The night before the night before Christmas
All I want for Christmas is a blue hamster...
a blue ball
a bowling ball
a ball python
a ball of snow
a snow cone
a traffic cone
a traffic light
a northern light
a lighthouse
a house party
a party hat
a felt hat
a felt rabbit
a rabbit hole
a hole-in-one
someone
some peace
some help
some friends
some love
Some of that free stuff
Christmas, come on down the chimney
Santa lives in you and in me
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Candy McHandy
When creativity seems to escape me I have but one option. Write a Haiku.
Smell the hot coffee
Water strained through the bean grounds
Caffine does nothing
...dang it. That's what I've got? Seriously, even if I'm creativly deprived that's what I came up with? I'm sorry, I shall do my best to correct this problem.
Sauce...mmmm.
Smell the hot coffee
Water strained through the bean grounds
Caffine does nothing
...dang it. That's what I've got? Seriously, even if I'm creativly deprived that's what I came up with? I'm sorry, I shall do my best to correct this problem.
Sauce...mmmm.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Seven Seeds for Happy People
Cigarettes and Booze
Today I slept in. Yesterday was my last exam day and I wasn’t sure if I should wait to come home or not. That apartment, heck, Wilmington for that matter, can be a lonely place. I’m really beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t find a way to get some color up on the walls in that room of mine. After a semester of slightly off-white bouncing into my retinas I fear my mind is going slightly off-sane. Obviously, I decided to stay.
My roommate left Thursday. Empty, empty. My morning was a bit surreal. I slept and then my alarm went off. I shut it off and quickly realized that I had no obligation to get up. For a moment I wobbled on one elbow and then let it collapse beneath me.
More sleep.
Sleep has been good to me lately, though my sleeping habits have changed a startling amount this semester. I no longer sleep without waking in the early morning. Every morning my imaginary alarm goes off around 8:30 or 9:00. I usually breath a deep breath, look at the light coming through the window and roll over. For thirty seconds I’ll think the same thing I do every morning. I thank God that I’m alive, I wonder if I should get up. These thirty or so seconds are wonderful, then it hits me. I remember.
This morning I slept again. It was good. I woke up and repeated the process twice before finally stumbling to my feet. It was a very lazy morning. I took a shower and packed everything I knew, or thought I might need. Cameras, cloths, borrowed books and pet projects all found their place in my “college” luggage, (duffle bag and milk crate)It all went inside the mean green-splorer and I came up for one last look around. You know what I’m talking about, the “better not have left my cell charger or toothbrush” round. It felt weird leaving. No one was in the building that I knew, but I felt like I was leaving someone. I didn’t like it at all. I said goodbye to the ladybug on the stairwell window as I walked down, then drove off.
That sun was something else.
It was nearly 70 degrees today! I have a bad feeling about this kind of weather less than 10 days before Christmas. People should not be able to tan in North Carolina on the 16th of December. Who am I kidding, I loved it. Maybe the world is overheating but at least I get to wear short sleeves when I’m outside. When I pulled out of the lot I noticed that everything looked golden, totally washed by the December summer sun. It was pretty.
I pulled up to a pump at the BP next to campus. That is where I met Grover.
“Hey hey hey, my man!”
I couldn’t see him yet but I knew instantly it was a homeless man. Why do they all have the same opening line? I stepped back and looked around the pump. A man, wearing a yellow UNCW shirt just like one of mine, was walking diagonally closer to me with that nervous shuffle step; a step that could so instantly turn into retreat if I told him to buzz off. He wasn’t looking at me but there was no one else around.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked.
“Yeah, man. I’m talking to you. I was wondering, could you help me out?”
I stood in silence for a moment.
“I’m just a homeless man,” he said, “I live back here behind Hardees in a shack with one other man. Most people don’t believe me when I tell them that, I do though. I’ll take you back there to see it if you want to.”
“Nah, that's ok.” I said sheepishly.
He asked me if I was leaving town and told me how he’d like to. He was from Charlotte and had no way of heading back to see his family. I asked him how he ended up in Wilmington and he told me that he just got out of the penitentiary. He couldn’t get a job but was hoping to get some work painting in a couple of weeks. We talked for a while about this, then the pump clicked off in my hand. I gave it a couple of squeezes to the next dollar.
I wanted, for a moment, to take him over to Hardees and get him a burger, but then I decided not to. I didn’t want to insult him, I know there are people out there that really want to get their lives straight after they get out, so I pulled out my wallet.
“I’m a college student,” I said, “I don’t have much money, will three dollars help?”
“Oh yeah, it all helps. Three dollars, that’ll get me, lets see, couple burgers off the 99 cent menu and...Thanks, thank you. You have a good time at home, now.”
He had already stared to turn away when I told him I’d be praying for him and that I hoped it could find a job soon. He nodded his head and told me to do that. His hand had gone into his pocket for something. As he made his way past the front of my car I wished him well once more. He turned his head just enough for me to see the cigarette dangling from his lips.
“You too man,” he said with his back to me, “ And don’t forget to say that prayer for me.”
It was the way he said it. He was laughing at me. He had what he wanted and he didn’t even wait for me to leave before disappearing behind the station door.
I went home.
There was something beautifully wrong with the light from the sun today. It was like snowflakes drifting through a desert sky. Sure it’s not right, but it would still be beautiful. The closer I got to home the more brightly the world around me glowed. I got on 95 and was heading due east, the sun hung low directly behind me. A tractor-trailer passed and the sharp reflection off it’s chrome-like gate caught me off guard. I blinked a few times and took a look around. It was like I was in an old brown photograph that moved. Through the rear-view I saw little flecks of stone in the river of pavement behind me that sparkled like Christmas lights.
Christmas is coming soon. It’s good to be home.
Today I slept in. Yesterday was my last exam day and I wasn’t sure if I should wait to come home or not. That apartment, heck, Wilmington for that matter, can be a lonely place. I’m really beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t find a way to get some color up on the walls in that room of mine. After a semester of slightly off-white bouncing into my retinas I fear my mind is going slightly off-sane. Obviously, I decided to stay.
My roommate left Thursday. Empty, empty. My morning was a bit surreal. I slept and then my alarm went off. I shut it off and quickly realized that I had no obligation to get up. For a moment I wobbled on one elbow and then let it collapse beneath me.
More sleep.
Sleep has been good to me lately, though my sleeping habits have changed a startling amount this semester. I no longer sleep without waking in the early morning. Every morning my imaginary alarm goes off around 8:30 or 9:00. I usually breath a deep breath, look at the light coming through the window and roll over. For thirty seconds I’ll think the same thing I do every morning. I thank God that I’m alive, I wonder if I should get up. These thirty or so seconds are wonderful, then it hits me. I remember.
This morning I slept again. It was good. I woke up and repeated the process twice before finally stumbling to my feet. It was a very lazy morning. I took a shower and packed everything I knew, or thought I might need. Cameras, cloths, borrowed books and pet projects all found their place in my “college” luggage, (duffle bag and milk crate)It all went inside the mean green-splorer and I came up for one last look around. You know what I’m talking about, the “better not have left my cell charger or toothbrush” round. It felt weird leaving. No one was in the building that I knew, but I felt like I was leaving someone. I didn’t like it at all. I said goodbye to the ladybug on the stairwell window as I walked down, then drove off.
That sun was something else.
It was nearly 70 degrees today! I have a bad feeling about this kind of weather less than 10 days before Christmas. People should not be able to tan in North Carolina on the 16th of December. Who am I kidding, I loved it. Maybe the world is overheating but at least I get to wear short sleeves when I’m outside. When I pulled out of the lot I noticed that everything looked golden, totally washed by the December summer sun. It was pretty.
I pulled up to a pump at the BP next to campus. That is where I met Grover.
“Hey hey hey, my man!”
I couldn’t see him yet but I knew instantly it was a homeless man. Why do they all have the same opening line? I stepped back and looked around the pump. A man, wearing a yellow UNCW shirt just like one of mine, was walking diagonally closer to me with that nervous shuffle step; a step that could so instantly turn into retreat if I told him to buzz off. He wasn’t looking at me but there was no one else around.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked.
“Yeah, man. I’m talking to you. I was wondering, could you help me out?”
I stood in silence for a moment.
“I’m just a homeless man,” he said, “I live back here behind Hardees in a shack with one other man. Most people don’t believe me when I tell them that, I do though. I’ll take you back there to see it if you want to.”
“Nah, that's ok.” I said sheepishly.
He asked me if I was leaving town and told me how he’d like to. He was from Charlotte and had no way of heading back to see his family. I asked him how he ended up in Wilmington and he told me that he just got out of the penitentiary. He couldn’t get a job but was hoping to get some work painting in a couple of weeks. We talked for a while about this, then the pump clicked off in my hand. I gave it a couple of squeezes to the next dollar.
I wanted, for a moment, to take him over to Hardees and get him a burger, but then I decided not to. I didn’t want to insult him, I know there are people out there that really want to get their lives straight after they get out, so I pulled out my wallet.
“I’m a college student,” I said, “I don’t have much money, will three dollars help?”
“Oh yeah, it all helps. Three dollars, that’ll get me, lets see, couple burgers off the 99 cent menu and...Thanks, thank you. You have a good time at home, now.”
He had already stared to turn away when I told him I’d be praying for him and that I hoped it could find a job soon. He nodded his head and told me to do that. His hand had gone into his pocket for something. As he made his way past the front of my car I wished him well once more. He turned his head just enough for me to see the cigarette dangling from his lips.
“You too man,” he said with his back to me, “ And don’t forget to say that prayer for me.”
It was the way he said it. He was laughing at me. He had what he wanted and he didn’t even wait for me to leave before disappearing behind the station door.
I went home.
There was something beautifully wrong with the light from the sun today. It was like snowflakes drifting through a desert sky. Sure it’s not right, but it would still be beautiful. The closer I got to home the more brightly the world around me glowed. I got on 95 and was heading due east, the sun hung low directly behind me. A tractor-trailer passed and the sharp reflection off it’s chrome-like gate caught me off guard. I blinked a few times and took a look around. It was like I was in an old brown photograph that moved. Through the rear-view I saw little flecks of stone in the river of pavement behind me that sparkled like Christmas lights.
Christmas is coming soon. It’s good to be home.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Remington Red-Wild Rocket Ships!
Some observations...
Paperbacks are a lot easier to read than hardbacks. Why are hardbacks considered so much better? I know that they hold up better but who cares if your book is in pristine condition if it's really uncomfortable to read it? And there there are those little sleeves that put over the covers. I just take those things off. Otherwise I never feel like I'm truly holding the book, it slides from hand to hand all willy-nilly. It's like they made a hard back and thought, it's not papery enough, lets put some easily mangled paper on the outside of it to make it more papery. So much for the handsome hard bound.
I had a Hot-Pocket the other day. Before you grimace in disgust, just know that I, too, grimace in disgust. They were the beef taco variety and what caught my eye was the "Gret Tortilla Taste" emblem stamped on the front. I assume they're talking about the pocket's crust. In any case there was no hint of tortilla taste anywhere in the pocket or outside of it. Instead I got "soggy Hot-Pocket crust taste" which can hardly be described as great. I don't care how I cook a hot-pocket, they always come out steaming at about 1,000,000 degrees F. At this point I'm quite certain that a Hot-Pocket could be considered a weapon of mass destruction.
Why does Wal*Mart have so many check out counters if they're never going to staff them all? I've been to Wal*Mart before when it was peak hours and lines are backed up everywhere, there are still at least half the registers empty. I am left to assume that Wal*Mart's policy is to have that many registers just to spite it's customers who must look at them while waiting in line behind four people who have apparently taken to doing their shopping by decade. Another part of me wants to believe that they are there in case of a widespread emergency so they can bring in more people to staff the emergency registers. I prefer to believe in this one because while I'm waiting, it leaves me to ponder exactly what Wal*Mart would classify as a wide-scale emergency.
What play would go good with Hamlet? I want to make a Hamlet sandwitch.
Paperbacks are a lot easier to read than hardbacks. Why are hardbacks considered so much better? I know that they hold up better but who cares if your book is in pristine condition if it's really uncomfortable to read it? And there there are those little sleeves that put over the covers. I just take those things off. Otherwise I never feel like I'm truly holding the book, it slides from hand to hand all willy-nilly. It's like they made a hard back and thought, it's not papery enough, lets put some easily mangled paper on the outside of it to make it more papery. So much for the handsome hard bound.
I had a Hot-Pocket the other day. Before you grimace in disgust, just know that I, too, grimace in disgust. They were the beef taco variety and what caught my eye was the "Gret Tortilla Taste" emblem stamped on the front. I assume they're talking about the pocket's crust. In any case there was no hint of tortilla taste anywhere in the pocket or outside of it. Instead I got "soggy Hot-Pocket crust taste" which can hardly be described as great. I don't care how I cook a hot-pocket, they always come out steaming at about 1,000,000 degrees F. At this point I'm quite certain that a Hot-Pocket could be considered a weapon of mass destruction.
Why does Wal*Mart have so many check out counters if they're never going to staff them all? I've been to Wal*Mart before when it was peak hours and lines are backed up everywhere, there are still at least half the registers empty. I am left to assume that Wal*Mart's policy is to have that many registers just to spite it's customers who must look at them while waiting in line behind four people who have apparently taken to doing their shopping by decade. Another part of me wants to believe that they are there in case of a widespread emergency so they can bring in more people to staff the emergency registers. I prefer to believe in this one because while I'm waiting, it leaves me to ponder exactly what Wal*Mart would classify as a wide-scale emergency.
What play would go good with Hamlet? I want to make a Hamlet sandwitch.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
If Yoga Were a Food, Would it be Dairy?
Well, well, well. Something familiar is happening all around me but I must admit, this time it feels very different. People are packing up their things and leaving, in quite a hurry too. It's always kind of sad to watch people go. You're friends start to disappear, then acquaintances, and after a while (if you're like me you have to stay the whole exam period) you're left in an empty room whistling and humming Eric Clapton songs to keep yourself company. "I shot the sherriiiiiiif, but I swear it was in self defense..."
So yes, it is different though. This is the first time I've been leaving school and actually felt like something better may come of it. Usually I look on the long winter break as a sort of challenge. You know, how can I avoid family holiday drama and the endless boredom of sitting in an empty house for hours on end type stuff. I have to admit, though, that it is in those lonely hours that much of my best thinking is done. Brainstorms aside, it's generally an awkward time of transition that is both wonderful (seeing the family, Christmas celebrations) and horrible (sleeping until 11 and watching TV for hours). Hopefully I can reap the benefits of several fattening meals while avoiding the general drool-inducing lacklustre of home alonedom.
At least I have something to really look forward to. Next semester. I'm hoping for something exciting. I'm at one of those points in my life where I know either something amazingly good is going to happen, or something awe-inspiringly depressing. On the one had, having the confusing puzzle pieces of a college junior's life all come together would be great, but on the other hand, even if I find out life is going to suck for me, I'm sure I'll find comfort in knowing that I don't have to wonder anymore.
Nah, I'm just playing cynical.
I really feel like the growth I've experienced this past year is going to catapult me to new heights of Sloandom. I'll have more time to spend with my small group. I have a church here in Wilmington that I'm excited about getting more involved in. I think I'm going to enjoy my classes, and I know that I'm going to enjoy the extra time that only 15 hours will afford me. I have some hobbies that I plan on getting serious about and some new things I want to try and people I hope to meet (whoever they may be, I'm really hoping for a president of an African country or a champion clogger).
I'll be heading back home this weekend but, for the time being, my heart will stay in Wilmington. In spirit I'll be somewhere between the romantically dim-lit alleyways of downtown, blanketed in thick fog, and the bright morning lights of the Goody-Goody Omelet House. In the spirit of anticipation of a better year and a happy future. God bless you my dear reader(s).
Does the Hamburgler not realize that if he burgled money he could AFFORD hamburgers among other things?
So yes, it is different though. This is the first time I've been leaving school and actually felt like something better may come of it. Usually I look on the long winter break as a sort of challenge. You know, how can I avoid family holiday drama and the endless boredom of sitting in an empty house for hours on end type stuff. I have to admit, though, that it is in those lonely hours that much of my best thinking is done. Brainstorms aside, it's generally an awkward time of transition that is both wonderful (seeing the family, Christmas celebrations) and horrible (sleeping until 11 and watching TV for hours). Hopefully I can reap the benefits of several fattening meals while avoiding the general drool-inducing lacklustre of home alonedom.
At least I have something to really look forward to. Next semester. I'm hoping for something exciting. I'm at one of those points in my life where I know either something amazingly good is going to happen, or something awe-inspiringly depressing. On the one had, having the confusing puzzle pieces of a college junior's life all come together would be great, but on the other hand, even if I find out life is going to suck for me, I'm sure I'll find comfort in knowing that I don't have to wonder anymore.
Nah, I'm just playing cynical.
I really feel like the growth I've experienced this past year is going to catapult me to new heights of Sloandom. I'll have more time to spend with my small group. I have a church here in Wilmington that I'm excited about getting more involved in. I think I'm going to enjoy my classes, and I know that I'm going to enjoy the extra time that only 15 hours will afford me. I have some hobbies that I plan on getting serious about and some new things I want to try and people I hope to meet (whoever they may be, I'm really hoping for a president of an African country or a champion clogger).
I'll be heading back home this weekend but, for the time being, my heart will stay in Wilmington. In spirit I'll be somewhere between the romantically dim-lit alleyways of downtown, blanketed in thick fog, and the bright morning lights of the Goody-Goody Omelet House. In the spirit of anticipation of a better year and a happy future. God bless you my dear reader(s).
Does the Hamburgler not realize that if he burgled money he could AFFORD hamburgers among other things?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Waffle House Hash Browns (I love you)
panda McMunch
Originally uploaded by The Sloan.
Oh Mr. Panda, how endangered you are
at a zoo people come from near and from far
just to see you, and on 9 holes make par
What a symbol you are to your home country
and your diet is made up of skinny bamboo trees
upon which your bear teeth go "munchy munchy"
I hope we don't lose you forever and ever
I'd make a machine and then I'd pull the lever
if it kept you alive, then we'd both feel much better.
I love Panda!
P.S. Happy Birthday Big Sister!
Sunday, December 03, 2006
I Like Those Little Birds, You Know the Ones I'm Talking About
Andre the Christmas Zombie
Originally uploaded by The Sloan.
Hello there! It's just me again, here for my yearly warning regarding André the Christmas Zombie.
André is a zombie who, unlike his other brethren, rejected Halloween in favor of Christmas. If you're curious as to why, I've included this brief excerpt from his 1966 press statement, which he gave while initial reactions were still heated.
I still respect my colleagues' decisions to stay with our appointed holiday but I feel it is in my personal best interest to dissolve my contract with Halloween and work as an independent agent in Christmas.
Why was it in his best interest, might you be asking? Well, though he's never come out and said it, many speculate that he finds it easier to collect and eat human brains in December when his competition is done for the year. This is certainly plausible considering his current classification as a competitor to Santa Clause in the International Holiday Gift Deliverer Registry (IHGDR). The only other second party registered with them in history was William Howard Taft, who was considering the job briefly before before being nominated for the office of U.S. President in 1908 .
André has managed to get licensed for Christmas deliveries in 3 states and the Dominican Republic. I know what your thinking and yes, one of those states is North Carolina (something to do with a loophole in legislation failing to accurately define what qualifies someone as a "jolly elf"). With NC unable to pass new legislation until 2020, we're going to be stuck with André for a while yet.
The good news is, he's been lazy in recent years. For a while in the mid-80s he went head to head with Santa in his licensed states and territories. Of course the whole "Santa want-to-be" thing is just a gimmick that enables him for him to collect brains more easily. At least 64 separate reports have been filed of brain theft in NC houses and on christmas eve over the past 39 years. Most of the sites had little incriminating evidence that André had been there but witness accounts do seem to agree on a low moaning coming from the chimney moments before the attack took place.
DON'T FAIL TO PROTECT YOUR FAMILY! It is widely believed that André hates the smell of Greek food and photos of Rosie O'Donnel. It is well worth the effort to prepare a Greek feast in your home on Christmas eve and display glossy prints of Rosie at every family members' bedside.
Bacon bacon bacon bacon WHERE!?
Friday, December 01, 2006
Red Fish, Blue Fish
I have the distinct privilege to have been genetically blighted with a bad lower back. It causes a sharp pain to shoot through my hips and down one of my legs, virtually immobilizing me at times. As such, even the slightest movements, I notice.
I woke up this morning on my standard issue dorm bed and as usual, noticed the loud squeaking of the springs underneath my weight. Lately I've really paid attention to the reality of my body as a hunk of muscle and organ. I mean - it really is just a casing. I know I sound like I'm pushing some basic truth in order to feign philosophical enlightenment but seriously, if you believe it how often do you think about it? There I was, lying on the bed, listening to the weight of my soul's current container cause annoying screeching sounds from a value mattress. I don't know - it was a moment.
We Christians should always make it a point to be aware of how fake this world is. It's all an illusion. As a wise man [sic] once put it, we aren't made of "this crude matter." Who knows what it's like to be free of the skin and bones and thus the gravity that holds us down, makes our joints hurt and our furniture creak? I, for one, can't wait to find out.
God bless
I woke up this morning on my standard issue dorm bed and as usual, noticed the loud squeaking of the springs underneath my weight. Lately I've really paid attention to the reality of my body as a hunk of muscle and organ. I mean - it really is just a casing. I know I sound like I'm pushing some basic truth in order to feign philosophical enlightenment but seriously, if you believe it how often do you think about it? There I was, lying on the bed, listening to the weight of my soul's current container cause annoying screeching sounds from a value mattress. I don't know - it was a moment.
We Christians should always make it a point to be aware of how fake this world is. It's all an illusion. As a wise man [sic] once put it, we aren't made of "this crude matter." Who knows what it's like to be free of the skin and bones and thus the gravity that holds us down, makes our joints hurt and our furniture creak? I, for one, can't wait to find out.
God bless
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
