strength to carry their stone tablets to class (thus making them newly illiterate).

By the way, I hate the chin strap beard - or any beard that is so well groomed it looks like it belongs on Usher.

hugs...

Writings on the Wall.

So why did I change my blog from a clean, pure white color to a dirty, poop-brown?

Well I figure when the shit hits the fan the wall will get covered in poop. Furthermore, since these are my "writings on the wall" I figured it made sense - that somehow, in some roundabout way, the color change signifies the shit hitting the fan. Make sense?

On to more pressing topics, like how fascinating my living room light fixture is. No seriously. I am sitting in my chair and I have this remote control thing-a-majig (scientific jargon). Well, not only does this remote turn my light and fan on, but I can also change the speed of the fan, or make the fan go in reverse. This reverse function might seem silly and trivial to those uneducated folks out there, however, just the other day I was playing around with silly putty and hand warmers - well to make a long story short - the handwarmers got stuck to the ceiling by the silly putty. I know, in this situation most people would be very worried that the ceiling would get very hot and catch fire - this did happen by the way. However, my point is that I was not worried, because I very protractedly hit the reverse function on my fan and it proceded to cool down the ceiling and put out the flame.

Not only does the fan reverse, but I can also dim the light. I have a button that says "dim" and if I press it and hold it, it will slowly dim until dark and if I continue to hold it it will slowly light up the room til the light is at full power. This can be very entertaining to continually make the room light and dark without having to do the kindergarten "twilight zone move" where you furiously press the light switch up and down. Plus, if I listen to Pink Floyd and do the continual dim-light-dim move, I feel like an old man who's trying to rave but just doesn't have the stamina anymore. This creates a sort of out of body experience wherein I can much more easily relate to my parents and other older folks.

So for those of you who snickered when I mentioned the intrigue of my living room light fixture, we'll see who's eating snickers when I'm in 'the old man mindset' going into an interview and I connect with the boss and take your job.

hugs,
Me

WBC en finito.

Bobby Valentine was quoted at some point, saying that Japanese baseball was so much better than American baseball, that the average every day American starter could not play on a Japanese team. see Joe McEwing.

Then, in the inaugural WBC, the American team bowed out much earlier than expected (they did beat the Japanese team, but also lost to Canada and Mexico). Then, last night, in the Championship game, the Japanese beat Cuba to prove their "world dominance" in a sport that is considered the American past-time.

There were two players who played on Major Leage teams on the Japanese roster. One was perennial all star and hits leader Ichiro, and the other little used relief pitcher Otsuka. This made the Japanese victory extraordinarily demoralizing to me and I presume American baseball fans.

If the Dominican team, or even the Venezuelan team won (both of which were riddled with MLBers) I would have felt some consolation from the simple fact that those players play in our league. However, even more demoralizing was that the Championship game featured not only a Japanese squad which contained two Major Leaguers, but their foe was a Cuban team that has none.

Perhaps, in this light it would have been more humbling had the Cuban team won, but there is something - I feel - that is a sort of rivalry between Japan and America. The rivalry is not about whose players are better, I think it is more of a proving grounds for which league is really the top of the food chain. This idea was fueled by Valentine (who used to manage in the MLB with the Mets) who, years ago, boldly predicted that this outcome would occur (if ever there were a matchup). It seems, that for right now, no matter how much I believe that this was a fluke; I, along with all other avid American baseball fans have to live with the acknowledgement that our beloved players, our beloved league is second fiddle to the Japanese Baseball League.

Life Aquatic

I watched "The Life Aquatic" last night.

I must admit the first time I watched it (in theaters) I came home feeling like I had missed the comedy/substance/plot - basically just feeling thoroughly confused. People later told me that the expression on my face for the remainder of the night was similar to the "George Bush giving a speech" face. Anyway, I watched it again last night and I feel ashamed for my lack of intrigue on the first go around. I missed the comedy of lines such as...okay, I can't think of any off hand. That's beside the point, however, because Life Aquatic is full of the funniest, most ridiculous characters I have ever spent an evening with.

In addition to the genius of Bill Murray, I really found myself wishing I was the Brazilian guitar playing "safety expert" Pele. Pele, throughout the entire movie, does nothing other than play and sing David Bowie songs in Portugese. In response to this I have learned "Life on Mars" and I am working on the translation of the song into Portugese.

Nedward Plimpton is the most unlikeable character I've seen in a movie. His name is Nedward, and unfortunately he lives up to his name. However, the subplot of Stevesy and (Kingsley) Ned does somewhat endear the average moviegoer to the Air Kentucky pilot.

I also found it rather telling that when Stevesy draws the line and asks for those who would like to leave to cross it, only one person does so. It is the stripper. This just proves that stripper's are not good for anything. First, there's a pretty good chance they are carriers of STD's, mad cow disease, and SARS; but additionally if you take them to sea as your navigator, chances are they will lead a mutiny.

Jim Caple

A few reasons I love Jim Caple:

"The WBC does present a terrible dilemma for fans, however. Do we root wholeheartedly for the country of our birth...or do we root against the Yankees on the team?"

"Sure the answer seems simple enough. You root against Jeter and A-Rod. After all, putting God and country first is a noble ideal - but these are Yankees we're talking about!"

"And now we're supposed to root for these guys, just because they're wearing stars and stripes on their sleeves instead of pinstripes? I'm sorry. If Clay Aiken sings the national anthem before a World Series game, that doesn't mean we have to buy his album."

"That said, even the most passionate Yankee haters must have relented in the bottom of the ninth inning of Sunday's Japan-U.S. game -- with two out, the score tied 3-3, the bases loaded, our country desperate for a hit, and the reigning AL MVP stepping to the plate. In such moments, love of country finally wins out and overcomes generations of anti-Yankee animosity to bring us all together in a show of patriotic support. 'C'mon you [expletive], pinstriped turncoat' Americans shouted at their TV screens, 'for once - just once - in your soulless, emtpy life get a hit in the clutch you greedy, insincere, overpaid fraud!' And sure enough, aided by this great outpouring of national love A-Rod hit a dribbler up the middle..."

"I tell you, seeing the U.S. team celebrating and congratulating A-Rod made you want to tie yellow ribbons around old oak trees, kiss nurses in Times Square and phone in your vote to 'American Idol.'"

Jim Caple -- I pledge allegiance, to the Yanks

Athletic Manifesto

I was recently sitting down to a rousing game of cribbage with Karl Marx, and we began to talk. I believe it was somewhere around when I finished my second slice of Jenny Marx's delicious meatloaf, that we began talking about the present day culture of American leisure. I believe, that on some level, far too deeply rooted in the human psyche for me to grasp, we (collectively) reached a ruth - which I will refer to as the Athletic Manifesto.

It took much deep thinking and intuition, as well as a distractedness that led to my giving him a jack and a five in his crib, for me to cultivate what I saw as the underlying loci of fault in the deteriorating genes of athletic endeavor. Perhaps, my mind's eye is somewhat out of focus, but seemingly players are not as interested in winning or garnering success as a team, as they are with raking in honors and money.

I'm not sure that this has ever been more evident than in this past off season with baseball. One player, who was the epitome of a franchise- who nicknamed the franchise by characterizing himself, who patrolled a prehistoric park by enlikening himself to a prehistoric man; saw it best to leave a team who loved him, to leave a city that rallied behind him, and leave a persona that rivaled Clint Eastwood in the bad ass department. The cost of leaving is apparent in the aura surrounding Yawkey Way; the benefit of leaving is money. It seems that somewhere imprinted on the human heart is a lust, a deep lust for money- this desire overtakes all else, all decency, all loyalty, and even ten inches of hair.

This is the state of the modern athlete; it is a situation in which quarterbacks are refusing to play for a given team before they've even proven themselves.

It is a situation where wide recievers write books called, "Give Me the Damn Ball" and other wide recievers insult their teammates and badmouth their franchise and city- which leads to the melt down of said team.

It is a situation where the heroes of America's past time use drugs to rewrite the record books and erase the good, clean players of yesteryear with asterisks and syringes.

It is a situation where somehow, somewhere what was once a striking balance of physical, individual achievement coupled with team grit and chemistry has been overtaken by television, notoriety, and wealth. There are ageless people out there who remember the days when sports were looked upon as a brilliant reminder of all that could be celebrated in the world: teamwork, interpersonal bonds, and (yes) individual achievement- however, individual achievement in the holistic interest of a team.

So, where do the impending doom of the athletic universe and a game of cribbage with Karl Marx bisect? Well perhaps, it will take a page out of his ideology to mend the burned bridges of athletics in the 21st century.

Here's a novel idea: stop financially rewarding individual achievement. Yes, pay all stars their due with trips to the All Star Game, Pro-Bowl, etc. but do not allow this individual achievement to overshadow the goals of a team. The cornerstone of sports must retreat to the desire of victory, rather than an athletes desire to cash in on his walk year.

In the NFL for instance, the commish could implement a minimum salary - maybe in the 500 grand range (which isn't a shabby living). Then the better the team, the more each individual makes. This would create a situation in which the best players make the same as the role players, but depending on how well the team does, that amount could be quite substantial.

Perhaps, this is a scary idea - something that would never take place in America because even the slightest hint of communism sends us running for the bomb shelter. And, honestly, there's no hiding the socialist ideals on the breath of this animal, however, it is hard to know for sure that socialism would be a corrupt system if there were an honest government.
This is why a system of such values could be quite successful in the NFL, because the commishioner does not act alone, but he has the NFLPA (players association) as a checks and balances system. This creates a feasibility surrounding said proposal- which would encourage team unity and team achievement- which is after all what we're teaching our kids to cherish in little league, correct?

Bananas...B.A.N.A.N.A.S.

Some people would call Gwen Stefani dumb. Some people might even think that she has no regard for the environment. They would be ERRONEOUS, erroneous on both counts.

Gwen Stefani's thumb is actually green. Her song that goes something like this, "That shit is bananas, b.a.n.a.n.a.s." reveals her overpowering brain waves and propensity for spending great deals of time becoming 'one with nature.' (Green thumb derived from a Muir-esque idea that everyone should plant seeds (pressing seeds down into the ground w/ one's thumb - for the unenlightened hippies out there)). This revelation came to my attention when I actually listened to the lyrics, which is a must-do. Gwen has some deep stuff...b.a.n.a.n.a.s.

You might not be aware of the growth template for Joe Banana, but it goes a little something like this: Papa Banana (the leader of the bunch) releases some chemicals (they cause the peel to turn brown) those chemicals then infiltrate the other banana's green sheathes and cause them to ripen. That shit (the maturation process) is bananas (crazy) because in the time it takes Papa Banana to be eaten, Joe Banana is already living in a nursing home. It only takes 30 minutes from Papa's enripenment before the entire clan has turned into compost, thus the lifeline of a bunch of bananas looks alot like the line graph from Enron's stock.

This image is parralleled beautifully by Stefani to the imposing pressure on the maturation of today's youth. You know, when in sevenish grade that one kid who sounds like Chewbacca becomes popular because his voice doesn't squeak. The same kid who looks like Chewbacca with hair sprouting all over his body points his finger and laughs at the 'youngsters' with no arm-pit hair. Well Gwen is calling out Chewbacca, telling him that his shit (deep voice and hairy grossness) is bananas (not meriting a vaulted position over 'normal' developing humans).

This idea of the world at large following a Chewbacca or Papa Banana is makes everyone turn disgusting and compost-ish in unison. It seems that, by age 10 children are expected to not only have enough hair to survive a brief stint with Jane Goodall in the Congo, but also communicate in deep grunts and moans that are inaudible to women, children, and dogs. Personally, I'm glad, that Gwen has taken such a strong stance against not only the insurmountable challenge of growing up 'normally' in a junior high school; but also against the oppression of bananas by those purists among us that keep them together in bunches so that they will all fall prey to a rapid mush-ination N'Sync.

Personally, I'm glad there's only one Chewbacca per grade, because like bananas, it doesn't take long for people to turn mushy and disgusting.

Vas Deferens

The English language is often complained about because of it's difficulty.

I understand why it's a problem - they're there their, etc..

However, usually this is a problem for immigrants or foreigners who try to learn English, however, it is also a huge problem within the US of A. For instance, given this situation: patient suffering from some sort of reproductive problem and a doctor from Kansas and a doctor from Alabama are collaborating at the Mayo Clinic. Now let's say the Alabama doctor is quite long-winded. Perhaps, the Kansas doctor would say something like, "well whats the diagnosis?" and his associate would begin by saying, "well its a vast difference between the testicles and the urethra..." upon which time the Kansas doctor would go into surgery and mistreat the patient. Why, you ask? Well, because when the southern doctor said, "it's a vast difference between the testicles and urethra" in a southern drawl, the Kansas doctor heard, "it's the vas deferens between the testicles and the urethra."

Case in point, the English language is a very powerful and difficult snake to control. It slithers around in ER's or clinics and interferes with well intentioned Kansas-ian doctors who are just trying to do their job.

Kudzu

Kudzu spreads, like rampant forest fires, throughout the deep south. It grows laterally and vertically, scaling precipices that have long been sheltered from the stranglehold of leafy vines. In these places, unique organisms can grow. Unfortunately, along with most every other ground dwelling plant, these unique species of plants are being smothered and choked out by kudzu.

::

A friend posed this question the other day, "If there were no such thing as sex, would you be gay?"

It happens to be an interesting question, because (guys) think about who you do the things you most enjoy with. Whether it be sit around on Saturday's and watch football, or go golfing on a nice Sunday afternoon. Ladies, think about who you have book club with, and who you gossip with (kidding).

The correct, I think, answer to the above question is that there are certain aspects of relationships that only women can bring to the table. Thus, I believe that even without sex, marriages and inter-sex relationships would be prevalent.

::

A patriarchal society is one in which the father is the alpha male of the household. He is the Alpha and Omega. He squashes any insurrection or sarcasm like the Russian Government did in Red Square. Somehow, these men who are rational human beings (it just so happens they were raised in a far different era), can acknowledge my last little segment with a nod, but can't see that they are the kudzu. They can see that women are important - more, women are integral. However, they fail to see past the so called social standard of a male dominated household - to see that dominance is like an alien species to a functioning household. Dominance has no natural enemies - there is nothing that can be done to get rid of a state of dominance, except to remove oneself from the source.

Dominance is what was exhibited by the Russian government, a government that got divorced from it's people. Dominance is what Hitler showed, Hitler divorced humanity. Dominance is why kudzu grows so rapidly, kudzu kills native species. Dominance is a patriarchal household, a household that winds up in divorce (whether legally, or maybe worse - emotionally).

I am...

Then Moses said to God, "If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they ask me, 'What is his name?' what shall I say to them?" God said to Moses, "I am who I am."
-Exodus 3:13-14

For years upon years, I've always read this passage as God, in particular God fashion, just trying to be cryptic. It's like I have this whole idea that he's just trying to keep us at bay...keep us from getting too close (cause then again that's what happened to Adam and Eve).

I've been thinking alot lately about who I am. I'm in the midst of writing a screen play that I think deals with alot of the emotionality that runs through my veins. That is causing me to be quite introspective and I'm not nearly as happy with myself as I have been in the near past. However, I was thinking about this, down by the river (that sounds like a CCR song to me) and I sort of came to the realization that when Jesus died on the cross he took not only our suffering, but also our glory.

When I meet someone who is very forward relationally, sometimes they'll press in and say, "who are you?" in an attempt to learn more about me through my own categorization and labeling of myself. Other times, when talking about another person, someone might ask, "who is he/she?" In this situation I find myself categorizing and labeling others. That is how my brain works, it works like a resume. It says I am good because I am this and this and this; and I've accomplished this and this and this.

My brain nametags, it says Hi, i'm ___, It says I am white, I am a college student, I am a quasi-guitarist, I am a writer, I am a Christian, I am....all sorts of things. But last night when 'I was down on the corner, out in the street' my thoughts sort of drifted to the idea that I previously mentioned that Jesus captured our glory with our sin on the cross.

Where in the hell did I get that, and what does it mean? I think it comes from my reckless pursuit for meaning and individuality. I think I'm resigned to the fact that my meaning is simply to be myself, to simply allow my strengths (as well as weaknesses) to determine my path.

God, somehow, doesn't think within the parameters of corporate America resume style. He thinks beyond that in some other realm, some would call a 'a realm of love' but that sounds too cliche and trite for me to say. However, I do believe that there is some sort of world out there, some sort of reality -- perhaps it's the reality of the Christian lifestyle, which I am just clinging to the first monkey bar of. Thus, there are no things that I am that were not given to me. There are no things that I am that are of me. Everything is an outward expression, that has been grafted together to form an image - an idol. This idol is casted from aloft and shatters under the impact of the softly spoken man who is humble enough and free enough to admit, "I am what I am."

Carmen San Diego?

Where in the world is Carmen San Diego?

::

The U.S. baseball team lost to Canada last night. The U.S. (American all -stars) baseball (American past time) loost to Canada last night. Here's a simple question that I have, how is it that these people can have so little national pride. I understand, that this is early in the year and that they are not "in tune" but neither is anyone else. This is our sport, we don't go into Brazil and beat them in soccer. How come we allow Canada to beat us in our sport, in our country?

::

What's playing in my ipod, you ask?
- Cinnamon Long Winters
- Marching Bands of Manhattan Death Cab
- Cigarette Graham Colton
- Hurricane Waters Citizen Cope
- Breakdown Mae
- Blower's Daughter Damien Rice
- Lonely Night in Georgia Marc Broussard
- Hospital Bed Ben Kweller
- Hide and Seek Imogen Heap
- Let Go Frou Frou
- Alameda Elliott Smith

::

Alrighty, thats all the dumb crap thats in my brain...

I think everyday I wake up (and this might go for most people) and I'd rather lay in bed. Somehow that seems ironic, because the truth is: the most memorable moments of my life take place when I'm awake. So why then, do I love to sleep so much?

When I'm asleep I don't think. It seems that sleeping is the only safe haven we have to escape from our own thoughts. Perhaps, substances can be used as well, but I think I love to sleep because it allows me to disregard everything of meaning. Partially, the reason I love to disregard those things is because those things of 'meaning' are simply the parts of life that society has highlited. Maybe sleeping allows me to highlite my own parts of life. I guess the difference in being asleep and being awake is the same as the difference in computer paper and notebook paper. Notebook paper is rigid in that there are specific places to write and there is very little individual variety. However, computer paper is a blank sheet. Creativity reigns over those blank areas of our lives that are not infiltrated by corporate ideals.

I want to live out of what I find to be meaningful, and not worry about the collective ideals. Somehow, that seems impossible.

Coincidentally.

I'm on a quote kick recently.

"It is better to have loved and lost then to not have loved at all."

"It's better safe than sorry."

These two quotes are blindly believed by most everyone. They can not coincide, however, because it is not safe to love, but no one goes through life pushing everyone away with the thought, "well i don't want to get hurt." Perhaps, some do, but they end up living very sad, unfulfilled lives.

Quotes vs. Wit

Here's a fun quote, "The ability to quote is a serviceable substitute for wit."

- William Somerset Maugham

You know what I say Billy, non sequitur.

If I were someone famous and I could run my stupid mouth and say things that would get published, I could follow William and say "The ability to plagiarize is a serviceable substitute for writing."

Thats the same thing right?

One deals with oral language and one deals with written language, but both involve stealing one's unique thoughts. Here's the problem: Billy obviously has no wit whatsoever. So, in an attempt to make himself look somewhat intelligent he (and this is the really sad part) says a famous line about how quoting others is good 'nuff. That's not true, R2D2 can quote others, but that doesn't mean he's witty. Sorry Bill.


Perhaps, in Willy's world people run around quipping lines like, "say hello to my li'l friend" and "there's no crying in baseball." -- therefore obviously there's no need for fresh new thinking. Now, a world in which no one thinks independently -- phew, lets all cross our hearts and hope to die that we get there soon (sarcasm).

Walt

"All of our dreams can come true, if we only have the courage to pursue them."

- Walt Disney

Alright, Walt.

I'm a big boy and I understand the whole "tell your kid they can do anything they want" but that quote, is that really true?

Well, this is baffling, because I had this conversation with someone yesterday. I think that this sheds more light on this idea(l) than most do. Most people simply say, "you can do it" or "you can be anything you want to be." Those most definitely are false. For example, say I wanted to play center in the NBA -- thats not possible given that I don't have the body to achieve said dream. However, somewhere there are dreams; and I mean dreams that are the deepest desires inside me. Things that I can do. Those are my real dreams. Now, does this mean all dreams are watered down and near sighted? Not necessarily, I suspect most dreams are rather lofty. I think the point is that it takes courage. It takes courage to try the thing that I want to do, because what happens if I just can't cut it. How will I respond? How is it that I can work up the gumption to pursue those dreams?

There is an article about the reverse trend of race in sports on ESPN this morning. It is all about JJ Redick and Adam Morrison. These guys are both white and they are the two best players in college basketball. How is it that these guys grew up in an era of "White men can't jump" and other medium that pushed whites away by telling them that they couldn't cut it; and still followed their dream so fervently? I believe the answer is courage.

I believe it took a great deal of courage to look that sterotype in the face and follow unfazed. I believe it took a great deal of courage for Martin Luther King Jr. to so much as state his dream, much less pursue it. I believe it took a great deal of courage for Martin Luther to publish his dream. I believe it takes a great deal of courage to become the men and women that we so desire to be: men and women who actually have an impact - and somehow I believe that having an impact in the world simply means being enlightened beings with a curiosity and awareness that comes with life. Living takes courage. It is much easier to shut down and settle for what comes easy, but what comes easy, doesn't ever satisfy. The things that satisfy take time, effort, and (yes) courage; and they are the realization of those dreams that we have pushed away for far too long.

I'm going to wish-ita

Corny title, I know

In lieu of my birthday tomorrow, I'm going to make a list.

This list is my perennial parental cheat sheet, otherwise known as a wish list.

1. The Riding Giants DVD
2. A ticket to a Sox-Yanks game at Fenway
3. A huge plot of land in Virginia on which I could architect and build a golf course
4. Someone to paint a cool design on my guitar
5. A coffee maker
6. A job at ESPN
7. Some good socks
8. A crazy hidden talent (flowing, i.e. freestyling, i.e. rapping)
9. One of those big curly mustaches/ or a crazy afro
10. Meet Jason McElwain

OJ

OJ and Nicole as youngsters -- now you see why that whole ordeal went down. She stole his fish.

latest idea.

i'm trying to figure out what exactly would happen if i spent a whole week without raising my voice above a whisper.

if i did this, i don't think anyone would pay attention to me (and that would make my social interactions much like this blog - in which case i believe i would thoroughly enjoy it)

hasta la vista

303

two thoughts:

1) whoever said the quote, "living is easy with eyes closed" needs to have a conversation with a blind man.

2) today i listened to my ipod as i walked to class - i really liked it because i felt like it were a very climactic scene of a movie with good "thinking" background music.

a demain

yea yea.

The wiles of night undress my guile.
Day turns dark, then night turns light.
As the light is snuffed out,
so too is the my doubt.
The morning sun brings warmth and time.
Time which breaks me further from reason.
Rationale is unzipped, unbraided, unripped.
Broadening the breach beyond belief.
Slowly, ghastly, my words become images.
Which leap off pages, like jackals and sages.
Orchestras roar while my soul, like angel's wings, soar.
The freshwater of 'earthly reason' swirl,
swirl together with the vast oceans of imagination.
This state is as real as the brackish water,
my earthly home.

Brackish water - where rivers with banks
run into boundless freedom;
where bridled belief is confronted.
Confronted by openness, by the possibility of life.
Where mind meets matter
which leaks into measure
upon which comes numbers of infinite proportion;
Unveiling the only law, which my existance follows.

The Son has set on bounds and barriers,
as the darkness has overtaken its carriers.
The Son has risen on openness and life,
as the light has enveloped it's glory and strife.